WATER PEOPLE

A written creative work submitted to the faculty of San Francisco State University In partial fulfillment of The Requirements for ^ The Degree 3G

Master of Fine Arts In English: Creative Writing

by

John Anthony Mancini

San Francisco, California

January, 2018 Copyright by John Anthony Mancini 2018 WATER PEOPLE

John Anthony Mancini San Francisco, California 2018

Water People is a novel about a family-run drug cartel from Baltimore, Maryland.

I certify that the Annotation is a correct representation of the content of this written

11'M l? Date CERTIFICATION OF APPROVAL

I certify that I have read Water People by John Anthony Mancini, and that in my opinion this work meets the criteria for approving a written creative work submitted in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree: Master of Fine Arts in English: Creative

Writing at San Francisco State University.

laxine Chemoff Professor of English 1

There were times in life when everything seemed to fall into place. This was not one of those times. Tommy Murphy stood outside the perimeter of the double chain link fences that surrounded the prison. He looked up at the rows of swirling razor wire and the twin gun towers that flanked the front of the massive industrial complex. The air smelled different out here, as if being on the other side of that fence gave you access to new air, air that was still unaffected by the body odor of all the inmates. Under his left arm,

Tommy held his brown paper release package and with his free hand shielded his eyes from the glare of the sunlight. Come to think of it, the light seemed brighter than the sunlight he’d seen in the yard, too. The sky was so blue it hurt to look at.

Tommy saw the white Mustang convertible shimmering like a mirage in the heat that rose off the road. It came into focus as it sped down the long straight drive and braked at the curb where he stood. The passenger window rolled down. Tommy bent forward and peered inside the car. Deb smiled, pushed a button and the door unlocked.

“What’s this?”

“Do you like it?” Deb said. “Her name’s Rhonda.”

He’d told her to treat herself, and she obviously hadn’t wasted any time.

“Rhonda,” he said, taking a good long look at the car. “Eighty-nine you said?”

“Eighty-eight. I leased it. It was cheaper. Watch this.” She pressed an overhead

switch and the canvas retracted.

“She’s fully loaded.”

“Not bad,” Tommy said. 2

Deb cranked the knob on the stereo, and Ted Nugent’s distorted Les Paul rocked the speakers in the door panel.

“Sounds good.” Tommy nodded toward the trash bag stretched over the seat.

“What’s the plastic for?”

“Oh, that’s for you, dummy. I don’t want you dirtying up my new car.”

He tossed his package on the floor and dropped into the seat. “You know, they let

me take showers in there.”

“You don’t smell like it.” She said, pinching her nose. “What is that smell?”

“Prison,” he said. “I probably smell like a prison. You know, I’ve been in one.”

“No,” she said. “It’s something else. You smell like, I don’t know. It’s like,

bologna and com chips.”

“That sounds about right,” Tommy said.

He laughed because Deb was laughing too. It felt good to be out, and it felt good

to feel good, but something was missing. It wasn’t that he wasn’t happy to be out. He just

felt deflated. He felt older. A year in prison was like a dog year, like seven human ones

packed into one. It took a lot out of you. A year in the pen could set you back like a tour

of duty could, make it difficult to readjust to civilian life, everybody walking around the

grocery stores buying their beer and their sausages and their heads of lettuce like it was

the most natural thing in the world to do. It wasn’t natural at all. 3

Tommy laughed at himself, at the absurdity of being out and not really feeling all that great. Not really feeling free. “I’ll tell you one thing,” he said, wiping a tear from his eye. “I don’t want to see another fucking bologna sandwich for a long long time.”

“So what do you want to do first, Mister ex-con?”

“I want to eat a big juicy steak.”

“Don’t you want to kiss me?”

“Oh, right.” He leaned across the center console, shift knob digging into his side,

and kissed her. “That too.”

“I missed you too, chief. Your sister missed you. We’re going over her house this weekend.”

“For what?”

“She’s having a party.”

Tommy looked out the side window.

“A coming-home-from-jail party?”

“Actually, Glen wants to show off the new house.”

“Ah, I don’t know if I’m ready for all that.”

“Don’t worry. We’ll hose you down first.”

She put the Mustang in gear and revved the engine.

“Jackie going to be there?”

“Far as I know.”

Tommy nodded. “Frank?” 4

“I don’t know who all’s coming. It’ll be fun. Take a look behind you. There’s

cooler of beer if you want one.”

Tommy shifted in his seat and glanced over his shoulder.

“I’ll be damned. You shouldn’t have, Deb.” He reached into the cooler, grabbed a

National Bohemian, beads of water sliding down the cold can, popped the tab and

breathed in the smell.

“I know I shouldn’t have,” Deb said. “I shouldn’t have done a lot of things.” She

hit the accelerator and twisted the volume knob on the radio.

Deb hung a left on Waterloo and the wide wheels hugged the blacktop around the

on ramp and took them north toward the parkway. She changed lanes and the Mustang

was taken up with the stream of midday traffic. Tommy hitched sideways in his seat and

looked out the passenger window at the Jessup Correctional Institution, a grid of

windows, most of them blacked out, broken or missing, too narrow to climb out of

anyway. And he’d definitely thought about it. Climbing out was not an option. The gun

towers looked like silos in the distance, the whole complex surrounded by nothing but

farm country. In the sideview mirror, Tommy watched it recede into the haze that

shimmered on the horizon. The humidity made everything seem heavier, denser. Tommy

felt the good beer in his belly cooling him and he half closed his eyes, allowing it all to

soften a little at the edges and blur his vision.

When they neared the city, he could smell the sour odor of the bay and the smoke

from the factories sticking in the humid air. Deb looked good behind the wheel with her 5

sunglasses on, but he wasn’t quite sure how to read her, sitting there with her eyes on the road and her red hair shining like a strawberry in the sun. It felt like he was going to have to relearn the rules. He had to hand it to her: she’d showed up when she said she was going to show up and she was driving him home. He thought about what that was going to feel like, walking into that house, how much had changed while he was away, what if anything of his was still sitting where he’d left it.

Tommy met Deb six months after her divorce from her first husband. They were both living at the beach, her waiting tables at Philips Seafood while he was working in one of the boardwalk arcades where every night he held court with a bevy of bimbos that

Deb absolutely hated. She made a point of not associating with any of his groupies, and she also made her presence known. One by one, she chased all the other girls away, just through a force of will. One night Tommy’s manager took him aside and told he better do something about this girl that was hanging around. “She’s chasing all my customers away,” he said. So Tommy asked her out on a date. By the end of the summer they were inseparable.

Maybe things hadn’t changed that much. Maybe he was just imagining things.

Deb cut into the left lane and ran the convertible up to seventy, and Tommy felt the power of the five-liter engine pulling him back in his seat. The billboards along the side of the highway weren’t any different from the ones that had been there before he went away. There was the one for the steakhouse and the one for the insurance agency and the one with a bunch of young happy people smoking long skinny cigarettes. There was even 6

his lawyer - the most photographed man in Baltimore next to the used car salesman on

Belair Road - Mark Diamond, smiling down at him, his big grinning face fifteen feet wide, eye-black grease to make him look like a football player. Diamond for the Defense, it said.

The outlet mall had finally gone up next to the Toyota dealership and the Burger

King. All of it pulsed with new life and seemed different somehow, like something he should appreciate, all of it part of a big puzzle that most people had already solved, those brightly colored things pictured on the signs all anybody needed to make life complete, the advertisements for Marlboro and Pepsi Cola and Giant Foods and UTZ potato chips.

“So, Rhonda,” Tommy said.

“Yeah. Rhonda.”

He sipped his beer and watched the road. “What the hell kind of name is that for a car anyway?”

“As in help me.”

*

Jackie Pierce had just paid to have the BMW detailed, and it was gleaming. He knew it looked good. It looked mean, especially with the new vinyl nose bra. Glen didn’t even so much as glance at it when Jackie pulled it into the driveway. Glen just grabbed him by the arm and whirled him around, sweeping an arm toward the water. Look at the 7

view, he said, flicking a wrist at the willows, alders and white pines that dotted the property like he’d planted them himself. He had a John Deere for the wide green lawn, he said, a Subaru for Anne, both parked inside a three-bay garage with room to spare for his

Blazer and whatever else he wanted to buy and shove in there.

“Did you see the Beamer?” Jackie said.

Glen waved a hand like he was shooing away a fly. “I’ve seen your car already.

C’mon. Let’s go inside. You’ve got to see the rest of this place.”

Glen dragged Jackie through every inch of the thirty-six hundred square feet of the house, making sure to point out every chair, table and picture frame, noting how much each item was worth versus what he actually paid for it.

“You like this print above the sofa?”

“Sure,” Jackie said. “It’s nice.”

“Joan Miro,” Glen said.

“Who’s she?”

“Beats me. It’s worth at least five grand. I only paid two. Got a guy tells me what to buy and I buy it.”

“OK,” Jackie said. “I never would have guessed.”

It looked like something you’d see in a hotel lobby, but what did Jackie know from art? What did Glen know for that matter? It was probably something that was fun to look at when you were high, and it was expensive. That was what mattered. The club room was done in oak hardwood floors with matching suede sofas. The black swirly 8

wallpaper in the bedroom was a little gaudy, but Jackie didn’t comment. That was Glen’s taste.

He met Glen’s new neighbors from across the street - Elton and Jane or Dick and

Janis, whoever they were - sitting around the coffee table watching the O’s game with Ed and Reese and Reese’s new girlfriend Connie. Jackie said hello and followed Glen through at least a half dozen more rooms in his socks listening to him drone on about his friend - Rick or Dick or Chick - some wholesale Oriental rug distributor who let him take as many as he wanted so he could try them out. It looked like he was running a carpet warehouse in the den. He had a stack of three rugs rolled up next to the wall - his

“B roll” he called them - each one worth at least twenty thousand, though he insisted that wasn’t what he’d paid. He talked about his rugs like he was Marco Polo, going on about the detailed scroll work and floral patterns, the intricate borders, the significance of the central medallions. Jackie curled his toes in the short pile, nursed a Heineken and nodded along. He strained to smile and wore out his eyes ogling all of Glen’s new stuff.

“This is all top of the line,” Glen said. “Surround sound.” Now he was gesturing toward the oak cabinet that housed his Panasonic television console. “I got a guy who climbs up the telephone pole down at the end of the street and hooks me up. I get every channel. If I have any problem, all I have to do is call him. He climbs up there and fixes it. Fifty bucks. I’ll give you his number.”

“Sounds good,” Jackie said. 9

Glen was always putting on heirs. It was a competition to see who could buy better stuff, and Jackie always lost this competition. He had his BMW, and he was proud of it, but he was in no position to compete on the same level as Glen. He accepted his role without complaint. He just wanted to make enough money to be comfortable. And if at all possible, he’d prefer that money be tax free. But Glen made a point of being impossible to keep up with. He wanted to let you know he had it and you didn’t, like if you were living within your means it meant you had no imagination.

Glen designed the house himself, used his company, Dutch Contracting, to construct the deck and hearth and do most of the interior work, especially the stonework.

Anchoring the great room, the flagstone fireplace rose to the top of twenty-foot vaulted ceilings and the track-lit loft that housed the piece de resistance, a twelve-foot Brunswick championship pool table. Jackie was on his second Heineken by the time the grand tour wound down and he could finally relax and shoot a game.

Glen was explaining how he’d refelted the table in burgundy so it would match the accent wall when Jackie heard a voice booming off the drywall downstairs, rumbling up through the floorboards and shaking the picture frames on the wall. The popcorn ceiling started raining flakes on the burgundy felt. There was a rumble of feet stomping on the stairs, and Tommy Murphy came barreling into the room like he’d been shot out of a cannon, joint hanging from his lower lip, shouting “Which one of you assholes wants to get high!” Looking around to see if there were any takers. There weren’t. 10

Jackie leaned into his shot, gave it a little more English than it needed and scratched.

Years ago there would have been a pile of coke sitting out on the coffee table, hookers on their way over. The party was always at Glen’s. But boundaries had changed once he and Anne patched things up. He’d reined in the partying, but evidently, no one had notified Tommy.

“What the hell are you doing?” Glen said, opening the sliding glass doors to the balcony. “You trying to get me in trouble?” He waved his hand in the air to disperse the smoke. “Use your head.”

“What’s the matter? You want me to put it out?”

“Yes,” Glen said. “For Christ’s sake, put it out.”

“No problem-o,” Tommy said. He stubbed the joint out in a glass ashtray and slipped the blackened roach into his breast pocket, while simultaneously sliding a fresh one out from behind his ear and winking at Jackie. “Look,” he said. “I’m double jointed.”

Glen walked to the hallway, opened the supply closet and began rummaging around.

“Yeah, yeah,” Tommy said. “Hey, so Jacket.. - dragging out the “e” longer than he needed to - “my name is Slow-Poke Rod-ree-guez. I’m looking for my cousin

Spee-dy. Have you seen my cousin Spee-dy?” He swiped a finger across the side of his nose.

“I’m clean, Tom.” 11

“Bullshit. Do some lines with me. I’m here to party.”

“You ought to know better than to poke the bear.” Jackie said, motioned toward the hallway.

“Guy needs to get high,” Tommy said. “Just look at him. Cuts his hair above the collar now and everything. People around here used to know how to have fun.”

“Don’t get yourself all bent out of shape.”

“What happened while I was away? You all join the Republican Party?”

“Things aren’t like they used to be,” Glen said, stepping back into the room shaking a aerosol can of Glade air freshener. “I just don’t want it in my house. Is that too hard for you to understand? Go outside if you want to do that .” He waved the can around, spritzing the air with a strawberry scented mist. He signaled for Jackie to follow him, said he wanted to show him one more thing.

Jackie offered Tommy his cue stick, and shrugged apologetically at Glen’s neighbor for ditching the game.

“Take it easy up here,” Glen said.

Tommy chalked up the stick. “On my best behavior,” he said, eyeing up the table.

“Straight and narrow, that’s me.”

“You better be,” Anne said, appearing in the doorway, smiling as if she’d caught them all red handed. “What sort of trouble are you boys getting into now?”

“Nothing,” Glen said, passing her on the stairs with Jackie in tow. 12

Anne rounded the pool table and reached for Tommy. “It’s just so good to have you back,” she said, gripping his biceps with both hands and holding him at arm’s length.

She pulled him in close and hugged him tight.

“Didn’t we already do this?”

“I don’t care,” Anne said. “I’ve got my brother back.” She pressed him against her chest, then pushed him to arms’ length again and tilted her head to the side like a bird.

“Your hair’s short,” she said. She swiped at the back of his neck with her fingers and made a clucking noise.

The smile dropped off Tommy’s face.

“It looks good,” she said. “I like it.”

“Thanks, sis. It’s good to be back.”

Anne dabbed a wrist at the comers of her eyes, composing herself. “And you better not be messing around with anything. No more of that. I mean it .”

“Promise.”

“I mean it. Have you asked Glen about going to back to work for Dutch

Contracting?”

“I haven’t had a chance.”

“You ought to say something. He has a lot of projects lined up from what I hear.”

“Sure,” Tommy said. “That sounds good. I’ll say something to him.”

“Just as long as you stay out of trouble.” 13

Tommy held up his hands. “I don’t plan on going back to Jessup anytime soon.

Believe me. Even with an early release, that was a longer vacation than I’d planned on taking.”

*

Jackie could see clear across the water where the sun was setting in a smear of purple and orange clouds. The yard ended abruptly at the water where the tide rocked up against the pilings and made a popping sound. Glen hunched his shoulders against the wind and cupped his hands around the joint so it would catch the flame. His eyebrows drew together as he inhaled.

“Looks like being in the can didn’t change Tommy very much,” Jackie said.

“He’s a real piece of work.”

“He’s an idiot,” Glen said. “He ought to be more careful. Reason he got locked up in the first place. Driving around with shit in his car.”

“Careless.”

“And he wanted me to trust him with more weight.”

“He could earn,” Jackie said. “I’d give him that.”

Jackie could hear the water slapping up against the private pier and boat lift. The briny smell of the bay blew through the pines. The acre lot Glen had decided to build on was at the very end of Greenbank Road on Iron Point, where the Gunpowder River met 14

the Bay. The big house jutted out of Iron Point like a ship run aground, and didn’t exactly blend in with the modest aluminum-sided split-levels on the street. In a neighborhood of gravel driveways, Glen’s was paved. His was the only home with a three-car garage.

Jackie thought Glen was just drawing unwanted attention to himself, but it was a good location to do whatever you wanted. After five houses in seven years, it looked like Glen was finally settling down.

“Bruce left a big hole.

“Guy weighed what, at least two sixty?”

“I’m serious, Jackie. He left a vacancy, and I plan to fill that vacancy. I’ve been talking to Manny, and he said his people in New York are ready to do something. You know who I’m talking about?”

“I know.”

“Good, because this North Carolina thing is not going to last forever, and they want to set up a meeting with me. I don’t know where this is going, but I got a feeling it’s going to be very good for me. For all of us. But I want to tell you one thing.”

“What’s that?”

Glen peered at him, narrowing his gaze. “I don’t want to find out you’ve been sniffing any shit.”

“Me?”

“Yeah, you.”

“Hey, you heard me tell Tommy. I’m clean.” 15

“You think I’m stupid? Just listen to what I’m saying. Forget about Ray White.”

“Ray who?”

“Exactly. Ray is history. He can’t handle this level of business. The guy wants to be a gangster. They all like to shoot each other so much they can keep that shit downtown where it belongs. I don’t want any part of it, which is why I’m not screwing around with coke anymore.”

“Got it.”

“Look at all of this, Jackie.” He took another hit and did a half-turn, admiring his big house for the hundredth time. “And this.” He offered Jackie the joint. “God’s gift to man. From the good green earth. This is good shit and the people who grow it are business men and they know I mean business. You hear me?”

“Business. I hear you.”

He was happy to let Glen do the talking and had no intention of telling him that he’d become well acquainted with Ray White since Tommy had gone away and Glen had decided to “lay low,” essentially cutting off his second income stream. What was he supposed to do? He was happy to keep the source of his coke supply and the fact that he even had one, very discrete. His dealings with Ray White were all worked out nice and neat through his little friend, Eduardo, the fry cook at the Cantina where Jackie was manager.

“So how about this view?” 16

“Not bad,” Jackie said. “Sure is quiet though. You rich people need your sleep or something?”

“Rich?” Glen said. He shook his head. “This is a blue collar neighborhood. But it’s changing, believe me.” He said he expected the value to skyrocket in a few years. He took a hit from the joint and handed it to Jackie. “Have you talked to Frank at all about what I’m doing?”

“I haven’t talked to anybody,” Jackie said. He accepted the joint and inhaled.

“I’ve been putting in a lot of time at the restaurant.”

“Yeah, whatever. I thought you were manager of a grocery store.”

“Beats humping two by fours.”

“Shit, you’re telling me. Can’t throw a nail without hitting a general contractor in this town. Everybody and their cousin is into construction.” He lowered his chin toward his chest and raised an eyebrow. “You ready to get back to some real work?”

“I want one thing and one thing only.”

“What’s that?”

“To stay out of jail.”

“Sure,” Glen said. “So do I. Don’t judge the game by the Tommys of the world.

You’ve just got to be smart.”

“Uh-huh,” Jackie said. “Smart. So how much you talking about?”

Glen smiled, letting the smoke curl up from the comers of his mouth. “A lot,” he said. 17

*

Deb sat at the island in the kitchen watching Anne stir the wooden ladle around the heavy duty stock pot. “Are you sure there isn’t anything I can do?” she said.

“You’re fine. Deb. Make yourself comfortable.”

“I feel silly just sitting here letting you do everything.”

“If you want you can get the placemats out of that drawer behind you. See if we have enough. I don’t know what all I have anymore.”

When Anne told her she was moving again, Deb thought she must be joking, even though she had to admit it was a nice house. Glen and Anne never lived in any one place for very long before it was time to move. When they first got engaged they lived in a little apartment in Middle River, until they could afford to move into a two-story row house. Within a year they were renting a duplex in Rosedale. When they had their son

Chris they found a three bedroom in Essex, a little single-family home with a green aluminum awning over the front porch, a little patch of grass between the house and the sidewalk, pink flamingoes for the lawn. In their first seven years of marriage, they moved exactly five times.

Whenever Deb asked Anne about all the moving around, Anne would say Glen was just looking for something better. He was never satisfied. She brushed off his obvious attempts at evading surveillance as restlessness. He’s under a lot of pressure, 18

she’d say. He was never happy. That’s because he’s a drug dealer!. Deb wanted to scream at her. They all were. But she had to admit, they were fun guys to be around. Deb liked to party as much as any of the boys, and she could hold her own. Growing up in

Silver Sands had taught her that. But the minute Anne would finish decorating a new place, Glen would say, OK, Pack up. Time to move. Anne never complained about her commute to the school getting longer. Her only objection to the moving around life was having to constantly take her son Chris away from his friends. But then, look at the big house they’d be moving into, she’d say. Chris could get over it.

*

Tommy tip-toed into the kitchen winking at Deb, holding a finger to his lips. He sneaked up behind Anne, crowding over her shoulder and stuck his nose in the pot for a whiff.

“Get out of there, you nut,” Anne said. “Shoo.” She swatted at him with the ladle, lost her balance and stumbled sideways.

“Easy there, Shippy,” Tommy said, catching her around the waist and giving her a squeeze. “You’re listing to port.”

“I bet you missed your mother’s bean soup,” Deb said.

“You know that’s the recipe all right,” Tommy said. “Best bean soup in B-more.” 19

“Well, you’ll have to wait a little longer,” Anne said. “I’m pretty sure I followed

Mom’s recipe right, but this ham bone still needs to marinate.”

“I could use some marinating, myself,” Tommy said, wandering in the direction of the refrigerator. He opened the door and grabbed one of Glen’s Heinekens from the bottom shelf, mumbling “aristocrat” under his breath. In another time they would have all been crowded into his mother’s tiny kitchen in White Marsh, setting up the drop-leaf extension in the dining room table, bringing in folding chairs from the garage to accommodate all the friends and family. It was good that Anne could host, that she had all this space. It might not be the same as it had been at his mother’s, but at least the smell of bean soup was the same. That recipe hadn’t changed.

“Deb, do me a favor and take a look up there and see if you can find the serving bowl my mother gave me,” Anne said.

Deb opened a cabinet, and took a giant step back as several Tupperware containers tumbled out, knocking her on the head and bouncing across the floor. Tommy laughed, falling back into the counter and splashing beer onto his T-shirt.

“Sorry,” Anne said. She set down the ladle and stooped to gather containers from the floor.

“Don’t worry about it,” Deb said. “I’ll get them.”

“I’ve got those bowls around here somewhere,” Anne said. “Everything’s all haywire since the move.” 20

Tommy was still laughing. It was good to be back around his family. It was a nice house, and Anne deserved it too. Not in the sense that she’d actually worked for it, but it was good to see her happy if happy was what she was. He could never tell with Anne, throwing her arms around him and crying, so good to see you, making him feel like he’d stayed away on purpose - the next minute asking him if he’d tried the spinach dip with the pumpernickel like he was some neighbor who’d stopped by for an eyeful of Glen’s handiwork and required a finger sandwich.

“Come here and taste this casserole, Tommy,” Anne said.

“Is it good?”

“Taste it and tell me.”

“Why?”

“That's always a good thing to do.”

Tommy plunged his finger into the dish and immediately regretted it. “It’s hot,” he said.

“I know it’s hot, you goof. Is it good?”

He nodded, sucking on his finger. “What’d you do?”

“It has four different cheeses.”

“Oh. That’s good.” Standing at the sink holding his finger under the running water. Tommy saw his face reflecting in the dark glass, the short hair and scars still something to get used to. But beyond his reflection, out in the dark of the yard he saw a 21

tiny orange light moving back and forth, the silhouettes of Jackie and Glen standing out against the water.

“I see how it is,” he said, turning off the faucet.

“How what is?” Anne said.

“Nothing.”

He was on his way out the door.

*

Jackie was listening to the grinding of a semi’s brakes out on the interstate.

Somewhere behind him in the yard, a branch snapped. He turned and saw Tommy stumbling across the grass.

“Where’s the party at?” Tommy shouted, tripping over a pile of fallen branches in the shadow of the elm, catching himself just before going all the way over.

“Speak of the devil.”

“I thought I smelled something good out here.”

Jackie held the brown stub of the joint at arms’ length. “Here,” he said. “Get in on this before it’s gone.”

“Decided to party without me, huh?” Tommy pinched the roach between his fingers. “This is some house, Glen. I’ll tell you, it’s a hell of a lot more impressive than the pile of bricks Deb and I are living in.” 22

“Yeah,” Glen said, uninterested. “This is a nice place.”

“You working on anything else? Anne told me you got all kinds of stuff lined up.”

“She did?”

“I wouldn’t mind getting on a crew if you’ve got a project. I got to have something on the books to show the old P.O.”

Working for Glen’s contracting company was the only real job Tommy had ever had. It was something he was good at and something he enjoyed. There was satisfaction in knowing how a thing was done, like having to space the studs sixteen inches apart before you could put up the drywall. He liked little things like that you didn’t have to think too much about, just having a specific task to do and the tools to do it with. He still had his belt somewhere in the closet, though he hadn’t touched it in years. There was money to be made if you were willing to put in the hard work, and there was a time when he was willing to do that. Of course, that was before he’d discovered how to make easy money.

“I might have something,” Glen said. “But it’s not construction.”

Tommy took another hit and held it in. “You get a new hookup or something?”

“I don’t want to get into that right now.”

“Well, excuuuse me,” Tommy said, still working out the kinks in an outdated

Steve Martin impression.

“If you want anything, you can talk to Jackie about it.”

Jackie looked at Glen wide-eyed as if his hair had just caught fire. 23

Glen nodded.

“Ah, sure,” Jackie said. “I’ve got you covered, Tom.”

“I get it,” Tommy said. “No skin off my back. I mean, I’ve only gotten my shit from Glen for ten years. That’s cool. I thought we were family.”

“That’s exactly the point, Tom. We’re family. And we’re going to meet at

Jackie’s from now on. I don’t want to discuss it around this house. Anne told me if she sees you hanging around here smoking pot, she’s leaving me for good. So that’s the way it has to be.”

Tommy looked back and forth between Glen and Jackie. “Listen, Glen. One thing about my sister, she doesn’t have any fucking idea what’s going on.” He looked over his shoulder toward the house, yellow light in the big dining room window, people moving around in there. “Anne stuck her head in the sand fifteen years ago,” he said. “The day she had Chris, you know what I mean? See no evil, hear no evil. That’s Anne.”

“Look, I don’t want to get into it with you. We just got over some stuff, me and her, and we’re working things out, so don’t give me any shit about it.”

“I wasn’t going to.”

“That’s what you’re doing right now. You’re giving me shit. So just go through

Jackie, all right? What does it matter where you get it?”

“I get the same price?”

“Well.” Glen passed the roach to Jackie and exhaled smoke into the wind. “This stuff is different,” he said, “so naturally, it costs a little more.” 24

“How much more?”

“Thirteen.”

Tommy whistled through his teeth. “A pound?”

Glen bowed his head.

“Shit,” Tommy said. “That’s pretty steep.”

“You don’t want it, that’s fine with me. But I’m telling you. It’s worth it. Believe me. This stuff, this is one-hit stuff.”

Jackie passed Tommy the roach.

“One hit, huh?” Tommy puffed two or three more times on the tiny roach before accidentally inhaling it into the back of his throat and launching into a coughing fit, doubling over his knees like he was on a hinge. He swung back up, managed to stifle the cough and took a sip of air. “That’s all you had to say,” he said. “I’ll go through Jackie.”

*

“I don’t know why you get yourself so worked up,” Deb said. She tilted her head toward the rearview mirror and looked at Tommy out of the comer of her eye. He was

slouched in his seat, face pressed up against the glass. He rolled the window down and

squinted into the wind. “How much did you have to drink tonight?”

“I don’t know, but I’m sure you’re gonna tell me.”

“Maybe it wouldn’t kill you to take the night off every once in a while.” 25

“It might.”

Tommy pressed the button on the door panel and rolled the window up and then down again.

“Please don’t do that while I’m driving. I don’t know why you had to leave in a huff like that. You didn’t even say goodbye.”

“Why don’t you ask your buddy, Jackie?”

“You’ve been away a while, Tom. You ought to expect things to be a little different.”

“Oh, I forgot. That’s your boss I’m talking about.”

“Jackie’s not that bad a guy.”

“Yeah, well. Glen doesn’t know howto treat people. Evidently, my being in jail has made me a ‘problem.’”

Deb knew Glen had always kept a small crew just for the reason that it was easier to manage. None of the guys had ever had any run-ins with the law, not before Tommy, not unless you counted Glen’s father dying in jail. That sort of thing might leave a bad taste in your mouth. Deb could understand why he was paranoid. “Well Anne has sure done a good job with the house,” she said. “Don’t you think? Did you see that fireplace?”

“Yeah, I saw the fireplace. How many times do I have to talk about the stupid fireplace?”

“What did he say it was? Flagstone?” 26

“What are you, into masonry now? The fireplace and the rugs and the pool table.

I’m telling you, Anne ought to know what’s going on. Glen acts like it’s some big secret.”

“She keeps him on a pretty short leash these days from what I hear.”

“No kidding. When she says, ‘Jump,’ Glen asks how high. Doing time is part of the business,” Tommy said. “I didn’t complain. I did my bid. If it weren’t for his so called problems he wouldn’t have made the money he did to build that house in the first place. You know how much shit I smuggled into Jessup for him? I kept that motherfucker busy. I was moving more weed than anybody in the Cut.”

Deb kept her eyes on the road. “And I really wish you wouldn’t have,” she said.

“You’re lucky they didn’t catch you doing that. They never would have let you out.”

“Are you kidding? They were all in on it. The COs at the gate, the package room, the ones working the galleries. The whole system is corrupt.”

“I seriously think we need to change our lifestyle.”

“Hey, it helped pay the bills, didn’t it? I didn’t hear you complaining about that.

Or this car.”

She let out a long sigh. “I love the car, Tommy. I think that Glen ought to give you more credit than he does.”

“Yes, thank you. This isn’t exactly a trickle-down economy, you know? I mean, somebody’s getting rich off all this, and it sure as hell ain’t me.” 27

“You and me just need to save our money,” Deb said. “One of these days I’d like to just move somewhere, you know. Far away from here. It doesn’t even have to be

Florida. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love your family but-”

“Yeah, well, you can’t choose your family.”

“You could get a regular job somewhere.

“A regular job? Hold on a second.. Tommy hit the button on the door and rolled down the window, stuck his head out and laughed into the wind. He rolled the window back up and stared across the seat at her. “Who’s going to hire me after where I’ve been?

The A & P? This is what I do. It’s what I’ve always done. Glen knows there’s nothing else I can do. Now he tells me my security clearance has been revoked.”

“I can understand why he wants to keep it from Anne.” She took her hand off the wheel and flicked a wrist in front of her face. “I think you let a fly in here.”

Tommy was sitting low in the seat, sulking.

“You boys and your secret clubs,” Deb said. “I don’t know why you all just can’t play nice.”

“The way I see it, I work on commission, you know? Glen wants people to kiss his ass. That’s the difference between me and Jackie. He’ll do anything Glen asks. If

Glen called at two in the morning and wanted to meet, even if it was pouring rain outside,

Jackie would grab his umbrella and jump in his little BMW and rush across town.”

“Did he show you his car?” 28

“Don’t get me started. How about those pants he was wearing? Guy’s completely self-involved. I think Jackie’s polyester pants are so tight they’re cutting off the circulation to his balls.”

Deb laughed.

“But me, forget about it. I’m damaged goods. I’ve been through the system. It’s like, I can’t get a regular job because I’ve been to prison, and I can’t go back to my old job because nobody wants to talk to me anymore.”

“You’re damned if you do and you’re damned if you don’t.”

“I’m damned, all right. I think I’m cursed.”

“Poor baby.”

“I mean. I’m only the guy’s brother-in-law, but sure, now he wants to change the whole setup, and I’m supposed to take whatever crumbs he wants to give me.” He reached for the knob on the radio, twisted up the volume and started scanning through stations. “Speaking of which, is there anything left of what I had stashed in the attic?”

“Please don’t mess with the radio,” Deb said. “Glen’s just afraid of messing up his marriage.” She twisted the volume knob. “He doesn’t want to upset Anne. That shouldn’t be so hard for you to understand.”

“Yeah, he’s afraid all right,” Tommy kicked off his shoes and put one foot up on the dash, his eyes heavy with sleep. “The whole problem, you ask me, everybody’s got the Fear. You hear what I said? I figure there ought to be about five grand left.”

“I don’t know how you figured that. There’s not nearly that much.” 29

“What are you talking about? How much is there.”

“Nothing, Tommy. There’s nothing left.”

“Nothing? I was counting on that money.”

“I told you I didn’t need this car. What do you think has been paying the mortgage? You want to talk about fear, Tommy? You want to talk about what I went through having to take care of that house all by myself for the past two years?”

“You got the Fear too,” Tommy said, eyes closed, lips curling into a smile.

“Yes, I’m afraid,” Deb said. “I’m afraid of what’s going to happen to us now, to you. Sometimes I don’t think maybe I made the right decisions I should have made in my life, you know... Tommy? Are you even listening to me?”

She turned onto the street and looked over at him, his mouth hanging open. She pulled the car alongside the curb and killed the transmission. His face looked younger, like the young man she used to know, the one who used to rig the machine at the arcade to give her free games of skeeball, the one who used to call her “hon” with that exaggerated Baltimore accent, pushing the air out through his nose. Now he sounded like a boar. In between his loud exhalations, she could also hear the buzzing of a fly, the tapping sound its tiny body made as it repeatedly smacked into the glass, trying to find its way out.

* 30

The inside of the Chevy Malibu smelled like a locker room. Henry cracked the window, but he wasn’t getting enough circulation, not on this humid night. He and Cal were parked under the overhanging branches of a willow tree, about a thousand feet from

Tommy Murphy’s house on Zeppelin Avenue when the white Mustang pulled to the curb, scraping the rim of the wheel and backing into the metallic trash cans. He saw Deb step out of the driver’s seat, stop to catch her balance. She looked like she’d been drinking.

She was standing at the passenger door, waiting for Tommy to get his feet under him and follow her up the sidewalk to the house. The two of them stood uneasily under the yellow light of the porch while Deb dug around inside her purse, found a set of keys, opened the front door, and then staggered inside.

