Cigarette Burn
Chapter One
Back Alleys and Fire Escapes
"Detective Frank Davenport bit down on the syringe," D.C. Metropolitan Police Chief Jack Holloway began; "holding it in his mouth as he flicked his arm repeatedly, waking up his veins. In thirty seconds the Washington D.C. Metropolitan Police Department Detective would be higher than a space shuttle exploring Neptune. Frank finally plunged the needle into his arm, depressed the syringe, and unleashed the liquid gold into his veins. Seven minutes later, Detective Frank Davenport was dead. Meanwhile, across town in a shabby old apartment complex on 11th street, Cueball, a wealthy dealer from Venezuela, was making a deal with two street cops. Officer Jack Keegan and Officer Rick Welsh were buying two bags of coke at almost five grand a bag. When the deal was done, they left Cueball's apartment and drove out of the District of Columbia to snort a line or two. These two petty officers were found dead yesterday in Bethesda, and judging from the smell, Detectives say that they'd been dead for quite awhile."
The Chief looked out at his audience. Most of the officers and detectives in the room were scribbling notes furiously, just what the chief liked to see. Among those scribbling notes were Detectives Ian Aldridge and Kyle Canning, two of the best detectives on the force. Canning leaned over to Aldridge as if he was going to whisper something, but then the chief started to speak again.
"What?" whispered Aldridge.
"Nevermind, I'll tell you later," Canning whispered back.
"Now what this tells me," the Chief continued, "is that not only does this department have a drug problem, but additionally, the drugs that our guys are taking are killing us, one by one. I've throw down the edict that all of you are going to be required to take a drug test when you leave this meeting. I want to make sure the guys that we have on this case are clean, and aren't going to go crooked on us. Ladies and Gentlemen, the bottom line is this." He paused for a moment to bring up a photograph of Cueball. "This is cueball, and this is the guy we're after. He's responsible for 65 percent of all drug sales in the D.C. and surrounding areas. I'm going to give it to you straight everyone, the District of Columbia is the most heavily policed area in the entire country, and may even be the most heavily policed area in the world. I don't know how Cueball got here; hell, I don't even know the guy's real name. But I do know that we want him out of the country, and fast. Let's start digging some stuff up on this guy, and tearing down some doors."
The meeting was adjourned and Aldridge tried to get Canning's attention.
"What did you want to tell me in there," Aldridge asked as they both left the room.
"Did you happen to see anything out of place on that map?" Canning asked.
"No, why?"
"Alright, well, you noticed our jurisdiction layout right?" Canning asked. "It was the visual with the broad red circles representing our areas of patrol."
"O.k., what about it?"
"I was drawn to the cracks in those holes," Canning said. "I'd bet if we started there we could get somewhere, and pretty quickly at that."
"One step ahead of you, buddy," Aldridge said, "let's start around Mt. Olivet road. Oh, and this is after the drug test, right?"
Canning rolled his eyes. When they both had finished their mandatory drug test, Aldridge and Canning got in a car and started cruising down rt. 50 towards the Mt. Olivet road neighborhood.
"You have the image of Cueball, right?" Canning asked.
"Yeah," Aldridge said. "We might have to get aggressive with some of the locals though, we'll see."
Canning parked the car outside of a shady looking walkup apartment building. The detectives entered the building and started knocking on some apartment doors. Very few people were home, and most of the community was of no help whatsoever. That was until they came to apartment 5C on the top floor of the building. When the two detectives knocked on the door, a man answered, and his eyes got wide at the sight of Canning's badge. The man tried to make a discreet motion with his hands towards his roommate, but Aldridge picked up on it. He watched as the roommate dove for the window accessing to the fire escape. Canning pulled his gun on the man who answered the door as Aldridge ran for the stairwell accessing the roof. At first this puzzled Canning, but knowing Aldridge, he assumed that Aldridge was trying to head the runner off.
Aldridge got up to the roof and ran over to the edge of the building where the runner had gone down the fire escape. What he found was much more astounding. The man had tried to climb his way over via clothesline to the other building across the alley. Aldridge backed about ten steps away from the ledge, turned around and ran towards it again. He planted his foot on the small wall that protected against anyone falling off, and leapt in the air towards the other building. He landed with a painful thud, which momentarily distracted the man who had answered the door, allowing Canning to get him to the ground. Aldridge then met the runner on the third floor of the fire escape, and holding him at gunpoint, pressed the man for information.
"You need to cool it, buddy," Aldridge said. "All we have are some questions."
"I know nothing, I swear," the man said, panting heavily from his near escape.
"I haven't even asked you anything yet, just cool it," Aldridge said as he thumbed around for the photo of Cueball. "Do you know this man?"
The man looked scared to death. He looked like Aldridge had just opened a bigger can of worms than even Aldridge had originally thought.
"Before you speak," Aldridge said, "I know the answers yes, ok? So don't BS me, you got it?"
"I don't know him—"
"I said," shouted Aldridge, "DON'T BS ME!" With this Aldridge pressed his gun harder on the man's chest. "Make no mistake about it, pal, I know how to fire one of these things. I never fire it at anyone who isn't expendable, but you've got to prove to me that you aren't expendable, you got it?"
"Alright, alright, alright," the man said, almost stuttering on the word. "He's a high-level trafficker ok? That's all I know."
"You see," Aldridge said, "now you're looking even more expendable, try again." Aldridge cocked his gun back. By now Canning had joined Aldridge and was pointing his gun at the runner's head.
"You might want to try the truth," Canning added. "Why don't you start with where he is at the current moment."
"Last time I checked he was in a ratty old apartment under I-295," the man said as his voice shook.
"See?" asked Aldridge. "Now was that so hard?"
Aldridge cuffed the man and began leading him down the fire escape. "What's your name?" Aldridge asked.
"Ben Daniels," the man said. Before Aldridge or Canning could address the man, he thrust his head backward into Aldridge's lip, stunning him for a second, and knocking Aldridge backwards into Canning. This allowed Daniels enough time to flip his torso over the railing of the fire escape, plunging towards his death at the concrete below.
Aldridge and Canning didn't say a word to each other. Aldridge put his hand to his forehead and shut his eyes. "Well, let's start by finding all the ratty apartments under I-295 that we can. Right after we get this mess cleaned up." Canning vented his frustration by hitting the handrail with his open palm.
The D.C. Coroner's Office took care of Daniel's body as Aldridge and Canning left the scene.
"Why do I get the feeling that this whole situation is a lot bigger than we first thought?" Canning asked.
"Because it is," Aldridge replied. The two got in their car and sped towards the underbelly of I-295. The sun was setting, and a light snow had begun to fall on D.C. By the time they'd reached the apartment complexes below I-295, a dusting of snow had covered the streets. Aldridge and Canning vested up for this visit. Sure the back of the bulletproof vest would have given their identity away, but there was no sense in dying over a drug raid.
Canning knocked at the door, with no answer returned. He knocked again and Aldridge identified them as D.C. police. Still, no response. Canning finally kicked down the door and both of them rushed inside. The place was empty; not only that, but it looked like someone had just left, and done so in a hurry. The good news was that there was a lot of potential evidence lying around. Aldridge and Canning radioed in for backup. CSI would process it tonight depending on if the Narcotics division was going to be able to find anything solid.
"I'm going to need a drink, tonight," Canning said.
"Yeah, that's what I'm thinking," Aldridge replied.