G-Men: The Series (73 page)

She turned and broke into a jog back towards the bar and the hotel that was just around the corner. Dee Dee would do all right getting back. She’d proven to me that she could hang tough.

I walked across the parking lot towards the dock warehouses. I kept my head low once I neared the dock bay where the truck was parked with the sea carrier’s logo on it.

I spotted Hatfield. He gave me a nod, which meant I needed to climb up into the passenger side of the 18-wheeler and keep a low profile while they finished up with the shipping documents and signed off on the manifest.

I hunkered down, waiting for Slate’s appearance, which should be coming up soon. From the side mirror, I saw the headlights of the Lexus SUV he’d been issued.

Fucker has all the luck.

He’d even been given a fucking driver/bodyguard to make it look like he indulged in shady business deals all the time. His driver looked like freaking “Lurch” off of the old
Addams Family
series.

I watched as Agent Simmons and the greedy longshoreman whose name was Calvin met with Slate and his ‘bodyguard’ outside of the Lexus. There was some conversation, followed by the exchange of money.

I knew there would be a promise of delivery made by Calvin. The deal was that he’d scarfed some of the liquid cocaine and stepped on it with some other liquid adders so it wouldn’t be missed when the inventory got weighed in at Philly.

As soon as Calvin delivered the goods to Slate, he’d be arrested. Calvin’s arrest would be small-time compared to the syndicate in Philly. However, Agent Simmons had picked up some bonus Intel from Calvin that had piqued the interest of the bureau chief.

Calvin had mentioned to Agent Simmons that there was a lot more money to be made with unrelated shipments coming in of some powdery shit that he claimed to be pure, organic, amphetamine.

I watched out of the truck’s front windshield. Slate’s ‘deal’ went down without a hitch. Within several minutes, Hatfield climbed up into the driver’s side of the cab of the truck.

“Hey,
Bill
, how in the fuck are you tonight?” I saw him give me a wink.

“Not really feeling like myself,
Jeremy
,” I replied with a smirk. “Let’s hit the road to Philly.”

Hatfield and I discussed the new information that Calvin had shared with Slate on the organic amphetamine deal. Apparently, he had ties with a U.S. Customs agent in Baltimore who was dirty. That type of thing tended to piss me off royally.

The agent was going to be making some major bucks to clear imports of green coffee bean extract coming in with some barrels mixed in containing something else altogether. It was an illegal substance used for making potent amphetamines. The first shipment was due in to the Port of Baltimore within the next few days.

Calvin had asked Slate if he wanted a piece of it. Apparently, the consignee was looking for a distribution network, since this was a new start-up, and it took someone with start-up capital to buy in. Calvin thought it would be a perfect fit for Slate. He was about to find out just how wrong he was.

“So, anyway, Slate will be meeting us in Philly in the morning with the federal warrants for the bust. I’m pumped,” Hatfield, said, interrupting my thoughts.

“Just keep this rig on the road, Hatfield.”

“Hey, my CDL license is for real. No worries. Sit back and snooze. I’ve got everything under control.”

Hatfield’s enthusiasm had only tugged me away from my thoughts momentarily. I was sure Slate would get more details once Calvin was arrested and he shit himself. That tended to make “rookie” criminals roll over on anybody and everyone. The corrupt U.S. Customs agent would probably fill in the rest of the gaps when he was popped.

The federal prosecutor was pretty good at negotiating with small time criminals to land the more significant perps. More than likely, the agent involved would roll over in a heartbeat when it came down to whether he would have to spend twenty years versus forty years in a federal prison.

“I think I’ll get a little shut-eye, Hatfield,” I said, leaning back against the fairly comfortable seat. “Wake me when we get to Philly.”

“No problem.”

^{chapter 36}

We were on day three of Slate (and Taz) being gone. Bryce seriously kept me so busy that the days had gone by quickly, but for Mom, I could see that not having Slate nearby made her kind of mope around.

I would spend a couple of hours a day with her while Bryce was napping, so she didn’t feel so lonely. We would watch a program together or play cards. I’d made a little play area in the master suite for Bryce, so that he could play in there during the day. He kept her entertained.

The two-hour reprieve I got every evening was my time to run errands, shop, or simply take a drive to get out of the house.

The home health care nurse’s name was Donna and she was a godsend. She got along great with Mom and Bryce. She arrived around 5:30 p.m. and stayed until 7:30 p.m. daily. She always told me if I needed her to stay later, it was no problem.

Mom got a call from Slate every day. I’d only heard from Taz once in three days. When I hinted that Slate called Mom daily, he apologized for not realizing how high maintenance I was. I’d called him a “smart-ass” and he’d laughed that beautiful, sexy laugh of his.

Of course, he wanted to make sure that I’d taken steps to get on the pill. I told him that I had an appointment scheduled with my doctor the following day. He was pleased. He said that everything had gone as planned, but they were sticking around Baltimore for another day or two for other reasons. That was the extent of the detail he provided, which really told me next to nothing.

He asked if I’d talked to Kyzer lately, but the truth was I hadn’t and told him as much. He seemed relieved; even though I couldn’t see his face, I could still read Taz.

Taz told me he missed me before we hung up, which caused my butterflies to surge, and that he would call me when he could. I told him I missed him as well. I could feel his smile over the phone.

God, I hope I’m not falling in love.

The following day was my appointment with the doctor. Donna agreed to come by at 4:00 p.m. because my appointment was at 4:30 p.m.

Everything went well at the doctor’s visit. He gave me a starter packet of pills that I was to start immediately, and then a prescription for refills. He instructed me to use alternate protection for the first two weeks after starting them.