Henry kept his eyes fixed on the house, index finger drumming time on the plastic wheel. There was a plausible reason to be here, he just couldn’t think of what it was. He could feel his partner, Cal, staring at him. Like a lot of plain clothes detectives, Cal had cut his teeth in the city. He’d been part of a narcotics squad on the west side for the first three years of his career. Talk about hitting the ground running. The western district was a hell of a place to get your education. It was no wonder to Henry that Cal had asked to transfer to the Towson precinct where day-to-day life was decidedly less volatile. He had experience, but Cal was still green as far as Henry was concerned. He preferred a younger partner. It helped define the power structure in their relationship. Cal was a cowboy, eager for action, but he usually deferred to Henry who tried to maintain an air of

seniority even when he wasn’t entirely sure what he was doing. 31

“Are we surveilling or stalking here, partner?”

“I’m just being thorough,” Henry said.

“Is that what you call it?”

“Yeah, that’s what I call it.”

“Because I was thinking, maybe it’s better to have loved and lost. You know what

I mean?”

Henry pointed to the pair of trash cans standing at the curb. “Right there. You see those?”

“Yeah, I see them.”

“You’re up.”

“Yeah, I’m up.” Cal opened the center console, pulled out a pair of blue latex gloves and snapped them on his hands. “I’m always up. You ever notice that?”

Henry shrugged. “Trash pulls are an essential part of any investigation.”

“You know I hate rats, Hank.”

“I hear they make good pets.”

“Would you keep a rat as a pet?”

“They’re inquisitive.”

“Not the ones around here, they’re not. They don’t care about shit. They look at you like you’re the one in the wrong fucking neighborhood.”

“What are you afraid of a little rodent for?

“Little? You seen the rats in Baltimore?” 32

Henry laughed. There was a hardware store in Canton that still proudly displayed a photograph behind the counter of the rat the owner had caught in the alley behind the shop. It shared the dimensions of a small dog.

“I’m serious, Hank.”

“Hey, you run into a big one,” Henry said, “just put a saddle on him.”

“You’re funny.”

“Don’t be scared, partner. It’s a dirty job.”

*

Deb was sitting on the edge of the mattress putting on her heels. Morning light filled the room. Tommy reached for her leg, the tips of his fingers touching the smooth nylon as she slid off the bed and straightened her skirt in the mirror.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m going to work, Tommy.”

“Why so early?”

“I told one of the waitresses I’d take her lunch shift today. She’s got jury duty.”

“Why don’t you get Jackie to give you more dinner shifts?”

“I’m doing somebody a favor. Why don’t you do something yourself today and not worry about what I do?”

“I’ve got plans.” 33

“I bet you do.”

He rolled over on his side, spread his legs out, and was snoring before she left the room. She took two ibuprofens, washed them down with water and stood in the kitchen staring out the window at the chain link fence that surrounded the yard. It looked like a dirt farm. Tommy said he wanted to plant grass before the summer was over, help her fix the house up, but Tommy was always planning something.

Getting out of Dundalk had been the right thing to do. Getting engaged, on the other hand, may have been a little hasty. Just before he’d gotten arrested for possession,

Tommy had asked Deb to marry him. They both had been living the highlife then, and

Tommy had money to burn. He plunked down forty grand cash toward the deposit on the house she’d found in South Baltimore. It was just on the other side of the Patapsco, had a screened-in porch and a yard with a chain-link fence. Tommy bought a big screen TV for the den, put up bronze vertical blinds in the bay window. There was a mirrored coffee table in front of a wraparound couch. Deb picked out some jade figurines she liked, a couple vases and some Japanese prints for the walls. The first floor looked like an opium den, which was more or less what it turned into when she was at work.

But Deb wasn’t exactly warming to the role of homemaker. There was a lot of work that needed to be done, and now that Tommy was back, he said he looked forward to doing it. He just needed some time to get his shit together, he said. Tommy was big on promises. When his mother had gotten sick, Deb knew they’d never leave Baltimore.

They bought the house and dug in. The idea of sticking around indefinitely depressed her, 34

but she understood his dedication to Helen. She was the only woman who ever really understood him, which was probably because she was just as crazy as he was. Deb didn’t know if she was capable of that level of love, which had to have been genetic. Helen was like Ma Barker when it came to her son. She’d been a good woman, maybe too good. She never sat Tommy down and talked sense into him about what he was doing with Glen

Howell. She always looked the other way, accepted his excuses, even helped him make some of them up. But Tommy was out of excuses, and his mother wasn’t around to help him think of any new ones.

*

Tommy Murphy had a lot on his mind as he maneuvered his mother’s old

Cavalier into the narrow parking space in front of the convenient store. He cut the engine, opened the door and slammed it right into side of the white van.

“Good job,” Frank said. “That’s a real good start. You dent it?”

Tommy looked at the van and shrugged. It was nothing, he said. He shut the door to the Cavalier, pulled the handle on the passenger side of the van and climbed into the cab.

“Nothing?”

“I just tapped it.”

“Better not be a dent in Glen’s van.” 35

“There’s no dent.” Tommy threw some newspapers on the floor, kicked trash aside to make room for his legs and shut the door. “You ought to clean this thing, Frank.”

Frank sipped his coffee and studied Tommy. He took a long drag off his cigarette, flicked the ashes onto a mound that spilled over the tray and dusted the rubber mat on the floorboard.

“Glen wants all hands on deck today,” Frank said. He cocked a thumb toward the cargo space in the back of the van.

“Yeah,” Tommy said. “Give me a minute, will you? I want to run inside, grab a donut. You want anything? Lottery ticket?”

“Grab me some sugar packs while you’re in there.”

“You don’t need any more sugars, Frank.” Tommy looked at the trash on the floor. “You’re going to have ants running all around in here.”

“Just get me a handful. I like to have them when I’m on the road.”

Tommy shook his head. “You act like you don’t make enough money, Frank.”

Frank smoked his cigarette and thought about it. He twisted the knob on the radio, turned up the music. “I don’t.”

“How about a lottery ticket? Big jackpot this weekend.”

“The game is rigged, my friend.”

“I think you might be onto something.” Tommy opened the door and banged it into the side of the Cavalier.

Frank cringed. “Will you please be careful, please?” 36

“That was my mistake,” Tommy said. “I’ll admit that.”

*

Glen was sitting at the table in Jackie Pierce’s dining room. He looked out the window, the pink morning light catching the pale colors of the aluminum siding on the houses across the street. He licked the gum on the rolling paper and twisted the ends together.

“Ocean C ityT Jackie said.

“We get the same place every year.” Glen picked up the lighter and lit the joint, keeping his eyes on the road in front of the house, inhaling smoke. “Ocean front. Anne can invite whoever she wants.”

“What about Tommy?”

Glen coughed. “Shit. Of course, Tommy. You think he’d pass up a free place to stay?”

“So why don’t you go? You pay for it.”

Glen took a sip of coffee, set the mug back on the table, and shook his head. “I’ll go down after the Marlin Open. I let her have the first week to herself, you know, do her family thing.”

“I’d rather go to Atlantic City,” Jackie said. “Least you can have some fun there.

Too many kids down the Eastern Shore, you ask me.” 37

Glen looked out the window and rapped his knuckles on the wooden table.

“Where the fuck is Frank, anyway? I swear, this guy, we’ve got to put a leash on him or something.”

“Frank exists in his own time zone. You got that right. Him and Tommy both.”

*

Tommy opened the door to the van, carefully this time, climbed back in and dumped a handful of sugar packages in the center console. “All right,” he said. “Here you go, cuz. It’s your teeth.”

“What do I owe you?”

“Don’t sweat it. I’ll hook you up.”

Frank put the van in gear and checked the mirror.

Tommy looked over his shoulder at the large Husky toolboxes in the back of the van. “So big shipment, huh?”

“You know it.”

“Well, let’s go see Fast Eddie and get this over with.”

Frank laughed. “You might want to stop calling him that.”

“Oh really, Frank? Why’s that?”

“I don’t know. Some people don’t take to nicknames, I guess.” 38

“He can’t take a joke. I don’t mean anything by it. Guy thinks he’s Paul Newman with his custom pool sticks. It’s funny.”

Frank grinned and shook his head. “It’s not that funny. And he doesn’t like it.”

“Jackie doesn’t like anything. He’s so sensitive.”

*

Jackie looked over his shoulder, studied the empty street outside his dining room window. “I don’t like it,” he said. “I got things to do today too.”

“What do you have to do that’s so important?”

“I’ve got to follow up with my liquor distributor, for one. We had an eight top come in last night, wiped us out of tequila. You should’ve seen these guys. Plus, I got to check the kegs, make sure we’re stocked for the game tomorrow.”

“You think this delay has something to do with Tommy?”

“I don’t know. Could be Frank’s just running late.”

“I’m not worried about Frank,” Glen said. “He puts in the time. I’ll give him that.

I don’t know why I agreed to include Tommy in this. I must be out of my fucking mind.”

“He knows how to hustle.”

“Yeah.. Glen set the joint in the ashtray and stood up from the table, walked to the window. “How long we been sitting here? I got things I need to do today. I need my van.” 39

“Since when’re you working?”

“I just told somebody I’d give him an estimate.”

“Didn’t think you weren’t bothering with the contracting stuff anymore.”

“Under the table. Guy’s the father of one of the boys on Chris’s team. Nice guy.

You should see his house. Way up there in Cockeysville, right on the reservoir.”

“Cockeysville?” Jackie laughed. “Look at you,” he said, getting a defensive look from Glen and dialing it back.

“What?”

“What? Family man.”

“Times have changed, Jackie. What can I say? It’ll happen to you.”

“No kidding. All you guys, even Tommy getting engaged.”

“The way you have this place decorated, I was going to ask you where she’s hiding. Since when do you have drapes in the windows?”

“No, no, no. Not me. I get married, me and my wife will have separate bathrooms, maybe even separate houses. Separate area codes. Did you notice the new cabinets in the kitchen?”

“I guess I wasn’t paying attention.”

“Well, thanks. Surprised you didn’t notice right away. Old ones looked like shit.”

“Place looks nice. I’m just distracted.” He looked around. “How much you pay for that Sony?” 40

“You like that? Took three guys to bring it in here, thing’s so fucking heavy. You know what watching the games on that’s going to be like? Going to be out of this world.”

Glen looked out the window. He saw the van pull up, Dutch Contracting stenciled along the side. The front end was covered in bugs and mud was fanned out across the rear fender, caked inside the wheel well. “Speak of the devil,” he said.

“The hell did he take that thing?” Jackie said. “On a safari?”

*

Frank and Tommy sat in the van in front of Jackie’s house, watching him comb his hair in the reflection in the living room window.

“You believe this guy,” Tommy said. “Look at John Travolta over here. You know how much he spent on those hair plugs? He’s so self-conscious I can’t believe it.”

“Losing your hair’s no fun, you arrogant son of a bitch.”

“Hey, I didn’t mean you, Frank. You wear it well. Bald goes good on you. But

Jackie, I think he’s scared to death the high school girls aren’t going to find him attractive anymore.”

Frank hacked into his fist. “Mid-life crisis,” he said. He cleared his throat, caught

Jackie’s eye and pointed to the detached garage on the other end of the property. He released the emergency brake, eased the van down the long gravel drive, backed up to the door and cut the ignition. 41

Tommy hopped out and opened the double doors on the back of the van, climbed into the bed and pushed the large toolbox to the edge of the tailgate. He and Jackie carried it across the garage floor and set it down next to a stack of Pirelli tires. The 325 was parked in the left-hand bay, but the open side was used as a workspace. It housed a desk, a file cabinet, a weight bench, a set of dumbbells and a punching bag.

Glen used a small key to open the lock on the toolbox. Inside were half a dozen brick-sized vacuum-sealed packages wrapped in brown packing tape. He picked up a razor from the tool chest and cut the plastic seal and dumped the plant material onto the wide platform of the floor scale

“I love the smell of fabric softener in the morning,” Tommy said.

“They got to use something,” Jackie said. “It airs out it’ll be fine. You got a grip over there? Watch my Beamer.”

“I got my side,” Tommy said. “So why don’t they use something else is what I want to know? What about coffee?” They removed the second Husky toolbox from the van and set it flat on the floor. “I hear coffee works. Nobody wants to smoke fabric softener.”

“It has to do with the dogs,” Jackie said. “The dogs can’t smell it. They can smell right through coffee.”

“Dogs can smell anything,” Frank said. “DEA decides to do a spot check at the border, or those cops in Virginia decide to set up a checkpoint on eighty? This shipment doesn’t arrive, and neither do I.” 42

“Waste of product, you ask me,” Tommy said. He hung onto the punching bag, swung it back and forth. “Fabric softener ruins the taste.”

“It’ll go away,” Glen said. “Jackie’s right. You just got to let it air out.”

“It doesn’t go away,” Tommy said. “I’m telling you.”

“You want to stop hanging on that?” Jackie said. “You’re going to pull it out of the ceiling.”

Tommy let go of the bag and jabbed at it a couple times. “I’m sick of this

Mexican dirt weed,” he said. “Remember Thai Stick? Maui Wowie? Whatever happened to that shit?”

“Acapulco Gold,” Frank said.

“You two miss the seventies?” Glen knelt over the product, began stacking the compressed bundles. He picked up a two-pound brick about the size of a paperback book, tore off the plastic wrapping and held it up to the light.

“Yeah,” Jackie said “What are you complaining for? You don’t have to smoke it you don’t want to. I prefer to sell it, personally.”

“Henry Fonda says sell it,” Tommy said. “All right, I’ll sell it. Consider it sold.

Hey, maybe you ought to have a tire sale. Make some room in here. You ever think of that. Captain America? You know, if you’re not going to do anything with these, I might know someone who’ll buy them off you.”

“You’re going with me to the dump, smart ass.”

“What I tell you?” Tommy looked at Frank. “Sensitive.” 43

Glen wasn’t listening. He picked up a second brick and tore off the plastic. He dug out a chunk and smelled it. “I don’t like this,” he said. “Come here and take a look at this, Jackie. Tell me I’m not crazy.”

Jackie leaned in over Glen’s shoulder, squinting. “What am I looking at?”

“This,” Glen said. He dug a thumbnail into the comer of one of the bricks and peeled back a layer of compressed flowers. “That doesn’t look good, does it?”

A spot of white fuzz clung to the calyxes and hairs of the cola. “Oh,” Jackie said, sucking his teeth. “No, it doesn’t. Looks like mold. I can’t sell that.”

“What the flick am I supposed to do?” Glen said. “Throw three hundred pounds in a dumpster?”

“You have to do something about this,” Jackie said. He picked up another brick and inspected it. “Frank, why didn’t you look at this before you picked it up?”

“I don’t ask questions. I just deliver the goods.”

“I want you to take it back down there, Frank. Tell them what’s wrong with it.

I’m not sitting on this for a single night.”

“Shit, Glen. You know how long that’s going to take this time of day? Ninety- five’s going to be a parking lot. I’ll never get through Richmond.”

Glen stood and tossed what he held in his hands back onto the pile, dusting his palms off on his jeans. “I’ve got to call Manny,” he said. “This needs to be dealt with.”

“I’ll tell you what,” Frank said. “I’ll take it back if you want, but I want double what I usually make.” 44

“That-a-boy, Frank,” Tommy said.

“Double?”

“What are we supposed to do?” Jackie said. “You really want him to drive all that way right now? Maybe we should just call first and see what Manny says.”

“I’m going to call. But I don’t know what other option we have. All I know they better make it worth my while we do all that.”

Tommy stooped next to the pile and picked up a handful of pot and looked at it.

He buried his nose in it and breathed deeply. “It smells like woodchips and Band-Aids,” he said.

“They probably didn’t cure it right,” Jackie said. “They harvested it and packed it wet.”

Tommy sneezed and let the grass fall back on the pile. He stood up straight and wiped his palms on his jeans. “I wonder if it even has any potency.”

“Probably not.”

“What happened to that one hit stuff you said you were getting?”

“I think I need a drink,” Glen said.

*

Glen grabbed the plastic receiver off the wall in Jackie’s kitchen, punched the numbers on the base and worked to untangle the knotted cord. He exhaled through his 45

nose, waited for a connection on the line. Jackie and Frank sat at the table while Tommy rifled through the cabinets, letting the spring-loaded doors slam shut. Glen snapped his fingers at him twice and bent his head toward the receiver. “Manny,” he said. “Yeah, how you doing? .. Good. Yeah, I got it. The reason I’m calling, the books you sold me. The pages are all damp.” He continued to fight with the twisted cord. “What? I didn’t catch that... No, wet. Like, damp. I don’t know. Look, they’re rotten. I can’t use them... Yeah,

I know you don’t have a fucking return policy. No shit it’s a final sale business.”

Jackie saw Glen’s face darken, taking on a purple hue. He paced back and forth between the window and the counter. Frank blew cigarette smoke toward the widow.

“What’s that? I didn’t catch... Bacardi? You’ve got to be kidding me. What are you talking about Bacardi? .. No, I don’t. I don’t like that one bit. I’m telling you, this happens again we’re not going to be making any more trips down that way... Well, you know, these days everybody’s growing... What? Yeah, books. Whatever. Look. The thing is, this line of product, you know. It’s not like it was ten years ago. I can get the same prices... Hey? Manny? ... All right. I’m listening. Go ahead.” Glen cupped the receiver with his palm and narrowed his eyes at Jackie, shaking his head and making a hissing sound through his teeth. He lowered his voice, said “I don’t believe this fucking guy,” and turned his attention back to the phone. “All right then. Yeah. ‘Predate it, Man.

All a misunderstanding. Will do.” He mashed the receiver back on the cradle, the knotted cord bouncing up and down. “Son of a bitch,” he said. 46

Tommy had his head in the fridge, the door opened wide, cold air spilling out around him. “That didn’t sound good,” he said. He emerged with a can, pulled the tab and took a sip.

“He’s going to make it up to us,” Glen said.

Tommy made a sour face and looked at the can. “New Coke?” He said. He started pouring it down the drain in the sink.

“You going to pay for that?” Jackie said.

Tommy dug into his pocket and dropped some change on the counter. “I don’t know why they had to mess with the formula, you know? Coke is Coke.”

“There’s that word again,” Frank said.

“Pm going to need you to drive up to New York, Frank,” Glen said. “You’re going to pick up another two hundred pounds up there.”

“Woah now,” Frank said “I just got back from Charlotte, now I got to go to New

York? This weekend? Where the hell in New York?”

“I don’t know,” Glen said. “Contact them when you get there and they’ll tell you where they want to meet.”

“What about the three hundred pounds sitting out in my garage?” Jackie said.

“It’s all set up now, OK, so don’t give me any shit about it. Manny said he’d already heard from somebody else just before I called. He didn’t know the North

Carolina shipment was skunked any more than we did.”

“Doesn’t he check his product before it goes out the door?” 47

“These guys deal in large quantities, OK? They don’t package the stuff.”

“I know,” Jackie said, “but a guy, I mean, a guy gives me some product looks like

shit I got to start asking questions, like is he trying to get one over on me or what,

because that is not how business is supposed to go.”

“You think I don’t know how this is supposed to go? How the fuck would he

know, Jackie? Ask the fucking Mexicans that hump it over the border.”

Jackie put up his palms, looked away.

Frank lit another cigarette. “So we’re stuck with this fucking shipment.”

Glen nodded. “Like I said, in the meantime, he’s going to make it up to us. We’ll just have to make do.”

“Sounds like I’m not going to walk out of here with my fifty pounds,” Tommy

said.

“You need to settle up with me before you go and do anything,” Glen said. “You

still owe me five grand. Don’t think I forgot about that.”

“What are you yelling at me for?” Tommy said. “Dial it back a bit, chief. I can

hear you just fine. I didn’t do this. I’m here to work today.”

“Well, I’m not going to eat that five grand. Handle your business.”

Tommy spread out the change on the counter, acted like he was counting it, “I

think I’m a little short. I must’ve left the five grand in my other pair of jeans.”

“Listen to me,” Glen said. “You want to make jokes, that’s fine. But you better

play your cards right. You want to tell me you didn’t have a conversation with the D.A., 48

and I want to believe you even though I must be out of my fucking mind to believe you, but your friend Frank here wants to vouch for you, says you’re a standup guy knows how to do his time like a big boy, on top of which you’re my wife’s brother, so I guess I have to live with seeing you at least once a year. But goddamn it,” Glen raised his voice, pointing at Jackie as if this had all been his fault to begin with. “He’s got to treat the fucking product first. Before I can weigh out anybody’s share. I don’t know how long this is going to take.”

“Treat it with what?” Jackie said.

Glen looked at Jackie. “Believe me,” he said. “I’m as pissed as you are.”

“What did he say, anyway?” Jackie said. “What was all that crap about Bacardi?”

Glen shook his head. “You’re not going to like this.”

“What?”

“I’m going to need to use your garage for a while.”

“Am I going to get paid extra?”

*

The man standing inside the booth at the Overlook gatehouse accepted the white paper bag and raised the crossbar. Henry drove the pick-up slowly over the tiger teeth, turned into the country club lot and parked in far back comer where the woods began.

Lightning bugs flashed in the dark across the field, cicadas droned in the trees. It was 49

another humid night. Henry shined his Maglite into the dark, and he and Cal picked their way carefully through the undergrowth toward the development.

“I knew you were going to give him the jelly-filled I would've gotten another

one,” Cal said.

“Consider it community outreach, Cal.”

“You running for town counsel now?”

Henry could smell the cinnamon from the McCormick Spice Mill hanging in the

humid air. He thought it was cinnamon. It probably could have been nutmeg.

Cal slapped a mosquito on his forearm. “Suckers are bad this year,” he said.

“Way worse up here,” Henry said. “Watershed’s right on the other side of those

trees.”

“Price you pay for a view like this, I guess. Must be nice in the day time.”

“You hear about the lost city of Warren?”

“You going to start with the ghost stories now?”

“I take it you heard that one.”

“I’ve heard it.”

“It’s an urban myth, I guess.”

“I don’t think so. My dad used to tell me when the water level was low enough

you could see the steeple from the old church sticking up in the middle of the lake, just

like a buoy.” 50

Henry shook his head and picked his way carefully through the dry branches.

“I’m pretty sure they dismantled the town before they constructed the dam.”

“Not what I heard.”

“Well, I’ll tell you what. When we get done here, you can dive down and take a look around if you want .”

“No thanks. You wouldn’t be able to see anything in that murky water anyway.”

They hiked to where the trees stopped at the edge of the property line, a manicured lawn stretching toward a large private residence with an unfinished wrap­ around deck overlooking the woods and reservoir. Henry enjoyed this part of the job. For some reason being on stakeouts always reminded him of going duck hunting with his father when he was a boy, wading through the tall grass in the salt marshes on the Eastern

Shore, breathing the early morning air, his old lab Riley riding shotgun. One season they’d gone all the way up into Jersey to hunt wild turkey where they knew the birds were driving. It was something he kept with him. He knew where the birds were. He knew where they gobbled on the roost.

Henry stifled a sneeze. There was a sharp unmistakable smell in the air, and it definitely wasn’t cinnamon. A tall heavyset man stood out on his unfinished deck talking with another man. Henry couldn’t make out what either of the men were saying, but he could see the orange glow of the ember passing back and forth between them. The shorter man seemed excited about something. He gestured wildly, drawing orange loops in the air with the lit joint. 51

There was laughter and coughing. Then the tall man opened the sliding glass door and the two of them disappeared back into the house.

“You hear them say something about Bacardi?”

“I can’t hear for shit,” Henry said.

“I was going to get a contact high if I had to keep smelling that.”

“I was starting to think you liked the dope, Cal.”

“I’m not opposed to it philosophically. But I’ll stick with beer. You hear what

Marsh said the other day? Said we’re both out here so much maybe we’re starting to smoke it ourselves.”

“That department’s worse than a senior citizen’s bingo hall.”

Henry heard the sound of an automatic garage door opening on the other side of the house, and he and Cal circled around to a better vantage point. He saw the tall man walking his guest to a white panel van parked at the curb, the words Dutch Contracting painted along the side.

When Cal shifted his weight, stepped on a twig that snapped under his boots, the conversation between the two men stopped and they stood at the edge of the driveway staring into the dark, studying the woods. Henry held his breath. The shorter man climbed into the van and drove off. The man lingered at the edge of his driveway, staring not toward the van but into the dark, still studying the shadows in the trees. He could have been looking right at them for all Henry knew. After a moment, he turned and walked back up the long drive toward his house. The garage door closed behind him. 52

“Did we just get made?”

“Let’s hope he’s not going inside to get a flashlight.”

Before they could retreat, the automatic door opened again. This time the man walked swiftly to the edge of his driveway. He glanced up and down the street and then removed the lid from a large trash can and pulled out a trash bag and carried it across the lawn, past the scrim of trees to his neighbor’s driveway where another set of cans stood at the curb. He looked up at the dark windows in the neighbor’s house as he stuffed the bag into one of their cans. He returned the lid in and crossed the lawn toward his house, up the driveway and back into his garage. The automatic door closed behind him. After a few seconds, the porchlight turned itself off.

“What do you think?” Cal said. “Guilty conscience?”

Henry smacked his forearm. “I'll go get the Warlord,” he said. “I’m getting eaten alive out here.”

Cal snapped on a pair of rubber gloves. “I’ll just be a minute.”

Henry sat in the driver’s seat of the black 1988 Toyota pick-up, engine idling. It was Cal who had nicknamed it the Warlord. He’d spotted it one afternoon in the vehicle lot and was so enamored he’d filled out the request himself. No radio? Check. No bumpers? Check. Cal was a minimalist, but you didn’t need frills when you had a 22R under the hood. Henry preferred the Chevy sedan, which didn't smell like rotten vegetables and Chinese food, but the Warlord was more suited for trash pulls. 53

Cal opened the passenger door, and Henry creased his nose and rolled down the window. “I can smell that up here,” he said.

“It dripped on me.”

“What in the hell do they eat in that house?”

“Same thing every drug dealer eats. The potential of our children.”

“That was some move. Think he’s got something to hide?”

“I think our friend Manuel is slick.”

“How about that other one. Dutch Contracting?”

“Who do you think that knuckle dragger is?”

“I don’t know. But I think he wants to be the next contestant on The Price is

Right.”

*

Jackie pulled the elastic bands on the respirator over his head and strapped the

mask to his face, placed a knee on either of two folded towels he’d laid on the concrete

and hunched over, studying the green and brown piles of marijuana in front of him, a

mass of vegetation that covered half the floor.

The mold was hiding everywhere. At first, Jackie had tried to be selective, but

even if there was only a small amount he had to spray the whole thing or else it would

spread. After a week he’d become less discerning. He’d managed to get through about a 54

third of the product, which was spread out and drying on one side of the garage while the rest was stacked in compressed bricks, waiting to be inspected.

Jackie picked up a dark chunk of flowers from the pile on his right and turned it in the yellow glow from the light he’d clamped to the ladder. He carefully pried open the bud with his fingers, looked into the crevice, saw the small fuzzy white spot. He grabbed the plastic spray bottle at his side and hit it with the alcohol.

Within the first three weeks, Jackie had bought every bottle of Bacardi 151 the liquor store up the street had in stock. Then he started driving around town looking for more. He bought it by the case, even talked to the distributors he knew and asked them to

set cases aside. They told him they were starting to run out.

The entire process was taking longer than anyone expected, and Jackie told Glen he wanted more money for the job. Glen grumbled about it at first but eventually agreed to bump him up to fifty for every pound he treated. It was good to get a raise because it was tedious, back-breaking work, and it wasn’t just about money. When Jackie wasn’t bent over a pile of moldy weed with a spray bottle, he was running all around town on

shopping trips like he was Glen’s personal errand boy. Not to mention his garage smelled

like a laboratory. It was making him nauseous. He’d bought the respirator mask because

it was supposed to be good for working with mold and lead paint, and he didn’t want to

have to worry about breathing the fumes of all that high-proof alcohol. He was cooped up

inside all day, and it wasn’t like he could just open the garage door and let the neighbors

see what he was doing. 55

On top of that, five of Jackie’s regular customers had already decided to look elsewhere, said they didn’t want it, told him to get in touch when he had something else, anything else. Rum or no rum, the moldy pot was not flying off the shelves. Some said they could smell the alcohol on it. Others said they saw mold. Jackie was tired of trying to push an inferior product. This was far from his preferred level of business. He was

better than this.

Three hundred pounds of pot needed a lot of room to dry out, and it was on the

floor, on tables, on shelves - and frankly, it was starting to make him paranoid. He didn’t

want three hundred pounds sitting in his garage, let alone five. He told Glen he ought to

rent out a couple more storage lockers to handle the overflow, spread it out so it wasn’t

all sitting in one place. At least until he could get around to the additional weight. Glen

told him to open an account, and he’d pay for it, so Jackie rented a small ground floor

unit at the Chesapeake Mini-Storage on Eastern Avenue. He rented another at Stanley’s

Self-Storage on Pulaski. He put a hundred pounds in each.

There was so much work to do Jackie swore he wouldn’t get through it, but the

pile was getting smaller. Rising every day at seven a.m. he’d walk to the garage and

begin separating and treating the accumulated product. Twice a week, Frank arrived with

the van and together they repackaged and loaded the dried disinfected bales into the back

and drove them to one of the units.

At half past two, Frank finally arrived, late as usual, to pick up the weight Jackie

had treated so it could be driven to one of the storage lockers. The knee-high mound of 56

dry weed Jackie had treated sat in the middle of the floor. Frank crouched and scooped up the grey-green grass, cupped it in his palm and held it to his nose. He crumbled it between his thumb and forefinger and dropped it back into the pile.

“How much were you able to get through?”

Jackie was staring at his hands like a surgeon surprised the operation had been a

success. “About half,” he said. “It’s slow going, but I’m making progress.”

“Better you than me, my friend.”

“My people don’t want anything to do with this crap,” Jackie said. “The people I

know, I can usually unload a hundred pounds easy.” He snapped his fingers. “Like that.

Back in March, I sold two hundred pounds in one week. All of it, gone. But this stuff, I

don’t know what I’m going to do about this. I think we’re just going to have to cut our

losses.”

“I haven’t had any problems,” Frank said. “I just say it’s something different. I

call it ‘Rumdum.

“Rumdum? No shit. Hey, that’s a pretty good idea, Frank. You think of that

yourself? I mean, but still. It tastes funny. Have you tasted this stuff?”

“Yeah, I know. It tastes like rum.”

“I’ll tell you one thing. I’m never going to be able to drink a pina colada again in

my life. I’ve been trying to dump as much as possible off on Tommy until we can get a

higher quality product. I mean, this is bush league, Frank. I knew Glen was going out on

a limb with these assholes, but...” 57

“Rumdum,” Frank said. “Try it. That’s what Tommy’s been doing. It works. A taste of the islands. People dig it.”

Jackie laughed. “Man, you really surprise me sometimes.”

Frank smiled, wiped his palm on his jeans. “Yeah, I’m full of surprises.”

“Rum bud.” Jackie laughed.

“You see all those cases piling up against the wall? I’ve got all the rum in the

county in here. You can’t get 151 anywhere in Baltimore. It’s all in my garage.”

“That stuff actually work?”

“It doesn’t kill the spores or anything. A tiny bit of toxins are still going to be

there. But yeah, it knocks it out enough you don’t see it.”

“I think I’m allergic to the shit. I had to stop smoking it myself, got something

different from a buddy of mine.”

“I don’t blame you. But I don’t know what I’m gonna do. I think we ought to get

another locker. I can’t keep it all here. This grunt work is not what I signed up for. I’ve

got a fucking restaurant I should be running. Good thing I do run a bar, too, I’ll tell you.

Neighbors might start to get ideas I got so many damn empty cases of rum sitting at the

end of my driveway.”

Frank clawed at his breast pocket, pulled out the soft pack, shook out a cigarette

and popped it between his teeth. “I’ve been wanting to ask you about that.” He pulled the

Zippo lighter out of his jeans pocket and flicked it open. 58

“Woah, woah-” Jackie snatched the lighter out of his hand, Frank giving him a dumb look, Camel dangling from his lower lip like. What? “Hold off there, Frank. Let’s walk outside. You light up in here and we’ll be out of business real fast.” Jackie hit the

button on the wall and opened the bay door to the garage. “I could use some fresh air

anyway,” he said. The two of them walked out to the end of the driveway. “What did you

want to ask me about?”

“That restaurant of yours,” Frank said. “Thought you might be able to tell me

something about that.”

“The Cantina,” Jackie said. Frank never asked him about his investments. Nobody

did. “What do you want to know about it?”

“How’s it working out for you? You making any money?”

“It’s doing all right. I mean, restaurants are finicky. You’ve got to give them at

least two years before you know if they’re going to survive. Why do you ask?”

“No reason,” Frank said. He inhaled his cigarette and blew a cloud toward the tree

on the lawn. “I’ve got an opportunity to invest in something. I’m wondering if I should.”

“Something nearby?”

“Out of state.”

“Oh,” Jackie relaxed. He didn’t need any more competition than the Backstage

Grille was giving him, and he wasn’t trying to start a social club. “Well, I only know

about Maryland. Every state’s different. I’ll tell you, getting a liquor license around here 59

is about as easy as getting inside the Mormon Church’s secret vaults. They guard those things like it’s prohibition.”

“Guy I know’s already got the license.”

“Well, there you go.”

“Place was in operation. He just took over. He’s remodeling, looking for partners.”

“That why you brought that van back covered in mud? You out driving around construction sites?”

Frank nodded.

“So what’s the problem?” Jackie said. “You want me to tell you if it’s going to

make you money? I have no idea.”

Frank shrugged. “I was just thinking out loud. I don’t know shit about restaurants

except how to order food, you know?”

“There’s nothing to know,” Jackie said. “You hire the right people, it’ll more or

less run itself. In fact, that’s the best part, getting to hire all those pretty young girls.”

Frank nodded his head and puffed thoughtfully on his cigarette. “Yeah, maybe I’ll

do it.”

“That and drinking on the house.” Jackie was circling his BMW, checking the

canvas cover for cracks. “I’ll tell you what the worst part about all this is,” he said.

“Having to keep this car out in the driveway. I don’t like using the cover. It leaves

hairline scratches.” 60

Frank lifted up the tan cover and checked out the rims on the BMW. The brake calipers were so clean it looked like Jackie went over them with a toothbrush. “That’s a real shame,” he said. He looked up at the sky and grinned. “Looks like rain too.”

*

Tommy sunk down in the easy chair next to the porcelain fig man lamp and

surveyed the living room. There was a hole in the drywall next to the TV, an

unidentifiable stain on the carpet, evidence of wilder times. He flipped through the

channels, settled on an infomercial for closet savers, turned down the volume and started

to roll a joint at the low coffee table. An hour later, he was deep into The Price is Right,

trying to decide whether the VHS video recorder retailed for more or less than eight

hundred dollars when Deb opened the door, carrying shopping bags in both hands.

“You know it smells like pot in here, right?”

Tommy looked in the ashtray to see if the roach was still burning. He held up his

palms. “Don’t shoot,” he said.

