Chapter 13 #2
Lauren found out that Amanda’s ancestors where storytellers and historians and had lived in Shrouded Lake during the time of the massacre. There was so much she wanted to ask about, but she still had stops to make before Santiago came to take her home.
“Good luck at the council meeting tomorrow,” Amanda said. “I plan to get a front row seat for your presentation, and because I like to be prepared, I’ll also go ahead and start a GoFundMe account for your bail money, doing my part to help the cause and all.”
Lauren laughed as she gathered her ever-growing bag of belongings and research.
Amanda gave her a hug before Lauren left and for no utter logical reason, Lauren teared up as she walked down the road. She would have to return to California, because in the end her life was there, but she was really starting to feel like she belonged here.
Adjusting the strap of her bag on her shoulder, she put the city controller’s home address in her phone.
She’d already gone to city hall to meet with him, but he hadn’t been there.
She sighed. Bailey Joe Williams lived on the edge of town.
Nearly a two-mile walk. If he didn’t offer her a big glass of lemonade and all the answers she needed, she fully intended to do Anderson’s coconspirator bodily harm.
Roan checked her passenger side mirror for the third time.
“You think I should’ve left Peters behind?” Santiago asked.
“You know who Loyd Peters is, and you know what he wants. Giving him any opportunity to fuck you over gives him another opportunity to succeed. If mission goal is to make Shrouded Lake prosper, Peters taking you down and taking your place is not on mission. You brought me here to watch your back, but you’re making decisions you never would’ve made in the unit.
This isn’t like you League; you never waiver on mission. ”
“I’m still on mission, Roan, but my strategy has to be different because my role and purpose are different.
” He checked the rearview mirror as he turned on Langston Street.
Cutter and Deputy Eric McIntyre, who worked night shifts part time, were in the patrol car directly behind him.
“I inherited every person in this department, good or bad, competent or incompetent. No one here is going to willingly leave one of the best paying jobs in the county without reason. Peters doesn’t get many opportunities to prove himself, so when a situation arises, it’s my job to test him.
See if he succeeds or if he washes out.”
Peters and Derry brought up the rear of the three-vehicle convoy. They would all park and stage two blocks away from Vince’s garage.
“Back in our unit, we were the executioners of the plan. Now, you and me, we’re in the war room, we’re making the plans, but we’re still responsible for executing them.
” He looked at her after he’d parked. “We know Peters’s allegiance isn’t to me.
What I don’t know is who holds it, how compromised he is, and what lengths he’ll go to bring me down.
When he’s in the field with us, we got eyes on him. When he’s not...”
“Friends close, enemies closer, I get it. But sometimes uncovering enemies just leads to more enemies, League,” Roan said, unbuckling her seatbelt.
“And it’s always better to know who they are.”
They got out of the car and walked to the back, securing their gear as the other deputies approached. Only Roan had full details on what they were doing tonight. The rest only knew they were going on a raid. Santiago took ten minutes to brief the rest of them as the sun dipped beneath the horizon.
“How do we even know the intel on this is good?” Cutter asked. “Vince has worked that garage since his daddy bought it two decades ago, and not once since he took over has there been an allegation or even a rumor of drugs linked to him.”
“Until now,” Santiago and Roan said simultaneously.
“Just seems impulsive to move on this without investigating a little more,” Peters said. “Going off the word of a paranoid addict trying to avoid assault charges is a stretch even for you, Stillwater.”
“I’m showing you a kindness by involving you in this,” Santiago said, stepping into Loyd Peters’s personal space. “As things stand, I trust the intel from that addict more than I trust the man who doesn’t trust me to do my job. The same man who’s campaigning to become the one who’s running it.”
Peters’s gaze darted from Derry to Cutter; like his aspirations were a secret.
“If I believe I’m the best man for the job, I’d be a fool not to do everything within my power to go after what I want.”
“If you’re the best man,” Roan said, “why aren’t you wearing the badge?”
Roan was usually the silent but deadly observer. Here lately a little anger was seeping through the cracks, and Santiago couldn’t help but wonder if it had to do with Lauren’s bad influence. The woman got under people’s skin, made them act in ways outside of themselves.
