The Fleeing Felon E-Book

Daniel Maldonado

• Herausgeber: Next Chapter
• Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

After Fredrick Prato gets involved with a local drug gang and fights with his girlfriend about the custody of their young child, he gets on his motorcycle and rides into the night.

Unknown to Frederick, the freeway offramp he takes is closed, and blocked by a truck owned by TransAde to prevent oncoming traffic, resulting in a fatal crash. Fredrick's parents and girlfriend are devastated by his unexpected death and sue TransAde for carelessly creating a dangerous situation with the truck.

Daniel Mendoza and his team of attorneys must solve the mystery of why the tragic accident occurred. But can Daniel find out what went wrong, and is there something more sinister behind the scenes?

Leseprobe

THE FLEEING FELON

DANIEL MENDOZA THRILLERS BOOK 2

DANIEL MALDONADO

CONTENTS

1. Party

2. Assignment

3. Fight

4. Exit

5. Pressure

6. 911

7. Conference

8. Strategy

9. The Adjuster

10. Parents

11. Questions

12. Custody

13. Remembrance

14. Autopsy

15. Experts

16. The Tribe

17. The Date

18. The State

19. Deposition

20. Evaluation

21. Dinner

22. Ruffians

23. Argument

24. Decision

25. Fireplace

26. Stupor

27. Second Inspection

28. Request

29. Woozy

30. Chihuahua

31. Off-ramp

32. Toxicology

33. Girlfriend

34. Confrontation

35. Investigation

36. Councilman

37. Single

38. The Heavens

39. Conference Call

40. Invitation

41. Escape

42. Shake Down

43. Mediation

44. Contact

45. Agreement

46. Uber

Next in the Series

About the Author

Bibliography

Dear Reader

Copyright (C) 2021 Daniel Maldonado

Layout design and Copyright (C) 2021 by Next Chapter

Published 2021 by Next Chapter

Edited by Megan Gaudino

Cover art by CoverMint

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the author’s permission.

This book is dedicated to my friends, family, and coworkers who enjoyed my first legal thriller and encouraged me to continue writing. Thanks for all of your support and encouragement.

1PARTY

Scottsdale, Arizona

Present Day

2 a.m.

The blaring music inundated the crowd as the various partygoers gyrated uncontrollably to the rhythm. Those not dancing talked louder so that their partners could hear. Yellow and blue lights scattered throughout the room in random sequences illuminating the darkened presidential suite. The smell of sweat and alcohol permeating the air, filling it with a sense of excitement. In the far corner was Fredrick, alone. His smile was beaming in an immature way as he gazed into the crowd with amazement. Nevertheless, he was having fun.

“Pass me some chips,” a dark-haired woman wearing a sleek dress said as she winked innocently at Fredrick. She stood about six inches taller than Fredrick who was of average height.

“What did you say?”

He could barely hear her voice. Fredrick wasn’t sure if it was the loud music drowning the hotel suite or if it was because she spoke softly in a sultry voice. A part of him secretly hoped it was the latter, but that was just the vanity of youth.

She drew near and spoke into his ear, “I said pass me some chips.”

This time her voice sounded perturbed.

Fredrick nodded, turned towards the banquet table near him, and grabbed the chip bowl. He ate a few chips himself and then passed her the bowl.

“Thanks. What are you doing here?” she inquired as if his presence was out of the ordinary at the luxurious Regal Phoenix Resort and Spa.

In fact, Fredrick was out of place and he was keenly aware of it. He wore faded jeans with a blue linen shirt; its collar was slightly askew. His rugged boots rounded out his wardrobe. Fredrick didn’t mind. He was accustomed to not fitting in with the upscale crowds at similar resorts. But fitting in wasn’t his purpose. His purpose was, “entertainment” of sorts. Well, that’s how he described it to family members and friends. He never told them the truth.

He went to upscale parties, graduations, birthdays, weddings, and other events to sell drugs. His family wouldn’t approve of Fredrick selling drugs again especially after he spent the last two years in prison in Florence, Arizona. That killed them. At least the prison was close to the reservation where Fredrick’s family lived. His family lobbied for Fredrick not to be housed in the state prison in Winslow, Arizona.

Winslow was a three-hour drive from their reservation near Scottsdale, Arizona. Florence was only an hour away. Fredrick’s mother and father easily visited him throughout the day and after work and then went back to the family home. They frequently visited him despite the initial awkwardness.