She set the bags down on the floor and stood in the middle of the room with her

hands on her hips like a lawyer getting ready to present her case.

“Hey, Deb,” Tommy said, “how much do you think this camcorder goes for?

Look at this.” He fumbled with the remote and it slipped out of his hand and hit the floor.

The plastic backing popped open and the batteries spilled out and rolled under the couch. 61

He groped around but it was difficult to maneuver without actually getting out of the chair. “Never mind,” he said.

“Did you even start looking for a job today?”

“I told you, Deb. You know how easy it is to find a job with a record like mine? I might as well be Mexican.” He pulled the lever on the foot rest, leaned back in the La-Z-

Boy and heaved a sigh toward the ventilation in the ceiling. “What am I supposed to do, work at the carwash?”

“Money’s money, Tom.”

“Maybe I ought to go take the police exam.”

“Don’t start with me about that.”

He wasn’t in the mood for dredging up the past any more than she was, but sometimes he couldn’t help himself. Besides selling weed, the only thing Tommy really knew was construction. Not that he couldn’t learn something new, but he didn’t see the point. He was thirty-five years old. The train had more or less pulled into the station.

“There’s just so many things I don’t want to do.”

“Maybe if you just got off your butt and looked around, you might find something you actually liked and you wouldn’t have to worry about waiting for Glen to come around.”

“I’m not waiting for Glen. I’m going back to work. We ironed it out.”

“I thought you needed something to show your parole officer.”

“I do. Glen’s got me on the books with Dutch Contracting.” 62

Tommy knew she was right, but it wasn’t that simple. On applications where it asked for a recent employer he just put down State of Maryland and hoped they didn’t ask too many questions. The job training he’d gotten in Jessup wasn’t doing him much good. Inside he’d worked as a porter in one of the galleries, had roaming privileges and as much phone time as he wanted, and there was something comforting about the routine.

He didn’t have to think about where he was going to get his next meal, how he was going to pay his bills, and it had been a relief not to have to decide. But in the real world you had to choose, and he was starting to realize there were just too many choices.

“So, are you going to start tomorrow?”

“Deb, let me put it this way. It’s too late for me to be any of the things I never wanted to be to begin with.”

“Great attitude, Tommy. So what, you’re just going to sit here and wait for something to happen?”

“What do you mean?”

“You act like the world owes you something. You go around with this chip on your shoulder all the time like you expect people to make an exception for you. The way you look at things...” She broke off, turned away from him and looked out through the dirty sliding glass door to the back yard. After a weekend of rain, there was mud everywhere.

“Deb, let me tell you something. If you want something in this world you have to take it. You know what I mean?” 63

“Is that so? Then why don’t you?”

“It’s the truth. I missed some opportunities because I didn’t reach out and take them when I saw them sitting right in front of me.”

“You sure did,” she said. “That’s the truth. In more ways than you realize.”

“Yeah, well. I’m not going to let that happen again.”

*

The black Blazer pulled into a space in front of the Royal Farms convenient store on Carrol Island Road. Glen Howell stepped out of the driver’s seat and walked into the store. A blue BMW 325 that looked like it had driven directly from the car wash, pulled into the lot and parked next to the Chevy. Howell exited the store holding a cup of coffee in one hand, a newspaper tucked under his arm. He opened the passenger door on the

Beamer and climbed inside.

Henry and Cal sat low in the seats of a beige Malibu, Henry’s preferred UC car, watching the lot from the BP gas station across the street. When the 325 pulled out of the lot, Henry exited the gas station and followed it to a duplex three miles south on

Susquehanna Avenue. The property, which sat a few blocks from the water, was secluded by a narrow stand of trees. There was a standalone garage at the end of the yard surrounded by a buffer of cedar and pine, overhanging branches keeping it well-hidden from the main road. 64

Henry drove the Malibu past the street, circled the block and parked across from the house. Cal sat in the passenger seat and focused a beat-up pair of Kmart binoculars on the BMW, watching as it pulled into the long driveway in front of the separate garage. He swept the house, a red-brick colonial, which had evidently seen better days, noted the peeling paint and splintered wood on the porch. There didn’t appear to be a single open window. Blinds were shut, curtains closed tight. He scanned back to the far end of the property. The standalone garage had probably been an addition. It looked newer than the rest of the house. The windows along the side were blacked out as if they’d been painted on the inside. There was a pedestrian entrance on the side of the garage and two automatic bay doors. When one of the doors went up automatically, Cal caught a brief view of the interior, an upright tool chest, a punching bag and weight bench, a few cardboard boxes against the back wall and a stack of tires.

The two men walked into the garage, one of them turning to hit the button on the wall. The door shut behind him. Cal dropped the binoculars in his lap.

“What was that you were saying about drug cartels using tires to conceal their product?”

“You talking about that case up in Boston?”

“The one where they had the dope stashed inside an airplane tire or something.”

“It was a crane tire I think. Narco agents found five hundred pounds inside.”

“How much pot you think you could fit inside a regular tire?” 65

“I don’ know. You keep the hubcap on it, I’d say, a pretty good amount, especially if it’s compressed.”

“I bet four of them would fit nicely inside the back of that van we saw.”

The garage door opened and Cal raised the field glasses and watched as the two men carried cardboard boxes out to the BMW and put them in the trunk. The men were holding the boxes from underneath. The short man with bushy eyebrows climbed into the passenger side of the BMW. The man with hair plugs sat behind the wheel, turned on the engine and pulled out of the driveway.

Henry eased the sedan off the side of the road and kept about five car lengths behind. The BMW picked up the outer loop, drove two miles and took the off ramp, turned at the light and got on the interstate. Five miles later the Beamer took the off ramp again. At the intersection of Pulaski and Ebenezer, the car sped up, pulled into the left lane and made a sharp turn.

“There he goes,” Henry said.

“Stick with him. Let’s see what he’s is up to. Think he’s showing off?”

Henry shook his head. “He’s suspicious.” He dropped the Malibu back another car length in the middle lane. After several unnecessary turns, the BMW ran a yellow light on Rossville Boulevard and headed back toward Rosedale. Henry hit the gas, jumped the red and did a U at Route 10. A minivan, going at least ten miles under the posted limit, swerved into his lane and he braked and they caught the light. He saw the

BMW’s taillights up at the next intersection as it turned into the Sonoco. When Henry’s 66

light turned green, he pulled into the shopping center across the street from the gas station and watched the two men pile from the car.

“Chinese fire drill time?”

“I think they know they’re being watched.”

“Would be any fun if they didn’t?”

“You saw them come out with the boxes, right? They looked full. I think we ought to pop them now.”

“They looked full. That’s all we know.”

The driver was emptying the contents of the trunk into a gas station trash can.

“Looks like a bunch of empty bottles.”

“Wait till they leave, and we’ll check it out.”

“You’re up this time.”

“Yeah, OK,” Henry said, “I’m up. Switch places with me. I’ll check it out. You follow them and see where they go.”

“I think we ought to just pop them right now, Hank. You saw the boxes.”

“And do what, arrest them for a joint? Last I checked warrants don’t grow on trees.”

Henry left the keys in the ignition and opened the door, and Cal tossed him a pair of gloves.

“Keep on them,” he said. He switched on his rover and clipped it to his belt. “I’ll be on channel one.” 67

*

Frank was paging through a copy of The Emperor Wears No Clothes. “The fuck is this about anyway?” he said.

“It’s about marijuana laws,” Glen said. “There’s some surprising shit in there.”

“I never could get into reading,” Frank said. He set it back with the others that were stacked on the workbench.

“You ought to try books on tape,” Jackie said. “That’s how I got through

Dianetics. Seventeen fucking hours.”

“No thanks.” Frank shook his head. “I’m driving, I prefer to listen to Credence.”

Jackie picked up a copy of the book, grinning at the cartoon marijuana leaf on the cover, the fat psychedelic bubble letters. “What am I supposed to do with all of these, anyway. Open a used bookstore?”

“The fuck do I know,” Glen said. “Throw them away if you don’t want them.”

“I’ve been throwing them away. I can’t throw them away fast enough. These guys really need to put one of these in every fifty pound bale?”

“Don’t worry about it right now,” Glen said. “Just help me with the rest.” He stood at the back of the van, sliding the steel tool box toward the edge of the tailgate.

“Jackie’s got a point,” Frank said. “I’m all about changing the laws, but this is a little ridiculous.” 68

“Look,” Glen said. “I didn’t expect anything like this either.”

“Where’s Tommy at today?” Jackie said. “He still owes me for that Rumdum.”

“He’s got your money,” Frank said.

“I didn’t tell him we were doing anything,” Glen said. “From now on, he’s your responsibility.”

“You know,” Jackie said. “Why me? I mean, why not give me Ed or Reese. Why the fuck do I have to get Tommy?”

“Ed and Reese are mine,” Frank said. “That’s my bread and butter.”

Jackie opened the bay door from inside, and sunlight flooded the garage. “Yeah, well. Seriously. Tommy’s a live wire. He can’t be controlled. I can’t control him.”

“He’s a good seller,” Glen said. “We need him to work. If he can move the moldy stuff then let him to do it. What are you complaining for?”

“Yeah, I know. But the guy’s nuts.” Jackie set the package on the scale, and Glen made a notation on his steno pad. “You remember that time at Jerry’s? No, that’s right.

We were waiting on your ass.”

“I heard about that,” Frank said. “What happened, he go postal or something?”

“Tommy went fucking apeshit is what happened. I was at Jerry Gee’s, shooting some pool with him and Deb, and Tommy got a couple drinks in him, challenges these two rednecks to a game, gets me involved in it. We start winning, of course, because I’m playing - Tommy could never win a pool game to save his life - and there’s money involved, and we take them for like, I don’t know, three hundred. But the guys don’t want 69

to pay us. They’re drunk, talking shit. One of them made a pass at Deb, I think, looked at her the wrong way or something. I didn’t see it, but Tommy caught it and he starts yelling at the guy, putting his finger in his face. Next thing I know fists are flying, table next to me gets overturned. I tried to get Deb out of the way. She almost caught a beer bottle in the head. Tommy picked up a bar stool and swung it around - 1 swear to god - threw it right into the fucking bar.”

“Well done,” Frank said.

“Broke every bottle they had.”

“Tommy’s got anger issues,” Glen said. “He’s had a fucking chip on his shoulder ever since he got out of the can.”

“That’s what I’m saying.” Jackie helped Frank maneuver the second tool box out of the back of the van and set it on the floor. Glen knelt down and unlocked it, removed one of the cardboard boxes and picked up the razor blade.

“So I figured that was my cue to leave, you know. I see the cops coming down the bar, and I’m done. I’m looking around for a way out, trying to make sure Deb’s all right, and I look over and see Tommy crawling out the goddamned window. Guy starts a fight and climbs out the fucking window, you believe that?”

Frank laughed. “Probably pushed a waitress down to get there.”

“Well, he’s not my problem anymore,” Glen said. He wrote down the number he read on the scale on a spiral pad, flipped it shut and slipped it in his back pocket. “He’s yours.” 70

“You ever notice I seem to get all of your problems?”

Glen stuck the flat carpenter’s pencil behind his ear. “You got a problem making money, Jackie?”

“Pick up your end,” Frank said.

“I got my end,” Jackie said. “Why don’t you worry about your hacking end?”

“Knock it off,” Glen said. “Let’s just get this over with.” He knelt down next to the big square bale and tore away the clear plastic wrapping. “One thing’s for sure though. I need to keep that fiick-up at arm’s length.”

*

Wedged next to the dumpsters that occupied the area between the station house and the vehicle lot, there was a concrete platform and open shed with an overhanging corrugated metal roof supported by two-by-fours. It was unofficially called “the shed,” and it was the place most detectives knew they could find Henry Wheeler if they ever felt like busting his balls for spending the morning kneeling over a pile of someone else’s garbage.

Henry began sifting and sorting at eight and by noon had accumulated several piles, the most important of which was that of unidentifiable substances that would need to be field tested: possible roaches, seeds, stems, residue and anything else remotely resembling contraband. Another pile consisted of residency papers like bills, magazine subscriptions or anything else that might link the garbage he and Cal had taken from the 71

various drug houses they were watching back to its original owner. The third pile was just plain old trash: cigarette butts, coffee grounds, empty snack bags, used paper towels and uneaten food.

Having thoroughly separated the flotsam from the jetsam - the trash, which would become evidence, from the “just trash” - Henry was hosing down the platform at the shed when he saw detectives Kristy Dunbar and Rick Marsh, waddling toward the vehicle lot.

They stopped to gawk at his latest accomplishments.

Kristy scrunched up her face and gave Rick a sour look. “I take it they don’t like you very much at the ECU, do they Wheeler?”

Henry stood, his knees popping. He smiled at her but didn’t respond.

“Dunbar,” Rick said, “Don’t you know Wheeler here's real po-lice. He’s not afraid to roll up his sleeves and get dirty. See, where other men might look at this pile and see trash, Wheeler sees a work of art. His powers of observation are uncanny.”

“They must be,” Kristy said. “Cause all I see is trash. You say it’s art.”

“That’s right,” Rick said. “Looks postmodern to me. What do you call it,

Wheeler?”

Henry was recoiling the hose. He hung it on the metal reel, wiped his hands on his jeans, stepped back and examined his handiwork. “Shitstorm,” he said.

“Is that one word or two?”

“Thanks, detectives. I appreciate the commentary. You two ought to consider taking that routine of yours on the road.” 72

He stretched his back and swiveled from side to side. “God,” he said, “I really fucking hate trash pulls.”

“It’s a dirty job,” Rick said. He was browsing through the evidence Henry had

laid out on the wooden bench. There was an empty cardboard box that said Bacardi on the side that Henry had used to hold key items. Inside the box were two soiled copies of a

paperback book with an illustration of a marijuana leaf on the cover. Rick picked it up,

laughed at the picture and read the title. “ The Emperor Wears No Clothes? Like the

children’s book? Didn’t know you were a reader, Wheeler.”

“I might not be a college boy like you, but I’m no barbarian. Marsh.”

“True crime is more my genre,” Rick said. He tossed the book back in the box.

“Unfortunately, Sergeant Brooks says we still got to have warrants before we can

go beating down people’s doors.”

“Imagine,” Kristy said. “The nerve.”

“Looks like a hell of a process.”

“Oh, this is only the beginning,” Henry said. “Now comes the fun part. I get to

doc it in, note the time and date. And before I can cozy up to all those lovely forms, I get

to deal with maggots. You two want to see something? Take a look at this.” He opened

the lid on one of the metal cans.

“Christ,” Rick said.

“That’s what I’m talking about. See what I deal with?”

“Better you than me,” Kristy said 73

“Might make you rethink why you took that exam.”

“That’s nasty.”

“May be the worst part of the job, but it is a necessary one,” Henry said. “So what did you two want to talk to me about?”

“Never mind,” Rick said, backing away, still holding his nose. “It can wait ”

“I’m sorry,” Henry said. “You didn’t want to talk about literature?”

Kristy was shaking her head. She held up a hand. “I’m good.”

Rick reached into the Bacardi box and picked up a 3 x 5 photograph. “Wait a minute. This is more like it,” he said, eyebrows pumping. “Now that’s my kind of evidence.”

“What have you got there?” Kristy snatched the print out of Rick’s hand. There was a woman wearing black lingerie, kneeling on a bed in what looked to be a dimly lit hotel room, red hair covering half her face. She whistled approval. “Look at that cleavage.”

“Play time’s over,” Henry said.

“Wait. Let me see that again,” Rick said. “I just filed for divorce last week. You got her number, Wheeler?”

“I do, but you can’t have it.” He took the photograph from Kristy and returned it to the box, not wanting to look at it again. “I didn’t hear about your divorce, Marsh. I’m sorry to hear that, but I hope it was painless.”

“It was expensive is what it was. You were married once, weren’t you, Wheeler?” 74

“Once,” Henry said, his mind flashing on the sunny afternoon in Annapolis, the honeymoon in Cancun, held up at customs because Deb was still drunk from brunch at the resort - six months later, the first time he found an empty wine bottle in the trash,

Deb crying that she didn’t know who she was anymore, that she felt like a prisoner in her own house. One of his prisoners. “I was,” he said. “But keep in mind that was a very long time ago, back around the time that big ice sheet we used to have here receded.”

“What happened?”

“Sometimes,” Henry said, “I think the only way to get rid of a woman is by marrying her.”

“Tell me about it. Mine was tucking one of the guys in her office the minute I started pulling night shifts.”

“Ouch.” Kristy said. “What is it with cops?”

“You see, Marsh. You figured that out all on your own, you’ll probably make a fine investigator.”

“He’s naturally suspicious,” Kristy said.

“All good cops are.”

“Nah,” Rick said. “I’m just paranoid.”

“Too much reefer will do that,” Henry said. “Better lay off the peace pipe, kemosabe.”

* 75

Lightning flashed over the power lines across the street, and the yellow glow from the city mushroomed low on the horizon. The rain was picking up, and Deb didn’t feel like going out anyway, not after the most recent fight she’d had with Tommy. Maybe he was right. Maybe she did have a reputation. Maybe she was naive. He wouldn’t have been the first person to tell her that. Maybe all those guys at the bar were just looking at her because they thought she’d go home with them, not because she looked interesting or even pretty. What it came down to, she just didn’t want to be responsible for someone else’s emotional state. She just wanted to be happy. But maybe happiness was overrated.

Jackie had told her that

Everyone has their reason, however insane, for doing what they do. When

Tommy’s mother died, Deb saw a side of him that she didn’t know existed. When they’d first started dating, Deb thought Tommy was just another bad boy in a string of relationships that had all burned out fast. Tommy was different, but like the others, he offered some excitement, some sense of adventure, which wasn’t always easy to find in

Dundalk. But when Tommy lost his mother Helen to diabetes, Deb saw how vulnerable he really was. And it brought out a side of Deb she didn’t even know had been there.

Sure, Tommy had Anne, and he had his friends, but Deb was the one who was there at the end of every day. “My mother always told me I better not do anything to lose you,” he’d said. “She told me not to fuck this one up.” But then of course he’d gotten himself arrested, he’d fucked up big time. What was she supposed to do? She was a keeper? The 76

bungalow in Brooklyn Park wasn’t everything Deb had been looking for, and it sure as hell wasn’t a relationship. It was just a house with a bunch of crap in it. Without

Tommy’s booming voice to fill it, it wasn’t the same. She started to resent the fact that she had become the sole proprietor of the place.

She didn’t like feeling beholden to Tommy or to any man. There were always strings attached it seemed. Tommy may have put down the deposit for the house, but she was the one putting in the daily effort, making sure the mortgage got paid on time. It was in her name, after all. He couldn’t have anything in his name. After Tommy went away the first time, Deb asked Jackie if he could offer her a couple weekend shifts at the

Cantina. She’d been working part time for an endodontist in Rosedale, but when she

realized how much tax-free money she could take home waiting tables, she said so long to Doctor Kline and picked up more shifts on the floor. The hours weren’t as consistent, but the tips were great. And Jackie wasn’t all that bad once you got to know him. Deb

didn’t see what Tommy had against him, really, figured it was just petty male jealousy.

They were all in competition with each other, and Jackie liked to be flashy. So what? At

least he had a steady job and didn’t have to hide the fact that he could afford to buy nice things. Tommy didn’t even own a collared shirt, wouldn’t even think of stepping foot in a

restaurant that had tablecloths or a wine menu. At least Jackie knew the difference between cabernet and Beaujolais. He knew how to pronounce Beaujolais.

And the Cantina was a laid back place to work. Deb could be herself, and she got

along well with most of the staff. She liked being at the bar where there were people. 77

rather than spending her nights alone in that empty house. At the Cantina, Jackie was the life of the party, the ring leader. And at after their shift was over, they’d all meet at the

Charles Street Tavern to have a few drinks and unwind. Jackie always picked up the tab, and he always left the waitress a big tip. That was something Tommy would never do.

Then there was that first Friday night she knew there was something more between them. The Cantina was slammed and Jackie stopped his conversation with the waitress working the high tops and spun around just as Deb was trying to squeeze past, her breasts brushing against his chest. He leaned forward, pressing into her, and she felt the electricity that passed between them, but she didn’t fully acknowledge it, at least not then.

She and Jackie were over almost as soon as they had begun. It was a stupid mistake, and she told herself it would never happen again. But then it did happen again.

One night she walked in on him alone in the manager’s office, cutting up lines with a

Diners Club card on top of a scarred appetizer plate, and he offered her a hit. “Twist my arm,” she said. The next thing she knew she was giggling like a girl at a slumber party, both of them laughing at how bad they were being, talking about everybody still working out there on the floor, talking about anything that came to mind. The next thing she knew he had his tongue in her mouth, and she liked it. He locked the door, she hiked up her skirt, and they did it standing up against the wall, all that cash and coke laid out on the desk. She could hear the noises from the service station outside the door, other waitresses asking where the hell she was, where Jackie was, why the door was locked. She could 78

feel that acrid taste starting to drip down the back of her throat, and she knew an hour later she’d be back for more. After closing the bar, they continued the party at Jackie’s house until the sun came up. They shared things that night. She wouldn’t call it love, but there was something more than lust between them. The next morning, driving home with a stuffy nose and that glassy feeling in her stomach, whatever she thought she’d felt the night before had vanished. The promise was gone. She was just a waitress at a waterfront bar whose fiance was in prison. Worse than that, she was a cheater, something she’d never thought she’d be. There was nothing good left in the world, and she felt like a ten- dollar whore. She took a cold shower and swore to god if he helped her get through this she’d never touch coke again. But then, promises had never been her strong suit.

Now she was standing in the living room spacing out, staring at the hole in the wall, trying to remember what it was that made Tommy so mad he’d had to kick in the drywall to make his point. Since he’d been out, he didn't seem to get really mad - not like he used to. Sure, he grumbled about Glen constantly, but that was different. He didn’t get really excited about anything, her included. Not that the late hours she was working helped very much.

Her keys were sitting on top of the television console where she’d left them. It’d been happening lately, forgetting where she’d set things, why she’d walked into a room.

The night before she’d delivered a seven and seven to the wrong table on the terrace, and when she’d tried to take it back from the ungrateful shit she’d set it in front of, she spilled it right in his lap. The rest of the night was a blur. She still hadn’t recovered from the 79

after work party. Her mouth was dry, her throat was scratchy, she couldn't breathe through her nose, and she had a headache. She wondered if Jackie was holding.

*

Henry had been taking surveillance photos of Glen Howell and his associates for a month and a half. He’d placed the enlargements in a manila folder along with his notes and lists of contacts, broken down into separate suspects with paperclips. As he began to accumulate more suspects, saw this was developing into an organization, he moved from the folder to a three-ring binder. Now he had photocopies taped on a wall in the investigative room, enlarged headshots of the principles he believed were working with

Manuel Souza. He lined them up in a pyramid according to what he’d determined their rank was within the organization. He’d conducted financial investigations on the principle players, and his paper trail was growing. The file he handed to Sergeant Brooks was an inch thick.

Sergeant Warren Brooks sat in the high-backed vinyl chair, his back to the dusty metal blinds that covered the window in his cramped office. Henry had worked with

Brooks for ten years. Brooks was a good old boy from the east side who’d grown up in

Hamilton, a neighborhood not far from where Henry had lived with his parents in

Parkville. Baltimoreans could be competitive about their zip codes, but there was a bond among people from the east side of the county, which held the largest concentration of 80

World War Two vets in the country. Both of their father’s had served. As Henry’s unit commander. Brooks was responsible for a squad of ten investigators, but Henry knew he had his back. Of course, like most sergeants he also had his eye on the future of his career.

“Glen Howell,” Henry said

“The contractor?” Brooks said. He opened the case file and flipped to an 8 x 10 glossy in a clear acetate sleeve and grunted. “Huh. He doesn’t look like much to me.”

There was a photograph of a short bearded man with bushy eyebrows and a high forehead. He was wearing a baseball cap and his mouth was twisted as if he were in the middle of telling a dirty joke - arms raised, hands waving - kind of like that guy from the movie who’s mad as hell about everything.

“One thing I found interesting,” Henry said, “his business is registered in Middle

River.”

“Essex? You call down to the Eleventh and talk to them?”

“I did. They don’t have anything in the card file.”

“This was the one putting the deck on the house you were watching.”

“That’s right. I think he’s more than just a smalltime contractor. Guy just built himself a house right on the Gunpowder, down at the end of Iron Point.”

“That’s a working class neighborhood,” Brooks said. “Why would he be traveling all the way up to Cockeysville to do a job if he’s based in Middle River?” 81

“My thoughts exactly. He and Manuel Souza are close. They both have sons the same age, both of them are enrolled in the same elite lacrosse camp. Souza even keeps his kid’s dirt bike in Howell’s garage.”

“Any other intel on this company of his, Dutch Contracting?”

“I’m pretty sure it’s a front. I conducted a financial investigation and it looks like it’s been operating at a loss the last five years.”

Brooks shook his head and smiled. “Follow the money. That’s what I always say.

Is the guy married?”

Henry nodded at the folder. “She’s in there too. Keep flipping.”

“This her?” He was looking at a picture of a woman in a zebra-striped one piece bathing suit, sunbathing on a deck.

“That’s her.”

“What’s she do?”

“This is the best part. Are you ready?”

Brooks opened his hands, palms up. “Give it to me,” he said.

“She’s a kindergarten teacher at the local elementary school.”

“I’ll be damned.” Brooks clapped his hands. “How do you like that? And she’s a drug dealer? The state prosecutor is going to love this.”

“I don’t know how involved she is in the business yet. What I do know is Howell likes to entertain, a lot. Likes to show the place off. He’s got a pool table in the loft. Put 82

up a big deck out back with sun chairs. The wives and girlfriends lounge while the boys discuss business.”

“Lifestyles of the rich and frivolous.”

“My guess is Robin Leach won’t be visiting Middle River anytime soon, but yeah. It’s above average, for a guy of his, uh, financial standing.”

“You really think this is the one running the show?”

“I’m telling you, it’s like a who’s who of Coburn’s crew over there, what’s left of it, anyway. I think maybe this Souza is just some kind of liaison. It’s starting to become pretty clear who’s handling day-to-day operations. I saw Tom Murphy over there too.”

“Your arch nemesis?”

Henry bowed. “This guy Howell’s next in line. I’m positive. I’d like permission to set up a wiretap on his residence.”

Brooks held up his palms. “Pump the brakes, Wheeler. We’ll get there. Can you get probable?”

“Norwood and I are working on it. We sent the evidence from the trash pulls to the lab. When we get those results we should be able to write up the affidavit.”

“Good. You let me know when you do and we’ll take it from there. I don’t want to jump the gun on this. I’m going to need to justify a budget first, so just hang tight.”

Henry laughed.

“Something funny?”

“I’m a cop, boss. I’m basically paid to wait.” 83

“Good. Then you shouldn’t have any problem doing your job and waiting a little longer. Just keep your panties on and let me talk to Lieutenant Fitzpatrick about this”

“If I’m right,” Henry said, “and I think I am, we have a whole new ballgame on our hands.”

Brooks laced his fingers together and smiled. “Batter up, Hank.”

*

Henry and Cal stood in the lobby of Stanley’s Self-Storage explaining the situation to Mr. Bob Stanley, owner, manager and namesake of the Pulaski Highway operation, no relation to the ball player. After listening carefully and nodding his head at what he probably thought were appropriate times, Stanley was able to confirm he was familiar with a blue BMW, one that resembled the 325 Henry showed him a picture of, one which belonged to a customer named Jack Pierce who had rented unit 114 for the past year.

“I ought to remember him,” Bob Stanley said. “Man pays cash in advance every three months like clockwork.”

“You ever see what it is he keeps in the unit?” Cal said.

“No, sir,” Stanley said. “I don’t ask customers about what they keep here.”

Cal and Henry shared a look.

“They want to rent from me, their business is just that.” 84

“Of course ”

“See that sign on the wall there? That means I don’t ask questions. They sign the paperwork, that’s all that matters to me. People got too much damn stuff these days.

That’s where I come in. I cover my own ass. I got insurance. Nothing flammable. That’s all I care about. People storing fireworks in there, god knows what else. I don’t want to know.”

Henry produced a photograph and placed it on the counter. “Do you recognize this man?”

Stanley looked at the picture. “Yep,” he said, “sure do. That’s the man rents one fourteen. He comes in pretty regular. Usually with another one looks like he works for the county. I thought maybe they was both contractors come in here with one of those vans got the ladder on top.”

Henry looked at Cal.

“Did you notice if the van said something along the side?” Cal said.

Stanley scratched his head and looked off into the corner of the room. “It definitely said something. I don’t really - Something Contracting, I guess. But when he came inside the first time to pay I could tell he wasn’t any contractor, wearing rings on his fingers, looked like more of a yuppie, you know. I figured he was the boss. The other guy, he wore a trucker’s hat, didn’t say much.”

“Did you get a look at the other man?” 85

“I got better things to do than pry into people’s business, you understand? Most people you know, I prefer not to know what goes on in their personal lives. You do too much digging, you might not like much of what you find. People around here, they’re good people basically. This is working class neighborhood. Course, they start laying people off over at Sparrows Point like they say they’re going to, we’re gonna start having problems like the rest of the city. Unemployment,” Stanley said. “That’ll start some problems all right.”

“Anybody else work in the office?”

“I got one other guy, my nephew, comes in on the weekends sometimes to help out.”

“Can you tell me when was the last time Mr. Pierce paid his bill?”

“Yeah, bud. I believe I can.” Stanley reached under the counter and laid a heavy binder down in front of him, started flipping through invoices.

“Here,” he said. “Back in June looks like the last time he was in. So I suppose I’ll be seeing him again at the end of the month.” He gave the detectives a gap-toothed grin.

“You boys want me to give him a message for you?”

Bob Stanley was smiling.

“No thank you, Mr. Stanley. But I would like it if you notified me the next time

Mr. Pierce comes in to pay his bill. Seeing as how we’re coming up on the end of the month, I guess that’s likely to be next week.”

“Yes, sir. Say, what do you want with him anyway? Is this guy dangerous?” 86

“Well, let’s just don’t say anything unusual to him. You understand? You just take his money like you always do and contact me that’d be very helpful.”

“I can do that.”

“But I’d like it if you could keep whatever bills he gives you separate from the money you keep in the register. You understand? I’d like you to put Pierce’s money in a separate envelope and seal it. But don’t let him see you do that. Can you do that for me?”

“Put the money in an envelope and seal it,” Bob Stanley said.

“And call me right away.”

Henry pulled out a business card from his wallet and handed it across the counter.

“Yeah, bud. I mean, yes, sir. I understand completely. I’m happy to help. I don’t want nothing illegal around here. I run a clean place. In fact, I got half a mind to go out back right now and open her up you boys want me to.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Cal said.

“You sure? It’s no problem. I got the bolt cutters out in the truck.”

“I’m afraid we can’t do that,” Henry said. “If we want to catch him doing anything illegal, we’ve got to do it by the book. But you could be a big help to us if you do just what I asked.”

“Put the money in an envelope, and I call you.”

“That’s correct.”

“No problem.” 87

The chime above the door sounded as the two detectives exited the office. A toilet flushed on the other side of the drywall partition, and a scrawny kid in his mid-twenties sporting a cut-off Motorhead T-shirt and long rat tail walked around the corner from the manager’s suite, buckling his jeans and chewing gum. He looked out through the tinted glass, saw the Chevy Malibu turning out of the parking lot onto Pulaski Highway.

“What I miss, Uncle Stan? Who the hell were they?”

Stanley picked up the business card he’d set on the counter and turned it over in his hand. “Jesus H. Christ,” he said. “Will you look at this?”

“Who?”

“Team America, that’s who.”

Stanley handed the card to his nephew, shaking his head.

“Make's house calls? ”

“You still got those rolling papers on you?”

“Yeah.”

“I suggest you leave them at home from now on.”

*

The special prosecutor’s office at the Circuit Court Building on Bosley Avenue was deliberately kept a few degrees cooler than the rest of the courthouse. Henry sat in one of four chairs alongside Cal, Sergeant Brooks and Lieutenant Fitzpatrick across the 88

table from the assistant district attorney, Alan Butterfield, who was breathing heavily through his beak-like nose, slowly paging through the casefile he’d been handed. Henry could hear the air whistling through his nostrils. He was staring at the pimple on Alan’s forehead, trying to guess how old he was. He knew Butterfield was the youngest A.D.A. to get appointed in recent memory, but he’d yet to meet him in person. The woman Henry was used to working with, Patricia Farmer, was no longer head of the unit, which was disappointing because Patricia had always been pretty amenable. There was never any bullshit with her. Henry had always taken his warrants directly to her and knew he wouldn’t have any problems getting her to forward them to the judge. Patricia had been fired for illegally tapping the phone of the detective she was boning. It was a real shame.

Henry didn’t know the detective, but he knew Patricia, or thought he did, and he was sad to see her go. Now there was a younger generation getting their feet wet, getting a feel for what their position on the chain of command really meant, what a case could do for their careers - or against those careers if they didn’t play their cards right. People were nervous of losing their jobs. Alan Butterfield looked like he was barely out of law school.

“You began this case in 1986?” he asked.

Right around the time you were rushing your fraternity, Henry thought. “That’s right,” he said. “We initially were looking at Bruce Coburn, who was running a drug syndicate in Cockeysville ”

Butterfield paged through the file folder. “I understand he died in prison before we could prosecute,” he said. 89

Before we could prosecute. Kid was probably still in high school at the time.

“That’s right,” Henry said. “Afterward, new information became available that led us to

Howell, and for the past year, Detective Norwood and I have been following his movements.”

“We’ve been watching this guy very closely,” Cal said, “him and his friends. And let me tell you, being a drug dealer? It’s very boring. We’re in the woods every night. We practically tuck these guys into bed.”

Alan Butterfield listened politely and nodded and closed the file and said, “So what have you got to show for it?”

“What have we got?”

Cal looked to Henry. Henry looked to his superiors.

“Howell’s getting nervous,” Brooks said.

“He is,” Henry said. “He watches his rearview mirror everywhere he goes. We’re not even bothering to follow him anymore. We know where he’s going. We just post up at either end of the block. Additional members of the squad watch the storage facility, key intersections. We know if he’s heading to the storage unit or if he’s going to see his man to drop off money or if he’s going to get a cheesesteak sub. We just radio down to the next location and pick him up.”

Lieutenant Fitzpatrick yawned. “I think what the assistant prosecutor is getting at here is this case can’t go on forever,” Fitz said. “You fellas understand that.” 90

With his snow white beard, broad shoulders and deep tan, Lieutenant Fitzpatrick always had a relaxed look. He looked to Henry as if he’d just returned from a fishing trip with Hemingway. He probably wished he was still on that fishing trip. This was clearly just a formality for him.

Henry shared another pained look with Cal before returning the prosecutors gaze.