“Roan, you know what to do. Cutter, you and Derry go around to cover the back of the building. We’ll wait for your go-ahead before we approach.”
“Maybe we should let the kid hang back and take watch, monitor the area for anyone approaching,” Cutter suggested.
Derry’s mouth tightened.
This was the first time Santiago had included Derry in a sting operation and Cutter was in protective mode. At least that’s what Santiago wanted to believe, because the alternative meant he didn’t trust Derry to protect his back.
“You ready for this, kid?” Santiago asked Derry directly.
“I’ve been training under the best sheriff I’ve ever known, so yes sir, I’d like to think I’m ready.”
Santiago nodded and Derry and Cutter disappeared into the night.
“McIntyre, you got watch. Peters, you’re with me.” The assignments seemed to surprise both men, but McIntyre nodded and stepped back. “I’ll let you know if there’s any movement,” he said, stepping behind the cover of some trees.
Peters remained silent as he and Santiago approached the garage.
Nearing the bay doors, the soft sounds of Creedence Clearwater played inside.
To the left of the bay was the entrance to the reception area, and there was an office toward the back of reception.
Unlike the metal doors blocking him from seeing inside the garage, Santiago could see a faint illumination beyond the office toward the back of the building.
“CD in place,” Cutter said in low voice filtered through Santiago’s earpiece.
“R1 in place, at least four targets on the premises,” Roan responded.
Santiago cocked a brow at Peters who nodded once, and pulled his gun out of its holster, as Santiago banged on the door.
“Vince, this is Santiago Stillwater with the Shrouded Lake Sheriff’s Department. We have a warrant to search the premises.”
After a few moments of prolonged silence, there was a loud bang at the back of the building followed by a burst of illumination.
Santiago used the strength of his legs to kick open the door.
“Breaching now!” Peters called out, rushing into the building ahead of Santiago.
Gritting his teeth at Peters’s impulsivity, Santi cleared the office and the front bay, which looked to have recently been vacated. He moved swiftly across the space toward the hallway door separating the two bays, needing to get Peters back in his line of sight.
A volley of shots rang out toward the back of the building and Peters ran into Santiago as he rushed out of the larger second bay.
“The second bay is cleared,” Peters called back to Santiago. “Front is clear,” he said in his mic as he ran toward the back.
Santiago remained in the dark hallway.
Quieting, he listened to the commotion toward the back. Two shooters had been detained. Vince, the owner had been shot in the chest. There was a third person who’d surrendered immediately.
Santiago held his position until his intuition was validated.
Something creaked in the room Peters had run from.
Then there was a thump that sounded like it came from above.
He gazed up at the acoustic ceiling tiles then advanced toward the opening again, weapon drawn.
Roan stepped into the hallway from the back and Santiago held up his fist, motioning toward the room Peters had cleared.
She nodded, drawing her weapon, and advanced.
Quickly peering into the room, he didn’t see anyone there and silently communicated that to Roan. The room was dark and shadowed, but his eyes had adjusted enough for him to see the large metal table, at least ten feet long, against the opposite wall toward the back.
The table had a few tools and car parts on its surface; more parts on the open shelf below. There were a vertical, four-drawer metal cabinet, a metal folding chair, and a worn beat-up couch along the wall beside the door they’d entered.
An area on the back wall had dusty fingerprints, signaling it was a place often touched.
“Peters said the room was clear,” he said, glancing over at the wall covertly because he’d also saw the two cameras in the room, one mounted on the ceiling near the couch and the other on the ceiling in the corner near the bay doors. “Thought I heard something though.”
Roan shrugged. “It’s an old building.”
“Did we find anything back there?” Santiago asked.
“Some guns. We’ll have to run them. Vince should survive the gunshot. He had enough drugs on him to go to jail for possession but nothing that indicates he was running a major drug operation out of the garage.”
He and Roan met near the area where the fingerprints were.
“How’s Derry holding up?”
“Kid’s a damn good shot. Saved Cutter from a bullet. Cutter’s still in a bad way though, he’s known Vince since they were kids.”
Santiago nodded. That was the thing about being in law enforcement in small towns, the folks you arrested were often folks you knew intimately, who knew you intimately.
Lifting his fist, Santiago banged on the wall where the fingerprints were.