While in prison, Fredrick swore up and down that he was finished with dealing drugs. He realized that his now four-year-old daughter, Maleah, needed him. She was a fragile two-year-old when he first went to prison. Her mother, Caitlin, was disgusted when she learned that her boyfriend sold cocaine and meth. Despite her family’s protests, Caitlin relented to Fredrick’s pleas and stayed with him mainly for Maleah’s sake.

“She needs a father, not useless gifts,” Caitlin would say. “My father is rich. We don’t need your money.”

Fredrick’s words of reassurance that he wouldn’t sell drugs rung hollow in Caitlin’s mind. She feared that the fast money was too irresistible. Unbeknownst to her, she was right. Soon after he was released from prison, Fredrick convinced himself that it was okay to sell marijuana because he was no longer selling hard drugs.

“It’s just marijuana,” he frequently repeated to himself. “No one is harmed by a little weed. It’s for medicinal purposes.”

He reassured himself that he was doing the right thing for his family. But, in reality, Caitlin’s words stung deeply. Fredrick knew that he could never provide for his family the way Caitlin’s father did. Her father was a millionaire of sorts, making money by importing merchandise from all over the world.

Maleah lived with Caitlin at her parents’ house— a large, six-bedroom home in the rich neighborhood of Arcadia near Camelback Mountain. Maleah was taken care of by live-in maids and taught Mandarin and Spanish by exotic tutors. Her every need was met. But Fredrick insisted that he and Caitlin live on their own once he was released. That decision caused a lot of conflict between Caitlin and her parents.

Fredrick’s drug money could never compete with millions but at least it was his money, made from the efforts of his own hands. Also gnawing at him was his pride. He didn’t want a non-native telling him what he could do and how to do it, especially when it came to his own family. Fredrick’s parents and friends would never respect him if he wasn’t his own man. He convinced himself that this was his true motive for moving Caitlin and Maleah out of her parent’s house

Fredrick’s only solace in his tumultuous relationship with Caitlin was that his parents unconditionally accepted his daughter. They loved her as if she was their own daughter. All they asked was that Fredrick not sell drugs to his own people on or off the reservation. He reluctantly agreed.

The Regal Phoenix Resort and Spa was a stone’s throw from the reservation and, to his knowledge, none of the party-goers were natives or at least not from his tribe. So, in Fredrick’s mind, he was honoring both his parents’ and his girlfriend’s wishes.

Well, almost all of it.

“I’m having fun. Are you?” he answered the woman next to him, still grinning subconsciously.

She glared at him and then eyed his body up and down in disapproval.

“Hey, you want some weed?” he asked as she stormed off.

When she didn’t respond Fredrick shrugged and continued eating chips.

His sales skills were rusty. He no longer had the flair and debonair attitude he used to have while selling drugs before prison sullied him. Maybe he lost that edge now that he was twenty-three years old and becoming a real man. Fredrick didn’t know why he was striking out. But he knew that he needed to start selling and make the most of the party.

He looked around the room and saw two men approach in a half-drunken stupor. They stumbled towards him laughing and carrying on. Fredrick watched attentively as the two neared the banquet table.

“I need food, bro,” the taller male said as he stared greedily into the eyes of the other male. He shoved him slightly to emphasize his point.

“No, need to tell me. I’m there with you.”

The two laughed heartily and then noticed Fredrick’s gaze from across the floor.

“Hey man. What are you staring at?” the taller man asked.

“Hi, guys,” Fredrick said. “Nothing. Just—”

“Well mind your business,” the man snapped.

“I am man,” Fredrick said. “No harm. No foul. I’m just here to entertain.”

“Entertain?” The other male gave Fredrick a puzzled look. “You don’t look like the entertainment. Where’s your costume?”

“No man. Not like that.” Fredrick pulled out a small bag of weed from his pocket and showed it to them. “I’m talking about the ganja.”

He gently shook the bag to focus their attention.

“Got anything strong than that?” the taller male asked with a sense of disappointment.

“Yeah, we need something stronger,” the other male said.

“Nah, man. That’s it. Tell me how much you need.”

Although the men were disappointed with the inventory, they purchased two bags from Fredrick and moved on. He was pleased with his first sale. It had been a slow two weeks, but things were looking up. With added confidence, Fredrick strolled through the crowd with his contagious grin. He sold more product once the partygoers realized his purpose there.

