Page 27 of More Than a Hero (Baytown Heroes #12)

Pete navigated his car down the narrow alley behind a run-down strip mall.

The place had seen better days, its parking lot pockmarked with cracks and oil stains.

A dollar store, a tool shop, and a pawn shop were the only stores still open, with the other storefronts now empty.

At the far end, the convenience store and gas pumps stood.

Pete rolled the car to a stop beside a dumpster in the back lot of the store. Jeremy sat in the passenger seat, his posture easy, but his eyes scanning.

A minute later, the back door to the store creaked open.

A man stepped out, hauling two black garbage bags.

He moved like he had all the time in the world, tossing the bags in the dumpster before glancing around.

The shift of his shoulders, the way his gaze lingered on corners, told of a habit of looking for threats.

Jeremy stepped out, his boots crunching against the gravel, and without a word, he slid into the back seat. The man hesitated only a second before approaching, pulling open the passenger door, and folding himself into the seat beside Pete.

"Man, I thought I caught a break when you ain't showed yesterday," Jacko muttered, dragging a hand over his scruffy jaw.

Pete twisted slightly, his eyes locking onto Jacko’s, the air in the car thick with an unspoken warning. "Let’s not forget who’s keeping your pockets from running dry, Jacko."

Jacko had been playing both sides for two years now, skating just above trouble while others around him fell.

His luck ran out when he got popped moving a small bag of dope too close to the high school.

A plea deal kept him out of a cell, but it chained him to Pete and the Eastern Shore Drug Task Force instead.

Pete didn’t trust him and never would, but he knew Jacko had roots here, raised by a mother, aunt, and grandmother who had done their best to keep him straight. At some point, their lessons must’ve sunk in because Jacko had made it clear he wasn’t looking to end up a name on a toe tag.

They didn’t use him often, just when Pete needed ears on the ground. "What did you hear?"

Jacko snorted, a low, humorless chuckle.

"Y’all serious? Shit’s all over the news, bro.

Some dumbass got jammed up runnin’ weight through the Shore.

Word is, a Blood got caught sittin’ on a trunk full of dope, lookin’ like a damn pinata waitin’ to get cracked open.

" He smirked, flashing gold in his teeth.

"Lemme guess—y’all were the ones that made that play? "

"We just happened to be nearby. Now we need to know everything we can before we sit down with him. Blood ink on his knuckles and shoulder, set tags all up his neck and arm."

Jacko shook his head, clicking his tongue. "Stupid motherfucker. Walkin’ round flagged up like he got an S on his chest." He reached into his pocket, pulling out a pack of cigarettes. "Mind if I light up?"

"Yeah, I mind," Pete snapped. "I don’t want my car smelling like that shit."

“I’ll roll down the window,” Jacko tried to bargain.

“Then we’ll smell like smoke and garbage.”

Jacko huffed but didn’t argue. "Fine, fine. Hit me with the questions so I can get back inside before my boss starts thinkin’ I ran off with the cash drawer."

Pete pulled a photo from his jacket of Lashawn, handing it over. "You seen him before?"

Jacko barely glanced at it before shaking his head. "Nah, but remember, I got me a legit job now. Not cruisin’ for you.”

Pete slid another picture in front of him. Jacko let out a sharp laugh. "Now this dumbass kid? Yeah, I seen him round. Think he lives over at them apartments, runnin’ with the wrong ones. Ain't tight with nobody real. Just a kid with thoughts of living grand. He’s nuthin’ but a crash dummy."

"You ever see the Bloods sniffing around him?"

Jacko exhaled through his nose, his expression tightening. "Not heavy, but yeah, I seen a few come through. Ain't like they floodin’ the place, but I peep a ride pull up, homie hop out, post up with someone for a minute. Ain't no hand-to-hands, though. Just talkin’."

"Recruiting?" Pete asked.

Jacko shrugged. "What else? They ain't in the charity business. Either they tryin’ to stack soldiers or gettin’ they money up some other way—dope, tricks, whatever. The block too dry for ’em to be out here for fun."

Pete leaned forward slightly, his voice steady. "Keep your eyes open. I want names, times, plates. If they so much as sneeze near those apartments, I wanna know."

Jacko smirked. "You askin’ a lot. Might have to bump up my hazard pay." He let out a rough chuckle, only to break into a coughing fit.

Pete waited until the coughing eased. "Make it worth our while, and we’ll talk."

Jacko nodded, then slid out of the car, stretching his arms over his head. He glanced back once. "One last thing—some of them boys comin’ through? PA tags. My guess… Philly mostly.”

“So now we gotta worry about them,” Jeremy muttered under his breath.

Jacko nodded. "Few locals, some Maryland, but a bunch of them whips rockin’ Pennsylvania plates. Philly’s a grimy-ass city, man. Ain't no surprise they lookin’ for softer ground." He snickered, then wheezed, the laugh rattling in his chest.

Pete narrowed his eyes. "Stay safe, Jacko. And that includes getting yourself a nicotine patch."

Jacko shot him a lazy salute before heading back toward the store, disappearing inside without another word.

Jeremy shifted into the front seat, shutting the door. Pete started the car, pulling back onto the road. The air between them was thick with unspoken thoughts, but they both knew one thing—this wasn’t over.

Later that morning, Pete and Jeremy found themselves sitting at a table across from Lashawn Jeffries. Pete’s gaze moved to the tattoos on his fingers that read Blood when his knuckles were visible, which Pete noticed was all the time. Elaborate tattoo lettering on his neck said Ciao.

“Ciao?” he said.

“Yeah, man. Ciao. That’s my name.”

“I’ll stick to Lashawn.”

“Whatever. You wastin’ your time, man. My time, too. Didn’t say nuthin’ to the others. Not gonna say nuthin’ to you.”

True to his threat, the prisoner said nothing. He sat, his gaze hard and his eyes staring at a spot on the wall behind Pete’s shoulder. Closing the folder, Pete and Jeremy stood. Lashawn looked over and grinned. “Givin’ up so soon?” he taunted. “Man, I’ll sit in jail and rule. Be like a king.”

“Not wasting our time with you,” Pete said.

Lashawn narrowed his eyes. “You wanna know why I go by Ciao?”

Pete looked at him, a bored expression on his face.

“’Cause when you meet me, it’s goodbye. I go where I want.” He chuckled while staring at the detectives.

Pete and Jeremy shared a look. “That’s fucking lame,” Jeremy said, walking out the door.

“Fuck you!” Lashawn shouted.

Pete refused to give the gang member any more attention, not even looking at him as they walked out of the jail and over to the DTF offices. They ran into their captain.

“Any luck?” Terry asked.

“Not from him. He’s too hopped up on his own self-importance.

But what we do know is he’s Lashawn Jeffries.

Twenty-four. From Philadelphia. Juvie file, then as an adult, he’s had four arrests, three on drug charges and one on stealing a car.

He’s had gang tattoos since his first arrest when he was thirteen. ”

“He’s in for a long time with the charges from yesterday,” Jeremy said.

“We’re waiting to talk to the juvenile again. Just need to get a call that we can see him—” Pete halted as his phone vibrated. He looked down at the message, then lifted his head and grinned. “Just got the word. We’ll catch him after we visit the middle school.”