“We’ve been working around the clock for the past year and a half,” he said. “It’s safe to say we’re getting close. These guys are planning something big. We just don’t know what it is.”

“Close is good,” Butterfield said. He looked again at the files. “What else have you got besides the fact that he has a storage unit?”

“For one, his contractor’s license expired this May. But he’s pretty busy despite being out of work. Makes a lot of phone calls.”

“Good,” Butterfield said. “We can subpoena the phone company. What else?”

“He doesn’t make calls from his house.”

“He may have slipped up,” Brooks said. “Maybe we should request a wire on his house.”

“We’ll check,” Butterfield said. “What else?”

Henry shook his head. “Howell’s good at covering his tracks. Leaves the house three or four times a day, makes calls from the local shopping center, one of the pay phones they keep outside the grocery store up on Pulaski.”

“We can’t ask a judge to tap a pay phone,” Butterfield said. 91

“I know that. I’m not saying that. I’m just explaining to you what the guy’s routine is. He always carries a pager, even when he’s at home. He gets a page, he leaves, heads up to the A & P. Ten minutes later he comes back. An hour later he’s out again. All

day long it’s like that. Back and forth. The same thing every hour. It’s pretty damn clear what he’s doing.”

“You should see the car wash routine they’ve got worked out,” Cal added, getting

Fitz’s attention. “It’s like musical chairs out there.”

“I’m afraid these theories of yours aren't going to be lawyer proof,” Alan said,

closing the file. “I need facts, detectives.”

“If they know they’re being watched then maybe you’re not being careful

enough.” Fitz said

“He doesn’t know,” Henry said

“We’re being discrete,” Cal said. “The guy’s just paranoid.”

“Well, he sounds like a very busy guy for someone whose license has expired.”

Brooks said. “I’ll give you that much.”

“He’s working on something, Sarge. Believe me. By the size of the stems we

pulled out of his garbage, it looks like this guy’s dealing large quantities.”

“Tell him about the money wrappers,” Fitz said.

Butterfield sat up straight. “What money wrappers?”

“We found evidence of homemade money wraps at two of the three locations

we’re looking at,” Henry said. 92

“How much are we talking about?”

“Different amounts, lots of zeros. As well as what appeared to be wet plant material, which field tests confirmed was THC positive.”

“OK,” Butterfield said. “Now we’re talking. I think we’ve got enough to get a warrant.” He shifted his weight in his chair.

Ya think?

“You positive it was Howell’s trash?”

“I personally witnessed him putting it at the curb,” Henry said. “We found proof of residency along with the plant material. It’s all in the report.”

“Show him the book,” Fitz said

“What book?” Butterfield said.

Henry handed over a thick manila envelope. “I’ve come across quite a few of these in the past several months.”

The prosecutor opened the envelope and removed the paperback book, turned it over and scanned the cover. “The Emperor Wears No ClothesT

“Like the children’s book,” Cal said.

Alan flipped idly through the pages. “Looks like pothead lure.” He set the book on his desk, uninterested. “Last I checked we haven’t outlawed books.”

“It’s political paranoia stuff mostly,” Brooks said. “Mumbo jumbo about how

Dow and Dupont are going to destroy the planet.”

“Kind of a cult classic from what I understand,” Henry said. 93

Butterfield tilted his head and frowned, raised an eyebrow. “So why are you

bothering to show me this? You want a wire and this is your proof, a children’s book?”

Henry picked up the paperback and slipped it back in the envelope. “I think

there’s more to this. I don’t know what, but they’ve all got copies of this thing.”

“Maybe they’re all in the same book club,” Butterfield said, laughing at his own joke.

“Regardless, what interested me more than the title was something I found inside

one of the copies we pulled.” Henry opened his files, removed a plastic sleeve and

handed it across the desk. “We pulled it out of a trash can at the Sonoco station on Route

Forty after watching one of Howell’s lieutenants empty an entire case of rum from his

trunk.”

The prosecutor reset his glasses and squinted at the evidence sleeve, bringing it

close enough to read the faded blue print on the receipt inside. “The Palm? What is it?”

“Some fancy seafood place down in the Outer Banks. Caters to vacationers,

members of the yacht club, that sort of thing. I reached out to someone in the drug unit

down there to see if they had any informat ion on the place.”

“What did you find out?”

“Apparently, it was already under investigation.”

Butterfield leaned forward, folded his hands on his desk and raised his eyes.

“OK,” he said. “I’m listening.” 94

“The contact I spoke with was very helpful. Detective Christianson with Nags

Head PD. Very nice guy, more than happy to talk to me about what they’ve been doing.

Evidently, he had an informant a while back that had arranged to buy four hundred pounds of pot from our very own Bruce Cobum. Now whatever Cobum had been doing buying pot from an informant in North Carolina when he had his New York connection in place I have no idea.”

“Drug dealers do weird things,” Brooks said. “Turns out most of these guys are connected one way or another if you dig deep enough.”

“No kidding.” Butterfield said. “So what happened to the deal?”

“It never went down, obviously.”

“I think I can guess why.”

Henry nodded. “Deadsville.”

“And guess who’s part owner of the restaurant?” Cal said

“The Palm? Who?”

“You’re going to love this.” Henry flipped through the case folder and found the picture he was looking for, an 8 x 10 of Frank Salvo stepping out of the cargo van,

cigarette dangling from his lips, trucker’s hat pulled low on his head. He placed the folder on the desk and tapped the print with an index finger. “This guy.”

“Joe Camel? I thought you said he was the bagman, drove the company van.”

“He is.” 95

“What’s with these guys and restaurants?” Fitz said. “Doesn’t the other one own a restaurant too? What’s it, down there on the water.”

“The Cantina,” Henry said

“I heard they have a good steak.”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“So what gives?” Butterfield said. “Why restaurants?”

Brooks looked at Fitzpatrick and shrugged. “You’ve got to diversify your portfolio, I guess, Lieutenant.”

Fitz rolled his eyes. “I’m in the wrong line of work.”

Butterfield fidgeted in his seat, rubbing his hands together, methodically organizing the papers on the table in front of him, aligning their edges and chucking them against the slick surface. “Well,” he said. “This is pretty good. All right. You impressed me.” He closed the file folder and handed it across the table. He held onto the picture of

Glen Howell’s house. “I’d like to keep this copy if you don’t mind. I’ll give it back.”

“If they’re coordinating with out-of-state suppliers we’ll have to reach out to local police in that district, maybe even talk to the feds about this.”

Cal and Henry shared a doubtful look.

Butterfield seemed to be lost in thought, fingers wrapped tightly on the desk. “I want the house,” he said. “I want Howell. And I want his wife.”

“The kindergarten teacher?”

“You’re goddamn right.” 96

Henry looked at Brooks. He shrugged, looked away.

“Hey,” Butterfield said, “a front page story wouldn’t be too bad for any of us, would it?”

Henry raised a hand. “Now wait a minute. We don’t know if she has any involvement in the organization. We’re still not a hundred percent on Anne Howell.

According to her financial records, she’s clean. She makes the house payment. No lapses in income.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Alan said. “I want her.”

“She doesn’t appear to be a doper.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“For one, she’s a kindergarten teacher.”

“I’ve convicted doctors and lawyers,” Alan said, “even cops. Believe me.”

“I’m pretty sure the state school board still requires teachers to get regular drug tests,” Lieutenant Fitzpatrick said.

“There are ways around those.”

“We won’t rule it out,” Sergeant Brooks said. “How’s that sound?”

“The wife is headline news,” Butterfield said.

“I know your office would like to put that kingpin statute of Neighbors’s to work,” Fitz said, “But serious, Alan. We don’t know everything yet.”

“You’re damn right we would. That’s why District Attorney Neighbors

spearheaded this legislation. We want the public to know that we are tough on drug 97

dealers. If we can hang a pine box sentence on one of these jokers we will have delivered that message.”

Talk about lawyer-proof theories. Henry knew Alan Butterfield was eager for a case that would snag the front page of the Star, and he was eager to appease his boss.

Butterfield thought he could twist the facts to fit whatever narrative he wanted to spin. He was fresh out of law school and eager to make a name for himself, already thinking about

his reappointment. But a school teacher with a clean record like Anne Howell’s, a

member of the PTA, could be quite sympathetic to a jury - overzealous cops not so

much

“Lieutenant,” Alan said.

Fitz blinked. He nodded and groaned unintelligibly. It was past his nap time.

“The wife,” Alan said. This A D A. had a habit of flaring his nostrils whenever he

was excited, and he was flaring them now, audibly sucking up all the cold air in the room.

Henry didn't want to see his case stall any more than Butterfield. Expediency was always

the goal, but patience was necessary. There were still more trash pulls to do, more

evidence to gather. He didn’t want another repeat of the Coburn case.

“Drug-dealing kindergarten teacher,” Brooks said. He looked at Henry and Cal

and raised his eyebrows expectantly. “You have to admit, it has a hell of a ring to it.”

“I’ll need some time on the wife,” Henry said. He braced his hands on his knees

and stood from the desk. He’d made his case. There wasn’t much else to say.

“I want her,” Alan said. “And I want the house.” 98

“It’ll be front page news. I guarantee it.”

*

One time Jackie had driven a motorcycle across the Chesapeake Bay Bridge - all four and a half miles of it - in one of those blinding thunder storms that tended to crop up in the middle of a humid July afternoon. He couldn’t say afterwards how he’d done it, but at a hundred and eighty six feet in the air, the only thing to do was to keep moving, so that was what he’d done, driven on instinct, watching the red taillights flash out of the murky grey soup in front of him, somehow coming down the other side in one piece like he was reborn.

Jackie loved that bike. His friends told him he must have had a death wish buying the thing, but Jackie had always been lucky. He still had nightmares about the bridge, though, seeing that flat grey expanse of water through the metal guardrails, feeling the

rumble of the steel grating rolling beneath him, vibrating up through the handgrips,

hearing the rain clicking against his helmet. Jackie was proud he’d kept his cool, but he

knew wasn’t cut out to drive a bike past the age of twenty-five. He wasn’t a natural risk- taker. Eventually he cut his losses and sold the bike. Jackie was making more money by then, anyway, and the BMW was more suitable to a man of his means.

He parked the 325 in the back of the marina lot where there weren’t any other cars

and chirped the alarm. White sails dotted the horizon below scattered cumulous clouds 99

and a cobalt blue sky. He shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his turquoise

Members Only windbreaker and surveyed the marina through a pair of tinted Vuarnets.

There were dozens of yachts and launches bobbing at the slips on the Canton waterfront,

hulls creaking against fenders, fittings clanking against masts. Jackie spotted the Aurora

Borealis by its tall mast, which towered above the smaller cruisers and fishing boats, its

slick varnish shining in the afternoon sun. The large yacht was moored at the far end of

the outer slip.

As he walked down the dock toward the gangplank, he could feel the water

sloshing up under the seventh pier and sucking at the pilings. Jackie liked living close the

water, but he didn’t actually like being on the water. Anything could happen out there.

There was something about floating above all that depth that didn’t agree with his

digestion process.

Glen and Frank were standing on the prow waiting for him, Glen looking like the

perfect seaman with his beard and dark turtleneck, although his flat wooden pipe was far

less conspicuous. Every summer Glen would charter a boat and head out to the offshore

canyons looking for White Marlin. Jackie had been invited to join him plenty of times,

but he never did. He only made the exception today because Glen had said there was

business to discuss, and he knew Glen wanted to show off the big yacht he was buying.

Jackie grabbed the bright brass rail and pulled his weight up. Frank extended a

hand and clapped him on the back. “Welcome aboard, land lover.” He untied the boat

while Glen showed Jackie around 100

“Wait till you hear the deal I’m getting on this thing,” Glen said. He stood at the helm, put the engine in gear and throttled out of the marina, throwing Jackie back against the blue and white cushioned seats. Jackie gripped the rail, the stink of the inner harbor making him nauseous. The bay was choppy, and the big boat was moving fast toward the last buoy. Jackie fastened a carabiner clip on his life vest to an eyelet along the rail. He pulled the nylon straps tighter, felt the boat surging up and coming down over the wake and slamming against the surface of the water. Jackie closed his eyes and squeezed the rail. “Couldn’t we have done this at my house?” he said.

Glen laughed. “Reason I brought you out here,” he said, “I wanted you to see what real money can buy.”

The big boat reared up and came down hard and made a dead popping sound and the salt spray hit the side of Jackie’s face. “I see,” he said. “It’s nice.”

“There’s an opportunity might not be around for too long,” Glen said, shouting to be heard above the roar of the engine. “I want to put everything in place within the next month.”

Frank was silent. He held onto the bow and kept his eyes fixed on the distance.

Once they were out on the bay, Glen eased up on the throttle and the big boat coasted, rocking on the swells, which was a little better, but not by much. Jackie could still feel the weight of all that water pressing against the bottom of the boat.

Glen packed some pot into the small wooden pipe with his thumb. “It isn’t like it was ten years ago,” he said, handing the pipe to Frank. “This is the future. You said it 101

yourself with that Rumdum crap, Jackie. People didn’t want it. Tastes are changing. You saw it. You were right. I don’t want to sell it if it isn’t any good.”

“You grow better weed in volcanic soil,” Frank said. “Hawaii, the Pacific

Northwest.” He sparked the lighter and sucked on the pipe. “That’s where it’s at,” he said, blowing out a cloud of smoke

“That’s what people want now,” Glen said. “If you had a big enough space, it could be grown indoors.”

Dark cumulous clouds were hanging low out over the bay, the sky turning green in the east, whitecaps forming on the water and sailboats tacking hard in the wind. Jackie accepted the pipe and tightened his hold on the safety rail.

“I want you to start looking into renting a warehouse,” Glen said.

“What for?” Jackie said.

“With what I’ve got planned, the storage units aren’t going to be enough. Besides,

I don’t trust them. They’re not cop-proof.”

Glen said he wanted a warehouse large enough it had a loading dock, an industrial type complex. He not only wanted Jackie to find it. He wanted him to run it.

“Wait a minute,” Jackie said. “Don’t you think we’re getting a little ahead of ourselves? What do you mean, you want me to run it? That sounds like a hell of a lot of space,” he said. “You sure we need that much space?” 102

Glen smiled. “We’ll use the rest of it for storage,” he said. “It doesn’t matter.

We’ll put some furniture in there to fill it up. Antiques, that sort of thing. You’ll say you run a Goodwill store. Whatever the fuck. It doesn’t matter.”

“OK, fine. But you know. I’ve got the Cantina to deal with. I can’t be in two places at the same time. Maybe you ought to get Frank here to run it.”

“I’m going to be making deliveries,” Frank said.

“It ought to be close to the interstate,” Glen said. “Make his deliveries easier.

Maybe one of the old paint factories under 895? I don’t know. That might work. Check those out. Look into it and let me know what you find.”

Glen said he was willing to pay Jackie thirty thousand just to handle the purchase.

One lump sum, in cash.

“Thirty grand?” Jackie said. He still felt like a bowl of Jell-O, his head was

swimming, but he heard Glen saying thirty grand, and then he heard himself saying yes.

Of course, yes. “I could probably do it,” he said. “Maybe later this week. I’ll have to

see.”

“Good,” Glen said. “Take your time. Find the right spot. But do it soon. Start

looking, and tell me what you find. This thing is going to be huge.”

“What is going on?”

“The suppliers are moving out of New York,” Frank said, “They told me last time

I went up there. They want somebody that can manage a major distribution hub for them in the Mid-Atlantic.” 103

“And that’s supposed to be us?”

Frank grinned. “It will be.”

“But why are they getting out?”

“I don’t know,” Glen said. “I guess they want to retire or something, which is what we’re all going to be able to do after this goes through. In style.”

“So where’s this stuff coming from? It’s not coming from Mexico?”

Glen shook his head. “They have grow fields in this country now. They’re growing on National Park land. West Canada. Canadian Bud, Kind Bud, OK? Northern

Lights. You taste this stuff here? Taste the difference. It’s good for sea sickness.”

He handed him the pipe.

“This is the stuff I’m talking about. They have growers up there. They put it on a plane - a little twin engine Cessna - one of those little puddle jumpers - and they fly it to

Colorado Springs, and Frank here is going to be waiting for them when they get there.

And he’s going to drive it all the way back here.”

Jackie looked at Frank to see if he was actually on board with this. Frank nodded.

“They’ll orchestrate the whole thing?”

“They have the buyers,” Glen said. “All we have to do is store it, basically.

They’ll put us in touch with the people who want it.”

“You know what it sounds like to me,” Jackie said. “It sounds too good to be true.” He loosened his grip long enough to light the pipe and inhale. 104

“You’ll run the warehouse,” Glen said. “They’ll say ‘so-and-so is coming up from

Virginia.’ They might want you to give him seven hundred pounds, whatever.”

“Simple as that,” Jackie said. “Seven hundred pounds?”

Glen was smiling at Jackie as if he could read his mind.

“Simple as that,” Frank said.

“Let me get this straight,” Jackie said. “You want me to rent a warehouse in my name and let you store enough marijuana in there to put me away for life?”

“You need me to draw you a fucking diagram? What do I pay you for? Yes, I want you to store it. Don’t be such a pussy. I’ll get you some help with selling it. Frank

here can help.”

Jackie must have had a look on his face like he was trying to do long division because Glen told him again there was no reason to worry. “They have plenty of guys in

place who can continue to do whatever they want,” he said. “These people will receive the shipments and distribute to us. They’ve got people like us from Georgia to Maine,

connections out west. It’s a very big network, Jackie. You understand? We’ll have plenty

of support.”

“Uh-huh.” Jackie was thinking about what he could do with thirty grand

Glen said he had gone up to New York and had a meeting with Manny’s people.

“You should have seen the size of the place,” he said. “They gave me the grand tour, said

they could fill it from floor to ceiling if they wanted. All I have to do is say the word. 105

They’ve been scouting me out,” he said. “All this time. All of us. They know everything.”

“That’s comforting,” Jackie said. “What do they know about me?”

“Plenty. These guys did their homework, said once I have access to the space, they’ll send us much more than what we’ve been getting. I’m talking thousands of pounds.”

“What are we going to do with a thousand pounds?”

“Not a thousand, Jackie. Thousands.”

“Jesus, Glen. I don’t know if can keep playing this game. I’m trying to scale back, not step it up. I thought you wanted to chill out a little.”

“You got a new game? This is the only fucking game. It’s always been the game, and it sure as shit still is. What are you gonna do, manage a restaurant your whole life?”

“I never wanted to get mixed up with the guys you deal with,” Jackie said. “This is your deal, Glen. It always has been. Like you said, I work for jom.”

Jackie looked at Frank, checking to see whose side he was on.

“It is what it is,” Frank said, shaking his head.

“Look,” Glen said. “The way it is now, we all work for them. They say we got to fly to Miami to have a conversation, we fly to Miami. That’s the way this works now. So don’t get nervous on me. You’ll do fine. “We’re in a unique position here. And it’s going to be big.” 106

Glen had a look in his eyes Jackie had seen before. He was drinking the Kool-

Aid. He kept using that word, “big.” He repeated it like a theme.

*

“Do you realize how easy it would be?”

“Easy for who? You or me?”

“For both of us. It’s a weed. You don’t have to do much to make it grow, am I right?”

“I’m no farmer.”

“You don’t have to do anything, Frank. You’ve got that empty room. Shit, living way the hell out where you do? No woman telling you what to do?”

“Sure. Piece of cake for you.”

“I told you, I’ll get the lights and set it up.”

“Man, you’re always talking.”

“I’m always thinking, Frank.”

Tommy rapped his knuckles on the bar in time with the music. “You hungry?” he said. “I could go for a pit beef sandwich.”

Frank was watching the tall skinny girl slice through the fog that filled the low stage. The girl stepped carefully over a speaker cable while purple and green klieg lights 107

flashed on her half-naked body. He took a swig of beer and set the bottle down on the bar.

“Maybe later.”

“You sure? I’ll run out to the parking lot and get one. They’ll let you bring it in and eat at one of the tables here. Seriously. My treat .”

The dancer worked her way around the stage, a wad of soiled bills sprouting from her ankle. “Look at the way she moves,” Tommy said, summoning her over with a bill. “I don’t know about you, but I’m beginning to believe in levitation, know what I mean,

Frank?” He smiled, teeth tinted purple from the stage lighting.

“She’s all right,” Frank said, craning his neck. “I’m still looking for mine. I guess she’s back there somewhere.”

A dancer with a barbed wire tattoo on her thigh and a surgery mark across her belly emerged from behind the velvet curtains. Tommy was tapping his foot under the table. His nostrils twitched. Iggy Pop was singing about being a wild one.

“Let me ask you something, Frank. Did I step in shit or something?”

Frank shook his head. “Don’t know what I can say about that, cuz. I guess what it comes down to is what you’re willing to trade your time for. Glen’s been talking about eliminating risk, whatever the hell that means.”

“I’ll tell you what means. It means keeping as far away from my ass as possible.”

The dancer tugged at one of her nipples, stretching the skin out like pizza dough.

A mixed crowd of aging fraternity brothers, truck drivers and bikers whistled approval 108

and clapped their hands as the outgoing dancer knelt to gather loose bills that had accumulated on the dirty stage. She stepped awkwardly down the steps like a horse trying out new shoes.

Frank waved his hand in front of Tommy’s face. “Hey, kemosabe. You look like you’re picking out carpet samples. I asked you out, try to cheer your ass up.”

“Yeah,” Tommy said. “I was in a good mood, but you got me thinking about

Glen.”

“Glen’s not here.”

“You’d think my doing two years for when I could’ve easily copped a plea. DA was dying for me to take his deal. Think that would’ve mattered a little more to the guy.

Cops never came knocking on his door, did they?”

“No, they did not. Not yet, anyway.”

“I mean, what have I got besides this crew? Wish I had something like you do I

could fall back on.”

“Fall back? Shit,” Frank said. “I don’t fall back. I only move forward, brother.”

The dancer with the barbed wire tattoo crab-walked crotch-first across the stage.

She stopped in front of Tommy, slid down onto her knees and leaned in close, letting her

hair fall into his open mouth.

Frank slid his beer bottle out of the way. “I think you’ll like this one,” he said,

peeling a loose strand of hair off the wet green bottle. “You know, I think strippers are

the smartest people.” 109

“Are or aren’t?”

“I’m tell you, they know things other women don’t. Street smarts, you know?

They’ve been through it, got ways of helping you forget your troubles.”

Tommy offered the dancer a single and she threw it on the stage behind her and moved on. “I got plenty of those,” Tommy said. “I got a wife goes out and buys herself a car without asking me first. I get out of the can, she pulls up in a brand new sports car with money I was counting on having when I got out. So I got to listen to Glen bitching at me. She’s got to have the car, so what can I do? Glen’s gonna have to get in line, you know what I mean? And the other thing is she looks good now. Like she must’ve lost at least ten pounds. You notice that?”

“You trust her?”

“What choice do I have? Yeah, I trust her. She drinks too much, but I trust her.

She’s got the nerve to tell me I party too much, I ought to take a night off every once in a while. You should see her. The other night we went down to the Salted Nut I don’t know how we got home but we did, only she can’t make it to the goddamned door, decides to curl up at the end of the sidewalk and take a nap. Neighbors looking out their windows, I got a wife can’t make it up the two steps to get in the front door. And she’s got the nerve to give me shit for falling asleep in front of the TV, like that’s a crime.”

Frank shook his head. “Why I stay single,” he said. “There’re advantages.” 110

“I know it. I should’ve done the same, but me and Deb, we’re family, you know?

She was there when my mother died, you know. I don’t know. Sometimes, I think my mother and sister chose Deb for me.”

“Well, I’ll tell you what. I ever got arrested like you did, I don’t think too many women would be lining up to send me care packages like Deb was doing for you, driving all the way out to Jessup on her lunch break to sit on the other side of that Plexiglas wall they got in there and listen to my troubles.”

“Yeah, my troubles,” Tommy said. “I got enough of them, Frank. Believe me.

You know, all that time I was in the Cut I never once heard from Glen, not a birthday card, a Christmas card. Nothing. Not once did he try to see how I was doing. Wasn’t like

I needed some long weepy letter from the guy, but he could have sent a card, you know, said ‘Hey, how’s it going, just wanted to let you know I’m thinking about you. Say hi to

Willie Horton for me.’ But did he? No. After all we’ve been through it pisses me off just thinking about it.”

“Don’t know what to tell you there, partner. You might as well suck it up like the rest of us.”

“What is this shit I hear you all’re going out on a boat, having meetings without me?”

Frank shrugged. “I thought you hated the water.”

“I do. That’s not the point. It just irritates me.”

“Glen wanted to show off the new Bayliner he’s buying.” I l l

“I bet he did. Guy’s always got to have something that’s better than what everybody else has, doesn’t he?”

Frank laughed. “Glen has always liked his toys.”

“So now it’s yachts. I bet he knows everything there is to know about them too, doesn’t he? Remember how he was with the tropical fish? Freshwater, saltwater, he had the tanks with the special filtration, every week a new kind of fish. Oscars, plecos, angelfish, shit. He must’ve spent a fortune on those things, and then he wonders why he never has any money. Comes bitching at me like I should pay him double what I owe.”

“Take it easy, will you? Have another bump or something.”

“I’m ready for one. I’m going in the bathroom right after this beer.”

“I’ll tell you why he wanted us out on the boat, you want to know.”

“Tell me.”

“He wanted to discuss business. And he doesn’t trust you because he knows you deal with shady people, and he’s afraid you’re going to get popped again.”

“Yeah, he’s afraid.”

“Yeah, well. He doesn’t want to get popped.”

“Some people just don’t know how to treat their friends.”

Frank shook his head. “This ain’t about friendship, brother. Figured if anybody would know that it’d be you. Glen just needs people he can trust.”

“He knows he can trust me. And I’ll tell you something, Frank. I’m not the only example of how quickly the wind can change in Glen’s world. You might be in the inner 112

circle right now, but I’d watch your ass if I were you. You find yourself outside that circle real quick.”

Frank laughed. “Yeah, well. He can be a cold son of a bitch when he wants to be

I’ll give you that.”

Frank saw the woman he was looking for and flagged her down with a twenty.

“Now if you’ll excuse me,” he said, standing from his chair and draping an arm around the dancer. “Me and my friend Jackson here have a date with Candy in the back. You like

Jackson, don’t you. Candy?”

“I like Grant better.”

Frank smiled at Tommy. “See that? I told you. Smart girl.”

“Makes the world go round,” Tommy said.

Frank tossed a bag on Tommy’s lap. “Don’t do too much of my blow while I’m gone.”

*

Deb stood at the mirror, concentrating on fastening her earrings in the mirror. “I want to have a talk when I come home,” she said. “Can we do that?”

“A talk about what?” Tommy said. He was holding his head in his hands and massaging his temples.

“I don’t have time right now,” she said. “But later, all right?” 113

“Fine. Whatever ”

She sat down next to him on the bed. “And I’d like it if you were sober.”

Tommy sat up straight and slapped his thighs with both hands. “Well,” he said.

“I’m sober now. Can’t make any promises about later. Maybe if you’ve got something to say, you should just say it.”

She stood from the bed and straightened her skirt. “I don’t even know who you are anymore.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You’re going to wind up right back in jail if you’re not careful.”

“That’s not going to happen.”

“It’s not?”

“I’m being careful.”

“You think selling pot to your nephew and his friends is being careful?”

“I’ve got a plan.”

“I’m sure you do, Tommy.”

“I’m just trying to make some money, Deb. How are we supposed to pay for that car of yours? Or this house?”

“The car is great, Tommy. It is. So’s the house. But enough is enough. I mean, this is not really the life I imagined for myself, you know?”

“Hey, it’s not so bad, is it?” He gestured toward the house as if she ought to take a look around and see for herself. “Did you ever think you’d ever have it so good?” 114

“Maybe I never wanted it so good.”

“What about that trip to Jamaica? You forget about that? How about the fur coat I bought you?”

“Look, the stuff is great Tommy. It is. But it’s just stuff.”

“Some women would be happy their man bought them all that stuff.”

“I’m sure some girls would keep their mouths shut and heads down if that’s what you’re looking for. You know, maybe it isn’t a matter of wanting the good life. You ever think of that?”

“Well, having options is damn sure better than not having them.”

“What else could you possibly want?” she said. “Tell me. What are you still doing this for anyway? You’re asking for trouble.”

“I’m doing it for us, ace. I mean, if money isn’t the answer, then tell me what is.

You want to get a dog?

“No, you idiot,” Deb said. “I don’t want a dog.”

“Then what? What do you want? Hey, wait. You’re not pregnant, are you?”

“God no. Thank God I’m not...” She almost laughed, but stopped herself. She turned away from him and looked at the furniture in the room, the dresser, the lamps and pictures on the wall, all of it stuff she’d picked out. The only thing Tommy had ever done was throw money at her, tell her to go buy something nice, whatever she wanted. He didn’t care, and she wasn’t sure she cared much either. Not anymore. She smoothed 115

down the comforter on the bed, avoided looking at him. “Tell me something. Do you really want to get married?”

“Of course, I do. I gave you a ring, didn’t I?”

“Because, you know. If it’s not going to happen, maybe I need to get my own

place.”

“You want to leave?” Tommy started to laugh, but the sound caught in his throat.

“What do you mean?”

“I’m not saying that,” Deb said. “I just need to look out for me right now.”

“Where are you going to go?”

“I don’t know. I’m not saying I’m going. Just don’t make this any harder than it

is.”

“Well, goddamn it, Deb,” Tommy said, trying to sound like he was shocked. “I

mean, you got to do whatever. You need some time, I’ll give you some time. But don’t

think I’m going to wait around forever.”

“Who do you think’s been waiting around the last year and a half, Tommy? You

proposed to me and then you got yourself arrested.”

“You want to get married, we can fly to Vegas and get married tonight. Why

don’t we do it?”

“Look, I have to go to work. Tommy. I didn’t even want to get into this with you

now. I shouldn’t have even brought it up.”

“Forget about it,” he said. “I get it. Just go to work. Go back to your boss, Jackie.” 116

Deb turned away from Tommy and left the room. He heard the front door slam and then the Mustang’s engine revving up, picking up speed as it moved down the street toward the highway.

*

With the late afternoon sky overcast and the hanging fluorescents reflecting in the glass, Henry could also see himself in the tall window. Behind his left shoulder he could also see the reflection of Detective Kristy Dunbar who sat at the last of a row of desks on the other end of the squad room. Dunbar was leafing through a binder and making notes in a spiral bound pad, trying to ignore the metallic click-click-click of Norwood’s typewriter, which resonated from the metallic desk which he was hunched over, hunting and pecking.

Dunbar dropped her file on the desk and tossed the pen on top of the stack of papers. She glared at Cal, but he didn’t notice. “What’s taking you so long over there,

Norwood? You never work a typewriter before?”

“It's not that he can't type,” Henry said, turning away from the window and approaching Cal’s desk. He looked over his partner’s shoulder and frowned. “Cal just doesn't do well with forms. See, he starts staring at all those lines and boxes on there, he'll be here all day.” 117

“You two keep talking over my shoulder,” Cal said, “I’ll be here all day.” He

squinted at the text on the form and tapped two keys, hit the space bar.

Henry leaned in close, squinting. “First thing you want to do is feed the paper into the machine the right way,” he said. “Otherwise, you’re going to mess it up. Everything’ll

come out cockeyed.”

“No wonder he keeps screwing up his property reports,” Kristy said.

“You heard about that?”

“Word gets around.”

“I never said I was a fan of paperwork.”

“Don’t know too many cops who are.”

“What makes you so special, Wheeler?”

Henry grinned at Kristy, scratched his chin. “Good question,” he said. He looked

back at the curtainless window searching for an answer. He began to pace the floor. “It

takes discipline,” he said. “You want to build a successful case you have to log the

evidence. You’ve got to fill out your property sheets and write your reports.”

“And here I just wanted to play cops and robbers.”

He stopped walking. “You can do that too.”

“Would you two knock it off?” Cal said, “I’m trying to concentrate.”

Kristy laughed. “Trying to concentrate?”

“Sure thing, partner. Just remember to do me a favor. Don’t tangle up chain-of-

custody on the items you submit to evidence control.” 118

“Got it, Lieutenant.”

“And while we’re at it, how about remembering to sign and date your information sheet? I don’t like seeing my name in red ink on that board over there.”

“You think I do? What is this? I didn’t know it was time for my review.”

“You mean to tell me you two haven’t wrapped this case yet?” Kristy said, crossing her arms and leaning back in her chair, smiling now, enjoying this.

“You’re one to talk, Dunbar. Your solve rate is so low, it’s a wonder you do anything around here.”

“A case like this one,” Cal said, looking up from his typewriter, using his hands to emphasize his point. “A case like this is like a woman, Dunbar. You wouldn’t understand.”

“I’m sure I wouldn’t.”

“It’s a delicate thing. It takes time. You can’t just go out and jump her bones on the first date.”

“Jump her bones? At what point is it OK to jump her bones?”

“Soon.”

“How soon is soon? I was starting to think you two actually liked being on

stakeouts you’ve been on this case so long.”

Cal pulled the form from the typewriter, tucked it in his file folder. He stood up

straight and draped his sports jacket over his arm. “Tell me something, Dunbar,” he said, 119

walking over to her desk, peering down at her. “How come you were smart enough to take the test to become a detective, but you still can’t keep your badge clean?”

Kristy looked down her nose at the tin pinned to her uniform. She tilted it upward

and frowned. “Norwood,” she said, breathing on the badge and rubbing at it with her

sleeve. “I think I found your nose. It was in my business.”

Henry laughed and moved to the doorway. Cal pulled on his jacket and joined

him.

“I think the smell of garbage is making you both irritable,” Kristy said, shaking

her head and returning to her log book.

Henry and Cal looked at each other, pumping their eyebrows in unison.

“Maybe she’s right?” Cal said.

Henry nodded. “Definitely.”

“I’m irritable as shit.”

“Dunbar,” Henry said, “What are you doing tomorrow?”

“Same shit. Different day. Why do you want to know?”

“You want to help us serve a warrant?”

Kristy stopped again and looked again at the two of them. “You serious?”

“C’mon. It’s going to be a big day. Might even get your picture in the paper.”

Dunbar seemed to be waiting for the punchline. “I get to be a part of the A-team

now? I thought you two had your act down pat.” She held a finger to her chin and then 120

pointed it at the two of detectives. “Let me see, you’ve got the good cop, and you’ve got the bad cop. So who would I get to be?”

Henry looked at Cal and smiled.

“You ever take any acting classes?”