His cellphone buzzed while he was completing his latest transaction with a young teenager. Fredrick looked at the caller ID and noticed that Caitlin called.

His heart dropped.

2ASSIGNMENT

Tempe, Arizona

Earlier That Day

Midnight

Kirby walked into the conference room of TransAde and opened his inbox on the table at the back of the room. He was looking for his assignment for that morning so that he could have a safety meeting with his crew.

After grabbing the barricade plan and briefly reviewing it, Kirby went to the coffee machine to dispense a cup. Alcohol still lingered on his breath. Not only did he need a pick-me-up so that he could work the graveyard shift, but he also needed to disguise the smell of five whiskey shots he quickly drank at his neighborhood bar before coming to work. The whiskey burned his throat while it went down but Kirby liked the hurt. It toughened him up and reminded him of those long nights on the oil rigs off the coast of Louisiana in the Gulf of Mexico.

Those days were long gone. Kirby loved the quick money, the salty air, and the booze and fast women that came with the job, but not the long hours or the innumerable days away from home. He could no longer work as an oil driller after punching his boss in the face for making fun of Kirby’s short stature in front of the other workers. The company couldn’t have cared less about why Kirby assaulted his supervisor. The important thing was that they had a zero-tolerance policy. Unfortunately, that meant Kirby had to find another career. He was blackballed as an oil driller and knew that no company would hire him.

So, Kirby turned to his old profession in the barricade business and moved to Arizona. He was lucky enough to land a job at a competitor. TransAde was good to him. They promoted him quickly to team leader after having been with the company for only a year. Kirby Wilson was a natural leader. He exuded confidence in himself and encouraged others to rise to the occasion. The company manager, Danny Lopez, liked that about Kirby and often overlooked his frequent tardiness and the stench of alcohol that protruded from his clothes like cheap perfume. Wearing shades at night was also a dead giveaway.

But Kirby was on the straight and narrow. After three years at TransAde, things were looking up. He hoped to get another promotion soon and didn’t want to mess things up. Last night’s drinking didn’t help. Kirby wished that he asked the bartender for whiskey on the rocks or had it mixed with something like club soda or ginger ale to dull some of the whiskey’s tooth. It was cheap whiskey, not the kind he could afford when he worked as an oil driller. But it drowned his pain just as well.

“Hey boss, when’s the safety meeting?” Ivan asked. He was eager to get on the road and get the job started.

“Is everyone here?” Kirby replied as he quickly scanned the room for his crew while taking another sip of coffee. “Looks like Chris isn’t here yet.”

Carlos approached and interjected, “He’s in the toilet. He’s got the runs. Chris said the misses made some extra spicy enchiladas and, well, his stomach isn’t liking it.”

The trio laughed as they pictured Chris’s derrière burning on the porcelain throne as he squirmed for relief.

“Boss, I’ll fill him in on the ride over. Looks like I’m driving the VP truck tonight.”

Ivan came in early and always checked the assignments so that he would be on top of things before the safety meeting started. He anticipated that Kirby would be promoted shortly and wanted to step into the team leader position. Ivan hoped that Kirby would recommend him as a natural successor. The other team members just saw him as a suck-up but no longer cared as long as they got their weekly paycheck.

“Thanks. We got the Tempe Ironman coming up and several ramp closures on the Loop 202. Four to be exact. Center/Priest both eastbound and westbound.” Kirby checked the barricade plan again before continuing. His haze was completely gone. “We also have to close the Scottsdale Road and McClintock off-ramps.”

“Both sides?” Carlos asked.

Kirby nodded.

When Chris approached the crew, he interjected, “Sounds like a lot of work.” He was still tucking his shirt into his faded jeans. “Just the four of us.”

“Yeah. Mike’s not in today. They’re counting on us to do a thorough job. We also need to put up pre-warning signs. I’ll drive the sign truck. Carlos, you can drive the crash truck.”

“Alright. I love driving the crash truck—”

“We’ll all convoy to the first off-ramp,” Kirby interrupted Carlos’ youthful enthusiasm.

Carlos was nearly 20-years old but didn’t garner the respect that he longed for from his older crew members. Chris, his brother-in-law, had gotten him the job after he was fired from his previous position. The rest of the crew didn’t appreciate the nepotism nor the lack of experience. They wanted Carlos to prove himself because they were risking their lives on a treacherous assignment.

