Siblings (14 page)
Authors: K. J. Janssen
Special Agent Hawkins arrived at PO Norman Blaine’s office about ten minutes after Wilson got there.
“You guys ready to get to work?”
Norman and Wilson shook their heads and joined Agent Hawkins at a small table in the back of Blaine’s office. Looking at Wilson, he said, “I went over the tapes of your meeting with the Abbots and from what I can tell you’re in a holding pattern right now. Is that right?”
“Yes. He’s supposed to call me and let me know where to pick up the packages and where to deliver them. I have no idea when that will be.”
“That’s okay. You’ll be ready. They just might be watching you for a while as a precaution, so it’s best that you don’t try to contact us when you hear from them.”
Agent Hawkins opened up his attaché case and took out two ball point pens. He handed one to Wilson and the other to Norman Blaine.
“These are the latest in our arsenal of audio transmitters. They are powered with a long lasting lithium battery that’s good for one thousand hours. You turn it on by pressing down on the narrow slit by the clip. It’s best to use a dime to do that. The beauty of that kind of on/off switch is that you can even let someone use the pen to sign for something and it can’t get accidently switched off. Once you turn it on, it’s voice activated. It took the lab several months to come up with that one. It’s got a range of a mile and a half, so we don’t have to be anywhere around your contact points. It has a GPS chip for us to track your location, so we can stay well within the broadcast range, while still being covert. It’s best if you clip it on the outside of your clothing. That way you’ll reduce excessive rustling sounds.”
Norman checked out the pen. “It’s hard to believe that this replaces those wires you see on TV all the time.”
“That’s the beauty of it. It’s so nondescript. Some of the earlier models were pins that were placed in the buttonhole of a jacket, but they were too obvious. A lot of people carry pens, so that seemed to make a lot more sense. Of course, once they become common knowledge and start showing up on TV shows, we’ll have to find a new design, but for now this should work. Keep the second one out of sight. Activate it, but it’s strictly for backup.”
Wilson was examining the pen very closely. He shook his head a few times. “This is really amazing. I’m a fan of gadgets, but this is the best. I’m relieved I don’t have to wear a wire. I’ve seen too many movies and TV shows where the wires are discovered. Things never end well for the person wearing them.”
Hawkins said, “You’re right about that. This pen alleviates that risk. It even has advertising printed on it. They did a great job in the lab. You’re among the earliest users of this pen. Now here’s what I want you to do.”
Special Agent Hawkins spent the better part of an hour going over the strategy in detail. When he finished he asked, “Do you have any questions?”
“No, sir, I think you covered everything.”
“How about you, Norm?”
“I’m good.” He got up and walked around to Wilson. “You’re very brave to do this. We all want this to work out for you. I’ll always be here if you need me.”
“Thanks, Mr. Blaine. I just want to clear my name and get a fresh new start.”
Agent Hawkins joined in. “That’s what we all want, Wilson. Okay, then, we’ll just have to wait for the Abbotts to make contact. We’ll have you under constant surveillance in the interim.” He reached out his hand to Wilson. “Good luck to you.”
Norm Blaine and Wilson remained in the office for ten more minutes in the event that the Abbotts might be keeping track of Wilson’s whereabouts. “Well, I guess your meeting with your PO has taken long enough. You'd best be going to work now. Take care.”
“Thanks again for believing in me. It means a lot.”
“You’re welcome.”
George called the minute he arrived home. “Tonight’s the night. Your clients are expecting you. The first one will be at the scheduled location at nine and the second at nine-thirty. Your contact will meet you at the gazebo in town at eight-thirty. He’ll have two packages for you. Each will have the client’s name and the address where you will deliver the package. Now listen carefully. Your clients will probably want to check out the merchandise before they sign for it. The quantity is already written on the receipt attached to each package. Now remember, for this trip, you won’t be collecting any money. Everything’s prepaid. After they’re satisfied the entire shipment is there, get their signature on the receipt. Make sure you get a real signature. Oh, by the way, from now on you’ll be known as 'Big Al.' When you can, get to know your contacts. Find out as much as they’re willing to tell you. You’re going to be developing these markets and the more rapport that you develop with these clients, the more money you’ll make. Any questions?”
“I can’t think of any right now. I’ll be right on time and I’ll do everything the way you’ve got it set up.” He hesitated for a second. “I don’t want to sound pushy, but when do I get my money?”
“You’ll be paid as soon as you give me the receipts from your two clients. That’s what we agreed to. You got a problem with that?”
“No, of course not. I was just checking.”
“Okay, then, don’t be late for your pickup. My men get nervous when contacts aren’t on time.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll be there on time.”