*

Tommy had the TV volume cranked up loud enough that he’d be able to hear it over the rattle of the fan in the bathroom - another thing he’d been meaning to fix. He sat on the lid of the toilet, puffing on a joint and listening to the muffled sound of the commercials on the TV in the next room. He looked around at the pink floral-patterned wallpaper in there, thinking maybe he might tear it out and paint it something dark, grey or navy blue. There were a lot of things he could do. He exhaled a thick cloud of smoke and watched it rise up toward the exhaust fan in the ceiling. A dimmer, he thought. A dimmer in the bathroom would be nice.

He never understood why they always made the commercials louder than the actual program. He just wanted to hear the verdict on the court show he’d been watching even though he could guess how it was going to end. These shows were all the same: some girl suing her ex over money she said she was owed. She didn’t have a contract, not that it mattered. That judge always ruled in favor of the women. i

121

When he heard the doorbell, his first thought was that it must be his nephew Chris

stopping by to pick up more weed, only he was pretty sure Chris had lacrosse practice,

and besides, Chris never rang the doorbell. Tommy kicked off his flip-flops and stepped

in his socks to the door. The blinds were drawn and he couldn’t see the street. He held his

breath and peered through the peephole. A girl who looked to be in her early twenties

stood on the porch. A white VW Cabriolet sat at the curb with the hood propped open.

The girl was looking around like she didn’t know where she was. Tommy opened the

door.

“Hey,” the girl said. “I’m really sorry to bother you, but I’m having some car

trouble.”

“Looks like it.”

“Would it be OK to use your phone?”

“What’s the problem? You want me to take a look at it for you?”

“Actually, I think maybe the battery’s, like, dead,” she said. “It’s happened

before. I’m going to have to have it towed somewhere.”

“Might be the alternator,” Tommy said. He glanced over his shoulder, saw the

TV, smelled the weed, figured she probably smelled it too by now. Her maroon

sweatshirt said Towson State University across the chest. He wondered what a Towson

girl was doing stranded in South Baltimore. Whatever it was, it probably explained her

nervousness.

“I think I ought to call a tow,” she said. 122

“Sure,” Tommy said, opening the door wide for her. “Come on in. Phone’s in the kitchen.”

Tommy retired to the La-Z-Boy and watched the TV on mute while the girl stood at the open counter making her call. Looking back on it later, it did seem like a pretty damn short phone call for trying to schedule a tow. She hadn’t said more than a few words, didn’t give her make or model or anything. Tommy was too busy distracting himself with trying to read the closed-captioning on the TV and half-wondering if he

should offer her a hit, sort of entertaining a fantasy that he’d read about in Penthouse

Forum

When the three black and whites pulled up to the curb out front and a stream of what must have been a half dozen county cops came pouring through the front door,

Tommy had a momentary feeling of deja-vu, and not because he’d already been arrested before and had had guns pointed at him on more than one occasion, but because of

something else that he couldn’t quite place, something about how the girl, who he now

realized was in fact a cop, was standing, no longer with her hip sticking out, but more like

a soldier would stand with her legs slightly apart - and the way the clouds outside the picture window were refracting the light and the commercial for the adjustable bed that was playing on the TV, and the stain on the carpet - all of it seeming like something he’d lived through before. That was why he didn’t run, why he slid from the chair and dropped to his knees and laced his fingers behind his head as he was instructed to do. 123

Tommy lay on his belly staring up close at the stain on the carpet, thinking about the twenty-two pounds of pot that was sitting in the Tupperware container under his bed and how long it would take them to find it. They must have known it was there. If they’d remembered to bring the dog with them it probably wouldn’t take long. Then he saw the dog and knew that he was fucked. As one of the grunts escorted him out to a plain Crown

Vic idling at the curb in front of his house, he saw the girl again, her badge hanging from a lanyard outside her college sweatshirt. She definitely didn’t look anything like a college girl anymore. She looked like a cop.

*

“Detective Dunbar had you fooled, huh?”

“That the girl who knocked on my door?”

Henry nodded. He took a seat next to Cal across the table from Tommy Murphy inside the interrogation room.

“Man,” Tommy said, “she looked like Little Bo Peep to me.”

“Thought it was your lucky day?”

Tommy shrugged. “She looked like a college girl, all right, until she pulled out that badge. I guess she wasn’t calling Triple-A.”

“No, she wasn’t,” Henry said. “She was paging me, right after she spotted the roach in your ashtray.” 124

“You want to tell us about the scale and the dope we found in your bedroom?”

“Not especially.”

Tommy looked off Henry’s shoulder, his gaze shifting to the mirrored window on the wall behind him.

Cal made a clicking sound with his tongue. “The charges do pile up quickly, don’t they? What do we have so far? Let’s see. Possession, intent to distribute, obstructing justice.”

“Justice doesn’t like to be obstructed,” Henry said

“You two work on this routine?” Tommy said.

“You like comedy?” Cal said. “I’ll tell you a good one if you want to hear it.

You’re going to get three to five just for possession. You want to talk about intent to distribute? That scale? I’m sure we can get it up to ten.”

“We can make this real easy for you,” Henry said. “We’ve been through this before, me and you. Haven’t we? Maybe this time we just make this an arrest and release and you can go back to your business. You want to tell us about your boss, Glen Howell.”

“I don’t have a boss.”

“Wrong choice of words.” Henry showed Tommy his palms. “My apologies.

You’re an independent contractor, am I right?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I hear your brother-in-law has been busy,” he said. “Going to put a bunch of small-town shits like you on the map.” 125

“Why would you expect me to say anything?”

“I got news for you, Tommy. That kid you sold four pounds to in the parking lot

of the high school? We arrested him. And he’s willing to tell us whatever we’d like to

know about purchasing marijuana in Middle River, he’s going to tell us about the deal

you worked out with Howell’s son, and he’s going to help us to put you both away for a

very long time.”

Tommy wondered if they’d picked Chris up too. He hoped to god Chris had

managed to get rid of the five pounds he’d sold him. Deb was right. He should have

never gotten involved with his nephew.

“Maybe we can help you out,” Cal said, “you want to help us out.”

“Help me how? You think I care about prison?”

“You’re looking at five-to-ten easy, Tommy. Think about it.”

“I can do five-to-ten standing on my head.”

“That so?” Cal said. “Going to be kind of hard standing on your head with a dick

in your mouth.”

“Who pissed in your coffee, detective?”

Henry backed Cal off with his eyebrows. “What detective Norwood means,” he

said, “is that the City Jail is probably a little different than what you’re accustomed to.”

“C ity?’

“Oh, do I have your attention now?”

“Shit,” Tommy said. “If I talk to you assholes, I’ll be dead tomorrow.” 126

Henry put his hand on Tommy Murphy’s arm. “You only live once. Am I right?”

Cal placed a rights waver form on the table and slid it in front of Tommy. Any confession would probably be challenged in court but it was better to have something on paper they could use as leverage later. Tommy Murphy was obviously stoned, his pupils like pinpoints, eyes blasted to hell. Not that it made much of a difference anyway.

Tommy wouldn’t budge, wouldn’t even look at the form. He refused to say another word until he could speak to his lawyer.

*

Tommy’s lawyer, Mark Diamond, called Bad Boyz Bail Bonds where he always got a referral discount of eight percent rather than the usual ten, and he covered Tommy’s fifty-thousand-dollar bond to be added to his retainer. The following Monday morning, after riding the MTA bus an hour into the city, Tommy got off at Baltimore Street and walked two blocks to the Redwood building. He took the elevator to the eleventh floor, and by ten a.m. he was sitting hunched over in an upholstered office chair that sagged in the middle. Mark Diamond sat on the other side of an expansive oak desk covered with stacks of paper, file folders and binders, reviewing the arrest documents.

“A guy your age,” Diamond said “You got your whole life ahead of you. You should just take the plea.” 127

“Could have fooled me,” Tommy said. “I thought pleas were a racket. You told me that yourself.”

Diamond nodded and continued to thumb through the papers in his briefcase.

“Did I say that?” He pulled out a file and opened it on the desk. “Well, that’s probably because it’s true. But look, they caught you red-handed with twenty-two pounds and a scale. They’ve got you on possession and intent here. There’s not a whole lot I can do with that. We can say, what? That it was your fiance’s? Of course not. We can’t say that.

We can say you were doing a favor for a friend?” He lowered both of his chins and look

Tommy in the eye. “I’m pretty sure I already know where you stand on that front,” he said. “You’re not going to give up whoever your supplier is.”

“I can’t do it, Mark.”

Diamond was mechanically working his way through an entire box of cookies.

The crumbs spilled down the front of his shirt and piled onto his belly. Some of them caught in his beard. He didn’t offer Tommy a single one.

“I’ve got to tell you, this doesn’t look good. As your lawyer, I have to advise you to cooperate. Get yourself a deal while the getting is good.”

Tommy was studying his hands as if trying to compare their sizes. He could still see the marks the cuffs had left on his wrists.

“You listening?” Diamond said. “I don’t blame you, you don’t want to talk, but I can’t say I sympathize. It’s not the best decision, given the position you’re in. I hate to 128

tell you this, Tommy, but you’re probably facing time on this. The question is how much.”

“You really think I should cop a plea.”

“Am I speaking English here? What have I been saying, Tom? I’ll tell you one thing about cops. The thing about cops is they hate having to go to court almost as much as you do. It takes work to put a case together. I should know. The way they see it, the jerk ought to have known better than to go to trial in the first place, especially if he’s being offered a deal and he can avoid it. Like^ow are. They think he - meaning you - ought to play ball.”

Diamond took off his glasses and set them upside down on top of Tommy’s file and exhaled hard. He dug into the corners of his eyes with a thumb and forefinger. He sat back in his chair. “Look,” he said, “if you didn’t have a prior conviction I might be able to get the judge to take it easy on you, maybe slap your wrist, put you on house arrest, probation. Something. But with your prior conviction...” he trailed off, scanning the documents in front of him as if there might be an answer there. “Look, I just want you to know this is a long shot.”

The cardboard boxes stacked against the wall of Diamond’s office were the same ones Tommy remembered having been there the last time he was here, only now they reached closer to the ceiling, a leaning tower sagging toward the window and shutting out the light. All those casefiles on all those people, Tommy thought, and his file would be in there, too. Tommy had hired Diamond the first time he was arrested for possession. It 129

was the first name that had come to mind because he’d seen the guy’s face on the bus benches in Baltimore for years, and he knew his commercial by heart: “Don’t get stuck behind the legal rights eight ball.” Tommy liked the pool reference. Diamond obviously knew it was all just a game, and he knew how to play it.

Diamond picked up a stapled sheaf of papers from the stack he’d brought with him and riffled through them. He handed Tommy one and put the rest back in his briefcase. “At least you knew not to give them a written statement,” he said. “That part is good. You did a good job there ”

Cookie crumbs flew out of Diamond’s mouth. Tommy shifted in his seat.

“Thanks,” Tommy said.

Diamond slumped forward, turned his attention back to the files in front of him.

“This is all pro forma,” he said. He was crossing out the language that he didn’t like with a ballpoint pen, mumbling to himself, occasionally shouting through the doorway to his secretary. “Cynthia! Get my other folder!”

“Why don’t you do it yourself,” the woman at the front desk shouted back at him.

Diamond smacked the desk with the palm of his hand, turned his head toward the open door and threw his voice out there. ^Goddamn it, woman! Why don’t you just do what I tell you to do and stop arguing with me?” He closed the file folder and sat back in his chair, wiping crumbs from his beard. He looked at Tommy and shook his head.

“These secretaries all want to go to law school,” he said. “They think they know

everything.” 130

“Here’s your file, right where you left it, Mr. Organization,” Cynthia said, stepping into the room in high heels and dropping a heavy manila folder on Diamond’s desk.

“Thank you, dear,” he said, giving her his gentle voice now. “Why don’t you clean up sometime, all right?”

Cynthia smiled. “I don’t get paid enough to clean up after your mess.”

Diamond shrugged off her remark, studied Tommy’s file.

Tommy picked crumbs off the front of his shirt.

“Slaughter is tough,” Diamond said. “With a drug offence to boot, we’re up against a lot.”

“Slaughter?”

“Your judge. He’ll be looking to make an example out of you. So we’ve got to show him what a good person you really are, how you were led astray by forces beyond your control. Look, I can’t tell you what to say. They found twenty-two pounds of pot in your house, this triple beam scale. That’s not good. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what you were doing. They’ve got a pretty solid case for intent here. So I think you better think of something you can give them. Or else you’re probably going away. I’m telling you again so we’re clear? I mean, with or without a name. You want to play ball maybe I can get them to work with us. You give them a name, they might take it easy on you.

Otherwise, it’s a done deal.”

Tommy looked at stack of files in the comer of the room. 131

“Don’t tell me you actually believe that code of honor bullshit. I thought that stint you did already would’ve knocked that out of your system.”

Tommy didn’t say anything. He shook his head

“I’ll tell you right now,” Diamond said. “That sort of thing doesn’t go over well in court. The only honor you need to be concerned about is the one sitting on the bench.

And I’m here to tell you, his name will be Anthony Slaughter.”

“Five years doesn’t sound like a good deal to me.”

“Hey, it could be ten. You take your chances in court. I’ll go to bat for you. I will.

But basically they’ve got you. You don’t give them what they want you’re on your own, pal. I hate to tell you, but I think you’ve got no choice.”

“What can I say, Mark? How long you known me?”

“Oh boy. Here we go. Don’t tell me you still got something to prove like one of these little gangbangers out there. I thought you were smarter than that.”

“I live by the sword.”

“Live by the sword,” Diamond said. “That’s real noble of you. You know how the second half of that saying goes, right?”

*

Jackie dug the heels of his hands into his closed eyes, trying to bring life back to his face. He sat up in bed and picked up the phone, more so it would stop ringing than 132

any real desire to find out who was calling. It was almost as if his dream, of which he could only remember a vague feeling now that he’d snapped out of it, had predicted what

Glen would say on the other end of the line.

“Have you talked to Tommy?”

“Tommy?” Jackie said. Tommy who? “Not since, last week. Why?”

“We might have a problem.”

Jackie heard a click on the line. “Hey, Glen. You still there?”

Glen must have heard the click because didn’t say anything. He listened a minute and then said, “Why don’t you come over to my place.”

“Come over? You know what time it is?”

“I want you to check out this new cue I got. We can shoot some balls.”

“New cue? What time is it anyway?” Jackie sat up and looked at the alarm clock.

It was eight o’clock in the morning.

“Just get over here,” Glen said. “I don’t want to talk on the phone.”

“Give me fifteen minutes.”

Frank was already in the loft with a stick in his hand and a mug of coffee on the windowsill. He was eyeing up the balls on the table as Glen leaned into a shot. Glen seemed surprisingly calm, taking time with his shot and calling it out. He’d run the basics by Jackie the minute he walked through the door: Tommy had been arrested with twenty 133

pounds, his bail had been set at fifty thousand, and he’d hired Mark Diamond to be his attorney.

“The hacking guy from the bus benches?”

“‘Let Diamond do the talking, you do the walking,”’ Frank said. “Something like that, isn’t it? Guy’s a fucking clown.”

“Where’s Anne?” Jackie said.

“She’s with Deb trying to figure out what to do about this whole fucking mess.

Five in the corner.”

The orange ball hit the leather pocket and dropped in.

“Poor woman’s probably going to have to mortgage her house,” Frank said. “Nice shot.”

“It’s not the first time she’s been to arraignment court,” Glen said. “Two off the rail.”

“That’s the truth.”

“You offer to pay his bail?”

Glen stopped mid-stroke, narrowed his eyes. “You’re funny,” he said. He took an easy shot on the two and sunk it clean. “I look like fucking Santa Claus to you?”

“You think they were watching him?”

“Absolutely they were watching him,” Frank said

“So I guess we’re in a holding pattern,” Jackie said, almost making it a question but hoping it was more or less a rhetorical statement. 134

“The fuck we are.”

“Seriously. What do you say we wait until the dust settles before we go making any moves on warehouses, purchasing thousands of pounds?”

“Wheels are already in motion, Jackie. Seven ball.”

“How he didn’t know he was being watched is beyond me,” Frank said.

The seven nicked the corner of the pocket and spun back into a cluster, sent three balls scattering. Frank chalked his stick and surveyed the table.

“You think they know anything about you?” Jackie said. It just slipped out. He didn’t want to set Glen off on a rant, knowing on this particular point he was likely to be extra sensitive. Glen seemed to give it some consideration while he watched Frank study the table

Frank chalked the stick and leaned into the rail, and Glen waited for him to shoot.

“I doubt they know shit,” Glen said

Frank hit the nine, sank it easily.

“Maybe we should lay low for a while, see how this plays out.”

Glen was shaking his head before Jackie even finished his sentence. “I’ve wanted this for a long time.”

Frank shot again, and the cue ball bounced off the side wall, stopped in the middle of the table directly in front of the thirteen. “I hope he keeps his mouth shut,” he said.

“Don’t count on it,” Jackie said. “He’s got a big fucking mouth.” 135

“Yeah, well. Look at it this way,” Frank said. “Tommy’s been there before. He obviously knows how to do his time like a big boy.”

“I’m not slowing this down just because Tommy fucked up,” Glen said. “I was

smart to cut him off when I did. They don’t know shit about me. This thing is in motion

and I’m not putting it on hold ”

“You’re sure about this?”

“This is not the sort of thing you just call up and reschedule,” Glen said. “Our

shipment is in route. I already paid them half the money.”

Jackie pinched his lips and looked away.

“Look,” Glen said, “I just plan to do this for one year and then I’m out. You can

keep your restaurant business. Hell, buy as many as you want. My goal is to be hands off.

I won’t even touch the stuff. We’ll get more people under you and you’ll do what I do.”

“What makes you think I’d want to do what you do?”

Glen seemed surprised by the question. “Why wouldn’t you?”

“I don’t know, Glen. I mean, there’s a limit, you know, to what I’m willing to do

to make this kind of money. I mean, the money’s been nice. Real nice. I just don’t want

to go to prison.”

“Don’t be such a panty wipe, Jackie. You don’t have anything to worry about.”

“Maybe you don’t have anything to worry about, Frank. You weren’t the one that

sold Tommy the pot.”

“That’s right, I wasn’t.” 136

“As long as you were smart and didn’t leave a trail of breadcrumbs for the police to find, then you have nothing to worry about either,” Glen said. “I’m the one setting up the deal in New York, you don’t have to worry ”

Jackie looked at Frank. “I told him I didn’t want Tommy to begin with.”

Frank shrugged, chalked his stick. “I don’t think Tommy will talk,” he said.

“Going to jail is like Old Home Week for him. They probably have a cell reserved just

waiting.”

“Look,” Glen said, “It’s a bad situation, but it’s the one we’re in. So what are we

going to do? Just lighten up, Jackie. None of us are going to jail.”

“Unless Tommy decides to cop a deal.”

Glen’s expression changed, his eyebrow beginning to twitch. “Nobody’s copping

a fucking deal. He knows better than that. And if he doesn’t I know people in there that

will shut him up. Nobody’s getting out. We’re in this together. I’m telling you. It’s all

going to be fine.”

Glen put too much English on his shot and scratched. He shoved his cue back in

the rack. “Look, don’t fucking worry so much,” he said. “It’s distracting.”

Jackie knew Glen had the right instincts for this business and probably would

have ditched Tommy a long time ago if the guy wasn’t his brother-in-law. He’d been

preparing for a move like this his whole life, and he wasn’t about to be talked out of it.

The guy thought he was made of Teflon. And he was right in a way. You had to expand

to keep up with the market if you wanted to stay on top. Jackie understood that. But like 137

anything, there was always going to be competition, and Jackie didn’t like competition, at least not the kind you ran into in this business. It could be damaging to your health.

The truth was Jackie could have carved out a decent living with what he made at the Cantina. It was steady work and it kept him busy. What he and Glen and Frank were doing wasn’t as fun as it used to be, especially not with Glen at the helm acting like he was Captain fucking Ahab. Still, the money was always good, and it was about to be very good. Jackie still liked a little rush every now and then, too, but this was like an addiction that he knew he needed to kick before it kicked his ass. Maybe Deb had had the right idea. Maybe he ought to just do a complete one-eighty, change everything in his life before it was too late. Los Angeles, Tampa, somewhere else. Jackie would prefer to be anywhere but standing next to Glen when he went down with the ship.

*

Members of the force called the Baltimore County Police building at the corner of

Joppa and Goucher the “skybox” because it was essentially a cube covered with mirrored panes of glass that seamlessly reflected its environment. On clear days it could seem to vanish entirely. Mistaking it for open sky, birds often flew into the glass windows and fell to the parking lot below. Although, word got out about the dead bird carcasses piling up outside County Police headquarters when the Star ran a story, “The Police

Department’s Deadly Optical Illusion”, which was then countered with an op-ed, “Some 138

Reflections on Police Work.” PETA issued a complaint, threatened suit if the glass wasn’t tinted. The county spent ten thousand dollars, the building was less of a mirage, and birds stopped flying into it. Everybody was happy. Those who remembered still called it the skybox. Now it housed CID, the Crime Lab, Auto Theft, the property room, various interview rooms and administrative offices.

Henry and Cal took the elevator to the fourth floor and sat on the other side of the big oak desk in Lieutenant Dan Fitzpatrick’s office. Fitz had a distant contemplative expression, like was recalling chasing marlin off the coast of Key West with Papa more than he was thinking about his narcotics task squads. Maybe he was thinking about what the ADA had said, about getting bumped up to Captain, which was just the sort of promotion a case like this could garner. The amount of contraband Henry and Cal had seen Howell and his crew handling tended to attract the mayor’s attention. Henry noticed the dog-eared copy of The Emperor Wears No Clothes still sitting out on the desk.

Several pages had been folded over. It looked like Lieutenant Fitzpatrick had been doing his homework.

Fitz was currently paging through the photographs in the three-ring binder Henry had brought over from the investigative room for his perusal: Glen Howell standing out on his deck staring off at the water, Jackie Pierce unloading the Dutch Contracting van in front of the open garage, Frank Salvo looking over his shoulder like he just knew he was being made. 139

“We observed Howell and his lieutenants visiting three different storage lockers in the county last week,” Henry said. “Glen Howell’s number is listed as a contact on one of them. Chesapeake Mini. Pierce and Salvo each rented the other two units.”

“Have you taken the K-9 unit to any of those?”

“Not yet, but I talked to Detective Maxwell in charge of the K-9 unit and I visited the sites. We’re going to work out a time to take the drug dog down there. Norwood and I have personally witnessed Howell carrying boxes in and out of the unit during our stakeouts.”

“We’re sure this is where he’s stashing his product when the shipments come in from out of state,” Cal said.

“You’re sure ”

“We’ve seen them all go in or out of there. It’s like their own personal candy store.

“I’d like to have eyes on the place 24/7,” Henry said. “Can we do that?”

Fitz shuffled some papers on his desk. “Take the K-9 down there and write up the report,” he said. “I’ll see what I can do. You don’t have probable yet. You take that to the judge and he’s going to tell you to go home and don’t forget to brush your teeth and say your prayers before bed.”

“I’d like to get a camera on the storage units.”

Fitz reached a thumb and forefinger under his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose, massaging his eyes. “I might as well tell you this right now,” he said. 140

“Tell me what?”

“What Captain Whitmore just told me. He’s been on the phone with the mayor all day.”

“The mayor?”

“You two may have wandered into federal jurisdiction.”

“How’s that possible?”

“Look, with what you’re asking, we might have to tap into the feds on this one anyway, so it works out for us.”

“Can’t we just go through the special prosecutor’s office?”

“It’s not just about getting a wiretap. We can get some real money if we go federal.”

“Come on, sir. You know how those guys are. They always want to make it their

show.”

“You don’t have to tell me how they are. I know how they are. They piss on you.”

“Fucking feds,” Cal said.

Fitz shrugged. “They’ve got the money,” he said

“It’s all about the money?” Henry said. “Whatever happened to good old

fashioned police work?”

“You’re a romantic, Wheeler. I like that. But the money’s the whole thing. So just take it and don’t complain. These guys you’re watching, they like to travel, right? They

like to fish. You ever been to the Marlin Open? I think you’d like it.” 141

“I’ve been,” Cal said. “It is nice.”

“Well, I don’t like it,” Henry said. “You want to sell your soul, go right ahead.

They might stroke you a little bit, give you some toys to play with, but they’re going to own you in the end.”

He knew he was right. He could see where this was going. Once it went federal and they brought in their own prosecutors. Sure Henry and his squad would get the resources, but there would be problems. The feds fought you on everything. They completely took over, which was easy for them to do because you were basically in a position where you were asking for their help. They didn’t really give a shit about the communities they served. Every high profile case, which this one was turning out to be, was a potential promotion for them. That was all

“With all due respect,” Henry said, “this is our case.” He looked at Cal for support. “We’ve been on this guy, Howell, day and night for going on a year now. I’ve personally spent so much time on stakeouts my ass is sore from sitting in that damn pickup truck, on top of which I’m getting eaten alive out in those woods down there.”

“Have you tried bug spray?”

“I’m allergic to bug spray.”

“I think what Henry is saying,” Cal said, “is it’s not good for his health. For either of our health. We eat too much orange food. Doritos, Cheetos, pizza.”

“Look. You want a title three?” 142

“I don’t see why we need a title three. Let’s just go through the ADA. He seemed eager enough to help.”

“I’m sorry, Hank. But this is starting to look like we’re going to need to pull a lot more resources. And this is how we’re going to get it. Captain Whitmore tells me the

DEA is willing to assign a six-member task force to the case, we’ll set up a staging area somewhere over there on Route Forty so you can be close to the action.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if those pricks insist on working out of their own building downtown.”

Fitz shrugged. “What are we gonna do? You need more eyes on these guys than what you’ve got.”

“That’s great,” Cal said. “That’s just what I want to hear. I could use a break.”

“There are no breaks, bud.”

“These guys are too good to show up in Roll Call, you know. You never see them.

They think they’re such hot shit.”

Fitz shrugged. “You can’t get away from egos,” he said. “Hell, we’ve got enough of them in this department as it is.”

“A joint task force though? Seriously, those guys are so damn particular. They’ve always got to do everything a certain way. It’s got to be just so, at a special time. They’ll probably want to sit out there in their cars and honk their horns and announce it to the whole damn neighborhood that the cavalry’s arrived.” 143

Fitz laughed. He reached across his desk and prized out the book, which was buried under a mountain of paperwork. “You two want to know why it’s got to be this way? I’ll tell you why. It’s because of this little book of yours, Wheeler. You thought this was cute, right? You want to know what this is?” His fingers were wrapped tightly around The Emperor Wears No Clothes, shaking the book in the air between them. “It all goes back to this goddamned book.”

“I must be a little behind,” Cal said. “I still don’t get it.”

“You say you two found quite a few of these, right?”

“A half dozen or so.”

“Well, this just happens to be the calling card of a very prominent drug cartel operating out of New York.”

“I knew there was something there,” Henry said. “When did you find this out?”

“As you know, we’ve got some people who are working with the FBI and the state police investigating the corruption in our prison system.”

“What a fucking mess that is,” Cal said. “Fucking COs.”

“No kidding, it’s a mess. It’s a big embarrassment to law enforcement. And in connection with that, new charges were filed against a certain Ray White. Maybe you remember him.”

“I’ve remember him,” Henry said.

“Who’s he?” Cal said. 144

“My old partner, Phil Brennen, and I busted him eight years ago. He was running a crack ring down off Greenmount Avenue.”

“I remember that story,” Cal said. “Shit, that was you? Didn’t know I was working with a legend.”

“Yeah, well he’s still in business from what I hear,” Fitz said. “He’s living like a king down there in the City Pen, orchestrating dope deals from the comfort of his cell.

He’s got a network that includes everybody from correctional officers with family connections in West Baltimore all the way to his cartel contacts in New York. And he also happens to be fond of this little book of yours.” He slammed the book down on the table. “You really stumbled onto something here, Wheeler.”

“I’m listening.”

“Look, the DEA won’t tell me the whole story.”

“No surprise there. They love to play dumb, don’t they?”

“It’s not always an act. Anyway, I managed to do some digging on my own, and what I found out, about three years ago there was a multi-state sting operation. The feds orchestrated it at the request of Mayor Dinkins up there in New York. They swept up and down the East Coast. Either of you remember something called the Pizza Connection?”

“I’m drawing a blank,” Cal said. “But it’s making me hungry.”

“Scag money,” Henry said.

Fitz nodded.

“They were bringing in dope from the old country.” 145

“Correctamundo. Well, a pair of brothers by name of Felix managed to fly under the radar. After the dust settled they set up shop in Queens. They’ve been working remotely through their contacts in Mexico for the past three years. These people, this is an industry. They’ll send as many as five semis full of contraband - marijuana, heroin, cocaine, you name it - right across the border.”

“Disaggregating the product,” Henry said. “They’re hedging their bets.”

“Exactly. And they might as well. They’ve got enough of the stuff to go around.

One of the trucks manages to squeak by. Sometimes more than one.”

“Fucking border agents.” Cal said. “They’re almost as bad as COs.”

“You don’t have to tell me,” Fitz said. “It doesn’t matter to these cartels. They’ve got inventory to burn. The product that makes it to Laredo, it gets repackaged into bales, vacuum-sealed, with this book inside of each one.”

Cal picked up the book and admired it. “Like a prize in a box of Cracker Jacks,” he said. “But I thought this book was all about legalization.”

“Cal’s got a point,” Henry said. “Why would they be interested in changing the laws? Wouldn’t that put them out of business?”

“Us too,” Cal said.

Fitz shrugged. “Beats me. Personally, I think they’re more interested in disruption. They know we’re never going to reverse the drug laws in this country. They just like to put on a noble front, act like Robin Hood or something. Politically, they’re anarchists, but they’re profit-motivated, which really makes them capitalists. And they’re 146

very organized. From their warehouses in Texas and New York they’re shipping off product to various distribution centers along the eastern seaboard, even the Midwest. The

Times did a story on it.”

“This is all fascinating, boss. But let’s cut to the chase. The feds?”

“Yes, the feds.”

“Are we talking about a supervisory role here? Or will this be strictly advisory?”

“Don’t worry, Wheeler,” Fitz said. He leaned back in his chair and laughed. “It’s still your case. Nobody’s going to piss on your leg. Both of you will still be able to do your jobs. But I want to get you help, and the feds are going to be calling the shots from now on. You will be the official liaison on this. You will be in contact with Special Agent

Mike Fuller, the DEA agent assigned to this district, and you will not make a decision without consulting him. Is that clear?”

“Crystal. And what happens if he starts making decisions from that federal playbook of his without consulting me, or decides there’s some information that for whatever reason I’d be better off not knowing? Shit, once they smell blood they all want to jump on, get that promotion. It’s always political for them.”

“That happens you come see me and we’ll cross that bridge. Until then, this is the way it is.”

Henry hated being on anyone’s schedule, especially that of federal agents. But he understood what was happening. He was being gently warned that if he knew what was good for him he would get out of the way of departmental machinery, which would 147

happily chew up any detective who let his personal pride get in the way of his loyalty. The more resources you needed, the more meetings you had to have, the more cooks there were crowding out the kitchen. The captain was going to have more interest in the case. The mayor would be looking over his shoulder. And Henry would be writing more court reports than he knew what to do with, seeing the judge every other day.

“I got it, boss,” Henry said, standing from his chair. Fitzpatrick was clearly inflexible on the issue. “You know, I don’t have a life anymore I been on this case so long. Maybe we could use some help. I can’t remember the last time I even got laid.”

“I can attest to that, Lieutenant,” Cal said. “He has no life.”

“I could use a drink,” Henry said.

“I’m the one whose got a wife and kid to deal with,” Cal said. “You ever hear the expression, ‘happy wife happy life’?”

“Not in this department.”

“I wish we had enough manpower to cover everything ourselves,” Fitz said. He stood from his desk and twisted the plastic rod on the shades, letting the afternoon light cut across the paperwork scattered on his desk. He looked out the window at the traffic four stories below. “We’ve spread ourselves thin enough as it is,” he said. “We’ve got six detectives assigned to this case and we can’t afford anymore overtime. It's August, for

Christ’s sake. Everybody's already pulling overtime working sixteen-hour shifts. The bottom line is I’m reaching out for help because we need it. Frankly, you need it. So learn

to accept it and say thank you when somebody hands you a gift. And don’t look at me 148

like that, Wheeler. You want to tell me why you decided to become a cop you don’t like boring work? Just don’t get your bowels in an uproar. This will get you your title three.

You can have as many cameras as you want.”

Henry looked at Cal. Was he hearing this right?

“So we can get the cameras?”

“Are you happy now?”

“Hell yes.”

“Good. Consider it an early Christmas present from your new friends at the

DEA”

*

Tommy was sitting on a bench in the bullpen outside the courtroom, waiting for the clerk to call him in. Diamond stood off to the side chatting idly with another lawyer who was waiting to try his case. The two lawyers were chewing gum and flapping their lips, just another day at the office. Diamond had his hands in his pockets, clicking loose change against his leg like he thought he was in some kind of avant-garde percussion ensemble.

Cynthia arrived holding a heavy box of files from the office and gave Tommy what he thought was a sympathetic smile. He wanted to say hi to her, ask her how she was doing, but there was no way she could help him now any more than Diamond. 149

Cynthia was just another person doing their job, going about her routine. Nothing in

Tommy’s life was routine. But he was starting to see a pattern.

“Take those inside for me,” Diamond said. Nudging the other lawyer with his elbow, he pointed to Cynthia’s ass as she walked into the courtroom.

Two cops guarded either side of the door, one of them with his hand on the butt of his gun, eyeing Tommy as if daring him to make a run for it. When they were called in,

Diamond leaned in close enough that Tommy could smell his aftershave. “Don’t worry,” he said. “This will all be over shortly.”

Inside the courtroom, the lawyers and jurors fidgeted in their seats. They had their note pads out and were scribbling with their pens or making small talk. They had their bag lunches and Tommy could smell the tuna sandwiches and potato chips. The plum- colored carpet was stained and worn away in spots. Two paintings of judges hung behind the juror’s box, a pair of old pale faces with sagging jowls. The florescent tube lights flickered overhead, glaring down from behind grated plastic grids in the popcorn ceiling.

Tommy tried to read the graffiti carved into the back of the bench in front of him, signatures of bored defendants who’d managed to smuggle sharp objects into the courtroom, people insane enough to want to leave their mark here or else just trying hard to distract their minds while others decided their fate.

The bailiff told the men and women in the courtroom to rise and they did. The judge entered from the behind the wall, picking food out of his teeth. He was a large white man, and he took the bench behind a plaque that said Judge Anthony Slaughter. A 150

ten-foot mural of Lady Justice loomed behind him, blindfolded and flanked by a pair of limp federal and state flags.

“What are you doing for Thanksgiving?” the judge asked the assistant state’s attorney.

“Probably wind up at the in-laws,” the woman said.

Slaughter rolled his eyes and the jury laughed. “Well, I’ll tell you what,” he said.

