I’ve never hated my father, never been disappointed in any of his actions. He was my dad, the only one I ever had so why be disappointed in his memory. But Milo’s actions can be linked to Evan… at least that’s what my racing mind believes. A heaviness still weighs down my heart.
32
Evan
The passenger door opens. Tyrone dips down and gets into my sports car. He’s holding two paper containers, the aroma of oil and pure goodness from the hotdog truck ahead of me wafts through my nostrils.
“All beef, mustard for you,” Tyrone hands over my hotdog.
“Thanks.” I nod my head.
“The fucking works for me,” he says holding up his own hotdog with chili, cheese, and a heaping of french fries.
“Dude, your heart hates you. If one of those french fries falls between the cracks of the center console and your seat, you die.”
He gives a sinister giggle before attempting to demolish it in one bite.
As I pull out of the spot and maneuver around the crowd surrounding the food vendor, he asks about the burgeoning LAPD/ FBI homicide task force.
Unlike me, Tyrone has always been in the narc unit. The new task force is a good way to step the fuck up and solidify yourself with the Feds too. Raynor mentioned chatter of a stronger liaison between the LAPD and FBI a few years back when it was in the works.
“They've got three openings. Two of ‘em already got our name on it. We should do it.” Tyrone rubs his hands in anticipation.
“I don't know, bro. I'm comfortable at Detective III. I'll work my way up the loop. The program has made some positive strides now, but it's the gateway career only leading to one gate. And special agent isn’t in the cards for me.”
A perimeter has been set around the active crime scene of Spectrum Diagnostic, a biopharmaceutical company located off Burton Way. The cement building is one story, but extends almost the entire block. The place is sectioned off in pieces. No expense has been spared with the front of the building, and upscale lobby. The laboratory has high-end equipment worth its weight in gold. And the third, and last section, is where prescription drugs are boxed, tagged and shipped to various pharmaceutical stores. Tyrone’s attempt to persuade me to the new LAPD/ FBI unit will have to come later, as we have a large scene to assess.
We head to the back, where the action has taken place. There are boxes scattered all around the storage unit. The pallets against the wall which weren’t ransacked are stacked up fifteen-feet to the ceiling.
“I need an inventory of every brand of pill currently manufactured and in the building,” I order the Spectrum Diagnostic manager as Tyrone makes a request for surveillance of the area.
The manager loops a few pieces of blonde hair behind her ear. She seems to be calculating every single step, every thought as her pale-blue eyes look up to me for guidance. I wait for her to do as I had just requested since she’d already mentioned stock plummeting once the headlines broke loose for the umpteenth time.
“Now, please,” I add, and then dismiss her in an instant.
“Oh, yes, of course. I’ll go grab the catalogue right at this very instant,” she scurries past one of the tech team.
The SID boys are already buzzing around various areas where different drugs are pre-stored since the entire lab has been ransacked. Shutters from cameras click. Areas are dusted for fingerprints. And evidence is bagged.
With gloves on my hands, I crouch down near pre-packaged boxes, I grab a stray one from the floor. It reads ADDARELL. The most common form of speed, and the drug of choice for go-getter college students these days.
“Mr. Zaccaro…” the manager stands before me, fidgeting her fingers. She holds a clipboard out for my preview.
“Thanks.” I take it and scan through the list of what’s been accounted for since the theft. “What is a volume?”
“Each unit comes in forty pound boxes,” she responds, blue eyes less hopeful by the second.
Fuck, there are eighty units of Codeine missing, amongst other highly addictive prescription drugs. Over one-thousand units of OxyContin places their losses in the hundreds of thousands solely for that opioid. I rub the back of my neck as Tyrone steps out of the surveillance room.
“What’s the damage, Evan?”
“Heavy hitters: Klonopin, Oxy, you know the drill.”
“Alright, I have a team scanning through the surveillance cameras as we speak,” Tyrone says. “Spectrum wasn’t playing with regard to this control room. There’s literally a visual on all angles. If the perps aren’t ghosts, we got ‘em.”
“Nope, we don’t play,” the manager speaks up, her thin lips spreading into a smile as she glances at Tyrone.
“Zaccaro,” calls out one of the SID workers.
Ty heads back into the surveillance room, and I make my way to a tech named Jeff who has a spray of pimples on his forehead, he’s just that young. Jeff says, “Look what we have here,” he holds up a tiny blue piece of jean material stained in blood. I glance at the tiny blood trail on the floor. One of the perps had to have skinned his ankle while hightailing out of here.
Jeff grins brightly. The young ones, they always want to be patted on the back at each interval.
So I do it, and add in a wry tone, “Good job. Bag it. Tag it. Have that sent to the lab for testing.”
33
Reese
“He is my family and the man I am in love with, though funny story, I'm just too chickenshit to say the words aloud to him.” I declare, glaring into obsidian pupils.