Once I got home, Donna told me she could stick around longer if I needed some study time. Bryce had napped longer than usual this afternoon, and was still going strong. I took her up on the offer, going upstairs to shower and hit the books for awhile. The online classes were definitely more challenging than taking them on-campus with the luxury of real, live teachers.

I picked up my phone and called Kyzer. My call went straight to voice-mail, which was kind of strange because I hadn’t heard from him in a couple of days. Maybe he was cultivating a new relationship. I couldn’t blame the guy for that.

I ended up studying for two hours before realizing that Donna had stayed way over. I went downstairs and she was watching television in the family room.

“Donna, I’m so sorry,” I apologized. “I didn’t realize how late it had gotten.”

“Oh it’s not a problem. You need more time for yourself with school and all. I really don’t mind, okay?”

“Thanks,” I said, smiling. “So, I take it Bryce is down for the night?”

“Yep,” she said, getting her jacket on, “and your mom has had her medication and is sleeping as well. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Thanks, again,” I said, closing the door after her and locking it. I felt lonely. There was no one to talk to, I missed Taz. I went upstairs and pulled my T-shirt off, pulling Taz’s ‘FBI’ hoodie on. It still smelled like him. That offered some comfort.

I climbed into bed and relaxed, finally drifting off to sleep.

The following morning, I awoke before Bryce and peeked in on Mom. She was awake and her iPad was perched on her stomach. I presumed she was reading one of her downloaded books.

“Morning,” I said, going into her room. She looked up, a bright smile lighting up her face.

“That must be a good book,” I replied, nodding towards her iPad.

“Oh, I wasn’t reading my book,” she said. “I was checking my e-mails. Slate will be home today.”

Really?

“Oh, yeah? He e-mails you when he’s on assignment?”

“Only when it’s finished and he can.”

Maybe I have an e-mail waiting for me.

I went into the kitchen and grabbed my cell phone, logging on to see if I had any e-mails come in on my Yahoo account. There was nothing at all from Taz.

I made some breakfast for Mom, taking it in on the bed tray she used. “So, what time are you expecting him in?” I asked her, fluffing a pillow.

She took a sip of her orange juice. “He said he’d be in Quantico by noon, then home by mid-afternoon. He needs to discuss a key or something with me.”

The key from Robespierre?

“So, that means the assignment’s done then? I suppose Taz will be with him, huh?”

She looked up at me with a puzzled look on her face. She couldn’t figure out why I would ask about Taz. Her eyes lowered to the ‘FBI’ hoodie I was still wearing and her look of puzzlement swiftly changed to one of suspicion.

“That isn’t one of Slate’s hoodies,” she noted. “He only wears the tee shirts.”

I’m detecting a slightly accusatory tone here.

I looked down, my fingers plucking a piece of imaginary lint from the front. “No, I borrowed it from Taz,” I replied, looking back up at her.

Her expression has now morphed to confusion.

“Why would you borrow a hoodie from Taz?”

Ahh, geez.

“Because I needed something to wear to bed.”

There, I’d said it. The secret was out and I was relieved.

“Lindsey, no,” she said in a loud whisper, looking practically horrified.

“Mom, Taz and I have gotten close. It’s a caring relationship.”

“On your part, I’m sure,” she said, “but honey, Taz isn’t boyfriend material. The stories I’ve heard from Eric confirm that.”

It was odd the way my mother interchanged “Eric” with “Slate,” depending upon the nature of the conversation. I figured the nature of this conversation was extremely serious, in her opinion.

“So, I take it you’re no longer…Uhm…”

Don’t say it, Mom. Please don’t say it.

“A virgin?”

Damn! She said it.

“That’s correct, Mom,” I replied, hesitantly.

My cheeks were flushing, I could tell. Why was this so uncomfortable? I never got why mothers and daughters couldn’t simply be open about sexual things.

My mother had done her part in explaining the facts of life to me, there’d even been an illustrated book that was age-appropriate when we had “the talk.” Afterwards, she’d asked me if I had any questions. Of course, I didn’t, but I would and did later.

I’d never gone to her with them. I got my information the same way as my friends got theirs: Cosmo magazine and the internet.

“I don’t know what to say, honey. I know you’re an adult and can make your own choices and decisions, but somehow I think this might be one you’ll regret.”

That got my attention. “Why do you say that?”

“First of all, there’s a substantial age difference, and the fact that you are—or were—so inexperienced, might have caused you to feel something you felt you needed to feel because of the physical act.”

She was clearly not comfortable in the direct approach.

“Let me see if I understand what you’re trying to say. Taz is older, so therefore, he may not be interested in anything other than a sexual relationship with someone like me? Given the fact that Taz was my first, you suspect any feelings I have for him are a result of the fact that we’ve been sexual, and I’ve turned it into some romantic fantasy, is that about right?”

“Lindsey,” she said, now clearly upset with me, “that’s not what I’m saying. I’m simply suggesting that you examine the facts. I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

“Mom,” I replied, sitting on the edge of her bed, “there are no guarantees in any new relationship as to whether someone will be hurt before it’s over. I guess I’m willing to take that risk. I care about Trace.”

“I care about
you
and I just don’t see this working out. I’m sorry; I want to be supportive, but I can’t.”

Now I was getting pissed at her closed-mindedness. It surprised me that, after all of the years she’d stayed in a clearly loveless and unrewarding marriage, that she would still be judgmental about people. Especially knowing she’d done a stint as a pole-dancer and had an affair with a biker-boy named Slate. It was really hypocrisy, plain and simple.

“You know, I’m really disappointed in you. How is it that you were able to fall in love with Slate when clearly you have some major snobbery going on?”

“Now just a minute. We’re not talking about Eric here, we’re talking about Taz. There are major differences.”