“My wife is cooking a turkey for my family Wednesday night. And I’m looking forward to it.”

The jury chuckled. They were all obviously in agreeance.

“So this trial will not last beyond two days. You hear me?”

“I think we can do you one better, judge.”

“Good.” The judge raised his gavel. “Let’s get started.”

*

The first few months Tommy had been locked up in Jessup County Correctional,

Deb drove out to the prison every other day on her lunch break to see him. Even though it was a half hour away and sometimes just as long a wait, she wanted to be there for him.

But the City Jail was different. Baltimore City Detention Center with its rustic stone facade, fortified towers and battlements, loomed over the expressway where Jones Falls dumped downtown traffic out onto Eager Street, and Deb thought it looked more like a 151

castle in a film about medieval knights and barbarian hordes than it did an American prison in the late twentieth century. AH it needed was an alligator-filled mote - though the pair of fifteen-foot electric fences lined with razor wire probably did the job just fine.

On visiting day, she was brought into the mess hall with the other families. The

COs marched the prisoners up through a hole in the floor at the far end of the large room.

They walked in a line down along the wall until they found their tables, the escort guards pacing the perimet er of the room. The cafeteria-sized space housed several rows of tables with folding chairs set up on either side. Along the wall there were more chairs where inmates and their visitors could sit side-by-side.

Deb told herself she wasn’t just here out of a sense of guilt or duty, but because deep down she still cared about Tommy. She wanted to make sure he knew somebody was there for him. The first time he’d gone away, she waited for him because she knew it was just a stupid mistake, and she knew he was scared. She was scared too. Why she hadn’t just left him then, she had no idea.

“I can’t believe you’re doing this to me again,” she said.

“Doing to you? I’m the one in jail.”

“C’mon, Deb,” Tommy said, leaning forward so she could see those deep set eyes. “I can’t make it through this without you,” he said. “I need you in my comer.”

“Yeah, I’m in your corner,” she said. “I’m always in your comer. You think I look like Bonnie Parker?”

“Who?” 152

“Forget it. How am I supposed to pay the mortgage on my own?”

“I’ll help you pay it. I have some money. We’ll be all right. I just need you to be there for me. Can you just do that?”

Sometimes Tommy could look a lot like a lost puppy. She let out a breath. “It’s what I do, isn’t it? I’m always there for you. I’ll be right there. Because I love you, you idiot.”

“I love you too, ace.”

Deb looked down at the far end of the cafeteria where the guard had gone. She brought her hand up to her chest, fished a small balloon from her bra and slipped it into

Tommy’s palm. He faked a short cough, popped it in his mouth, looked up at the ceiling, closed his eyes and swallowed hard.

“You pay Jackie?”

“He said not to worry about paying him.”

“Forget that,” Tommy said. “You pay him. And make sure he makes those deliveries to my guy in here.”

“Don’t you think that’s pushing it too far? This is dangerous what you’re doing.”

“It’s my lifeline. Trust me. This is what works in here.”

“I’m only doing this because I care about you,” she said.

Deb would be the first to admit that her sex life with Tommy pretty much “flat- lined” a long time ago. Although she could never say anything to him, she always thought something might have happened to Tommy in prison. She’d seen movies. 153

There’d even been a story about it on 60 Minutes. It happened all the time. She would never ask, and she knew he wouldn’t want to tell her about it. There was a limit to what could be known about another person, even when they told you what they thought was the truth.

Tommy had always referred to his time in prison as his “vacation.” He either made a joke about the horrible food he had to eat or how he managed to continue to sell drugs inside. “Running my own little empire in here,” he’d say and laugh. She just shook her head. He still had his sense of humor, at least. Deb was still trying to remember to laugh at the things in her life that made her uncomfortable. She didn’t know how to tell him that she’d had enough.

Somewhere on the other side of the big room a baby started crying, a high pitched wail that reverberated throughout the crowded noisy cafeteria. Tommy swallowed another balloon and cleared his throat. “I miss the shit out of you,” he said.

“I really wish you wouldn’t say that.”

*

Henry opened the envelope Bob Stanley had handed him and looked at the money. He sniffed it once, shrugged, and set the envelope carefully on the concrete. He took two giant steps back, allowing enough room for detective Guy Maxwell to lead his 154

drug K-9, a German shepherd named Salinger, to the evidence. The dog smelled the envelope and sat down.

“Bingo,” Guy said.

“That’s it?” Bob Stanley said. “He doesn’t bark?”

“Nope. And yes, that’s it.”

“Huh.” Bob Stanley scratched his head.

“Salinger here can smell about a hundred million times better than any of us.”

“Damn. I guess I’ll have to take his word for it then. Let me show you the unit

Pierce is renting.”

Henry and Guy followed Bob Stanley across the parking lot. Guy led Salinger past the corrugated metal door of unit 114, and Salinger stopped in front of the door, long nose working along the rubber weather strip where it met the concrete. Again the dog sat down and waited quietly at attention. He scratched at the bottom of the door.

Guy looked at Henry and grinned. “That answer our question?”

“He looks damn serious to me,” Stanley said. “I take it this guy’s storing more than his grandmother’s china in there.”

Guy and Henry gave each other a look. Henry thanked Stanley for his cooperation and told him someone from the Baltimore County Police would be in touch.

“Be in touch?” Stanley seemed to think there was more work to be done. “How’re you sure he’s right?” he said. “I mean, are there drugs in there? I think we ought to open it up to be sure. I don’t want any drugs around here.” 155

Henry wasn’t listening to Stanley. He was looking at the tiny camera the DEA’s tech people had installed across from unit 114. They’d come by in the middle of the night to wire the stuff up, and it looked like they’d done a pretty decent enough job. The camcorder was bulky but it was pretty well hidden, and it looked like it was beaming right in on the door. That was all they needed. As long as Howell and his crew visited during daylight hours, it would likely pick up a face or two.

“Trust me,” Guy said, rubbing the lab’s ears. “Salinger here’s always right.”

“You sure about that?” Bob Stanley said.

The camcorder was high up beneath the soffit, the tiny red light indicating it was operating. “I guess we’ll know soon enough,” Henry said.

*

“You haven’t heard from him?”

“He hasn’t been in touch in three days,” Glen said. “That’s not good.”

“C’mon,” Jackie said. “That’s typical for Frank.”

“He was supposed to be back yesterday.”

“He probably just stopped at Arby’s or something. Frank takes a dump he’ll be there all afternoon.” 156

“I don’t think stopping at hacking Arby’s would have tied him up overnight. He was supposed to be on the road at six a.m. He was going to check in when he left their warehouse in the Bronx.”

“You try his pager?”

“Yes, I tried his fucking pager.”

Frank was not a very smart man, but then, nobody in this crew was going to win a

Pulitzer anytime soon. They were shore birds, always had been. They smelled like brine

and ate too much shellfish. Frank arrived at noon, said he’d gotten tired, pulled over at a

rest stop for a snooze, and then gotten jammed in midday traffic. “Stop and go on the

turnpike,” he said, “all the way to the Delaware Bridge.” He had that sleepy look he

always had like he’d seen it all before and wasn’t very impressed. Everyone knew traffic

was bad on the Turnpike, but Glen wasn’t buying Frank’s story. Jackie could see he was

still stewing over the timeline.

“So where’d you stop?”

“I just told you.” Frank hefted one of the bales from the back of the truck and

dropped it on the pallet.

“Which rest area?”

“Clara Barton,” Frank said, not missing a beat. “Why?”

“What’d you have?” Glen stopped what he was doing and studied Frank’s face.

“Hey.”

“What?” 157

“I said, ‘What did you have?’”

“They got a Burger King there,” Frank said. “I got a Whopper.”

Glen looked like he was trying to bore into Frank’s mind with his raccoon eyes.

Jackie could see the forked vein on his forehead beginning to bulge, his left eyebrow doing something an eyebrow was not supposed to do.

Frank shrugged, looked away. Not that anybody could win a staring contest with

Glen, but Frank wasn’t taking the bait. He waved him off, throw down his work gloves and stomped back to his pickup, grumbling about “The stuff I do for you...” climbing into the driver’s seat, shutting the door and starting the engine. Glen let him go without another word.

Afterwards, Jackie and Glen drove to The Islander and sat next to the window down by the waitress’s service station where an overturned pickle bucket was holding open the door to the deck and a view of the marina, and an afternoon breeze was coming in off the water. Jackie was cracking open peanut shells and dropping them on the floor.

The woman behind the bar set down a bottle of Coors Light in front of Jackie and looked at Glen, waiting for his order. He asked for bourbon on the rocks.

“Light lunch?” she said and poured two fingers of Jack Daniels into a tumbler and set it in front of him. He picked up the glass, rocked it in a circular motion, drank it down and slapped the empty glass on the bar. Glen looked at the woman and made a circular motion above his glass. 158

The woman looked at Jackie. “He doesn’t talk today, is that it?” She poured more bourbon in the glass.

Jackie picked at the label on the longneck bottle. “Don’t get him started, Barb,” he said. “He may never shut up.”

She laughed and poured Glen another before moving down the bar. When she was out of earshot, Jackie said, “She’s right, you know. What’s going on? You spooked or something?”

Glen leaned into his whiskey. “Ah, I don’t know about this place,” he said. He looked over his shoulder at the dining room. “They could have just put one of those gizmos of theirs on the pay phone outside here to find out what number I’ve been calling.”

“They can’t do that,” Jackie said. “There are laws against that.”

Glen let a single laugh slip out, but he still wasn’t smiling. “Laws,” he said.

“Right. They can do whatever the fuck they want.” He rattled the ice cubes in his glass like he was considering saying something else. He looked around nervously, checking over his shoulder as if expecting someone to arrive.

“Funny you didn’t want to talk about any of this back when Tommy got busted.”

“I’m not worried about him,” Glen said. “Tommy’s not going anywhere. Anne talked to him. But I don’t know, Jackie. Something’s up. I’m starting to think maybe

Frank needs to be put on the shelf for a while.” 159

*

Tommy sat at the far end of a corner table in the mess hall. There was one other boy sitting across from him but he paid no attention to Tommy and rose from his seat and passed behind him in the row between the benches. Tommy turned his head as he passed, hearing the boy say something under his breath, and he felt the knuckles glance off his teeth as the fist came around behind his head and hit the side of the face. He fell off the bench and caught himself with his hands. The inside of his cheek had tom. He tasted blood in his mouth, saw the double red and yellow spots dissolving at the edges of his vision. He looked up and saw the boy coming at him again and he got up on one knee and grabbed the tray from the table and swung it around, slicing at the boy’s head like he was going for a line drive. He heard the metal make contact with the boy’s temple and the boy went over. Tommy brought the broadside of the metal tray down on the boy’s head in three quick successive blows and kicked the boy in the stomach and he fell backwards and didn’t move.

A muffled whirring sound filled Tommy’s head, but he began to hear other

sounds filtering in, the inmates in the mess hall yelling and stomping their feet and pounding their fists on the long tables. And then the two COs were on him. They jacked him up by either arm and hustled him toward the exit while another guard cleared the area around the boy and a fourth stood with his hands in his pockets saying “Move along” to no one in particular. 160

Tommy was taken to a holding cell for three days before being brought before the disciplinary court where he stood in a wood-paneled room and faced the warden, an officer and stenographer. He was given ten days administrative segregation, which was to be followed by three weeks on keeplock in his cell.

There was nothing to look at in ad seg but an armed slot they slid the food log through and a light so bright he couldn’t shut it out no matter how hard he tried. The guards kept that caged overhead bulb buzzing around the clock, sometimes for what seemed like days at a time. Occasionally they’d turn it off in the middle of the day, leaving him in complete darkness. It was a blackness like he’d never seen. There was nothing but a hole in the floor that smelled like shit and piss, and after a few days the ongoing argument in his head got louder, and he wanted to see general population again, just so he could make sure that other people still existed, that he wasn’t going completely crazy.

Most guys came out of seg pretty messed up, mumbling to themselves, recurring bad dreams, all that. The problem with being faced with total blankness is you’ve got to fill it with something, and there’s nothing to fill it with but your own thoughts. Given a choice, Tommy would not want to be left alone with his thoughts. He knew he didn’t make an ideal companion, not even for himself.

There wasn’t a man left in C-Block who hadn’t heard of Tommy’s fight in the mess hall, and word had spread to other parts of the prison as well. He hadn’t planned on 161

making a name for himself, but that’s what had happened. He was the thirty-five-year-old white guy who checked in and immediately threw his set up. News traveled quickly, and the story of his confrontation was exaggerated in his favor. There were those who didn’t care one way or the other and there were those who knew the truth. It was because he’d refused to name the boy during his hearing with the disciplinary court that the gang leaders looked on him with some favor and he was given a special dispensation. The message was delivered by the CO named Stone, who would occasionally do favors for the gang leaders. No one would fuck with Tommy again, Stone said, at least not without having to answer to the BGF. The boy Tommy had fought was a nephew of one of the top lieutenants of the Black Guerilla Family. He’d only attacked Tommy because he looked like an easy target and the kid wanted to make a name for himself.

When Tommy requested a meeting with Ray White, he was granted that meeting.

It took place in Ray White’s cell on B-Block and was overseen by two of his bodyguards and the CO they called Stone. Tommy wanted to make Ray an offer, he said. He understood seniority. He knew there was always one who runs the show, and it hadn’t taken him long to figure out that Ray White was that one. He knew which COs were on

Ray’s payroll and would run errands for him, bringing in contraband. Ray controlled the network. He wanted Tommy to understand, it wasn’t exactly a free market. Tommy knew that life in prison, any prison, wasn’t about shoes and shoelaces or cigarettes and candy or magazines or access to the phone. It was about power. The men who knew how to wield it got along well inside, some of them even enjoying more luxuries than they’d had 162

outside. Some men lived like kings. Ray White had people both inside and outside who would do for him whatever he asked them to do, neighborhood kids who would wait on

Eager Street and deposit items into a bucket that another man would lower from a third floor window with a string. He had men who would collect his debts and make sure the women in his life were taken care of, that his mother’s electric bill was paid on time. He had soldiers who would kill for him if he asked them to.

Ray was aware of the arrangement Tommy had made with the porter in the

mailroom, but he was a business man too, he said. He expected to be cut in on the action.

He wasn’t interested in negotiations. The BGF negotiated by putting your eye out with a

screwdriver or throwing you off the fourth tier balcony.

“So I’m going to have stockholders now?” Tommy said.

Ray White smiled, a row of gold teeth winking in the light. “What can I say?” he

said. “Everything’s going corporate.”

*

Having enough wall space for a photo array was one thing, but Henry knew if a

case turned into something big he was eventually going to need to move out of the

investigative room at headquarters. They were going to need more manpower, and they were going to need a workspace, whether it was an apartment, a warehouse, an office

complex, something inconspicuous that would work as a command center. It was good to 163

have your surveillance people close, at least on the same side of town. If something happened you didn’t have to worry about them being stuck in traffic. That was what all that good federal money could get them. The DEA usually preferred to work out of their own building, but even they had agreed to rent the first floor in an unassuming office complex on Pulaski Highway for the sake of expediency.

Henry could hear three different conversations going behind him: an agent following up on a phone interview she’d conducted last week with a neighbor of Glen

Howell, another squad member talking to the clerk at the crime lab about the wet plant

material they’d tested. Two agents congregating by the coffee maker trading insults and testing out various exaggerations of their minor accomplishments.

Henry locked the reel in place and threaded the magnetic tape through the

machine that sat on the cart next to the metal desk. He put on the pair of headphones and

pressed play on the deck. The cameras were very good to have, but the picture was

grainy. Besides, Henry was old fashioned. He liked to listen. When he was young his

father used to sit out on the porch at night with his transistor radio, picking up stations

from as far away as Mexico. The ozone skip, he called it. The “theatre of the mind.”

Listening was an art form. You could never get inside people’s heads like you could with

audio.

Henry tapped his pen on the table, bowed his head and listened to a voice that he

had come to know as that of Jackie Pierce:

I owe White’s people big time. 164

How much?

A lot more than what I ’ve got.

Don 7 fool around with White, Jackie. He doesn't like to wait.

He didn’t recognize the second voice.

He can wait. I wasn 't going to ask to be put on a payment plan or anything. Chas said he 'd buy me out of the Cantina if I want to sell my share. I think I might do it.

Well, don't worry about it. Once this goes through we ’re all going to be sitting pretty.

Not me, Frank. I'm in deep, not just with these guys either.

Who are you talking about?

Shit's just gotten out of control - Did you hear that?

I didn 't hear anything.

I thought I heard a click.

We probably shouldn 't be talking on the phone about this. Maybe we ought to meet up at Jerry G's, hit some balls around.

...I ’m getting out.

Jackie, take my advice. Don't mess around with Ray White.

Henry pressed the pause button on the deck. These guys liked to use codes, thought they wouldn’t incriminate themselves as long as they didn’t mention anything outright, saying things like, “Hey, you want to hit some balls around?” as if anybody would be coming over to play a game of pool at two o’clock in the morning. Just by 165

listening to their conversations, Henry could tell exactly what they were doing, knew what kind of mood they were in, what part of the house they were standing in. Pierce had a portable phone, liked to pace around the house while he discussed business. Henry could tell if he was making coffee in the kitchen or out in the garage tending to his

BMW.

The guy liked his toys, which was always a good quality to have in a Cl if it came to that. He had something tangible to lose, a basic capacity for greed that could be exploited. If there was one thing that motivated drug dealers it was money. Paying informants wasn’t always preferred, but it was an option that never failed to tip the scales. And from the sound of things, there was already trouble in paradise. Something told Henry that Jackie was playing both sides against the middle. If he felt threatened he was likely to slip up.

Henry’s father always said if you wanted to catch a crab all you had to do was get yourself a cage and put some chicken necks in there and wait. “That crab’s gonna crawl up inside there to get at that food and he’s not gonna know how to get back out. He’s gonna be too busy worrying about that chicken neck.” Henry knew how to deal with water people. They were his kind of people. They were bottom feeders. Like the blue crab itself, when they were cornered they put up their claws and they attacked anything that moved. When they felt their survival was threatened they started working their pincers, looking for a way out. But when the bottom feeders couldn’t survive you knew you had a problem. 166

*

Southeast of Baltimore City, Jackie took the Harbor Thruway and crossed over

Back River, a wide flat expanse of water that emerged from under a mesh of interstates and industrial plants and rolled on past the factory and the lumberyard where weeds pushed through the cracked concrete and graffiti decorated the three black smokestacks along Eastern Boulevard.

It was a part of town that for as long as Jackie could remember had always been home to rundown boaters’ bars, strip clubs, paint factories, scrapyards and expressways.

There were a few old warehouses along this stretch of road, and they were just the kind

Glen had been thinking of. Most of them were abandoned. But Jackie wasn’t looking for a warehouse. He was getting tired of these meetings with Ray White’s people. That was what he paid Eduardo to do, that and run the deep fryer at the Cantina.

He turned onto a gravel road that led to a vacant lot where there was a heap of wrecked cars, TVs, mattresses, and a rotting wooden cabinet all scattered as if a tornado had recently tom through. A flock of ravens circled high above an unseen thing in the grass. A plastic bag caught in the branches of a dead tree rippled in the breeze like a wind sock. At the end of the industrial lane, he parked next to the building, turned off the engine and stepped out of his car. 167

He peered through the opening where a door used to be. He could smell the mildew inside, the grit and oil. Pigeons flew in the broken windows up above the catwalks. He turned at the sound of deep bass rattling the trunk of a car. At the far end of the building, where it faced the main highway, a black Nissan Maxima with chrome rims turned into the drive, front wheel dipping into a pot hole, wheels crunching on the gravel.

The car pulled past where Jackie stood and slowed to a stop behind the BMW. The windows were completely blacked out.

Jackie popped the trunk of the Beamer. “There isn’t much I can do about the supply,” he said. “You see the news lately? They’re cracking down all across the state.”

“Don’t believe everything you see on TV, Jackie. You let us worry about delivery from now on. You get me a hundred pounds and we’ll be straight. Otherwise you still owe. A quarter mil. Understand?”

“Jesus, Terrence. I’m going to need more than a week for something like that.”

“Ray White is not going to give you a week. You get three days.”

“Three days?” Jackie said. “Be reasonable, Trey.”

“The time for being reasonable is past.” Terrence smiled, exposing a gold-capped incisor. Talk to your boy, Eduardo.”

* 168

Deb sat at the table in Anne’s kitchen picking at her cuticles and shaking her head. “I think he needs life help, you know?”

Anne laughed. “You may be right about that. Tommy has a gift for being antisocial.”

“I feel like we’re right back where we started.”

Anne frowned. She licked a stamp and placed it on the envelope and set it aside.

“It’s sad,” she said. “It wasn’t until after our father left that he started getting like that.

He’s got anger issues. I was already out of the house by then, but Tommy got the worst of it from my father I think.” She looked out the window at the water as if she was trying to gather strength from it. “Sometimes I wonder how he would have turned out if he’d had someone to set him straight.”

“Hey, I grew up without a father too,” Deb said.

“It’s different for boys. They always have to prove themselves.”

“Sometimes I wonder why he even proposed to me.”

“Did you ever think about seeing somebody?”

“What do you mean? Having an affair?”

“Oh, no. God, no. I mean professionally.”

“No way. Are you kidding? Tommy would have never gone for that.”

“Well, it is what it is. You just have to tough it out, I guess.”

She sealed another envelope and placed it with the others. Anne was always saying “It is what it is” as if that explained everything. Accept things for what they are is 169

what she meant, and to Deb it stank of defeatism. Anne also had the irritating habit of making a clucking sound with her tongue after she said “It is what it is” - her little way of putting a punctuation mark on the statement, as if it were time to end the discussion so she could begin an entirely different one. Sometimes Deb wanted to slap her.

Deb jumped when she heard the back bedroom door open, amplified by the hardwood floors in the hallway. She’d forgotten Glen was home. He’d been holed up in there for most of the past week and a half. He sleepwalked into the kitchen in his robe and sweatpants in the middle of the afternoon, opened the fridge and stuck his head inside, a cloud of cold air spilling down around his shoulders, and emerged with an armful of lunch meat and mayonnaise. He stood at the island making a sandwich. “You two look like you’re up to no good,” he said.

Deb smelled pot. She thought Glen looked stoned, but she didn’t say so. The muffled sound of music was coming from Chris’s upstairs bedroom. Glen looked in the direction of the music, and then he leveled his eyes at Anne. “Your son needs a job,” he said.

“He’s my son now, is he?” Anne looked at Deb. See what I put up with?

“He’s got another thing coming if he thinks I’m paying the insurance on that car I just spent three grand on, not to mention that new lacrosse stick he just had to have.”

A door opened upstairs, the music got louder, the door slammed. Deb heard

Chris’s feet stomping on the floor. Glen flinched at the sound and dropped his knife in the sink. “He’s smoking pot up there,” he said. “I can smell it.” 170

“Well, I guess he’s your son too,” Anne said. She winked at Deb as if it were her job to keep score here. Mark one for Anne.

Glen stopped what he was doing and stared vacantly across the kitchen at Anne, droopy eyes scanning to Deb. “I’m not ready to get into that with you right now,” he said.

“What did I say?”

“You don’t have to say anything. I can feel it radiating off you. Maybe I should just go down to the Ramada Inn and get a room. Would that make you happy?”

“Do whatever you feel the need to, Glen. I’m not listening to this.” Anne looked at Deb, checking the score. She was losing points. “Have you even been out of the house today?” she asked Glen. “You look like you could use some sun. You’re so pasty.”

“Now I need to be concerned about my Vitamin D? Since when do you care what

I do?”

“I was just thinking that it looks like it’s going to be a pretty sunset today. I thought maybe you might want to go for a walk with me.”

“What do you need to go for a walk for?” Glen said. “You a dog?”

“I bet if we had a dog you’d want to go for a walk. You know Chris would like a dog.”

“What are you saying? You’re going to shit on the floor if I don’t take you for a walk?”

“Forget it. You know, I don’t know why I even try talking to you.”

“No, I want to understand. Why don’t you tell me?” 171

“Keep your voice down,” Anne said. “You don’t have to get so nasty.”

Deb stared out the kitchen window, watched a flock of seagulls circle above the water. She didn’t need to be in the middle of this. Though she’d more or less been in the middle of it for the past five years, and she didn’t know how she was going to get herself out.

“You need to get your own ass out of the house,” Glen was saying. “Get some exercise. Go right ahead. I’m not stopping you.” He ripped a handful of paper towels off the roll and picked up his plate, pausing to see if Anne wanted any more. When she didn’t say anything, he carried his plate back to his lair, shaking his head and grumbling to himself. “When Jackie shows up send him back here,” he shouted before slamming the door.

Anne was pursing her lips as if she just didn’t know what to do with these out-of- control boys who were running her house.

“Anne,” Deb said.

“What?”

“What do you think is going on around here?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You haven’t noticed anything unusual lately? Say, carpet cleaning vans parked across the street, guys in long trench coats following you around with ear pieces?

Anything like that?”

“That’s ridiculous.” 172

“I’m sure it is.”

“He gets like that when he’s not working. His contracting business has been struggling lately.”

Deb laughed.

“What?”

“You really have a way of shutting out the things you don’t want to see, you know that?”

“What don’t I see?”

“Something’s up, that’s what. I’m serious, Anne. Look. You’re I love you like a sister, but I’ve got to tell you, you’re living on Fantasy fucking Island.”

“What do you mean?” The pitch of Anne’s voice rose up like that of a little old lady who’d just been told there was no more tea in the cupboard.

“What do you think he does all day?”

Anne checked the edges of the placemats to make sure they were straight. “I told you, business has been slow. With all this rain we’ve had. This is the first nice day in a while and he probably wishes he was on the construction site instead of-”

“What business is that, Anne? Construction?” Deb coughed up a laugh and lowered her voice. “News flash, Anne: He’s selling pot. Him, Tommy, Jackie, all of them. Wake the fuck up. When was the last time he did anything besides sell pot?” She looked around the house, searching for evidence. She cocked a thumb toward the living 173

room, lowering her voice to a whisper. “Who has five expensive oriental carpets piled up in their living room anyway?”

Everybody knew Glen didn’t work. He was holed up in his back room like a fugitive while Anne sat out in the kitchen table paying the bills like that was just all part of a normal family life. Glen spent all his time shut off He didn’t go out, didn’t talk to anybody unless to fight with Anne. Lately, he was even worse, lashing out at the slightest thing - the way food had been arranged in the refrigerator, the dust on the blinds, the fact that Chris forgot to turn out the lights or take out the trash.

“That was a long time ago,” Anne said. “He stopped all that after Tommy got in trouble.”

“No he didn’t. Look, something’s going to happen. Mark my words. You know, I think I was followed home from here the other night?”

“I think you’re imagining things. He doesn’t do that anymore, Deb.”

“Are you blind? I can smell it.”

“Well, that’s something else. He needs to have a talk with Chris about that.”

“Glen knows something’s going to happen, Anne. I’m telling you, you need to take Chris and get the hell out of here before it’s too late. Because when the shit hits the fan you’re going to go down right along with him. Maybe you ought to think about what would happen if Chris was here with you when the police come barging through the door with their guns drawn. How do you think that would be if the cops came and took his mom and dad away in handcuffs? He’s only sixteen years old.” 174

“I really don’t want to talk about this right now. This is crazy.”

The familiar throaty sound of Jackie’s BMW rumbled on the other side of the kitchen wall as it pulled into the big garage. The alarm chirped, the door swung open, and in walked Jackie Pierce like he was stepping onto a stage, smiling from one side of his face to the other. Jackie had a way of always acting overly friendly with Anne. It was

Eddie Haskell friendly, like the way he acted with customers at the Cantina.

“Ladies,” he said, stopping to open the fridge so he could help himself to an Coke and check his reflection in the glass of the microwave, fix his hair. He was carrying the hard case to his pool cue and had a book tucked under his arm, but something about him seemed off. The act wasn’t working today. He looked like he’d been sweating.

*

Jackie bent slightly at the waist in a mock bow. He was surprised to see Deb with

Anne, especially in the middle of the day. “Are schools closed?” he said.

“It’s labor day,” Deb said. “How do you not know that?”

Jackie shrugged. “Restaurant’s open. Come to think, I didn’t notice the crossing guard when I turned on the street. It’s nice they give teachers a day off so early in the school year.”

Anne smiled, but she and Deb looked like they were in the middle of some kind of heavy female conversation. They had that vibe, and whatever it was they shut it down 175

as soon as they saw him. He hoped the pool cue made him look less conspicuous, like he was just stopping by for a game. The way they looked at him made him feel like he’d

stepped in shit and brought it inside with him. When he ran into a cluster he usually went for a carom shot, but now he was clearly up against the rail.

Jackie’s fingers nervously clawed at the embroidered alligator on his polo. “Hey,”

he said, remembering the book he’d brought with him. “That reminds me.” He crossed the room and handed Anne the paperback he was carrying. “I brought this over for you.”

“What is this?” Anne said.

“Remember? I mentioned it last time we talked.”

Anne turned the book over in her hand and read the title out loud: “All 1 Really

Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten. Well, how nice,” she said. “Thank you,

Jackie!”

Jackie didn’t hear anybody upstairs in the loft. The table was quiet. “Glen back in

his office?” he said. “I have a new stick I want him to see. Just had it engraved. I thought

maybe he’d want to try it out.”

“Isn’t it a little early for that?” Deb said.

“What time is it?” Jackie said, deflecting the suggestion with a thin smile. He

raised a limp wrist and turned his hand so the watch reflected light onto her face.

She swatted at the air in front of her and said, “Knock it off, Jackie.”

“He’s in the bedroom,” Anne said.

“Got it,” he said. “To the bat cave.” 176

He made a B-line for the hallway and hoped Glen wasn’t taking a nap. When he stepped to the door, it cracked opened, and Glen was standing there in his robe. His hair was a mess. He waved Jackie into the room and locked the door behind him.

Lately, he’d taken to using the half-desk in the comer of the bedroom, which had a better view of the street than the office, but seemed cramped by comparison. The bedroom windows looked out onto the patch of woods that ran along the main road. The trees were starting to yellow, and Jackie could see cars going by. Glen was keeping an eye on things. There was a pair of Bausch and Lomb binoculars on the desk, a Bearcat police scanner on the night stand. He turned up the volume. “Listen to this,” he said.

“What, you listening to tmckers? You got Frank on there?”

“Quiet,” Glen said.

Eleven twenty, a voice crackled. Suspect fleeing on foot.

“They haven’t got a fucking clue,” Glen said. He coughed into his fist.

He looked like he’d been up all night. On a scale of one to ten - ten being totally relaxed and groovy and one being completely stressed out - Jackie would have put Glen at about a two.

“Anne says you’ve been back here all day. What’s going on?”

“Keep it down,” he whispered. “What the hell did you come in the kitchen for?

Did you park in the driveway?”

“I pulled into the garage. Was I supposed to climb in through a window?”

Glen twisted the blinds shut. “You should’ve parked across the street.” 177

“Why don’t you use your office? It smells like a locker room in here.”

“I can’t stand that office. She insists on hanging that framed diploma of hers on the wall in there like it’s something special. She does it to piss me off. Are they still out there? What are they talking about?”

“I don’t know. They clammed up as soon as they saw me.”

The metal blinds snapped shut. “Deb’s trying to convince her to leave me,” he said. “I don’t trust her. She’s been acting strange. Let me ask you something, you think she still talks to her ex?”

“The cop?” Jackie said. “Hell no. Youi know, it’s freezing in here, Glen. You ought to open a window or something.”

“Come with me. I’ve got something I want to show you.”

Jackie followed Glen through the side door to the yard. They walked through the grass, around the side of the house to the driveway and into the garage.

There was a 4 x 8 sheet of Masonite leaning up against the back wall. Jackie grabbed one side and helped Glen slide the board across the floor. In the wall was a small square plywood door latched shut with a combination lock. It was feature Glen had evidently left out of his official tour of the property. Glen dialed in the combination on the Master Lock and swung the plywood door open. “Go on in,” he said. “There’s a light in there. Pull the string.”

“You’re not going to lock me in here, are you?”

Glen didn’t laugh. 178

Jackie duck-walked into the dark crawl space. It was cold and much larger than it looked. The concrete floor continued under the kitchen, turned a corner and stretched under the dining room as well.

“Keep going,” Glen said, following close behind him.

Jackie could hear the muffled voices of Deb and Anne coming down through the kitchen floor above his head. He could almost make out what they were saying. He stopped to listen and was crouching eye-level with the low-hanging naked bulb when it clicked on. As the yellow-orange spots dissolved, Jackie found himself staring at more pot than he’d ever seen in his life, at least in one place at one time.

“Jesus,” he said

“That’s what I’ve been talking about.”

“This must be at least, what, five hundred pounds.”

“Eight,” Glen said. “Half of what we’re getting.”

The bricks were the size of shoeboxes covered in cellophane that shined in the light of the naked overhead bulb. They were stacked into a roughly four-foot high cube.

On top of the pile sat a nylon Land’s End travel bag.

“What’s in the bag?”

“Two hundred thousand.”

“Shit. Where the hell did it come from?”

“I’ve been salting it away,” Glen said. “I want you to help me get all this into storage, pronto. It can’t stay here.” 179

Jackie had handled large amounts of cash at the Cantina, which on a good night, after a ball game, could pull in ten thousand easy from the crowded bar. He slid the bag off the pile, unzipped it and looked inside. There were stacks of hundred dollar bills neatly bundled with wide rubber bands.

“This a lot of money.”

Glen took the bag from him and zipped it back up.

“No shit.”

“What are you doing keeping all of that in your house?”

“What, I’m going to open a savings account? That’s not all I’ve got. There’s more in the bedroom. I plan to deliver this personally as part of my arrangement. But in the meantime I don’t want it sitting here. Why I asked you to come over today.”

“What do you want me to do? I don’t want it.”

“Let’s you and me take a drive.”

Jackie was in no mood to run errands. He would have preferred a game of nine- ball and a few beers. Usually, he knew in advance about this kind of thing, like having to lug eight hundred pounds of grass and two hundred thousand dollars in drug money to a storage facility in the middle of the day.

“Right now? You know how bad traffic’s is this time of day.”

Glen’s left eye started to twitch. He was standing sort of hunched over inside the small space like he was leaning into a strong wind, and he stared at Jackie from under those thick eyebrows, that vein throbbing high on his high forehead. 180

“I want to show you something else,” Glen said.

Jackie followed him out of the crawlspace. He closed the door, threw on the

Master Lock, then opened the driver’s door to his Blazer, reached under the seat and pulled out a .38 snub nose revolver.

“Woah,” Jackie said. “What are you, Tony Montana now?”

“It’s a Ruger.”

“I can see that. What the hell’s it for?”

“Just in case.”