“Chris, when we start work, I need you to call ADOT and let them know to turn on the DMS boards to indicate that the ramps are closed.” Kirby eyed him seriously. “You also need to tell them how long the ramps will be closed so that drivers are warned long enough.”

“How long is that?” he inquired.

Kirby flipped through the paperwork and answered, “Monday. To be safe, tell them Tuesday by 10 a.m.”

Kirby always liked to overestimate the amount of time to complete the jobs. That way all the safety measures would be in place well after the job was finished. It also avoided concerns about any miscommunications or missteps.

“Anything else?” Ivan wanted to make sure the crew was fully informed about the assignment before leaving the company headquarters.

“No, that’s it. Let’s be safe out there, guys. We want to makes sure the boss knows we’re the best crew.”

Chris, Ivan, and Carlos scattered towards their vehicles. Kirby took a large swill of coffee. He regretted not bringing his thermos so that he could fill it up. A mug would have to suffice. Luckily, he felt more awake and sharper than when he first arrived at work. The cool, early morning air would increase his circulation and rejuvenate him even further.

3FIGHT

Scottsdale, Arizona

Same Morning

2:30 a.m.

Caitlin unconsciously rolled over on the full-size mattress but did not bump into Fredrick like she normally did during the middle of the night. Fredrick would typically moan at the disturbance but that was always a form of reassurance for Caitlin. She welcomed Fredrick sleeping with her again after having missed his presence during the past two years. This time, the lack of any resistance mysteriously woke her up. Her eyes blinked as they tried to focus in the dark.

She reached over and touched the cold, empty sheets on his side of the bed.

“Freddie?”

Caitlin sat up anticipating his response. None was forthcoming. She looked towards the bedroom door and saw that it was wide open. That puzzled her. Fredrick always insisted on sleeping with the door closed.

“Maybe he’s getting a late-night snack,” she reassured herself.

Caitlin tried going back to bed. But she was worried that Fredrick may have had difficulty sleeping again. Nightmares about being in prison still haunted him even though he had been free for the past few months.

After not seeing a light in the distance through the doorway, Caitlin rose from the bed and walked towards the kitchen. She put on a robe so that the chilly air wouldn’t encompass her body. She stepped quietly, concerned that any sudden noise may unnecessarily startle Fredrick and possibly set him off.

Fredrick’s parents, Joseph and Patricia Prato, encouraged him to get the holistic counseling that the tribe offered to members who were struggling with issues, but Fredrick refused. He dreaded sharing his feelings with strangers even if they were tribal members. It reminded him too much of the mainly “useless” meetings at the prison when the inmates were encouraged to discuss their crimes and how they had learned from their mistakes. Most inmates feigned remorse hoping that it would do them some good before the parole board. Fredrick hated all of the theatrics and refused to meaningfully participate. He desperately wanted to forget those days and put them behind him even if his unconscious mind wouldn’t let him.

“Fredrick?”

Caitlin turned on the kitchen light and noticed that there was no sign of him. No dirty dishes or silverware. No tribal newsletters were strewn on the countertop, which he read simply to pass the time during his insomnia. Everything was completely silent. Not even the television was on with the late-night shows Fredrick sometimes watched when he couldn’t sleep.

Caitlin became alarmed. She walked into the empty living room. Then she remembered how Fredrick would sometimes sleep in Maleah’s room if she had a restless night. Her daddy’s presence comforted her and allowed her to sleep through the night. The thought of Fredrick sleeping with Maleah briefly comforted Caitlin.

As she entered Maleah’s room, she could see her daughter sleeping comfortably. A teddy bear clenched tightly in her arms. However, Fredrick was not lying beside her. Caitlin did not call out his name again for fear of waking her daughter.

She glanced around the tiny room hoping that he was on the floor or in the corner stealthily watching Maleah. Instead, she saw a red motorcycle helmet at the foot of the bed. Her heart sank. Caitlin realized that Fredrick must have said goodbye to Maleah before he departed their apartment in Mesa, Arizona. She surmised that he left his helmet by mistake.

She wondered where he was.

Frantically walking back to the master bedroom in the small apartment, Caitlin picked up her iPhone to check if Fredrick texted her about his whereabouts. There was no text from him, but a text from work asking if Caitlin could come in a few hours early. One of the nurses had to leave early because he became sick during the shift. The hospital needed additional coverage.

Caitlin was about to text a response to the nurse manager when she stopped herself. She realized that someone would have to watch Maleah before she could decide whether to pick up a few extra hours.

