Page 34 of Tough Justice

“That was quick. How’d it go?” Rivera asked without preamble.

“Jack pulled a gun. He’s—” Deck had been about to say dead, when he got a closer look at the guy. It wasn’t Jack. At least, not if Leslie Batista’s description was accurate. This guy had red hair and a beard, not brown hair and relatively clean shaven. “Stand by,” he said to Rivera.

He dug into the man’s back pocket and pulled out a wallet. Inside was a thin wad of cash and a driver’s license. Chuck White. The DL photo looked enough like the dead man that Deck was reasonably certain of the ID. Given that this guy probably had a record, autopsy fingerprints would confirm it.

Deck quickly described everything that had gone down, being careful not to say too much. He’d write it all up in a report that would be reviewed by his bosses and a shooting review board. It was a good shoot, if there really was such a thing, but the process would take him out of the field for a while. Right in the middle of a major investigation.

His ASAC’s frustration was audible through the phone. “There’s something else you should know. The governor’s son is still in a coma. One of his friend’s confirmed he got it from a guy named Jack ‘up north.’ In Loveland, to be exact.”

Could Leslie have been wrong about the location? Deck didn’t think so.

He retrieved his mask and glove from the pavement. “We were in the right place. We just got the wrong dealer.” As Deck gave Rivera the dealer’s name, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something didn’t fit. Not only had Leslie been definitive about this parking lot, but drug dealers were notoriously protective of their turf. Sharing wasn’t in their nature, and neither was letting another dealer horn in on their customer base.

“I’ll notify the governor. He may give you a medal.”

Deck grunted. Getting another dealer off the street had been the plan, but not this way.

“Send your report in within the next forty-eight hours. Have everyone on your team do the same.”

“Will do.” Deck stuffed the phone back into his pocket. Now for the fun part.

“Thor, search.” He clipped a lead onto Thor’s vest then ran his dog in and around the pickup. Within minutes, Thor’s highly trained nose hit on three hidden compartments filled with cash and plastic baggies containing white powder. Not gray. The agents assigned to evidence collection began photographing and carefully placing them in evidence bags.

Deck glanced at the four men on the ground, two of whom worked for the dead guy in the pickup.

“Separate them,” he said to one of the state agents guarding the men. “Start your interviews. Leave this one here.” Deck pointed to the guy closest to him then waited while the others were taken to the other side of the truck out of earshot.

“Evan, you’re with me.” If this guy said anything useful, he wanted a witness.

“You got it.” Evan and Blue rounded the truck.

“Good boy, Thor. Sit.” As a reward for a job well done, he pulled a short piece of twisted rope from his vest and gave it to his dog to chew on. Then he read the remaining guy his rights. He wanted to make damn sure any statements made wouldn’t be thrown out.

“Where does White get his product?”

The man sneered. “Why should I talk to you?”

“Because White is dead, so you and your buddy will take the full hit for this.”

“No way.” He shook his head emphatically. “This is all Chuck’s deal. We’re just here to protect the money.”

“Well, then.” Deck made a tsking sound, feigning disappointment. This guy’s ass was in a sling. He just didn’t know it yet. “I guess there’s nothing I can do for you. You’re looking at five to ten in federal lockup.” He turned, as if to leave.

“Hey, wait.”

Gotcha. Deck turned back.

“If I talk,” the guy said, “what’s in it for me?”

“Brownie points.”

“Yeah? How many brownie points?”

“Depends how good your information is,” Deck replied truthfully. In reality, he didn’t have the authority to make specific promises of leniency. That decision would be up to a prosecutor and a judge. But if this guy gave up the name Deck was after, he’d put in a good word with the Assistant U.S. Attorney and give the guy a whole tray of brownies. “But don’t bullshit me. I’ll know it if you do.”

The goon glanced at the truck where White’s lifeless body still sat slumped in the driver’s seat. One thing the guy didn’t have to sweat was retribution. He hung his head and exhaled. “Chuck gets his stash from a guy who gets it from another guy up north.”

That fit with what Alonzo Jones had told them. There was a distributor and a source. “I need names.”