Page 34 of More Than a Hero (Baytown Heroes #12)

The Commonwealth Attorney's office occupied the top floor of the courthouse. Cedric McCalister sat behind his imposing desk, his silver hair perfectly styled despite the late hour. Jeremy and Pete sat in the leather chairs facing him, their expressions neutral but alert.

A knock on the door preceded a woman entering the room. Pete recognized Sandra O’Neill, one of the attorneys from the Legal Aid office.

"Sandra, good of you to come on such short notice." Cedric's voice carried the authority of three decades in prosecution, though his tone remained cordial. "I believe you know Detectives Pickett and Bolton."

Pete nodded toward her as she settled into the remaining chair.

"The Reeves boy," Cedric continued, his weathered hands steepled before him. "You had called me saying you knew his mother.”

Sandra nodded. “Yes, she works part-time as a cleaner for our offices, and I’ve had the opportunity to get to know her, and on occasion, Robert, as well.

Cedric looked down at the file in front of him. “Sixteen years old, found in a vehicle containing enough narcotics to suggest distribution."

Sandra straightened her back. "Mr. McCalister, with respect, from what I’ve been told by his mother, Robert Reeves was a passenger in that vehicle. He had no knowledge of the drugs, no involvement in their distribution, and no criminal history whatsoever."

Pete leaned forward, his frustration evident. "Yes. Clean record. Wrong place, wrong time. Yeah, he got into the car with the wrong person, but he’s cooperating. Giving us real information on Lashawn Tate, who is a Blood and is running through the Shore."

"The initial report had him in the vehicle at the scene of a crash," Cedric countered, his tone measured but firm. "Narcotics in the vehicle. That's more than 'wrong place, wrong time.'"

"He wasn't driving,” Pete said. “He wasn't carrying. He wasn't high. The blood work came back completely clean. We’ve had time to dig, and there’s no evidence he knew what was in that damn car. He’s just a kid, Cedric. And we know he’s not the kind you make an example of."

"Legally, I could argue he was in possession by proximity," Cedric replied, though his voice lacked its usual conviction.

“Legally, you could argue a lot of shit that doesn’t make sense,” Pete retorted.

"Constructive possession requires knowledge and intent," Sandra said, her gaze on Cedric. "Two things the Commonwealth cannot prove because they don't exist. This boy got a ride home from school with someone he thought was a friend. He had no idea what was in the trunk of that car."

Pete offered her a smile, approval in his chest. She leaned forward, her brown eyes meeting Cedric's steady gaze. "This isn't someone who belongs in the juvenile justice system. Prosecuting him doesn't serve justice. It destroys a promising young life for the sake of statistics."

Cedric was quiet for a long moment, his fingers drumming against the leather-inlaid desk blotter. “You three are really pushing for this kid.”

“Because it’s the right call,” Pete added.

Cedric's weathered face remained impassive, but Pete caught the slight softening around his eyes. “Fine. No charges. But I want updates, and if he puts one toe out of line, I expect to be the first to know.”

Jeremy nodded and said, “Appreciate it.”

Sandra let out a breath she’d been holding, and added, “His mother will implement stricter rules about his social activities, and he can work with her cleaning the Legal Aid offices two afternoons a week.”

"Community service," Cedric mused aloud. "Something visible, something that shows the community we're taking this seriously."

Pete felt the tension drain from his shoulders, replaced by the familiar surge of satisfaction that came with victory. "Thank you, Mr. McCalister. You won't regret this decision."

Walking out, he felt like he could breathe again. As he and Jeremy left the DA’s office and started the trek back to their building, he said, “Robert should be released within the hour.”

“You going by to see him again?” Jeremy asked.

“Not sure. I’d like to check in with him later. For now, though, let’s head back and see if there are any updates to work on.”

“Jesus, I hate paperwork,” Jeremy complained.

Pete agreed but simply nodded. Two hours later, Pete and Jeremy sat at their desks, the fluorescent lights overhead giving him a headache. The office hummed with the quiet sounds of typing, the occasional shuffle of paper, and the muted chatter of deputies passing through the bullpen.

Both men were lost in the familiar rhythm of wrapping up case files—some neatly closed, others frustratingly inconclusive.