“Whoever’s on the other side of this wall, you got one minute to decide whether you want a different fate than Vince. Is what you’re doing here worth the loss of your life, the grief and shame for your family?”
He looked at the closest camera as both he and Roan raised their guns toward the wall.
After a few moments, static filled the space before the volume lowered.
“How do I know you ain’t go’n shoot me like ya did Vince?”
That was the voice of Eddy Baker, sounding scared and petulant at the same time.
“I didn’t shoot Vince so I can’t speak on that, but I can promise you, you come out easy, we’ll have us a friendly chat. You prove you’ve done nothing wrong, and you’ll be with your family by the morning.”
“Tell me this Stillwater, what if...hypothetically, I did do something wrong, you’ll give me a deal?”
“You know me Ed, I don’t make promises I can’t keep, but you’ll be treated fair.”
After another moment of apparent contemplation, an electric locking system released. The wall slowly swung out, and Eddy walked out hands up.
Roan holstered her weapon and frisked him briskly. Santiago stepped into the hidden room noting the electronics and security system.
“You saw us coming,” he muttered as he watched the various camera feeds.
The cameras didn’t surveil too far from the property, but if somebody had been in that room when Roan, Cutter, and Derry approached, they’d have definitely seen them coming.
“Of course we saw you coming; why do you think I holed up in there and Adam took off running; he’s got warrants. And no offense, but a bunch of cops descending on the place, guns drawn, don’t foster feelings of safety and peace.”
“That why you got all these guns?”
“They’re all legal, Sheriff. Got the papers on ’em just like a breeder would have on a prized show pig.”
Eddy looked at Roan. “Are any of my men dead?”
“Not yet.”
“Let’s hope it stays that way. Now”—his gaze swung back to Santiago—“why’re you raiding my place?”
Santiago handed him the warrant. “Got a tip you and Vince were running drugs out of this shop.”
“But did you find proof?” Eddy smiled. “You’re definitely going to need more than the word of some druggy’s bitter wife trying to put blame everywhere but at her husband’s feet.”
Santi frowned. “Why would you think that’s where we got our information?”
“That bitch has been blaming me for months. I okayed Vince giving her loser husband a job. I’m the one that puts food in her kids’ mouths, but she wants to come after me as if I’m the bad influence.
” Eddy laughed. “She’s blaming the wrong man Stillwater, and so are you.
Look around. What crimes you see happening in our fine establishment?
None.” He sneered. “You better enjoy this job while you have it ’cause it won’t be for much longer. ”
“What do you see?” Santiago asked Roan.
“Table was in the center of the room. Scuff marks on the floor, faint.” She pointed. “But they’re there.”
Santiago stooped down. The concrete showed spider-web thin grooves that moved in the direction of where the table was currently.
Eddy snorted. “This is a garage, shit’s moved around on a daily basis, honey.”
“Sit in the corner,” Santiago told Eddy.
He and Roan walked over and grabbed opposite ends of the table carrying it back to the spot it had been moved from.
Santiago stepped on top of the table and looked up.
“Why do I have a feeling you’re going to jail tonight?” Roan asked Eddy.
“Cause you’re as good at reading body language as you are at tracking,” Santiago replied. Eddy was tense as a snake about to strike now.
Santiago pushed up on an acoustic tile, but met resistance. Putting more muscle into it, he shoved again and the tile broke. Fat baggies of pills and wrapped bricks of a powdered substance fell from above.
“Lawyer,” was the only thing Eddy said. Vince might run the garage, but it seemed Eddy was the one who ran this particular arm of the business.
Peters entered the room, frowning in confusion. “What the hell’s going on in here?”
“Keep out of this room, Peters, and have McIntyre bring my kit. Roan, secure the camera footage then get out there and do a full sweep of the property.”
“You’re making a dangerous choice, Stillwater. It takes a special kind of stupid to escalate this situation in the way you’re planning.”
Santiago looked at the drugs that had fallen on the table and floor. There was more up there, he was certain. This drug ring was bigger than just something local. There was a major player supplying this kind of product.
Santiago hopped off the table and looked at Peters. He didn’t fully know who all he was going to war with, but what he was sure of, now more than ever, was that some of his enemies were already on his side of the battle line.