***
At eight-thirty Wilson approached the gazebo. The town of Wallington built the ornate gazebo in 1944 in the center of a square acre plot of ground known as Victory Park. The gazebo immediately became a popular site for weddings, as the kickoff point for festivals, and for semi-annual concerts. Seating for several hundred people was provided by twelve rows of benches. He scanned the street and saw two parked cars that appeared to be unoccupied. He looked around to see if there was anyone loitering around. He didn’t see anyone until he focused on the benches. It was then that he saw a man sitting on one of the seats directly in front of the gazebo. He walked down the aisle and sat next to him. “It’s quite an impressive structure, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, I guess so. I don’t know much about architecture. You Big Al?”
“That’s me. George said you have two packages for me.”
“That’s right. Everything you need is in these two sacks.” He handed Wil a clipboard with a slip of paper on it. “First I need you to sign for the merchandise.”
Wil wrote his name without reading the paper and handed it back. With that, the man got up and walked toward a waiting black SUV, one Wil recognized as belonging to Bobby Abbott.
Wilson was alone with two sacks of what he assumed was prime hashish.
He looked at his watch; it was eight-forty. He looked down at the two sacks at his feet. Each had a white piece of paper stapled to it. He could see that information was typed on the paper with a line next to each for a handwritten entry. First entry was for the time, the second for an address, a third for a contact name, and lastly, a line for a signature.
Wil spoke for the benefit of the wire. “I guess you guys got that. The name on the first package is Marshall Bodine at 922 Granite Street. I’m on my way there now. I guess you know that was one of Bobby’s cars my contact man was using.”
Then to himself, he thought.
Okay, my first delivery is for nine. Granite Street is north of town. I’d better get on my way.
Wilson picked up the sacks and walked to his car. He opened the trunk and put the second sack next to the spare tire, but not before he checked the address. It was within several blocks of his first stop. He’d have no difficulty making both deliveries on time. He put the first sack on the passenger seat and drove off toward his destination. As he turned onto Granite Street, he noticed that it wasn’t well-lit. There were at least a dozen sodium vapor street lights visible that ran for the ten block length of the street, but the best most of them could do was flicker as their power source attempted to arc. As this process took place, the lights emitted a low hissing noise that sounded like a barrel of snakes.
The apartment buildings, stores, and house that populated Granite Street must have had front lights, but for some reason only a few were lit. This made finding an address very difficult. Wilson got out of his car and walked toward a house to his left. When he got to within ten feet of the front, he could make out the house number. It was 782.
Okay, it’s on this side of the block.
He returned to his car and went down another block. He barely made out the number on a storefront: 898.
Closer. It’s probably on the next block.
He drove to the next block and parked by the last building. He picked up the sack, locked the car, and started up the walk. He got halfway there when he saw the numbers 920. He hesitated for a minute, looked across the street at the apartment building that had to be 922. He decided to walk there rather than start up his car for just a several hundred feet move. He spotted Marshall Bodine’s name on the buzzer panel and looked at his watch. 8:53.
What the hell, I don’t think anyone is going to quibble over seven minutes.
He pressed the buzzer and heard a man’s voice over the intercom.
“Yeah?”
“This is Big Al. I have a package for you.”
“Come on up. I’m on the second floor, Apartment 6; last apartment on the left.”
The buzzer opened the door and Wilson climbed the stairs to the second floor. When he arrived at the landing, a door down the hall opened and a young man, probably in his late twenties, stepped out into the hall and waved to him.
He was invited into the apartment. Seated on the couch were a very beautiful girl and another young man. “Have a seat, Al. Joann and Roger, this is Big Al. He brought us the stuff.”
They nodded to one another and then he sat down.
“Can I get you anything? A beer or some wine? We’ve opened a great bottle of Merlot if you care to join us.”
“I’m good, but thanks for asking.” Wilson was getting a little nervous. He just wanted to get the transaction over with. “I don’t mean to be anti-social, but I have another stop to make, so maybe we can wrap this up.”
“Oh, of course, I wouldn’t want to be guilty of holding up the wheels of commerce.”
Wilson removed the sheet of paper from the sack and handed the merchandise to Marshall.
Marshall carefully unwrapped the package and pulled out six baggies full of brown cubes. He opened each of the baggies, sniffed the contents and resealed them. He counted each one and turned to Wilson. “Well, they’re all there. Do you have a receipt for me to sign?” Wilson handed him the sheet.
“Do you have a pen handy?”
Nervously, Wilson removed the pen/wire from his jacket pocket and handed it to Marshall. He clicked the plunger, signed the slip, and handed it back to Wilson.
“Sir, may I please have my pen back?”
“You mean I don’t get to keep it as a ceremonial pen like those politicians do when they sign an important document? I like this pen; it’s got a good feel to it.”
“I’m sorry; I need it for my next stop. Anyway, it belongs to my boss, and I’m not sure that he’d want to part with it.”