Surely, we need the extra money. It doesn’t look like Fredrick will be getting a job any time soon, she thought. Where is he?

She dialed his number. After four rings, it went to voice mail. Caitlin called back.

Answer, Freddie.

She became more anxious after multiple attempts and the minutes quickly passed.

The phone finally answered after the fourth ring.

“Who’s this?”

The sound of music and noise emanated through the phone. Fredrick couldn't drown it out when he spoke.

“Who’s this? It’s me, Caitlin. Why didn’t you answer my first two calls?”

Her voice was more angry than concerned.

“Hey, babe.”

Fredrick was surprised and anxious at the same time. Sweat began to bead down his forehead. He walked back towards the banquet table to avoid the commotion.

“Where are you?” She listened more attentively. “Are you at a party?”

“Babe, I’m at Roger’s birthday party. You remember Roger. Don’t you?”

“Roger? You mean that guy from Florence?”

Caitlin became even more concerned wondering if Fredrick got back with his old prison pals.

“No, not that Roger. Remember Roger from the… the place in… from Arcadia. You know the guy from your high school. He’s twenty-one today.”

“That Roger. I thought you agreed not to go to his birthday party. You don’t even know him that well.”

“Well, I never agreed not to go. I-I… You told me not to go.”

“I did and you agreed not to go,” Caitlin said. “Didn’t you?”

“Well, I-I didn’t want to upset you.”

“You promised no more late nights. You need to go out looking for a job tomorrow. Not partying all night. You won’t look for a job if you’re tired. We talked about this,” Caitlin said with a sigh. “Besides, I need you to take care of Maleah right now. She needs you. I need you. I have to go to work early.”

Fredrick winced when he heard the request.

“I-I-I can’t.”

“What do you mean you can’t? I need you to come home now.” Her voice became forceful.

“I’m busy.”

“Busy? Partying isn’t being busy. You promised me that you wanted to be a family together… a father to Maleah.”

“I know. I know. But I can’t. I mean I can’t right now.”

“Does that party mean more to you than me? Than Maleah? You got to be kidding me. I left my parent’s house to move in with you, Freddie.”

“I know. I appreciate that but..but..”

“But what, Freddie?”

A young man quickly approached Fredrick. His companion lurked several feet behind. The man stated, “Hey man, I need a bud. I heard you were selling them tonight. You have anything else?”

“No,” Fredrick snapped. “I’m busy. You see me on the phone. Don’t you?” Fredrick quickly turned around in a vain attempt to have some privacy and also to show his dismay.

“Okay man, you don’t need to be so…” The young man trailed off, despondently walking back to the party with his companion.

“Caitlin, I’m so sorry—”

“This is ridiculous,” she interrupted. “You’re selling drugs again? Aren’t you, Freddie? I can’t believe this. I didn’t sign up for this. You promised.” Tears began welling up in her eyes as well as pent-up anger and frustration.

“I don’t, Caitlin. Honey, I don’t have time for this right now. I have to get back to work.”

“Work?”

Fredrick abruptly hung up the phone to her dismay.

He hurriedly walked back to the party and towards the young man who had approached him earlier.

“Hey man. You still need a bud?”

4EXIT

Tempe, Arizona

Same Morning

3:00 am

“I can’t believe that bastard tried to get around the crash truck. He could have hit us. He almost hit me,” Chris angrily exclaimed as he forcefully hit the passenger’s side of the dashboard with his fist.

“I know man. These guys are totally out of control.” Ivan tried to calm himself down so that he wouldn’t be accused of being emotionally unfit as a leader.

“This job’s not worth it,” Chris said.

“Calm down, Chris,” Ivan said. “I’ll talk to Kirby about this.” Ivan’s voice was exasperated while he grabbed the two-way radio.

“Hey, Kirby. This is Ivan.”

“I know who it is,” Kirby barked. “I recognize your voice.”

Ivan was put off by Kirby’s nonchalant response. But that was how Kirby always was, unflinchingly focused on work rather than the squabbles of the team.

“We have two more ramps to block off. This last one was too much. It seems like party-goers are coming home and they are disregarding our signs that the ramps are being worked on.”

Kirby took a deep breath. He had seen this before when he originally worked in the barricade business twenty years ago. Motorists couldn’t care less about the safety of the workers. The motorist would risk the lives of barricade workers so that the motorist could avoid the inconvenience of having to drive a mile or so to exit the freeway. This same callousness was apparent after the last ramp closure.

