"I better start practicing my drawl," Striker commented. "Looks like we have entered hicksville USA."
The driver grunted, and I could tell he was slighted by the comment. I smacked Striker. This ride from the airport to Tulsa was taking longer than I wanted. I was jet legged and needed to move. The weather was dreary.
"Will you shut up," I snapped. I was starting to re think this so called mission.
The car pulled up to a yellow house with white picket fence. I watched as a round man came running out of the house followed by a woman in a dress and apron. I couldn't help but roll my eyes. I felt like I was trapped in an episode of Leave it to Beaver. Even worse, who knew how long I would trapped here. I watched as Striker hugged his family. The driver unloaded our stuff from the truck. I stepped out into the cold Tulsa air. The first thing on my agenda was to get a coat. This weather was a far cry from Florida's.
"Sir, do you know much about this area?" I asked. I adjusted my baseball hat to look at him. He was some type of Latin decent.
He nodded as he set down the last of our suitcase. I dug around in my back pocket for my wallet to tip him. Poor guy had to put up with Striker and his stupid comments. I forked over a couple of bucks. A gust of wind sent shivers down my spine. I already hated Tulsa.
"It snow here?" I asked. I had never seen snow before. It looked gorgeous in pictures, but I didn't want to experience it.
"You need to get yourself a coat, son. This ain't the sunshine state," he said, slamming the trunk of the cab shut.
I looked up at the gray skies. The sun was nowhere insight. I bet people got ghostly pale around here in the winter. "Believe me, I know."
I was quickly ushered into the Striker household. After being stuffed to my limits with food, I was then brought down to the basement for private conversation. Jack Sticker had been on the police force for over thirty years, and his basement contained the evidence. He must of had a million police related nick knacks. Pictures hung on his wall of him in uniform. It was a time line of his career. The first picture began with him passing the academy, and the last was him becoming Chief. Another wall was filled with awards he had received. The basement resembled a little boy's playroom, expect instead of having dinosaurs it had police memorabilia.
I sat down on a beat up plaid couch. I wanted a cigarette, but they didn't promote smoking in the house. I was twenty six and not permitted to smoke in the house. This job was too stressful not to smoke.
"Son, are you nervous?" Jack asked. He stared at my bouncing legs; it was my one nervous habit. I hated when people called me son. That was a pet name that only a father was allowed to call his kid. My father died before I was out of the womb.
"Ignore it," Tom chimed in. "He has chromic ants in his pants."
Jack smirked. I had heard that time on the force could age a man beyond his years. Jack more than earned every wrinkle on his face. Stress from the job had torn out every hair from his head.
"Anyways men, I told you guys we got a huge drug problem here in Tulsa. After the past few months, we have come to the understanding that a large portion of it is being passed through the high school. Three kids over dosed themselves with opiates in the fall. We got kids dropping out due to gang violence. Gang violence is directly related with drugs. Eighteen students were caught with marijuana this year," he explained, rubbing the stress lines on his forehead
"You brought me all the way out here to babysit," I shouted. I couldn't help but get a little heated. I was told coming here was going to be a benchmark for my career. It was my third undercover job, and I was thrilled to be hand picked for it.
"Look, I know this may seem like a joke, but kids don't get drugs of these proportions from the science lab. Someone is providing the drugs either a gang or a drug lord. Kids talk, it will be easier to get information from them. I talked to Saint Petersburg's chief for the sole purpose because Tom is my nephew. You came highly recommended for the job. If you feel the job is not good enough for you, then get out now," he said. He had a calm demeanor.
I stopped bouncing my knees. He was a higher ranking officer and an elder; I owed him respect.
"What is the assignment?" I asked. I was far from the warm beach, but I had a feeling that I was stuck in the ocean with the water way above my head, and it wasn't even high tide yet.
"Look, kids talk, they let things slip. We listen and we figure out who is supplying the drugs. Shayne, you are the history teacher at Will Rogers. Tommy, you are the janitor," Jack said. He ginned a little as he handed me a stack of papers.
"I don't do kids," I said. "I've never been around any for this long. I don't know how to talk to them. Why can't I be the janitor?"
Jack let out an airy laugh. " You have the history degree. Calm down, you don't need to talk to them. You just need to teach them and watch them."
This case was going to put years on me. I always kept my hair high and tight, but this was going to make me bald. I guess it was a good think I liked wearing hats.
I leaned against the oak headboard. The room we were sharing at Jack's had a patriotic theme. I rubbed my hand over my metal dog tags. It was making me reminisce of my days as a Marine. God, those were the best days of my life.
"You'll have to take those off tomorrow. They have your name on it," Tommy said. He pointed to my dog tags.
"Do you got a smoke? They don't come off," I stated firmly. The Marine Core was the only thing that connected me to my Dad.
He dug around in his bag, and produced a pack of Lucky Strikes. "Here, just open the window," he said. He tossed the tin can on my bed.
"We have to quit calling each other by our last names," I said. I found a paper with my class list on it. I began reading over the names. I wanted to try to match names on my list to the pictures in the yearbook.
"Come tomorrow, I am Janitor Jacobs, and you are Mr. Gram. We get to keep our first names," he said. There was a hint of anxiety in his voice. We all got a little anxious before the job, but he was the only one who showed it
"This is ridicules," I groaned. I flicked my cigarette out the window. "This better be worth my time."
"Shayne, I pity those poor kids who have to have you for a teacher," Tommy grinned. "Remember, this is high school, not the Marines."
I rolled my eyes at his comment. He was one of the guys on the force that wanted me to "loosen up" and toss out my militant ways. "Have you seen my class list? No wonder the kids here do drugs. This kid is named Ponyboy Curtis. Did his parents drop acid and name him?"