“I understand,” he said as he handed the pen back to Wilson. “Incidentally, I know a few people that might be interested in buying some of this stuff. I’m sure that if I let them test some, they’ll want to buy from you. I expect that you’d replace any sample cubes I give out if I can get you some more orders. Right?”
“Sure. That’s only fair. I think anyone who tries this stuff will be a fan right away.”
“Well, then, our business is concluded for now. Get the hell out of here so we can enjoy ourselves.” He laughed, as did Joann and Roger. “Just kidding. You have a good night, Big Al.”
“Same here.” Wilson folded up the receipt and put it in the inner pocket of his jacket. He shook hands with Marshall as he left the apartment. Walking down the stairs and out the front door, he mumbled, “Well, that went well. What a shame, they seem like decent people.” Then to himself,
I hope they go light on these recreational users. They’re not
hardcore criminals. They’re just young people looking for a good time, even if it is a tad illegal. Anyway, that won’t be for much longer, thank god.
Wilson walked back to his car and moved on to the next address, William Hopkins at 70 Waterford Lane. Waterford Lane was a semi-circular road off of Main Street. The homes were upper middle class and priced in the quarter million dollar range.
This time the street and houses were well-lit. He easily located number 70 and parked directly in front of the house. He walked up the path to the front door and was about to ring the doorbell when the door suddenly opened.
“I saw you pull up,” the man said, as he gestured for Wilson to enter.
The man was middle aged, short, and portly. He resembled Sidney Greenstreet a bit; at least to the extent that Wilson could remember him from some old movies his parents occasionally watched on TCM. Hopkins was at least fifty years old and Wilson figured him to be more of a distributor than a user. It didn’t take much to picture this man as a drug dealer. Hopkins invited him into the den. It was decorated with guns and mounted animal heads and a wall length bookcase with several hundred books collecting dust on the shelves; probably only a few of them had ever been read.
He put out his hand. “I’m William Hopkins.”
“Big Al.”
“Okay, Big Al, I understand that you have something for me.”
“I do.” He handed the man the package after removing the sheet from the front of the sack. The package was almost double the size of the one he delivered earlier.
“Excellent.” He opened the package and removed at least a dozen baggies. He opened several to sniff the contents. “Beautiful; these will sell well. Thank your boss. I wasn’t so sure he could deliver, but if all his stuff is as good as these, we’ll be doing some major business together. Have you got a receipt for me to sign?”
“Yes, sir.” He gave William the sheet, which he signed with his own pen.
“I’m anxious to try one of these again. Would you like to join me?”
“I would like to, but I have more appointments.”
“Of course. Say hello to George for me. You can tell him that I’ll be in touch. You and I should be seeing a lot of each other. Are you sure you won’t join me, Al?”
“I’d love to Mr. Hopkins, but I got more deliveries.”
“I understand, but if we’re going to be doing business together, I want you to call me Bill. Got that?”
“Sure, Bill, whatever you say. I really do have to go. You enjoy that hash and I’ll be seeing you soon.” He folded the receipt, slipped it into his pocket, and turned to leave.
“Wait a minute.” Wil froze.
This is it
, he thought.
Bill walked around him to open the door. He reached out his hand and slipped something to Wil.
Wilson looked down to find a hundred dollar bill in his hand. He protested, “I can’t take this.”
“Why not?”
“George said that everything has all been paid for. I’m just supposed to deliver the product.”
“I know that. This is something I want to do for you. Every young person can use a little extra cash these days. Don’t insult me by refusing it.”
Wilson thought for a minute and put the bill in his pocket. Smiling slightly, he said “Well, I certainly wouldn’t want to do that. Thank you, Bill.”
“No problem, Big Al. You get along now. I’ll see you soon.”
“Good night, Bill, and thanks again.”
“You bet.” He closed the door behind Wilson and a minute later, as Wil got into his car, Bill turned off the porch light.
Wilson couldn’t wait to get to the security of his car. As he pulled away from the curb he started speaking, knowing that the pen would be picking up whatever he said. “I hope I get to keep the c-note.” He thought better. “Just joking, of course. Anyway, that all seemed to go well. I must admit I was nervous about how it would all go down. I hope this went according to your expectations. I’m going home now. If you need me before tomorrow morning, use the throwaway cell phone number. I don’t want to discuss this on any of my regular phones. I’m sure you can understand that.”
They did. He had done the job they expected him to do and they had it all on tape. Phase one of their sting was in place.
***
“I heard that everything went well, Big Al.” The voice at the other end was that of George Abbott. “Both contacts said they were impressed with you. I understand that Bill even tested you out to see if you would accept his tip. Don’t worry; you can keep the c-note he gave you. That’s strictly between you and your client. I’ll stop by your place tomorrow morning to pick up the receipts and give you your commission. Have a good sleep, partner.”