After contemplating a solution, Kirby asked, “Carlos, you there?”

Carlos was mindlessly listening to music while driving the crash truck to the next ramp, Scottsdale Road. He had apparently not heard the original discussion between Ivan and Kirby. It wasn’t until Kirby called out his name several times over the two-way radio that Carlos finally snapped out of his musical trance.

“I’m here,” he whimpered in embarrassment.

“Carlos, I need you to focus, okay?”

“Okay.”

Carlos gripped the steering wheel firmly and steadied himself for Kirby’s comments.

“Guys. I didn’t think this was going to happen in Tempe, but I should’ve figured that out with all the college students who live here. I’ve dealt with this before. I’m not gonna risk your lives or my life. This job pays good but not that good.” The crew listened attentively to their team leader as he continued. “We are going to close off the Scottsdale Road off-ramp. Entirely. That way we aren’t putting ourselves in danger.”

“How are we going to do that boss?” Ivan inquired.

“Carlos is going to block both lanes of the off-ramp with the crash truck.”

“But that’s not the procedure, boss. He’s only supposed to position the crash truck in one lane so that the scorpion can cushion any crash.”

Ivan tried to picture how the scorpion functioned. It was attached to the rear of the crash truck and was comprised of strut and cartridge sections that are linked together on a yellow and black support frame. The curved side rails, made from aluminum tubes, offered full-width impact protection along the entire length of the scorpion. Ivan knew that the side rails were designed to re-direct errant vehicles away from the rear of the crash truck.

Normally, the crash truck was positioned in the lane behind the area where the crew was working so that motorist couldn’t plow down any of the workers. Unfortunately, while working off the last ramp, motorists were driving around the front of the crash truck because they didn’t want to be forced to make a left turn when they needed to make a right turn. This made the crash truck ineffective.

“Kirby, if Carlos parks the crash truck diagonally across both lanes, then the scorpion will be positioned at an angle. It will be useless.”

Being accustomed to Ivan’s incessant questioning over the past few months since he decided to jockey for a team leader position, Kirby forcefully retorted, “Look, Ivan. I appreciate your concern but this is the only solution. I’ve done this before in my old job. It works. The cars can see that the ramp is closed and they won’t approach.”

“But..but the crash truck doesn’t have any cushioning mechanism incorporated into its side to absorb any impact.” Ivan added.

He knew questioning his supervisor’s orders was insubordination and that he could be disciplined for this but Ivan believed that safety and following the rules came first.

Before Ivan could finish his comment, Chris interrupted, “Kirby’s right man. We have to think about ourselves,” he said with a stern look. “I’m not making my lady a widow tonight because some drunk doesn’t want to obey the signs. Leave it alone man. It’ll be okay.”

Although Chris did not speak directly into his two-way radio, Kirby could hear his voice faintly enough to make out Chris’ concern. Kirby waited until the two finished their personal conversation before speaking again.

“To ease everyone’s concerns, after I put out the pre-warning signs, I’m gonna watch traffic for a while to see if the cars are veering back onto the freeway,” Kirby said. “If not, then we will reevaluate the situation and make changes. Is that okay with everyone?”

Kirby normally didn’t seek the approval of the crew before making decisions. His word was final but this situation was different given Ivan’s open challenge of his authority.

“I’m fine with that,” Chris eagerly responded.

“That’s cool,” Carlos added.

Ivan didn’t respond. Chris glared at him waiting for Ivan to speak into the radio.

After a long pause, Ivan reluctantly responded, “I-I-I’m fine with that.”

“Great. We all agree. Carlos, can you block off both lanes?”

“Sure, Kirby.”

As the convoy approached Scottsdale Road exit, Ivan pulled the VP truck to the top of the off-ramp. He and Chris exited the truck and began placing traffic cones to block off traffic. Carlos awkwardly maneuvered the long crash truck so that it blocked both lanes of the off-ramp. It took him several tries to position the truck that way. When Kirby was satisfied that the entire off-ramp was blocked off, he gave Carlos the thumbs up.

Kirby’s sign truck was parked a quarter-mile from the beginning of the off-ramp. He offloaded a pre-warning sign and ensured that it was placed at an angle that motorists could see while driving. He then got back into the sign truck and zeroed out his odometer. He drove up the ramp until the odometer moved one click. He then stopped the truck and put out another pre-warning sign.

