Shallow Creek

Michelle’s cousin stared him down for an excessive amount of time before relaxing a touch.

“Stuff, huh?  What kind of stuff?  Pot?”

“Heavy stuff.”

Scott stroked the stubble on his face, the gears churning away behind keen eyes.  He leaned forward far enough that Brendan caught a whiff of some rancid breath.

“You don’t look like a user, man.”

“I distribute.”

Scott eased back thoughtfully, his face betraying nothing.  Brendan felt a cool sweat forming on his torso as he waited for a sign that he’d either scored or seriously miscalculated.  If word of this conversation got back to his parents, he’d be up the damn creek.  And his dad was already pissed off enough—

“How heavy?” Scott asked.

Brendan waited for the bartender to stroll by.  Once she was down at the other end shooting the shit with some fat biker, he said, “Glass.”

Scott sat stoically.  Brendan prayed that Wikipedia hadn’t lied about glass being a street name for methamphetamine.

“That’s pretty heavy, man.”

Now sweat was beading on Brendan’s neck.  This conversation needed to end before his forehead got shiny.

“I don’t mess around,” Brendan said gravely.

Scott laughed, catching him off guard.

“I bet, man.  I bet.” He slapped Brendan on the shoulder.  “I’m going to give you a number to call in a few hours.  We’ll meet.  Sound good?”

Brendan nodded and took the last swig from his beer.  After passing him a bar napkin with a phone number on it, Scott excused himself.  The guy whistled playfully at Casey, as if he hadn’t just organized a drug deal with his cousin’s old friend.  She made some joke with the pool players that left them laughing while they watched her caboose sidle up next to Scott.  He put an arm around her waist and directed her to the exit.

As soon as the bar door swung shut, Brendan grabbed a stack of napkins off the counter and mopped up the sweat beading all over his head.  The sopping wet ball of paper sat in his hand, staring back at him, representing everything that could go wrong with his stupid plan.

He’d only just begun, but he was already in too deep.

Chapter 12

Brendan pulled into his parents’ driveway and turned off his truck.  Without any hesitation he had his phone out, found the name he wanted, and hit the call button.  It was do or die time, and he didn’t have any other options.

“This is Deputy Armstead.”

“Marcus, it’s me, Brendan.”

The serious voice elevated a few levels of cheerfulness.  “Hey, bro.  I can’t really talk long; I’m at work right now.”

“Right, right,” Brendan said.  “I got a favor to ask.”

Marcus laughed.  “Yeah, already?  That didn’t take long.”

“This is actually kind of serious, Marcus.  Did you know my sister is hooked on something?”

“Taryn?  Honestly, man, I’ve hardly seen her these last few years,” Marcus said.  “We get calls out to her park for domestic disturbances pretty frequently, but never for her place.”

“Never, huh?”

“Yeah,” Marcus continued.  “That big ol’ white boy she lives with looks mean as hell, but he seems to treat her right, as far as we can tell.”

“Except for the drugs.”

“Don’t know nothing about that, man, but I believe you,” Marcus said.  “Lots of that crap gets around in those parks.”

When Brendan didn’t say anything immediately, Marcus insinuated that he sort of needed to jet.

“Wait a second,” Brendan urged.  “I got a meeting with a big distributor tonight.  I told him I’m a dealer—”

“Hold up.  You did what now?”

“I told Scott Fisher—”

“You need to stay away from that cat, Brendan.  I’m not dicking around here.  Let the DEA sort this out.”

“They would’ve sorted it out already if they could, so screw that.”

“So what’s your play here, man?  You going to walk in there and kill them all?  I can tell you right now that won’t get you what you want.  These sickos are a dime a dozen; you kill one and five more take his place by tomorrow.”

“I’m not going to kill anyone tonight.”  At least, not if he didn’t have to.  “I’m just going to get some info out of them.  You know, prove they’re the ones running the meth in town.”

“Sounds just great, bro, but I can’t get involved in that.  I’m a cop.”

“That’s exactly why you should help.”

“No, that’s why I shouldn’t,” Marcus said, now in hushed tones.  “I already told you, the DEA’s got this one.  Let them handle it.  A civilian shouldn’t be running around going Rambo in Shallow Creek.  It doesn’t look like it, but this can be a dangerous place.”

Brendan stared out his truck windshield at the back of his dad’s truck, parked in front of him.  He hadn’t really thought that Marcus would hang him out to dry on this one.  It had seemed like a slam dunk to him.

“So you’re not going to help me?” he asked.

Marcus stayed quiet for a solid minute.  Brendan could hear papers rustling through the phone line.

“You going to do this anyway?  Even if I don’t come?”

“God Himself couldn’t stop me today.”

“Shit.”

After another long pause, Brendan knew he had an ally.