Just One More

“Mrs. Adams, what are you talking about?” I asked softly. “What drug ring? And what did Brian have to do with any of this?”

“Brian was our courier,” said Mrs. Adams offhandedly. “Our son was the best courier you could ask for, a straight-A student with a Harvard admissions letter,” she bragged, “that is, until he got addicted to the junk himself.”

That made me gasp. Brian was an athlete, there’s no way he could have been using and play football at the same time.

“Oh he was no good at sports,” waved his mom, “but he had a bright future. We were just waiting to expand to Cambridge with his impending move East. Imagine that,” she cackled again. “A bunch of rich Ivy League kids with money to blow and time on their hands. Perfect customers,” she summed.

“But why?” I asked, stunned. “Why did Brian have to die?”

This made the old woman pause, looking momentarily sad.

“Brian decided to sample the stuff freshman year. He started using, just a little bit at first to feel better, to build confidence, but it grew … and grew and grew. Pretty soon he was a full-blown addict, we had to bribe his doctor to fake medical records to play football. But he never stopped using despite our efforts. You can’t use and sell successfully, you’ve got to maintain distance from the product,” she shook her head sadly.

But I was still confused. “So the seizure he had during practice. That was all fake?” I asked tremulously, shaking my head.

“No, that was real,” said the old woman. “But Brian didn’t seize up due to some congenital heart problem. He seized up because he was using and overdosed,” she said simply.

“But what about Tyler?” I asked. “Was he using too?”

“Oh yeah,” cackled Mrs. Adams. “I never liked that kid but Brian insisted we needed another courier for better distribution. So John and I agreed to bring Tyler into the fold. What a waste,” she added. “He started in on the cocaine immediately and wasn’t able to get anything done,” she shook her head disgustedly. “A total loss.”

I sat back, petrified with disbelief and fear. What was happening? What I’d expected to be a condolence call had turned into a nightmare tale of drug use and death.

“I need to go,” I said woodenly, getting up. “I’ll just go and get Blake and Bryan, we’ll be out of your hair in a second.”

This made the woman blow a stream of air, the disbelief on her face evident.

“Didn’t I just tell you? Bryan and Blake Hanson are undercover cops here to bust me and my husband,” she said impatiently. “But you honey, led them right into the lair.”

What? My head spun and I felt dizzy.

“There’s a mistake,” I said firmly. “Just let us go and we won’t be back, I promise.”

“Sweetie,” said the old woman nastily. “It’s too late … because the Hansons are probably dead already.”

And it was then that I fell into a faint, the world going black.

18

Blake

The single bulb light snapped off, the darkness ominous as my brother and I stalked silently in the Adams’ garage. Shadows shifted along the concrete walls and I realized that we’d been played.

Bryan and I had accompanied Callie on a condolence call, thinking we’d do some surveillance at the Adams mansion. No sweat, I figured. John and Jane Adams were elderly community benefactors, known for their generosity and good deeds. It’d be an easy sweep, just some discreet poking around in the most innocuous ways.

But we’d underestimated the enemy. Jane Adams had convinced us to check out the basement, allegedly to pick up some boxes belonging to her deceased son. And like idiots, Blake and I had obeyed without a second thought, only to be trapped in the dank space now, underground, with no obvious out.

I silently cursed. What the fuck was wrong with us? Why had we acted like rookies? I shook my head in disgust. No use getting into it now, it was too late and I just prayed that Callie was alright upstairs as Bryan and I fought our way out of this trap.

Because I wasn’t worried per se. You don’t go undercover unless you’re resourceful with a trick or two up your sleeve, kind of like a cross between MacGyer and James Bond. So I calmly made my way to the corner of the basement and squatted silently in place, lowering myself to the concrete ground. My footsteps had been inaudible and I could feel my pulse grind almost to a halt, my breath mere whispers in the cavernous space. The Adams had to make a move sooner or later and I preferred to have my back to the wall, ready to strike.

There wasn’t long to wait. I heard a scuffle to my left, about twenty feet away, Bryan engaging the enemy. I could hear a muffled grunt, a growl and a thump as something hit the ground.