Kirby then drove further up the off-ramp, parked the truck, and began watching the sparse traffic.

5PRESSURE

South Scottsdale, Arizona

Same Morning

2:30 a.m.

“Jimmy? Jimmy, can you hear me?” Johnny asked as he quickly walked back into the living room of their so-called headquarters. The headquarters wasn’t an abandoned, dilapidated home but most people mistook it for that. It was an older home that served its purpose for now. “Jimmy, you there?”

He glanced around the room and finally saw the taller, older Jimmy relaxing on the war-torn couch, his jeans tattered as if he had not changed them in a week. Jimmy hadn’t showered in the same amount of time, but he was accustomed to it. He wasn’t known for his cleanliness.

Jimmy’s eyes were closed. Johnny wasn’t sure if he was really asleep or if Jimmy was simply ignoring him like he normally did.

“I hear you,” Jimmy grumbled as he turned over on his side, resisting the temptation to bark additional orders to one of his subordinates. He grabbed the blanket from the floor and pulled it over him.

Johnny should’ve known better than to wake up Jimmy but he never learned. There was something obviously wrong with Johnny. He always got into trouble even though he had been under Jimmy’s tutelage for five years, since he was twenty. No matter how many lessons Jimmy gave, Johnny never seemed to learn them. Over and over again, he made the same mistakes resulting in tirades from each of the other crew especially Jimmy.

Jimmy never knew why he kept Johnny around despite his numerous foibles. Perhaps, Jimmy had a soft spot for the younger Johnny who reminded him of himself. That’s what Tommy and Brad always said when Jimmy resisted their many attempts to force Johnny out of their circle.

“Johnny doesn’t have what it takes to be a dealer,” Jimmy’s brother said emphatically whenever the topic came up.

But Jimmy never listened.

That night, Johnny broke the cardinal rule: “Never wake up Jimmy” unless there was an emergency.

It was an emergency of sorts. That’s what Johnny told himself as he turned on the living room lights. The sudden glare poked into Jimmy’s eyes confusing his already semi-conscious mind.

“What the fuck, Johnny?”

Jimmy jumped up from his cozy, sleeping position and sat down on the couch. His head was cocked towards the floor as he rubbed his blonde hair with his right hand trying to subliminally wake himself up from the stupor.

“I know… but this is an emergency,” Johnny said.

“Emergency?” Jimmy asked. “It better be.”

Jimmy looked for something on the coffee table to quench his thirst but there was nothing around. Instead, he stood up, stretched his legs, and sat back down again hoping to get additional rest before the group had to leave for their daily appointments.

Two pairs of footsteps from the back room could be heard approaching the men in the living room.

“Emergency?” Tommy asked. He had heard Johnny’s shrill voice in the other room.

“Yes, an emergency,” Johnny responded in a half-hearted confident way; the way Jimmy told him to project assertiveness many times over the years. Johnny hoped the others would believe him this time. They rarely did.

“Sure. Did you hear that, Brad? It’s an emergency.”

Tommy winked at Brad, an impressionable nineteen-year-old who also admired Jimmy and aspired to be like him. Lately, he had been taking his cues from Tommy instead.

“I want to hear this one. It’s going to be good.” Brad laughed and then held it back out of concerns about offending Jimmy’s authority.

“Hey, guys. It is. I promise it is.”

Tommy was about to retort with another sarcastic remark when the glaring look from Jimmy stopped him.

Jimmy looked towards Johnny again and forcefully stated, “Go on.”

“Well, you know that party.” Out of habit, Johnny snapped his fingers as a way to jog his memory. “The one that’s tonight. You know. What’s his name’s party?”

Johnny looked towards Tommy hoping that his puzzled expression would prompt Tommy to provide the missing name. Tommy, however, withheld the name and pretended not to know. He wasn’t going to assist Johnny in any way and help him out of this predicament. When no response was forthcoming, Johnny turned towards Brad who shrugged his shoulders.

“Roger. His name is Roger,” Jimmy interjected with a sense of disgust that his crew wouldn’t ease the pending source of his frustration. “What about his birthday party?”

“I have a friend of mine. He’s actually my cousin’s cousin’s friend. On my mother’s side. Or is it my father’s side? Chloe? Cynthia? Charmaine? I don’t—”

“Get to the point, Johnny,” Jimmy snapped. “We don’t have all night. I want to get back to sleep.”

