The Traffickers (Badge of Honor 9)

“You still playing cop?” Olde said, but didn’t wait for a response before looking at James Benjamin. “Listen, Jim, I’m prepared to let bygones be bygones, but this time, this meth-”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Benjamin snapped.

Payne could see the veins in Benjamin’s temples pulsing.

Olde arrogantly went on: “Well, clearly this girl of yours has an established long pattern of substance abuse-”

“Why, you son… of… a… bitch!” James Benjamin shouted, furiously drawing out his declaration of sonofabitch.

What happened next transpired so quickly that Payne did not have time to even try to stop it.

Benjamin balled his right fist and swung. His punch hit Olde square in the left cheek, causing Olde to stagger back two steps. But remarkably Olde quickly recovered, and practically launched his lanky body at Benjamin, knocking them both to the floor.

“Stop it, you two!” Andrea Benjamin demanded.

The blue shirt sitting by the swinging doors dropped his paperback book. He reached up to his right epaulet, where the microphone of his radio was pinned.

He keyed the mic, and barked, “Kowenski! Get your ass down here!”

Then he jumped out of the chair and moved toward the brawl to break it up.

As Payne also moved that way, he saw a gurney come around the corner and into the corridor. It was being pushed by an orderly in blue scrubs.

TWO

1344 W. Susquehanna Avenue, Philadelphia Wednesday, September 9, 10:40 A.M.

Chad Nesbitt weaved his cobalt-blue BMW M3 coupe through the slower traffic headed down Broad Street. He idly wondered if he was about to walk into some kind of setup, but the anguished voice on the phone sounded painfully genuine.

It had been that of a man. He spoke reasonably good English, but it was clearly with a Spanish accent. And when he said he was trying to find “Meester Skeeper,” Nesbitt knew that that was just too coincidental. He had to grant the man’s request for a meeting.

“How did you get my number?” Nesbitt had asked.

“From Meester Skeeper.”

“I don’t understand.”

“He give me his old cell phone. One day, I make mistake when I push a button. I thought the phone call Meester Skeeper. But it had all Meester Skeeper’s numbers, and it call you, your voice mail. I hang up. When I tell Meester Skeeper this, he say it is no problem. That you are his best friend. That you are partner in his business.”

“But why are you calling me now?”

“Because there is a problem with the business. Very bad. And I cannot reach him. He does not answer his cell phone.”

“What sort of bad problem?”

There had been a long silence before the man spoke. “I cannot say.”

“You cannot tell me? Or cannot tell me on the phone.”

“On the phone. Is better that I tell Meester Skeeper in person.”

And there had been a long silence before Nesbitt spoke. “That won’t be possible for some time. He’s badly hurt, and in the hospital.”

Nesbitt heard the man mutter, “Madre de Dios!” Then he said, “Is Meester Skeeper going to be okay?”

Nesbitt did not know how to answer at first, then said, “We don’t know. I can tell you that it will be some time before he’s able to speak with you.”

The man then said, “Then, please, I must speak with you. His best amigo and partner in business.”