Deadly Stillwater

“So what is it this time?” Hagen asked flippantly, rubbing his wrists.

Rock turned and gave him a serious look. “The chief’s daughter has been kidnapped.”

Hagen’s smile vanished.

“We need your help with that.”

“ Whatever you need,” Hagen answered. “Whatever you need.”

3:04 AM

Mac pulled his Explorer up in front of Fat Charlie’s place in north Minneapolis. The Fat Man had been cryptic with Lich, merely saying he needed to see them about some information that might prove helpful. Three large African-American men were waiting for them, all with their arms crossed and heads shaved, each sporting sunglasses and a skin-tight black muscle shirt – all in all, an impressive “gun show.” Fat Charlie needed good security in his game, and these guys looked the part. Mac gave them a quick scan and noted no weapons. The guns wouldn’t be far away, however, perhaps stored in the wheel wells of the Tahoe also parked out front. The one in the middle, slightly taller than the other two, spoke up in a deep yet poetically smooth voice. “Charlie sent us up to watch your ride while you’re inside.”

“Thanks,” Mac said. “Around the back again?”

The man nodded.

As they walked around the back, Lich couldn’t help himself, quipping, “What’s with the shades at three fuckin’ AM? Shit, it’s darker than their skin out here. That’s just…” Lich grappled for the right word and missed, “silly.”

Mac smiled. “Silly? Maybe. But I tell you what, you go tell that dude, all six-plus-feet, two-forty of him, that he looks silly. Christ. His upper arms are the size of my thighs. See what he does with you.”

“Ahh, I’d just pump a little of my Smith into him,” Lich said, touching his hip.

Mac snorted. “Anything out of your Smith would just bounce off those guns of his.”

Down the back steps, the door was already open and one of Charlie’s sons, attired in a white dress shirt and blue silk tie, was waiting for them, Deja vu set in as he walked them back into the barroom, where they found the same haze of cigar smoke and Charlie sitting in the same chair.

Dressed in a more subdued gray suit with a black and white striped tie, Charlie sat with a cigar in his right hand and a drink in his left, a bottle of Wild Turkey and a bucket of ice sitting on the table in front of him. His sons sat on either side of him. On the couch to the left of Charlie sat what looked like a homeless man dressed in dirty, work jeans, a soiled white T-shirt, and a black stocking cap. The man was eating a towering ham sandwich off a plate full of chips and coleslaw.

Mac took a chair in front of Charlie, and Lich stood behind him, both hands on the back of the chair. Mac could feel the time running down, so he skipped the pleasantries. “You said you had something for us?”

“And good evening to you, Detective,” Charlie replied, a little put off by the curt start.

Lich jumped in, always ready to soften Mac’s attitude. “Look, Charlie, we just don’t have a lot of time for chit-chat,” he said mildly. “We need to get right to it.”

“Pretty tough the last couple of days, huh?”

Mac nodded and exhaled slowly. “Although, we might be on something now that will help us and we need to get back to it. So…”

“We best get to it then,” Charlie said, nodding and pointing to his right. “This is the guy you need to talk to. Meet Ron.” The homeless guy acknowledged them with a nod.

“This guy?” Mac asked skeptically.

“Yes,” the drug lord replied. “I know he don’t look like much, but looks can be deceiving. Trust me. He provides an important service for me.”

“Which is?” Lich asked.

“He watches my competition.”

Mac understood immediately. “He looks like a junkie.” And then turning to Ron, “But I take it you’re not?”

“Correct, Detective,” Ron replied, looking up from his plate of food. He wiped the corners of his mouth neatly with a napkin. “I’m incognito,” he said in a matter-of-fact voice, sounding nothing like a strung-out street raver.

“That’s great Ron,” Mac answered. “But why do I need to talk to you?”

“Before he speaks,” Charlie interjected, “we’re just talking here, right?” The drug lord wanted to help, but he didn’t care to be pinched either.

“I work St. Paul. I don’t care what you’re doing in Minneapolis,” Mac replied. “So what do you have?”

“This last week, I’ve been watching our competitors down along Lake Street,” Ron said. “There are a couple of good crews down along there, and I’m evaluating them.”

“So?” Lich said, rolling his hand.

“I was sitting in a vacant house a block north of Lake Street around noon on Monday, getting out of the sun and eating some lunch, when I saw a van pull up across the alley behind an abandoned building. It pulled up right alongside another van.”

Mac turned his chair toward Ron. Lich pulled up a chair of his own, taking out a notebook. “What happened next?” Mac asked.