“In case what? You expecting the gestapo to come knocking down the door or what?”

“You never know.”

Glen swung a leg over the seat of his son’s dirt bike and straddled the body, testing the shocks and working the handgrip with his free hand, pointing the gun at the wall in front of him. “Look at what happened to Bruce Cobum,” he said. “He died in the fucking can. That’s not going to be me.” Glen was looking straight ahead as if he was honing in on something in the middle distance only he could see. He held the pistol at arms’ length and sited down the short barrel. He looked like he was riding into the sunset, getting ready for the war party. “Anyway,” he said. “You’ve got to move that shit in there. I can’t have it at the house. What unit still has room in enough? Stanley’s? Not

Chesapeake. We’re closing that account. I have a bad feeling about that place. When

Frank gets back we’re switching locations.” 181

“I don’t know about Stanley’s. Place gives me a weird feeling. Besides, I don’t think all of thar is going to fit in my BMW.”

Jackie had never seen Glen so desperate for something to work out in his life. If he wasn’t careful he was going to give himself a heart attack. “Fine,” he said. “We’ll take my Blazer. But you drive.”

*

Leaving his BMW parked in Glen’s garage, Jackie drove Glen’s Blazer up the highway and then he drove it back down the highway, cutting through shopping center parking lots, running red lights, pulling into gas stations only to pull right back out into traffic, all just to throw off any possible tails. Glen put a hand on the dash as Jackie cut the wheel around a slow-moving station wagon that was drifting into his lane.

“There it is again,”

“What?”

“I keep seeing that same bird.”

“That blue jay back there?”

“No,” Glen said. “That raven.” He pointed at a tall water oak at the corner of

Carrol Island and Beach Drive. “Right there. See it?”

“You think it’s possible there’s more than one of them?”

“I’m telling you,” Glen said, “it’s bad luck.” 182

“Man, you need to calm down,” Jackie said. “Let’s roll one. What do you say?”

“No hacking way. Keep that shit in your pocket.”

“You know,” Jackie said, “I hate to say this, but I think you’re being a little paranoid.” It may have been a moot point by now, but still. He had to say something.

Everybody looked suspicious to Glen - a guy on a garbage truck, a guy on a telephone pole, a mail carrier making deliveries.

“Maybe I am paranoid,” Glen said. “Doesn’t mean I’m not right. Consider it a form of heightened awareness, Jackie.”

“Heightened awareness,” Jackie said, laughing. “That’s good. Are you kidding me?”

“Yeah that’s right. I knew something was going on with Frank the other day. You believe that bullshit story of his?”

Jackie was still laughing. “Fucking heightened awareness. I mean, I’m willing to embrace a go-with-the-flow mentality, Glen. But this is getting ridiculous. There something you’re not telling me?”

“Watch the road.”

*

The black Blazer moved along a four-lane stretch of industrial highway past car dealerships and gas stations and fast food franchises. When it passed the Seneca 183

Elementary school, the driver of the maroon Buick LeSabre, a man wearing a flat cap and

Ray Ban sunglasses, turned out of the parking lot and followed two car-lengths behind, tailing it to Eastern Avenue. Jackie Pierce made a left-hand turn on Eastern and bolted across two lanes and picked up speed. The driver of the Buick punched the gas, caught up to where he could keep an eye on the Blazer, allowing afternoon traffic on Eastern to provide cover: a green minivan, a lime green Fiat and a commercial delivery truck. Jackie

Pierce took a left past the mall. At Bowlies Quarters, the minivan and delivery truck veered off toward the peninsula. The Buick stayed behind the Fiat. The Blazer took the ramp for Route 702 toward the beltway. Then immediately got off the beltway, turned under the overpass and got back on going in the opposite direction. Jackie Pierce’s head tilted up toward the rearview, checking the mirror. The driver of the LeSabre hit his blinker and made a hard right hand turn.

*

Jackie was looking at the gas gauge. The needle was hanging in the red. This was getting to be a three ring circus, but it was also contagious. It had gotten so that he couldn’t leave the house without checking his locks twice. He’d stopped putting his garbage out, watched his mirrors constantly. He always used a blinker even if he was just going to change lanes. He used to like the way his BMW would turn heads, but now he was suspicious when people looked at him, got the feeling he was being followed. He 184

would sometimes drive past his own house and then make a U-tum just to see if anybody was behind him. He’d pull off the road and park in a motel parking lot and watch traffic for a while, looking for tails, just waiting.

After returning to Stanley’s Self-Storage unloading all eight hundred pounds along with the bag of cash and then dropping Glen back at his house, Jackie drove his

BMW slowly down Ebenezer back toward Bay Drive. As per his usual routine, he passed his neighborhood, turned on Susquehanna and circled back around, returning to his street, passing his house again, checking the cars along the street and driving all the way down to the end of Bay Drive where it deadended at the water.

He turned off the motor and sat there in the bay darken as the sun set behind him.

He listened to the tick of the engine, glancing in the rearview to see if anybody else had pulled onto the street. The moon was hid behind the clouds, and in the growing dark

Jackie could barely make out where the water ended and the sky began. He needed to get his head straight. He checked the rearview again. It was quiet, just another lazy night on the water. Maybe he was just overreacting. Glen was just being overly cautious.

Then he saw it, parked across from his house, the maroon Buick he’d noticed earlier. He’d thought it had been following him, but hadn’t wanted to say anything else that might cause Glen to fly off the handle. He was still in knots over the Frank thing and would have blown it all out of proportion. But now Jackie thought he could see the dark outline of a man sitting behind the wheel, but he wasn’t sure. The man turned his head slightly, and the amber light of a neighbor’s flood glinted off his glasses. Jackie started 185

the engine, and as soon as he did, the Buick jumped off the shoulder, spraying gravel, and sped toward the highway.

“Motherfucker,” Jackie said.

He didn’t get the plate number. It didn’t look like the kind of car he would have associated with Ray White’s people, who usually preferred more flash, and it didn’t look like a cop. He sat in the 325 for a few minutes, collecting his thoughts and feeling the chill off the water. He decided not to go home.

*

The view from Lieutenant Fitzpatrick’s office on the fourth floor of the skybox stretched fifteen miles south to the Baltimore City skyline. On a good day you could even see the sun glinting off the harbor. Today was cloudy, but Henry stood at the window watching rush hour traffic out of Towson crawling along Goucher Boulevard four stories below, the red taillights blinking in a sluggish herky-jerky rhythm all the way back to

Parkville. He thought about how much contraband existed in the fifteen miles between

Towson and Baltimore, and for a moment, he imagined that he could see it all out there awaiting transaction, hiding behind walls and in people’s closets, stashed in the glove compartments and the trunks of cars, being peddled hand to hand in the open air drug corners at Pratt, Payson, Carrollton Ridge. It was all out there just waiting to be found. 186

Henry didn’t know where all of it was, but he knew where some of it was hiding, and he was ready to go get it.

Fitz was still on the phone with the captain. “As far as I know Brooks and his squad are still working closely with the State Police in North Carolina,” he said.

“Absolutely. His detectives are doing their job.” He winked at Henry. “They’re coordinating with the DEA... I know that sir. They promised to alert us as soon as the shipment is in route... Yes, sir. I’ll get back to you as soon as we have something substantial. Very good. Captain.” He set the receiver on the cradle and shook his head at

Henry. “Got to keep Uncle happy.”

“Always.”

Fitz’s head stopped shaking, and he looked at Henry. “You have spoken to your contact with the State Police down there, haven’t you?”

“I hate to be the one to tell you this, boss, but I think we might have a hiccup there.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t want to say I told you so, but Special Agent Fuller has taken over as liaison with the North Carolina Police.”

“Shit. I’m sorry about that, Hank.”

“I’m getting freezed out. I don’t know what they have up their sleeves. The federal prosecutor’s office doesn’t like to return my calls.”

“No surprise there. He doesn’t return mine either.” 187

“I think we might be in for a surprise those federal boys decide to grow an imagination.”

“I wouldn’t count on them doing that, but thanks for telling me, Hank. I’ll follow up myself and see what I can find out. In the meantime, just make sure you got your ducks in a row.”

“I always do.”

Henry had his ducks in a row. Laying your birds out in the grass was the most efficient way to prepare them for breasting. Henry had learned that from his father. But he wasn’t ready to start shucking. The prosecutor’s office had a tendency to clam up whenever something federal was about to go down. It probably gave themselves time to do their hair for the six o'clock news. Henry knew Fitzpatrick was getting nervous.

“You cleared everything with Essex precinct?”

“I spoke to a lieutenant in narcotics,” Henry said. “He’s going to lend us two of his detectives to assist in the raid on Howell’s residence.”

“Good. I don’t want to run into trouble over there, stepping on somebody’s toes.”

“Taken care of.”

“Always deconflict, Hank.”

“Yes, sir.”

Fitz clearly still had his sights on the future of his career, and a big case like this one was turning into could get him kicked up to captain if he played his cards right. The last thing he wanted was one of his detectives making waves. 188

*

Tommy showed his pink ticket to the CO that watched the courtyard, crossed to the hospital building, showed his pass again and was escorted up the stairs of the PSU to the fourth floor where he waited on a bench in the hall for one of two resident psychiatrists to call him in.

The woman wore reading specs on a chain around her neck and sat at a desk with a name plate that said MRS. ANDREWS. She asked Tommy how he was feeling and he tried to say the right things: that he was trying to stop using drugs, that he wanted to earn parole. If he was willing to take the AS AT course for substance abusers, Mrs. Andrews said, she’d see what she could do for him. Some inmates picked up trash, cleared brush and debris in local parks. They painted buildings, did landscaping. It depended on what was available, what you were capable of learning and whether or not you were eligible, which with Tommy’s recent disciplinary restriction, he was not. But if he went through the substance abuse program, Mrs. Andrews said, he might become eligible.

Tommy had gotten to know other inmates who processed beef for fast food joints or assembled airplane parts for Bowing and Delta or put together home appliances for

Black and Decker. It’s not like there were many benefits to working for a dollar a day besides getting to get outside the prison walls, but usually that was pay enough. It was 189

good to catch a fresh breeze, maybe see something other than the gray slab of concrete for a few hours.

The following Monday afternoon, Tommy reported to the first-floor conference room in the H-Building and joined the other inmates sitting in the metal folding chairs that had been set around in a circle. The man sitting next to Tommy’s name was Teddy, and he was in for murder. That was how the counselor had asked them to introduce themselves, by stating their first name and followed by they’d been convicted for, being careful to say “convicted for” and not “committed.” Most of the inmates Tommy had ever met were innocent, of course. The men in the group were in for a variety of offenses, but they all admitted to having drug problems.

Teddy was speaking: “It really isn’t anything anybody’s ever ready to deal with until it happens. But you get out of here, try to find your way back into the world. It ain’t easy. Some people say they miss it, they’d rather come back. So they do something stupid, get themselves put back inside.”

“Speak for yourself,” the other man said. “I get out this bitch, I stay out. I ain’t coming back.”

“It’s the same thing with the army.”

“Shit, the army wants your soul. They don’t give a half-eaten burrito about your soul in the joint ” 190

“I just mean the way some people get used to something, it’s hard to change. You spend all that time cleaning your gun, you look forward to popping off a few rounds. But then you see how much that screws up your mind when you come back.”

“I think I know what you’re saying,” the counselor said. “But is that the same thing as recidivism?”

“Yeah,” one of the other men said. “It be like, how you supposed to go to the grocery store and buy your frozen vegetables and TV dinners when you a killing machine?”

Teddy shook his head. “I really don’t know.”

“I can’t remember the last time I had a TV dinner.”

The idea was to talk about what was positive in your life, things they were grateful for, but most guys just bitched about the past. Tommy didn’t have to attend every week, but if he wanted to pass the course he’d had to get through twelve sessions.

“Shit,” one of them said. “You go and strap a habit on your ass you’re gone carry that around with you when you get out ”

“Get out?” Teddy said. “The board’s not ready to even start talking about my parole. I got fifteen more years of this shit .”

“You want to make an impression on the parole board get your ass enrolled in a

class of some kind.”

Teddy tapped the ashes of his cigarette out on the floor, rested his elbows on his

knees. “What do you think I’m doing sitting here with all of you fools?” 191

Tommy kept his eyes on the clock on the wall. The hands didn’t appear to be moving.

*

Jackie could have sworn Stanley looked at him cross-eyed when he paid his bill.

That redneck nephew of his had definitely been giving him a look. Jackie’s skin felt papery, his mouth was dry. He was trying to hold off on his first bump. The adrenaline he felt from all the shit he’d been through in the last week was enough of a rush, but he gave in now, just a small on, enough to get straight, doing it right there in the parking lot in front of the Cantina and rubbing his finger on his gums. He was ready for a stiff drink, but he better wait. Because after that he’d be ready for another.

He started the engine and drove back to Stanley’s, going around to the side entrance to avoid the view from office and heading directly to unit 114. He unlocked the shed door, grabbed the Land’s End duffel bag with the two hundred grand in it and dropped it in the trunk of the Beamer. He took one last look at the eight hundred pounds just sitting there. Then he pulled the door shut, locked the shed and drove fifteen miles up the road to U-Store Unlimited in Joppatown. He told the clerk working there that he wanted to open a new account. He paid cash, used his mother’s address on the form and the name, Lee Joseph, something he just thought up on the spot. He bought a combination 192

Master Lock in the office and wrote down the six-digit number on a piece of paper and tucked it into his wallet.

It made more sense for the money to be in a different place. He’d move the pot too if he thought he could handle eight hundred pounds on his own. He’d had a bad feeling about Stanley’s for a while now. These days, Jackie had a bad feeling about everything. He wasn’t just being paranoid. Talking to Frank had convinced him of that.

The clock was definitely ticking. He’d tried to warn Glen, but Glen wouldn’t listen. Glen was in too deep to let anything stop him now, not that Jackie was in much better of a

situation. At least the money was safe. He told himself there was no sense in telling Glen about it. It would be just another thing that would stress him out. He could thank him later.

*

Glen Howell woke to what sounded like a garbage truck falling out of the sky.

Then he heard the shouting, the boots on the tile floor in the foyer. He leapt out of his bed, threw on his bathrobe and ran down the hall. He didn’t even think about the Ruger he’d stashed in the garage, a momentary lapse in judgment that was a likely reason he was still alive at seven a.m. - at which time his waterfront home had attracted a dozen more task force members, four DEA agents, plus two K-9 units, including Salinger -

dumping drawers out on the floor, emptying cabinets, tearing apart drywall, cutting open 193

pillows and pulling out the stuffing, going through articles of clothing, wallets, purses, item by item.

Pink morning light streamed in through the open window above the sink, a breeze came in off the bay. Cal brought Howell’s teenage son, Chris, down from upstairs and sat him on the floor next to Anne and Glen, all of them still dumb with sleep. The family was arranged cross-legged, back-to-back in the middle of the living room floor, their wrists lashed together with plastic snap ties.

The DEA-sponsored evidence techs arrived at eight a.m. and began moving people out of the way. The entry and back-up teams were taking five in the kitchen, talking loudly to one another, a Mr. Coffee filling up a second pot on the counter. Mike

Fletcher balanced the heavy VHS camcorder on one shoulder and zoomed in tight on

Anne Howell’s face, focusing on her swollen and disoriented eyes, the image blurring as

he panned to the dining room and pulled wide on the six agents gathered there. He waved to Kristy Dunbar. She shook her head and pursed her lips, turning her back on him to

continue her search.

The open floorplan allowed a clear view from the kitchen to the dining area and great room beyond where the Howells sat tied together on the rug like prisoners of war.

Cal could see Anne Howell from where he stood at the kitchen island. He’d found a tin of

homemade chocolate chip cookies and was helping himself. “Were you expecting us,

Anne?” He said, taking a bite.

Anne’s face didn’t seem to register emotion. 194

“They’re a little dry,” he said, raising his voice.

Still nothing. He took another bite.

Guy Maxwell walked Salinger along the perimeter of the room, searching for any contraband that might’ve been stashed behind the drywall, under the couch, in the television console. Salinger sniffed at a stack of oriental rugs and raised his leg.

“Good boy,” Guy said. “That’s a real good boy.”

“Jesus, Maxwell,” Cal said. “Some of us have to work in here.”

“He’s actually trained to do that.”

“I’m sure he is.”

“It’s a tactical maneuver.”

Cal looked at Glen and grinned. “Were you having a rug sale?”

Pool balls clacked on the table in the loft where the A-team members who’d come

in first were working off some of the nervous energy over a game of eight ball. Henry

returned from the first floor bedroom with a suitcase and a bag. He shook the bag and

dropped it on the rug, the sound of coins jangling inside. “You been playing the

Charlestown slots, Glen?”

“Maybe he likes the pinball machine down at the pizzeria,” Cal said.

Glen looked at the bag and blinked, impassive.

“I’m just kidding, Glen. I know you like to talk on the pay phone. You like to talk

on the phone a lot. Should we see what’s in the suitcase?” 195

Henry spun the case around, laid it flat and unsnapped the clasp. There were several rows of neatly stacked bills banded together with the same homemade wrappers he’d found in the trash. “Well, look at that,” he said. “I take it you don’t bank FDIC, do you?” He turned the open briefcase on the coffee table so Cal could get a look at the cash

Cal whistled through his teeth. Henry removed the composition notebook and leafed through the pages. “Looks like you put everything in order for us,” he said. “I appreciate

that.”

By nine a.m. the news trucks had arrived. Henry bent down to loosen plastic ties.

The wife and kid looked like zombies, but Glen Howell was breathing heavily through

his nose, muscles tensing up when Henry put his hands around his biceps and squeezed,

hemming him up from the floor.

“This is an illegal search,” Glen said. “I know my fucking rights.”

Apparently, he’d passed disbelief and had now reached the second stage: denial.

“Fuck you all,” Chris said.

Even the kid was getting in on it.

“Nice mouth on that kid of yours,” Cal said. “You might consider taking him to a

counselor. I hear events like these can be traumatizing.”

“You sons of bitches are going to be sorry,” Glen said.

“Oh. I see where he gets it from.” 196

Cal passed Anne Howell off to Kristy. Henry hung back, making sure he gave the

TV crews a chance to turn on their cameras, fix their hair and get into position. With one hand on Glen’s arm and the other on his shoulder, he moved him toward the front door. It was a crisp October morning, not a cloud in the sky. Sunlight flickered like static on the

surface of the bay. Glen and Anne Howell were led squinting from their house into the bright sunlight and past the news cameras that had set up around the perimeter of the

house, beyond the screen of UC cars and Crown Vies.

Henry leaned in close to Glen’s left ear. “Don’t forget to smile,” he said. “Your

neighbors are watching.” As he guided Glen across the lawn, he felt his body begin to

tremble in his grasp. It was probably safe to assume the smirk had left his face by now.

“You feel OK there, Glen?”

“Look, I own a contracting business. I don’t even know what this is about.”

“Is that right?” Henry suppressed a laugh, showing a serious expression for the

cameras. “Tell me something then. How is business going these days?”

“It’s been slow.”

That one actually got him. He allowed himself a chuckle. “You know what, pal?

I’ve been following you day in, day out for about two years now. I know for a fact you

don’t work.”

“I’m innocent,” Glen said. “This is all a misunderstanding. You’re making a

mistake.” 197

But when Howell saw his wife being loaded into the bag of a tinted Crown Vic, the reality hit him. He’d reached the third stage: regret. He started sobbing. “Please don’t involve my wife and son in any of this.”

“It’s too late to play nice, pal.”

“They didn’t do anything. Please.”

“You involved them in this. Not me.”

“I’m innocent. I’m telling you. This is a big mistake.”

“Believe me when I tell you this, Glen. This is no mistake. I’ve been on you so long I feel like I know you.”

Henry could feel the muscles in Glen’s arm flex and strain against his grip. “You don’t know me,” he said

Henry laughed. He head-steered Glen Howell into the back of the Crown Vic.

“Well, maybe not. But I’ll tell you what I do know.” He put his hands on the hood and

leaned into the car. “I finally got you, you prick.”

Glen turned his head and looked at Henry. He narrowed his eyes and smiled. “It took you long enough.”

*

Deb sat at the kitchen table, untouched mug of coffee going cold as she watched

images flash across the TV that sat on the counter: Anne being escorted out of her home

in handcuffs, a team of agents trooping across the lawn, Henry Wheeler leading Glen 198

toward an unmarked police car. There were at least a dozen police officers standing in front of the house, cars and vans crowding the street. The picture cut to a mugshot of

Anne. She looked like she needed about eight more hours sleep. The crawler at the bottom of the screen read: Kindergarten Kingpin.

Deb changed the channel and saw it all over again from a different angle. An anchor said that Baltimore County police had confiscated eight hundred pounds of marijuana from a public storage locker. In a morning conference outside the courthouse, states attorney Ron Neighbors described the multiple-warrant raid. It was the largest sweep the county had seen in more than a decade and had resulted in the largest confiscation of contraband in state history. His face was shining. He was beaming with pride from behind a bouquet of microphones.

They had Jackie, too. She saw his mugshot along with Glen’s and Frank’s and a few other guys she’d met from time to time at the bar or at Glen’s house playing pool.

There was Reese and his girlfriend Connie. The thought of how close she’d come herself to being on the other side of those cameras scared her. She’d planned on going over to

Jackie’s after work, even had her overnight bag in the back of the Mustang, but he’d told her he was tired, suggested they do it another time. Had he known something was going to happen? The last time she’d been at Jackie’s she thought she’d seen someone sitting in

a dark car along the street, but she didn’t stare and hadn’t said anything to him, thinking

it was probably a neighbor who was just listening to the radio or looking for their keys. It wasn’t any of her business. It was better to make excuses to not get involved. 199

*

“They tapped my fucking phone,” Glen said. He and Frank and Jackie sat in the same holding cell at the processing Baltimore County center reading their arrest documents. “Where the hell they get the warrant for that? This is getting tossed out. Wait till my lawyer gets a hold of this.”

“They probably went through your trash,” Frank said, “tapped your phone.”

Glen shook his head. “I never said shit over the phone. This is unconstitutional.”

He crumpled the paper and threw it on the floor. “Fuckers smoked their cigarettes and flicked the ashes everywhere. You know they put their butts out on the felt of my pool table? Even let their goddamned dog take a shit right in the middle of my living room floor.”

The thought of that nice table of Glen’s soiled by a police cigarette made Jackie cringe. It wasn’t right. The cops were not subtle about making a point. Glen was understandably emotional. He was going off on a rant, said he planned to sue the state, said he was going to get a civil liberties lawyer, personally sue every last one of the cops involved in the raid. Then he was going to pay someone to go after their families, break a few legs. He was tearing articles out of the newspaper. “They want to play,” he said, “I can play. Wait till they see my lawyer.” 200

“If you knew those guys you were working with were concerned enough to leave the country why the hell did you agree to take so much pot from them? You think they set you up?”

Glen looked at Jackie like he’d asked him why the sky was blue. “Why do you think?” he said. “I got a good fucking deal on it.”

*

Anne Howell didn’t look like a kingpin. She looked like a school teacher. Her hair was frizzled from repeated dyeing and bleaching, her skin tanned from too much sun. She made Henry uncomfortable. Her whole life was crashing down around her, and she was giving him that stone cold look like he was the one sitting in the principal’s office. It was a look that reminded him of being in grade school, that time he got caught lighting a cherry bomb and dropping it in the toilet in the girl’s lavatory. Sister Janet had suspended him from Sacred Heart for that. Maybe it was just her default expression. Maybe he was reading into it. It had been a long fucking morning.

“Mrs. Howell,” he said, taking a seat across from her at the metal table in the interview room and pulling his chair in close. Her eyes were droopy, the dark circles showing the lack of sleep. She stared straight ahead, keeping her eyes on the wall and mirrored viewing window on the other side of the room, her face a mask of placidity.

Henry decided to jump right to the point. He spoke as directly as he would any other 201

suburban house wife he’d caught holding a literal ton of contraband. “Anne, does your husband sell marijuana?”

“I’d rather not answer that question.”

She didn’t even hesitate. Didn’t blink. She was slick.

“Let me rephrase that. Has he ever sold marijuana?”

Now she looked the other way, didn’t answer.

“Come on, Anne. Don’t mess around with me. You want to make a statement here

I might be able to do something for you, but you don’t talk to me now it’s probably going

to get ugly. I hate to tell you, but it’s true. You saw those news cameras at your house? It

doesn’t end there.”

She stared at the floor.

Henry glanced at his notes. “The phone is in your name,” he said. “OK. The

house is titled to Dutch Contracting. You want to tell me what’s going on?”

“We’ve had separate finances for the past five years,” Anne said. “I pay the bills.

He makes the house payment. That’s all.”

“What did you report, thirty-K last year? I wonder if all those tax-paying parents

who send their kids to that school you teach at will be happy to know they were filling

the pockets of a drug dealer.”

She didn’t say anything.

“Let’s try this again.”

“I’d rather my lawyer were present.” 202

“OK, fine. But you bring your lawyer into this, it turns into something else entirely. Mrs. Howell, why don’t we take advantage of having this time together and you just humor me for a minute?”

“I already made a statement.”

“Sure, you made a statement. You signed it. You said your husband helps make the house payment. But how can he afford a two-thousand-dollar-a-month payment when he only claims fifteen grand on his tax returns last year? You want to tell me that?”

“I don’t do my husband’s taxes,” Anne Howell said. “I told you. All I know is that he runs a contracting business. He takes care of his own finances.”

“I bet he does. A monthly payment of two grand? That’s a twenty-four thousand dollar a year house payment, Anne. It just doesn’t add up.”

“It’s multiplication.”

“What is?”

“It’s not addition, two times twelve.”

“The only thing multiplying are the charges against you, Anne. Tell me, does your husband make the payment in hundred dollar bills? Because we found a stack of them under that bed you were sleeping in. Remember that?”

She looked at the empty space in front of her and tried to keep her hands still.

Henry could see them shaking. 203

“Fifty grand,” he said. “Fifty thousand dollars, in cash. You remember that? You seemed a little sleepy at the time. Maybe you don’t remember. Did you know about that money, Anne?”

“I’d like to speak with my attorney,” she said.

*

Deb held the wheel with both hands to keep them from shaking. She was rounding the beltway in the Mustang, hoping she could make it to the courthouse with enough time to pay for parking and get to wherever she needed to be. She’d made the

same trip twice before during Tommy’s various pretrial hearings, but this one she imagined would be particularly crowded.

The arraignment court was a circus of lawyers and police, with multiple cameras belonging to various local news outlets set up in the courtroom with a view of Anne as

she was led into the glass prisoner docket. Despite there being no jury present, the district

attorney stood at the prosecution table and spoke. He directed his comments to the judge, but he looked like he was speaking for the cameras.

Deb wasn’t allowed inside the courtroom. She sat in one of two metal folding

chairs positioned against the wall outside the courtroom. A guard posted in front of the

closed double wooden doors stared blankly past her face at the opposite wall. Sitting on

top of a small metal stand across from her was a small color monitor that displayed a 204

video feed of what was happening on the other side of the wall. Anne appeared small and over-saturated. The state prosecutor kept referring to her as a “kingpin” as he outlined the charges against Anne. Deb thought they must be talking about someone else. Deb wasn’t sure if Anne even knew where she was. There was no sign of recognition in her face. She looked catatonic.

“This woman is a flight risk, your honor. We believe she has money in foreign bank accounts and is poised to flee the country if released from state custody.”

“Object to the characterization, judge.” Anne’s attorney, Rebecca Kelleher, was standing at the defense table. Deb could only make out the back of her head on the tiny screen. “We haven’t seen any evidence of these so-called foreign accounts.”

“I thought you said the wife was a day care provider, prosecutor,” the judge said.

He shook his head and wiped his mouth with his hand. His jowls trembled when he spoke. “What is this nonsense about foreign bank accounts anyway?”

“Kindergarten teacher, Judge. She is employed by the county, but we have reason to believe this is not her primary source of income. Anne Howell is a model citizen by day, but at night she is one of the leaders of a very large drug syndicate with ties to

Colombian cartels.”

“Your honor,” Rebecca Kelleher said, “Fd like to request the state supply the defense with a bill of particulars in this case.”

“You think we’re going to surprise you with something?” the state’s attorney asked. He was smirking. He had a face like a ferret. 205

“Your honor,” Kelleher said, “I’d like some specification on what exactly the

District Attorney believes Mrs. Howell’s involvement here was.” She turned to face the

D A. “If you subpoenaed the phone logs and bank records then I’d like time to review that evidence.”

“Judge,” Neighbors said, “as the court is aware, ordinarily we issue a seizure order for the house, but the title twelve has to go through an equity hearing first.”

“Fine,” the judge said. “Let’s just see if we can’t get through this before lunch.”

It was dizzying trying to follow the proceedings. Deb asked the guard if she could turn up the volume and he shrugged. She reached for the knob and listened. It looked like

Kelleher was earning her money. She was making this D A. work. An article Deb read in the paper had noted that Neighbors had personally introduced the so-called “kingpin

statute,” which was the piece of legislation he was using to charge Anne and Glen and the

four others the police had arrested. This was all a highly-orchestrated career move, a

feather in the D.A.’s cap. This was just a game they were playing, and none of it seemed

real.

Deb couldn’t understand Anne’s stubborn insistence that everything in her life was perfectly normal. She’d been right to warn her, not that there was any sense of

satisfaction now that it was clear she’d been right. How could Anne not have known what

Glen was doing? Things had changed, she said. Glen stopped drinking, was talking about

having another kid. They were happy. Now Anne looked like a different person

altogether, and from the prosecutor’s description - “educator by day, dope dealer by 206

night” - maybe this really was someone Deb didn’t know. Who the hell was Anne

Howell anyway?

“We recommend bail be set at one hundred-fifty thousand with surety,” the D A. said.

Rebecca Kelleher said, “Your honor, Mrs. Howell is an honorable member of the community. There is no reason to believe there is any risk of flight. I’d like to have thirty days to file special pleas.”

The judge seemed to be frowning, scratching at his chin. Was he picking his teeth? “I have a vacation coming up,” he said finally. “File any motions within ten days.”

He banged his gavel, and like that it was over. Deb was relieved the judge had at least granted Anne bail. One hundred and fifty thousand dollars - was that what she’d heard?

How was Anne going to come up with one hundred and fifty thousand dollars?

*

Glen was doing enough pacing for all of them, not that there was a comfortable place to sit in the holding cell. It was hell being in there, not being able to control anything else going on around you in your life, all these other people out there free to do whatever they wanted. It was enough to drive anybody crazy. But watching Glen unravel was actually helping Jackie keep it together. He was trying to tally up in his head all of the people that owed him money and figure out how he was going to collect. “Everybody 207

thinks I’m never getting out,” Glen said. “They’ll be surprised. They got another thing coming. I’ll tell you what though. I’d like to get somebody to beat on those pigs that broke into my house.”

Frank remained impassive throughout Glen’s tirade, waiting until he’d finished and walked away to look at Jackie and give him one long slow shake of the head. Don’t do it. Don’t say anything. Jackie looked at Frank. He couldn’t tell what side he was really on anymore. If any of what he’d said at the Cantina was true, all that shit about corrupt state troopers and working for the feds, then Frank had enough information to sink them all. But Frank was through with explanations.

“They don’t have shit,” Frank said.

Glen stopped mid-stride and looked at Frank. “You know something I don’t.”

Frank looked away. He was either a much better actor than Jackie realized or he really wasn’t sure what was going to happen to him. Maybe his deal with the FBI was no longer in play. He looked genuinely concerned about his future. But after the guards came for Frank, telling him to stand and place his wrists through the opening in the bars so they could cuff him and escort him out of there, Glen looked at Jackie and said, “That prick talks and I’m going to break his legs. I’ll do worse than that. I’ll fucking bury him.”

“How are we going to get out of here, Glen?”

“They don’t have anything on me,” he said. “What do they have on you, Jackie?” 208

Jackie said he didn’t really know for sure. “Tally sheets, it looks like,” he said,

“the scale. They got that. I should have never put those lockers in my name. Fucking

Stanley’s. They’ve got me dead to rights.”

Glen was poring over the arrest documents for the third time when he stopped as if a lightbulb had gone on. He looked up at Jackie, tilted his head and said, “They don’t have anything in here about the money.”

“What money?”

“The two hundred grand you helped me put in the storage unit.”

“Oh. They don’t?”

“No. They got us both for the eight hundred pounds, says there’s video surveillance and everything, but they don’t say anything in here about the money.”

“You think the cops stole it?”

Jackie decided in that moment that Glen could think whatever he wanted to think, but he wasn’t going to say anything else. For all he knew they could be recording everything with hidden microphones. He shrugged, looked around and said, “I mean, I wouldn’t doubt it. Would you?”

Glen shook his head. “There were too many of them around for somebody to keep that to themselves. It would have to get filed into evidence.”

“I don’t know. Cops are sneaky.”

“I had three and a half grams of pot in my truck. That’s all. I’m fucking walking.”

“What about your tally sheets?” 209

Glen’s records must have been confiscated.

“Nobody’s going to know what any of that stuff means,” Glen said. “It’s too sophisticated.”

“C’mon, Glen. Do you hear yourself? I think they’ve seen tally sheets before.”

He shook his head. “It’s all coded,” he said. “Who are they going to get to translate it for them? You?”

“Me?” Jackie said, his voice catching slightly in his throat. He laughed. “Yeah, right. Tommy maybe.”

“Hey, Jackie,” Glen said, still eyeing him with that sharp stare of his, giving him the sort of smile that let him know he registered every hesitation, noted every twitch of the eye. “Tell me one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“You didn’t have any coke on you, did you?”

*

“Looks like an episode of the three stooges on this monitor.”

“No shit. I wonder what the hell the feds wanted with Shep. Where’d they take him?”

“Got me. Somehow I don’t think they’re going to tell us.”

On the ten-inch black-and-white monitor, Jackie Pierce sat on an aluminum bench with his back against the painted cinderblock wall while Glen Howell patrolled the room 210

from one end to the other, gesturing wildly and flapping his mouth nonstop. Henry could guess what he was saying. The guy was on a crusade. At least, he thought he was going to be. It was as if he enjoyed the publicity, having his face plastered on the front page of every newspaper in town. He was going to try to use his newfound celebrity to advance the cause for legalization.

Cal tapped the monitor with a fingernail. “He is a deeply suspicious man.”

“When I was bringing him in, he says, ‘Who told you?’” Henry said. “I say,

‘What’s the matter? You don't have much confidence in your entourage?’ He doesn’t say anything.”

“Looks like he’s got plenty to say now. Maybe we ought to interview him.”

“Maybe we just let them sit in there together and stew, see what happens.”

Glen had stopped pacing. He sat on the edge of his bunk, leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. Henry could see him kneading his hands together.

“The wheels are turning,” Henry said.

