In many cases, first-time users overdosed from one tablet.
Sadly, some died.
Too many.
Anyone trafficking these drugs had no regard for human life.
Streets stood and motioned for John to do the same. With some difficulty, he complied.
Streets studied John for a moment before continuing, “Sir, I will ask you one more time to confirm what is in these bags. Are these lookalike prescription drugs? Are they laced with fentanyl?” Streets demanded.
No answer. He didn’t even try to deny it.
Streets made sure to say that last question loud enough for everyone to hear. Jackie and Sally murmured in disgust. Sean raised his head and chin again as he looked at his brother, knowing he’d been justified in his actions. Streets saw this and nodded to him in acknowledgement.
Streets turned to regard the driver, who continued to stare at the pavement. Emotions boiled in Streets that were difficult to check. He knew this one duffel bag of drugs would have ruined the lives of hundreds of people, maybe more. It could have caused the death of a dozen children, maybe more. And there were dozens of mules running dozens more duffels of fake pills all over Texas and Arizona right now. Some made it through, some didn’t. Streets knew this man to be guilty beyond doubt. He didn’t deserve due process. He didn’t deserve shelter, food, and a bed while the criminal justice system haggled over his fate. He deserved to be beaten in the street and then have fistfuls of those pills shoved down his throat until he choked on the same fate as the innocent children he intended to victimize by distributing these poisons.
He had simply seen too much of this.
Enough.
Streets shuddered at the thought of grabbing John and delivering punishment right there. His hands tightened into fists for a brief moment. Any person who perpetuated this evil deserved no protection under the law.
But that’s not how things worked. Officer Michael Street had taken an oath to not only uphold the law, but also abide the law. He had given his word.
He glared at the driver for another too-long-to-be-comfortable moment, working the muscles of his jaw, breathing through flared nostrils, tamping down his hatred.
Maintaining his composure with a fragility barely concealed by his stoic demeanor, Streets spoke to Hines. A subtle growling undercurrent wound through his voice. “Officer Hines, place this man under arrest. Make sure to read him his Miranda rights. Cuff him and place him in the back of your squad car.”
John looked up in surprise.
“DO IT,” Streets snapped. “Now.”
The tone of the words propelled Officer Hines into action. Streets stood and observed, allowing his bodycam to capture the arrest.
Streets added one more thing as Hines shuffled off. “Make sure you watch traffic while I handle the rest.”
Hines simply turned his head and nodded once as he walked off, pushing John the driver.
Streets put the duffel back in the truck and closed the door. He called dispatch and requested a team to search and impound the vehicle. Less tense now that he had gotten to the bottom of things, he pulled off the glove, walked over to his brother, and removed the cuffs.
Sean pulled his hands to his chest and rubbed his wrists in relief. “Thank you.”
“Not so fast. We can’t be sure if that guy is going to press charges or what Officer Hines might have to say about it in his report. But you can be sure he’ll be embarrassed for missing the clues that led to that drug bust.” He paused for a second, adding another thought, “So, keep your guard up, Sean.”
𓂓
The grip of the stretcher gave Clay a claustrophobic feeling. He’d never been strapped down, unable to move. He squirmed under the pressure of the straps. The paramedic attending to him laid a hand on his chest. “Sir, you must try to stay still.”
Clay clenched his jaw in pain when the ambulance jolted. Probably from a pothole. He closed his eyes, trying to concentrate on something besides the pain, his thoughts choppy as he struggled to maintain focus. He recalled that morning. Except for the hangover, it had begun like most others. A warm cup of coffee. A few minutes in his garden watching the sunrise. A quick workout. A cool shower. The ride to work with Sean. The argument with Sally. I let her provoke me. Pathetic. Finally got started with work. Then, a little girl in the road. The truck. John. Then nothing.
He recalled her urgent voice saying his name, “Mr. Clay, Mr. Clay,” pulling his consciousness from the depths of darkness. He remembered the soft touch of her small hand on top of his as she thanked him. The thought of her safety comforted him until the ambulance lurched in a turn, causing a twinge of pain to light up his lower back and spine.
Clay drifted as he reflected on the events and decisions that had led to this. Abruptly quitting a hard-earned job as an engineer to start landscaping. Living alone in an empty shell of a home they once shared. Days spent walking through neighborhoods on the hot pavement putting fliers on doors in an effort to drum up business. All the long hours in the heat and humidity. The satisfaction he felt when he completed his 100th project.
The ambulance jolted again as they pulled into the parking lot of the hospital. Clay’s eyes shot open in pain. He groaned loudly. “We’re taking you in now sir, hang in there.”
Overcome with pain, Clay faded in and out of consciousness as they unloaded him and wheeled the stretcher inside. He sensed the ER bustling with activity, blurred in his vision as everything rushed by. He opened and closed his eyes trying to focus. He barely heard a distant voice urgently trying to ask questions as they situated him in a trauma bay. One thought dominated his mind as he felt awareness slip away. If I make it home, I’m going to throw away those goddamn coffee mugs.
𓂓
As Officer Hines walked John the driver to his car, he double checked his body cam. Hines lived in the grip of paranoia. Terrified he might get caught on video saying or doing something he shouldn’t, he usually kept his body cam switched off. He also left his cell phone in the glove box while working a crime scene or a traffic stop.
He stopped just short of his cruiser, far enough away so the others wouldn’t hear. “You were getting’ fuckin’ high, John, with the merch in your truck?”
“No, well... I mean, I was careful and smoked before I left the house. I don’t have anything on me,” John replied.
“Careful? Dammit, more like stupid,” Hines snapped.
Staring at the pavement, John said nothing while Hines gathered his thoughts.
“Look at me,” Hines demanded. John could only hold eye contact for a second before looking back down. “I thought we had this under control.”
“What? I didn’t do nothin’,” John replied.
“You opened your big mouth,” Hines shot back. “I thought we agreed you weren’t gonna say anything more than yes or no.”
“I had to say somethin’, that guy was all over me.”