“My friend’s at that party right now…Roger’s birthday party. He’s there to—” Johnny stopped himself and focused on what was really important to tell Jimmy. “Anyway, he said that Rick is there. At the party.”

“Rick?” Jimmy asked, pondering the name. “Which Rick?”

“You know, Rick. The one in prison. That prison in Florence.”

The other guys looked at each other dumbfoundedly.

“You know that native guy from the Rez,” Johnny added hoping that this would clarify things.

“Rick Prato?” Jimmy asked when it finally dawned on him who Johnny was referring to.

“Yeah, that’s him. He’s at the party. Selling drugs.”

“Rick’s at the party selling drugs?” Jimmy stood up and sternly looked at his younger brother who was silently standing at the far corner of the room, listening to the conversation without involving himself. Jimmy nodded in a way that the brothers would when they understood each other.

His brother exited the house and took off in his car.

“When did he get out of prison? Jimmy asked. “Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

“I didn’t know,” Tommy answered.

“Me neither,” Brad added somewhat ashamed.

Johnny gave a blank stare.

“Doesn’t he owe you money?” Tommy remembered as the image of Fredrick became clearer in his mind.

“The hell he does. Five—no six grand. He fucked up the last job which got him pinched. He never paid me back and the cops confiscated my product.”

“Yeah, that’s right,” Johnny added as if recalled the events. In reality, he did not. He was just glad that he was the person who found out and told Jimmy. That has to count for something, he reassured himself with a bit of pride.

“Good work, Johnny. I knew there was a reason why I keep you around.” Jimmy slapped Johnny’s shoulder as a sign of approval.

Johnny smiled while the others acted nonchalant about the rare praise from Jimmy. They were obviously annoyed.

Jimmy grabbed his phone and dialed Fredrick’s number.

“Caitlin, I told you that I’m busy,” Fredrick said without looking at the caller ID.

“So, you’re back with Caitlin. I see,” Jimmy spoke softly with the intent of intimidating the unsuspecting Fredrick.

“What? Hey, Jimmy. Man. What are you calling me about?” Fredrick was caught by surprise but knew this day was inevitable.

“You know why, Rick. Don’t act all innocent. You’re gonna pay me back every red cent you owe me. Do you hear me?”

Jimmy’s crew’s heads nodded in agreement.

Fredrick walked to the back of the resort suite like an animal fleeing from a predator, hoping none of the partygoers could hear the conversation and the stress in his voice.

“Hey, Jimmy. I’m out of the business now. I’m not gonna work for you anymore.”

Fredrick remembered his promise to Caitlin. Jimmy and his crew sold heroin and other hard drugs. Marijuana was not their cup of tea. Fredrick didn’t consider himself Jimmy’s competition because he was only selling marijuana. But he knew that Jimmy wouldn’t see it that way.

“Not gonna work for me anymore? Jimmy asked. “We’ll see about that. You think you’re gonna stiff me out of my money. I’m going to get it one way or another.”

Fredrick knew what that meant.

“I’m serious, man. I’m out of the business,” Fredrick said with desperation.

“Is that why you’re at Roger’s party? You’ll be out of the business alright unless you sell enough product to make up for what was lost. You owe me, man.”

Fredrick breathed deeply. His throat gulped as he struggled to speak.

“I’m… I’m not at a party.”

“You think I’m stupid now? My brother’s on his way.”

Fredrick didn’t respond. Instead, he panicked and hurriedly walked through the crowd towards the suite’s exit. His eyes were focused on only one thing, looking out for Jimmy’s younger brother. Was he there already, following him? Fredrick didn’t know. He headed to the resort’s parking lot and drove away on his cherry red Kawasaki 650.

6911

Tempe, Arizona

Same Morning

3:00 am

“DPS 911. What’s your emergency?” The female dispatcher spoke in an even-keeled voice while typing into the computer system.

“Hello?” a male voice said.

“This is 911. What’s your emergency?”

The gentlemen’s voice choked from anxiety but he nervously continued. “I…I just witnessed a guy riding a motorcycle about eighty-five miles per hour right into the side of a construction vehicle at the Scottsdale exit on the Sixty going westbound.”

“West on the US Sixty—” As she keyed the information into the system, an error became apparent. “Is it on the 202 westbound? Scottsdale and the Sixty don’t meet.”

“Yes, it’s the 202. I’m sorry. It’s the 202…”

“Okay, westbound…”

“Yes, westbound…”