“So what about the brother-in-law? We got anything there?”

“Murphy? He’s more or less used to his surroundings by now. He probably likes it.”

“Third time in. Don’t they throw you a party for that? Must be like a homecoming.”

“Can we make any use of Howell’s records without him?” 211

“We’ve got Larry Fine here in the bag. I’m sure he could illuminate a few things.

We found five kis of coke in the trunk of his BMW, guy says, ‘Please don’t take my

Beamer!’ I said, ‘Oh, no. We’re not going to take your fancy sports car. In fact, I was going to suggest you drive yourself in.’”

They both laughed.

“You know where he’s going?”

“I arranged something special for him,” Henry said. “But I don’t think we’re going to need a CIA codebreaker to make sense of these books. It’s pretty straightforward. Most of the transactions are initialed and dated by Howell.”

“We can get a handwriting expert to verify that.”

He shrugged. “Don’t know how well that would hold up, but yeah.”

“We’re talking about a lot of money. It’s pretty clear who was responsible for what.”

“Clear enough to convince a grand jury?”

“I’d feel better if we had somebody to verify the books in front of the jury, explain day-to-day operations - you know, in layman’s terms. Tell a story, paint a picture everybody can see.”

“I agree. They’ll need it spelled out.”

“If Murphy would agree to talk.

“I’ll try him again.”

“Good. Do that. Tell him we’ll pay him.” 212

“Funny how that always seems to work.”

He looked down at the monitor. “So which one of these knuckleheads you think has a better sense of humor?”

On the ten-inch Zenith, Jackie Pierce was tapping his feet and watching Glen, every now and then throwing a glance up at the reflective glass.

*

Henry had asked two uniforms to take Jackie Pierce into the interrogation room.

Then he purposefully let him sit in the box for thirty minutes before making his way over, opening the door halfway, taking time to finish the idle conversation he was having outside the door, emphasizing the insignificance of this particular interview.

“Jackie boy,” he said turning around as if remembering his presence for the first time.

Jackie looked up.

“It’s been a minute.” Henry tossed a copy of The Emperor Wears No Clothes on the table and it smacked the surface and reverberated in the room.

Jackie jumped at the sound. It slid in front of him and stopped. He sat up straight and pushed back from the table as if it were a spider.

“Were you planning on opening a used bookstore?”

Jackie glanced down at the paperback and then back up at Henry. He let his shoulders go slack. He seemed to be working on his impersonation of a puddle, slumping 213

slowly toward the table, color draining from his face, flat expression reflecting the bright overhead light.

Henry tossed the first pebble. “Want to tell me what you were doing with a box full of these in your garage? Somebody give them to you or something? Seems kind of weird, having a bunch of copies of the same book.”

“I manage a restaurant.”

“Sure, you do. Thanks for reminding me. I think I’ll call immigration and tell them about the Mexicans you’ve got working in that kitchen.”

“Eduardo’s Puerto Rican.”

“Mexican, Sorta-rican. Same difference.” He turned on the camcorder, pressed record and took a seat. “You want to talk to me here, Jackie? Now’s your chance. Your buddy, Tommy, already cut his deal,” he lied Let that sink in. “Ball’s in your court.”

Jackie studied his hands, kneading his fingers. “I’m no rat,” he said.

“You’re no rat?” Henry laughed. There was something about the sincerity of the guy’s denial that caught him off guard. “What are you, Edward G. Robinson? You sound like you’re in fifth grade, Jackie. Everybody’s ratting on somebody. Grow up. You’re a big boy.”

“I want to talk to my lawyer.”

“Sure. You can talk to your lawyer. Lawyers cost money, right? Cause right now

I’m willing to offer you a deal, and that deal comes with payment from the state of 214

Maryland. You want to talk to me maybe we can work something out, but soon as you call your lawyer this deal goes out the window.”

“I can’t say anything that’s going to help you.”

Henry laughed. “Try me, Jackie.”

“I don’t know anything.”

“You know what transactional immunity is?”

“No.”

“It means you get to walk out of here. Maybe we can help each other.” Henry saw a ripple in the puddle. “That sound like something you’re interested in?”

“You’re kidding, right? You saying I won’t do any time?”

“Well, that depends on how forthcoming you want to be with me. I could maybe convince the judge that you qualify for blanket immunity. Maybe - that is, only if I try really hard. But if I go to bat for you, Jackie, you better not let me down. You haven’t been keeping your nose clean. I know this. You’ve been partying too much. That restaurant life is hard to keep up with for a guy your age. So I’m going to need more than your testimony because right now your word means shit to me.”

Jackie nodded his head as if he understood.

“I need my witnesses to be clean. Tends to damage their credibility if they’ve got a coke habit like yours. You owe some people money I hear?”

Jackie looked surprised. “I don’t owe Glen Howell anything, if that’s what you think. One day he thinks Tommy’s the one who talked. The next he thinks it’s Frank. He 215

probably thinks it’s me too. He says, ‘If I get out on bail I’m going to kick somebody’s ass.’ You think with all the pot he smoked, he’d learn to chill out, but he’s far from chill.

He doesn’t know who’s behind this, but he’s determined to find out, I’ll tell you that. I wonder what he’d be saying about me if we weren’t sitting in the same cell together all day long.”

“Well, maybe we can do something about that.”

“What do you mean?”

“Get you out of here. What am I saying. You need me to draws you a diagram?”

Henry slid the invoice across the table. It was inside of a plastic evidence sleeve. “You want to know what I found at your pal Glen’s house?”

Jackie scanned the invoice, but it didn’t seem to ring a bell. “I doubt you found much of anything,” he said.

“Don’t be so sure. We didn’t walk away completely empty handed. We found a few things you might find interesting, some things you might not have been aware of.

Something, I didn’t know how I was going to tell you, but I thought you might want to know. If it were me, I know I’d want to know.”

Jackie was having a good long look at the piece of paper in front of him. He was still drawing a blank. “What’s this supposed to be?”

“I found it in your pal’s records. You don’t know what it is yet?”

“It looks like a receipt of some kind.”

“It’s from a PI.” 216

“A PI?”

“A private investigator? You know, like the kind they have on television.”

“Like Magnum PI?”

“More like the real thing. You know who Glen was so interested in keeping tabs on, who your buddy had to hire Mike Hammer to look after?”

“What? I don’t-”

Light started to dawn on Jackie’s face. “Little slow on the uptake, shithead? It was you he was watching.”

Jackie’s shoulders dropped. He looked again at the receipt. It was all coming together for him. Henry unwound the string on the envelope and removed an 8 x 10 glossy he’d taken of Jackie and Deb at the diner on Loch Raven Boulevard. They were sitting at a table with a man Henry had come to identify as Eduardo Souza. “I want to show you something else, Jackie. Just so we understand each other.”

“What’s this?”

“This isn’t my work. We found it with the invoice there.”

Jackie stared at the picture and nodded. Something about seeing himself seemed to throw off his concentration, make him self-conscious. He kneaded his fingers together on the table in front of him, nodding, sweating.

“Things falling into place for you now? Seems your pal Glen wasn’t so sure about his second in command, after all. I’d hate to see you wind up laid out on a slab at the 217

Medical Examiner’s, you know? Your friend might not want to wait around for trial, see how you make out. Might want to just decide to expedite things himself.”

Jackie kept nodding, trying to understand, fingers working, staring at his hands.

“From my experience, that doesn’t seem like the sort of thing that’s good for business, messing around with another man’s girl. Working with coke dealers behind his back. What do you think? Especially considering Murphy knows enough to put you all away for a very long time.”

Jackie’s knuckles were sweating.

“Jackie? You think the holding pen is bad? Wait till you see the inside of the City

Jail. I don’t think a guy like you would like it too much. How should I put it? You’re not exactly the right color.”

Henry looked over his shoulder at the VHS camcorder to make sure it was still rolling. He saw the red light and heard the tape whirring through the mechanism. He opened his briefcase and produced an Explanation of Rights sheet and slid it across the metal table. He pulled out a small steno pad for his own notes and waited, drumming the pad with a pen.

Jackie stared at the table in front of him as if there had been a TV show on the surface he’d been in the middle of watching. He looked up. His eyes were wet. Henry saw the animal fear in them.

“All right, Jackie. You ready? Let’s talk.” 218

*

Once she was approved and added to Anne’s visitor list, Deb went to see her, but the woman sitting on the other side of the Plexiglas divider with the anxiety lines running havoc her forehead, didn’t look like the friend she remembered. Deb asked her what she could do, but Anne said she didn’t know. She didn’t seem as catatonic as she had in court, but she was still dazed. She told Deb to ask Glen. Maybe he would know what to do. Deb told her she would. She went straight from the visitors room to the clerk at the main desk and asked for an application. She put in a request to see Glen where he was being held on the opposite side of the jail.

Deb could feel her hands begin to shake as the CO led her into that small interview room and seated her at the counter. She thought she was going to be interrogated herself the way they looked at her. It was a different room from where she’d visited Tommy, more isolated. It stank like Pine-Sol and body odor, and bright overhead florescent fixtures bounced pale green light off the walls and tile floors. There were no shadows.

Two cops entered through a single door and led Glen up to the bench on the other side of the Plexiglas window. He was still in handcuffs, which were connected by a chain to his ankles which were fixed in heavy leg irons. He shuffled across the tile floor. Did they think they’d caught Hannibal Lecter? He didn’t look good. Glen’s eyes were bloodshot and his shoulders were stooped. Deb picked up the receiver, wiped it on her 219

shirt sleeve and held it to her ear, waiting for Glen to do the same on the other side of the glass partition. There were two cameras mounted on the wall, one of which was pointed directly at her. She didn’t like the feeling.

“Glen,” Deb said. Her voice caught in her throat and she swallowed hard. “How am I going to get Anne out?”

“Nice to see you too,” Glen said.

“I’m serious, Glen.”

“Don’t worry, OK? Anne’s not involved in any of this.”

He sounded surprisingly calm.

“Well they sure think she is,” Deb said. “She’s locked up. They’re calling her a kingpin for Christ’s sake.”

“That’s all just for show.” He shifted in his seat, glanced over his shoulder at the guard standing in the comer of the room, and switched the receiver to his other ear. He put his elbows on the narrow counter in front of the glass. “Look,” he said. “They don’t have anything on her, OK? They don’t have anything on me either.”

“They set bail at a hundred and fifty thousand dollars.”

Glen nodded, unsurprised. He said that his had been set for the same amount.

“Where am I going to get the money to bail her out?” she said. “I mean, I’d have to mortgage my house. I can’t do that.”

“I’m not asking you to.” 220

“Well, we can’t just leave her in there. Anne can’t be in jail, Glen.” Every time she said it out loud it upset her more. Deb could feel her heartrate quickening and she tried to keep her voice down. She couldn’t stop shaking. She looked over her shoulder every few seconds to see if the guard had come back into the room. She could see the little red light on the camera pointing down at her. She felt them watching, listening to everything she said, taking notes. She could feel the tears coming, and she tried to hold them back.

“Take it easy,” Glen said. “Look. I’m going to tell you how to find some money,

OK? I want you to go into my garage. Go back to the back right-hand corner. You know where I’m talking about? You get a ladder - there’s one in there - and lift up the ceiling tiles. You know what I’m talking about? The drop ceiling? It’s a plastic panel.”

She understood what he was talking about, but she felt like she was watching his mouth move from a distance, his words coming from somewhere far away.

“Just feel around up there,” he said. “You’ll find a small travel bag. It’s got cash in it. There should be enough in there to pay the deposit for Anne’s bail.”

Deb blinked, tried to swallow, but her throat was dry. “You want me to go back to that house?” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Are you fucking nuts, Glen? I don’t want to go anywhere near that house. What if they already found it? Don’t you think it would have been confiscated already, in the search?”

He smiled and shook his head, leaning back from the counter. “They didn’t find it. Believe me,” he said. “They didn’t find anything in the house. My house was clean. I 221

made sure of that.” He exhaled hard and shook his head. “But I’m probably going to do some time,” he said. “Question is how much. Just get Anne out. I’ll worry about me. You talk to Jackie?”

“No. Why would I talk to him?”

Glen smiled again. “No reason,” he said. “I just thought you two would have talked by now.”

He looked proud, almost as if he’d outsmarted someone on a business deal and was about to kick his feet up on his desk and light a cigar to celebrate.

*

Deb steered her minivan into the driveway on Greenbank Road and parked in front of the three-bay garage. She kept the engine running while she checked her mirrors, looking up at the big empty house unsure whether or not she should actually kill the transmission and step out of the car.

In the back yard a stand of loblolly pines drooped under the weight of the recent rain, glistening as if coated in enamel. She could hear the sound of wheels on the road passing by on the other side of the trees. The tops of the trees disappeared in the low- hanging grey mist, and the dank smell of the woods soaked the air. The house looked like it had been burglarized, the target of a Halloween prank. There was graffiti in the driveway. Drug dealers live here, it said, a crooked arrow pointing toward the garage. 222

For all Deb knew, the police might have been waiting to see if something just like this would happen. Glen had told her that they didn’t find anything other than a small bag of pot in his car, yet she’d seen the pictures on the news - agents hauling big square bales of compressed marijuana out of storage lockers somewhere in the county and stacking them up for the cameras. Eight hundred pounds, the article had said, a street value of one million dollars.

She typed in the code for the garage and the large bay door raised up, the grinding noise amplified by the emptiness of the quiet street. It was cold and damp, but it was also very clean. The police had confiscated Glen’s Blazer. Anne’s Subaru still sat in one of the three spaces, two dirt bikes against the wall, John Deer mower parked in the comer.

There were few boxes stacked on the shelving along the wall, very little in the way of clutter. That was what moving every couple of years did for you, helped you pair down your belongings. That was how you lived when you had money like Glen and Anne had.

You could just change your life whenever you felt like it, run off to some new place and buy all new stuff. Throw away everything you didn’t want. It was a disposable life, one that could be constantly renewed, cleared of extra baggage. It looked so much different from her and Tommy’s garage where old collapsed cardboard boxes climbed the walls and the smell of mildew nearly knocked you over. Way out here on the peninsula everything was windswept, clean and well organized. It smelled like new drywall and gasoline. 223

The inside of the house was a different story. It was just as bad as it had been the first day she’d arrived and found Chris wandering aimlessly, alone, in a daze after the cops had taken his parents and left him here. Drawers lay overturned on the kitchen floor.

Pieces of glass in the carpet caught the reflection of the grey light from the broken window. A breeze came into the room. The smell of rain and urine hung in the sticky air.

Deb found the stepladder leaning against the wall in the back of the garage, next to the crawlspace, which was closed and padlocked. She dragged it to the far right-hand corner where Glen had told her to go. It was heavy but she was able to brace it against the wall and pull the spreaders apart. Concentrating on each step, trying not to let her feet slip, she began to climb toward the square panels in the ceiling. Her hands were shaking, rattling the sides of the ladder, and she stopped to wipe a sweaty palm on her jeans. She steadied herself, repositioned her arms and moved up another step. She raised a hand and pushed up against one of the flat foam panels in the ceiling. She slid it to the side and ran her fingers along the inside - nothing.

She caught her breath and stopped to listen to the sounds of the neighborhood. A single car passed somewhere on the other side of the trees, and then it was quiet. She stepped down off the ladder and dragged it under the next panel and climbed up again, reaching into the space and feeling around. Her fingers touched a nylon strap. The sensation scared her, and she nearly lost her balance. She held the ladder with one hand and tugged at the strap and slid whatever it was attached to toward the edge where she could get a better grip. It was a compact bag, but it was heavy. She pulled it down to 224

where she could cradle it in her arm, and then rung by rung she lowered herself off the ladder.

She took the bag into the first floor bathroom. She couldn’t shake the feeling the cops were going to come running around the corner any second, guns drawn, and arrest her. She could hear her heart pounding, felt it banging inside her chest. When she set the bag on the marble sink, she heard a hard metallic thud

She unzipped the bag and looked inside. There were three rows of banded fifty- dollar bills lined up in four stacks, wrapped in masking tape that had been labeled with magic marker: $1000, they said. There were twenty bundles total. She began removing them and arranging them on the sink.

When she’d removed all of the bills she saw the gun. It was black and had a short stubby barrel. She left it where it was and concentrated on the money. She tore a fingernail trying to remove the masking tape. Her hands trembled as she counted the bills.

She went through the stacks twice, both times coming up with the same amount. Twenty thousand dollars: five more than Glen said there would be.

Deb checked her rearview mirror at every turn to make sure she wasn’t being followed. She pressed the blinker and moved cautiously into the right lane. She looked at her speedometer, kept the needle pinned just below fifty-five. She concentrated on the lines on the highway and kept both hands on the wheel at ten and two. It began to rain and she twisted the knob and worked the wipers. They smeared dirt across the glass. 225

Tommy obviously hadn’t replaced the blades like he said he was going to do. She wondered how much it would cost to afford a lawyer as good as Rebecca Kelleher. She wondered if she was going to need one.

Deb had been going on pure adrenaline for so many days, she felt like she was about to crack from the stress. She hadn’t able to think straight since she’d returned to her apartment, locked the door behind her and opened a beer. She’d stood looking out through the blinds, shutting them, turning on the TV, looking for anything to distract her, another two or three beers - anything but the news.

The whole thing had happened just like she said it would, and the excitement hadn’t really stopped, from the courthouse to the prison, from seeing Anne and Jackie on

TV to now. Her capacity for unusual experiences was expanding. The possibilities had changed, and reality was different than it had been. So this was what life was going to be like. She’d not only smuggled drugs into a prison, she’d stolen money - was it considered stealing? - illegally-obtained, drug-smuggling money? Was that a crime? To give the money to somebody who needed it? It was her friend, for Christ’s sake. The money was illegal, but was the act of touching it illegal? Of moving it? All she knew was that she had to give the fifteen thousand to Rebecca Kelleher and she would take care of the rest.

Anne would be released.

It had been weeks since she’d gone to see Tommy. The last time they’d talked on the phone he said he was trying to get enrolled in a job training program. He was trying to prove to her he was trying. He didn’t mention the engagement, and she was relieved. 226

She didn’t have the heart to tell him she had no intentions of going through with the wedding.

They always used to talk about moving to Florida someday. Especially, after the vacation they’d taken to Fort Lauderdale, the cruise to the Bahamas, Montego Bay. They used to go everywhere together and back then they had the money to do it. Tommy said it was just a matter of time before they got back to where they were, but time had slipped away somehow. You couldn’t go backwards.

*

When Tommy heard his cell number called, he followed the CO to the locker room, suited up in his white coveralls, or “traveling clothes” as they all called them. He was placed in leg irons and hand cuffs and loaded into the transportation van with the other inmates. It was like going on a field trip. When they arrived at the county vehicle lot, the CO unchained their restraining gear, took a headcount and showed the men where the hoses were. They were going to wash an entire fleet of school busses.

Tommy used a long-poled squeegee to soap down the broadside of one of the big yellow Blue Birds. After soaping one he switched off with another inmate, and rinsed with the hose. It took six hours to work their way through the twelve 36-seat busses. His neck muscles were sore, but it felt good to be outside, especially when the weather was

nice. For the first time in years Tommy’s skin was burned red from the long days in the 227

sun, and he felt it pinched tight against his muscles. It was hard work, but it was methodical, helped keep in you in shape, and helped kill the days, which never seemed to want to die.

Being a working man set you apart from the other inmates. Porters enjoyed a greater level of trust from the COs who’d occasionally leave them unattended, didn’t seem to notice how easy it would be to just disappear around the side of a building and sprint for the tree line. Tommy saw how easy it would be, but for now he was just a working man, just a drone doing what he was told to do. The pay was a fraction of the minimum wage you could earn in the real world, but Tommy didn’t complain. He was happy for a taste of freedom. He was biding his time, looking for holes in the routine, and at the end of the day, soaked through with sweat and with the breeze cooling him and the gentle rocking of the road going under the bus, he enjoyed the simple pleasure of forward momentum, and the feeling of having done something, of having worked.

*

The conference room was at the end of the third floor hallway inside the criminal courts building. The polished oak table reflected the faces of the four men who sat on either side as if its surface was made of plastic. Propped on an easel in front of the bookshelf was a poster-board full-color enlargement of Glen Howell’s Greenbank Road residence. Exhibit A, Henry thought, evidence enough that some people didn’t deserve 228

what their money could buy them. After having interviewed Anne Howell, he knew it was going to be difficult to convince a jury her house had been paid for with drug money.

Lieutenant Fitzpatrick was staring at the state prosecutor as if attempting to burn a hole through his forehead. “What do you mean Salvo isn’t going to testify in court?” he

said. “He’s got to testify. This whole thing is riding on his testimony. He signed an

agreement.”

Alan Butterfield threw up his hands. “They took him,” he said. “Ask the mayor. I

don’t know what they want with him.”

“What do you mean they took him?” Fitz said, “They took him where, to the

beach?”

“They said Salvo can’t testify down here. They don’t want him facing this. It’ll

sink their case. They came in yesterday, didn’t offer any details. They said, ‘We’re

pulling Salvo.’ So that’s that.”

Cal studied the panes of glass in the windows. Across the street, there were men

working in the scaffolding surrounding one of the college buildings.

“These guys don’t like to share, do they?” Sergeant Brooks said.

“They won’t give me any other details,” Butterfield said.

“Can you talk to the mayor?”

“His hands are tied. They just said they can’t have him facing this and took him.

That’s all I know.” 229

Henry looked at Brooks and shook his head. He pinched his lips together and raised both eyebrows. He wasn’t surprised at all at where this was going.

Alan Butterfield was bending a paperclip back and forth methodically, staring into the paperwork in front of him as if what he had to say were written there. “I don’t like to lose,” he said, snapping the paperclip in half and looking at it as if it had just appeared in his hand. He threw it in the wastebasket. “A bag of quarters? This is your evidence?”

Henry shifted his weight, and the chair that he was sitting in creaked. He could feel his unit commander and lieutenant looking at him, expecting him to field this one.

“Quarters,” he said, “yeah, that’s right. And a suitcase with fifty thousand cash, tally

sheets going back three years and eight hundred pounds of marijuana. That’s our

evidence.”

Cal blew air through his teeth, making a whistling sound.

Henry nodded to Cal. “OK,” he said. “There wasn’t as much as we expected to find in the house. I’ll admit. But overall the raids were quite a success. The warrants were justified.”

“What about the storage unit registered in Howell’s name?”

“Empty.”

“Well, we better have more than what’s here.”

“Besides the cash,” Cal said, “we found three point five grams of marijuana in his

Blazer. It was parked in the garage.”

Henry winced. 230

“Three grams?” Alan said “That’s it?”

Henry looked at Cal. “The house itself was clean,” he said. “Yes.”

Paperclip abandoned, Alan had picked up a pencil and was drumming it on the desk. His leg was twitching in cross-rhythm. “There was no other contraband in Howell’s residence. Let me try to understand this. All of this for three grams of pot? We’re talking misdemeanor possession. The storage units were in Pierce and Salvo’s names. Salvo’s in a small room somewhere having a nice long conversation with a federal agent. That leaves us Pierce. You said you already offered him a deal. Who’s Pierce’s lawyer?”

“Mendel son.”

“Let’s reach out see if we can’t bring him in here and have a talk. We’ll make a new deal. I want the Howells. I wanted the wife.”

“The fact that Pierce had all that coke on him isn’t going to look good to a jury.”

“Let me worry about what will look good to a jury, detective. Pierce thinks he's got an appeal on probable, but that’ll go nowhere. Mendelson knows it too. He’s just throwing shit against the wall. He said he wants a proffer. He’s seeking an agreement of disposition. And you know what? I’m going to give it to him, because the only guy we’ve got anything on has been given immunity by the goddamned DEA...” He trailed off and looked to Fitzpatrick for a second opinion. “Please tell me I’m not losing my mind here.

How am I going to nail Howell for any of this?” 231

“With all due respect,” Henry said, “don’t you think the defense is going to jump all over this guy, Pierce? I’ve met him. He’s a snake. I don’t think a jury is going to believe him.”

“I don’t know what other options we have,” Brooks said. “Murphy won’t talk?”

“I’m working on that,” Henry said. “He appears to be pretty comfortable serving his time right now. I think he’s figured out how to get along in the City Pen. He’s making friends. I think he may have even found a new boss.”

“Same as the old boss,” Cal said.

“Right. But the guy’s old fashioned, watched the Godfather too many times, doesn’t want to betray his honor.”

“His honor? He’s a felon ”

“Look, we found a significant amount of marijuana residue in Howell’s trash,”

Henry said. “We have the ledger books we found at Howell’s and Pierce’s. They’re coordinated and very detailed. If you’ll look at the itemized-”

“I see the list. So what? Somebody else could have put that in his trash. It’s a public street, isn’t it? Christ, there’s a school nearby. Any kid walking to the bus stop could have put that there.”

“We found proof of residency in the bag.”

“Doesn’t matter. Mendelson is filing a motion to suppress it. Says it was improperly obtained. So is Kelleher. I’m telling you, this defense lawyer of Anne

Howell’s, she loves motions.” 232

“I got a motion for her,” Cal said. He pumped his fist in front of his crotch.

“I’m serious about this. He’s going to try to have this excluded.”

“Let’s wait for the evidentiary hearing before we go jumping to conclusions,” Fitz said.

“None of this is going to make it past pretrial,” Butterfield said.

“But isn’t it the big picture we’re looking at here?” Brooks said, “The ‘totality of circumstances’ as you guys call it.”

“You been studying your law books, Sergeant?”

“I don’t want your job.”

“No, you don’t.”

“All right, gentlemen,” Fitzpatrick said. “Let’s keep this professional.”

“In this case,” Henry said, “the totality of circumstances points to a web of evidence of marijuana possession with definite intent to distribute... The guy’s fucking guilty.”

“I know he is,” Butterfield said. “You know he is. We still have to prove it.” He was biting his fingernails. There was something else here Henry wasn’t getting. Maybe this kid was in over his head. “I don’t like it. The judge isn’t going to like it. He’s granted the defense ten days to file special pleas. Now I can’t wait to see what she comes up with.”

“What special pleas?”

“I need this to be air tight.” 233

“It will be.”

“I’m telling you, Kelleher is good. She’s fierce. Already talking to the papers about a breach of Fourth Amendment rights, police misconduct, mishandling of evidence.

She’s lining up an appeal. You and your goon squad must have really done a job on that house. She says the dog pissed on her carpet.”

Henry winced. The raid had felt like a success at the time. That was always what you were waiting for, to hit the door and see what’s inside. And they had struck the motherlode. It tied it all together. Now it was the prosecutor’s job to unwrap it in front of

a jury. He assumed the video would help put it all together. “So let Kelleher appeal,” he

said. “After you get the conviction. A jury will see it our way. We’ve got Howell on tape.

Let’s not forget that.”

“We don’t have Anne Howell on tape. We don’t have Anne Howell doing

anything. And is Glen Howell even associated with any of these other storage units you

raided?”

“One of them. It’s no surprise his name wasn’t on any of the units that contained the contraband, but we have him on video handling the dope. And again, we’ve got eight

hundred pounds of the stuff.”

“Who’s running the show here? Your boy, right? Glen Howell. His wife is the

school teacher. Her name is on the house. Both of their pictures were on the front page.”

‘“Kindergarten Kingpin,”’ Cal said. He looked at Henry and grinned, shaking his

head 234

“Of course it made the front page. Come on, Alan. I’d say this was a success. A street value of a million dollars. Biggest seizure in the state’s history. So we have to let her go and we don’t take the house. We still did good here.” He backed off, wishing he had stopped while he was ahead.

Alan seemed to finally take a breath. He threw his pencil on the desk and it bounced onto the floor. “You better get this sonofabitch Pierce to charm the hell out of that grand jury,” he said. “I want him coached.”

“I’ve been coaching him. We’re going to grand jury him first thing in the morning.”

Alan shut the folder, leaned back in his chair and ran his fingers through his blond hair. “I hope this is enough, gentlemen. I really do.”

Henry and Cal exchanged looks. “Howell was careful,” he said. “He knew

something was about to happen. But I’m confident our witness will fill in the holes.”

Alan stood, shook hands with Lieutenant Fitzpatrick and Sergeant Brooks. “Let me talk to the mayor about this other witness. Maybe we can use him when the feds are done with him.” He turned to Henry and Cal. “In the meantime, detectives, work on

Murphy.”

“I will,” Henry said, “but I don’t expect to get much out of him. I arrested this guy about three and a half years ago, tried to get him to talk then, but he wouldn’t make a deal. I think he likes being in prison.”

“Nobody likes being in prison.” 235

“You’d be surprised.”

*

Jackie stood at the witness stand in a small room at the circuit court building in

Towson. He rubbed his sweaty palms on his pant legs and took a deep breath. The people from the news media adjusted their tripods and plugged in their cameras while the eighteen or so people who comprised the grand jury murmured to one another and shifted in their seats. It was an informal hearing, but nothing about it felt informal to Jackie. The assistant state’s attorney was speaking.

“So that everyone here understands, Mr. Pierce, please explain a little bit about how the business works,” Alan Butterfield said. “I’d like you to walk us through your day-to-day routine.” He paused to look at his notes. “Where did your clientele come from? Were these people you know? Did you ever sell to strangers or school kids?”

“No way,” Jackie said, “I didn’t ever sell to kids or nothing. I just want you to know that straight off because you’ve got to understand that I only sell to people I’ve known ten, fifteen, twenty years. Now some of them might have gone out and tried to sell to kids and stuff like that, but I stay away from that. That’s how you get caught. I only deal with people, you know, like old girlfriends, guys I know from high school, people I know I can trust, people with jobs, children, wives. They come to me most of the time. Or 236

you know, I might run into them somewhere and say, ‘Hey, I’m holding this or that, so if you’re interested just let me know.’ That’s all.”

“So what you’re saying, it’s a gradual process, establishing these connections.”

“I mean, when you first start out doing this you don’t just go in and start selling

big amounts of marijuana. How this works, I’m saying it takes years to get people you

can trust enough to give fifty pounds, a hundred pounds.”

“How much is wholesale on say, a pound of marijuana.”

“I was paying twelve per pound.”

“Could you move closer to the microphone please?”

Jackie cleared his throat and leaned forward. “Twelve hundred,” he said. “But

that’s only because I could sell more than most guys. People usually came to me, which

was better.”

“People like Tommy Murphy?” the prosecutor said.

Jackie nodded. “Yes.”

“He worked for you, correct? You were in more of a managerial role in the

organization, and Murphy worked under you. Is that right?”

“Well, yeah. That’s right. I’m organized. I would delegate responsibility, collect

the money and hand it up to Glen.”

The prosecutor shuffled his papers and said, “Let’s go back a bit. Can you tell us

who Bruce Coburn was to you, what role he played? Weren’t Glen Howell and Bruce

Coburn competing for the same market?” 237

“I wouldn’t say they were in competition with each other, no. They didn’t sell to the same people. Bruce moved a lot more product than Glen because he was willing to sell in Baltimore City, Camden, New Jersey, Philly - 1 mean, all of which were places where Glen didn’t want to be involved. We mostly kept it local, small time. Baltimore

County boat people, oystermen, dock workers. It’s where Glen came from. I mean, we all grew up around the water. In the city there were gangs to compete with, and that could get messy. Glen kept to his roots.”

“Who were Bruce’s connections in the city? Ray White?”

Jackie nodded, leaned closer to the microphone. “Yes. Ray White.”

“He was like Bruce Coburn? He was connected?”

“Ray White wasn’t like anybody I’ve ever met.”

“Your honor,” Butterfield said, “Ray White is currently incarcerated in the

Baltimore City Detention Center. He’s under strict supervision pending the state’s investigation into alleged corruption charges.” He turned to face Jackie. “Ray White was colluding with the correctional officers to procure marijuana that you provided through

Tommy Murphy. Is that correct?”

“That’s correct.”

“And what were you paid for this transaction?”

“It was kind of a trade.”

“A trade?”

“I would get cocaine from them.” 238

“I’m sorry, could you say that a little louder?”

“I would get cocaine from Ray White. He pretty much controlled all the blow that came into Baltimore, and he worked hard to make sure his product was widely distributed.”

“Were you one of those distributors?”

“No, no. I was just using it for personal use.”

“You weren’t selling cocaine for Ray White?”

“No. I just did it to party. I didn’t want to get too deeply involved with Ray. But most of the coke in Baltimore was more or less his.”

“But this product actually came from the same source as Bruce Cobum’s marijuana, through Manuel Souza. Is that correct?”

“All I know is by the mid-eighties, if you sold weed in Maryland, you knew who

Coburn was, and if it came from Maryland, and it came from him, or it came from us, you knew it was good stuff. Coburn dealt in very large quantities. But strictly pot. If you wanted anything else you had to go through Ray.”

“You are familiar with Manuel Souza?”

“Yes. He became our supplier after Bruce died.”

“What would you get from Manuel Souza?”

“Pot mostly. The weed he got came compressed in these large Hefty trash bags, bales that were wrapped with brown packing tape. Each one would be about sixty 239

pounds. When you pried open the compressed bricks you could smell the soap it was packed in.”

“This was to mask the smell.”

“Yeah, you know, like laundry detergent. Sometimes that would make the pot taste funny.”

“And the book. The Emperor Wears No Clothes. This was distributed in these bundles as well.”

Jackie laughed. “Oh, yeah. The book. Yeah, I had a lot of copies of that book. Not exactly beach reading. These guys were political, but we didn’t care about any of that.

They had good stuff. That’s all we cared about.”

“Good stuff, huh?”

“It used to be that just having pot was something to brag about, but times were changing. I mean, quality was becoming more important than quantity to most people.”

“What about Anne Howell? How was she involved in this?”

Jackie paused to listen to what his lawyer was whispering in his ear. “Well, I really couldn’t say,” he said. “Glen would never tell her anything.”

“You don’t believe she knew about the organization?”

“She might have had an idea, but I don’t think so. I don’t know what she knows.”

“But she knew before, correct?”

“Yes. Well, but that was a long time ago. She knew then, but I don’t think she knows now - uh, knew.” 240

“All right,” Butterfield said. “Thank you Mr. Pierce. I want to outline with you what our discussions were with your attorney concerning your testimony. As per our agreement, we are going to allow you to plead guilty to one count of possession with intent to distribute marijuana and one count of possession with intent to distribute cocaine. At the time of sentencing we’ll tell the judge about your cooperation in the case.

We understand each other?”

“Yes sir. That’s exactly what you told me. Right.”

“You’ve been given no other promises.”

“No, sir. Nothing else.”

“All right. Let me see if Detective Wheeler is here yet. He wants to have a few words with you. I’ll leave you with him and be up to see you in a few minutes.”

“Right. OK.”

“And Jackie-”

“Yeah?”

“Good luck.”

“Thanks,” Jackie said. “I think I’m going to need it.”