Ex Meridian (Nothing Special 7)

With one last hug to last her another eight years, his mother was out of the limousine and gone in her vehicle back to her youngest son’s funeral repast. As they exited the garage, Meridian retrieved his phone from his inside jacket pocket and dialed their driver’s cell. Slade picked up on the first ring.

Meridian’s voice gave Ex chills down his spine. “Get me everything you can on a police drug task force here in one of Atlanta’s precincts.”

As always, they were thinking the same thing, “If the police are corrupt. We’ll take care of them too.”

One week later.

“You got anything back there, Green? Over,” God said into his radio, waiting for one of his lead detectives and enforcers on the streets to respond.

“Negative. All’s quiet. A little too quiet for my liking. Where the hell is everybody? Over,” his officer answered, his deep voice sounding unnerving in the dark cab of his midnight F350.

“It’s like something ran them off the block,” God grumbled more to himself than to his partner who sat beside him. “Or somebody.”

“But who?” Day asked. “Like clockwork, every Sunday night someone from Big Mike’s crew shows up to make a drop to Jason and his brother, Marcus. Now tonight, of all nights, they don’t show.”

“Right. I don’t like it. If the Stewart brothers got tipped off that we’re here then that means I have a snitch in my precinct,” God said in a hushed growl that sounded like the diesel engine that powered his massive truck.

Day picked up the radio. “Free, confirm there are no unmarked units patrolling. Over,” he asked his technology specialist who was back at their office, observing their every move from various live feeds on his multi-monitor, high-tech computer system.

After a few seconds Free answered in a low tone, “No units confirmed. Over.”

God took a black elastic band from around his wrist and tied his shoulder-length hair into a messy bun at the nape of his neck, then double-checked his holster. Day did the same, always seeming to recognize when God was ready to hit go. “Let’s head up there and ask them why. We already got Jason on camera making buys and selling. We can snatch him and his brother on that and have Ro use the charges to get some information out of him on that drive-by four weeks ago.”

“That’s all I fuckin’ need. I just want one goddamn name,” Day said sternly.

God recognized the fury and intensity in his husband’s tone. Their department had taken some bad publicity hits over the last several months. So much so that the chief was beginning to question the validity of the taxpayers continuing to fund their expensive task force. It wasn’t as if they didn’t work their asses off day and night to keep the city safe, but it wasn’t solely on their shoulders. They were responsible for gathering evidence and making the arrest, it was then in the hands of the prosecutor’s office to procure the final results. And lately—collectively—they’d only seen five convictions from their fourteen high-profile arrests. Now the city was blaming their team of unruly detectives for releasing murderers and gang leaders back into the communities, and for the recent growth of Atlanta’s drug epidemic.

The goddamn drug dealers were getting smarter and sharper. Many of the big drug bosses had lawyered-up with huge downtown firms that charged four-hundred dollars an hour. Sleazy lawyers that stalled the court system and kept their clients out of jail by filing trumped-up charges against the police for illegal searches, profiling, entrapment, and excessive force, some of them even winning.

“We’ll get these guys, Leo,” God said. He didn’t reach over and caress the back of his husband’s neck like he wanted to. They were on duty and in the field. His lover could easily take his mind elsewhere if he touched him. Instead, he stayed in the role that Day needed him to be in—his leader, his co-lieutenant.

Day sighed and ran his hand over the shorn hair on the side of his head. “I know it. We have to get a break some-fucking-where, Cash. We’re wearing ourselves thin, and the entire department. The enforcers will start to make thoughtless mistakes if we continue to drive them this hard. There has to be an end—”

“Fuck! God, Day, we got a bogey approaching from the back. He’s moving fast and coming in hot, like he’s on a mission.” Steele’s voice resounded through their radio speaker, breaking up their conversation.

“Dammit,” God snarled. “Get some images, Green.”

“He’s too dark and too fast. The images are blurry. Over,” Green said.

“What the fuck?” Day groaned. “Maybe Jason and Marcus could be laying low because they got heat on ’em.”

“Free. Can you get a visual?” Day asked.

Their technology guru had linked all their cameras and devices to his system. The images Green was shooting were transmitting directly to him. “I can’t get a facial recognition from those images. He’s wearing a low hood,” Free responded.