Across from them, Cybil, a determined young deputy studying for her detective exam, sifted through a stack of reports, eyes scanning details with the same intensity that had earned her a place working alongside them. She’d proven herself sharp, eager, and capable. All the qualities they respected.

Pete broke the silence first. “We never got anything back from the lab on that old meth trailer we processed a couple of weeks ago,” he said, rubbing his jaw as he stared at the incomplete report in front of him. “No hits on prints or any of the old supplies.”

Jeremy let out a low whistle and shook his head.

“Typical,” he muttered. “Thing’s gotta be disposed of properly before it turns into a toxic death trap.

I mean, you let that crap sit too long, and you’re asking for a hazardous materials disaster.

Not to mention, we don’t want some idiot cooking up a new batch out there. ”

“How is it disposed of?” Cybil asked.

“You wouldn’t believe the steps,” Jeremy moaned. “It involves DEA, the local government, HAZMAT, environmental agencies, and then, when everyone is satisfied, a certified meth lab removal contractor comes in to evaluate and destroy.”

“Good grief!” Cybil shook her head. “And who pays for all that?”

“Usually the land owner. But I have no idea what they’ll do with this one,” Jeremy replied.

Pete nodded in agreement, already reaching for the closure form. “For now, I’m going to file it and close out the report.”

Jeremy exhaled, drumming his fingers against the desk. “Sounds good. Always hate to have things left hanging, but all we can do is our best.”

Just then, Terry walked in, his boots scuffing against the floor as he pulled up a chair near them. He carried the weight of experience in the faint lines of his face and the casual yet purposeful way he moved.

“I got a call from my counterpart up in Philly,” Terry said, stretching out his legs. “He knew we had a Lashawn Tate down here and that you’ve spoken to Detective Russo.”

Pete sat up a little straighter. “Yeah, that’s right, Captain. Did he have anything else to add?”

Terry’s expression darkened slightly. “He said they’ve run into some gang members who claim affiliation just for protection, but Lashawn? He was the real deal. Active member. I told him that Lashawn would be spending a good chunk of his life in our prison system. That seemed to make him happy.”

Jeremy smirked. “Bet it did.”

As Terry stood to leave, Jeremy shot him a knowing look. “Oh, by the way, we talked to Cedric about Robert. He agreed there was no reason to charge him, so he’s being released. And, Sandra O’Neill was there.”

Terry paused, his expression carefully neutral, only giving a small dip of his chin in acknowledgment. “Yeah, I heard.”

He turned slightly, prepared to walk away, when Jeremy added, “Pretty lady.”

Pete knew that tone. Knew that grin, too. Terry’s face remained impassive, but his grunt of agreement made Jeremy laugh outright. Pete, unable to help himself, kicked Jeremy’s shin under the desk.

“You fucker.” Pete chuckled as Terry walked away without another word.

“Better you than me getting on the Captain’s bad side. Although, as your partner, if you piss him off, he’s likely to take it out on me, too.”

Before Jeremy could respond, Cybil glanced up from her file, brows furrowed. “What is the G-Shine?”

Pete leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temple. “They’re part of the Bloods. Started in prison behind bars, but now they operate both inside and on the streets.”

Jeremy added, “G-Shine stands for Gangster Killer Bloods.”

Cybil stared at them like she was waiting for a punchline. “Jesus. What a stupid name.”

Pete let out a dry chuckle. “Yeah, well, they’re part of the United Blood Nation. Used to go by GKB—same meaning, just more aggressive. At some point, they rebranded to G-Shine, supposedly to distance themselves from the early reputation.”

“Didn’t change much,” Jeremy muttered. “They’re still deep in drug trafficking, robbery, extortion… and they sure as hell haven’t moved past violent crime.”

Cybil shook her head, exhaling slowly. “People like that always think they’re untouchable.”

Jeremy nodded. “Until they aren’t.”

Cybil tilted her head, her expression thoughtful. “Interesting that some claim affiliation mainly for protection. Do you think that’s younger members who are just afraid?”

Pete leaned back in his chair, rubbing the tension in his forehead. “I honestly don’t know,” he admitted, his voice tinged with frustration. “But I’d hate to see that happen here in our area. I don’t want any part of it touching our kids.”

Jeremy nodded, his mouth tightening. “Yeah, and the problem is, once a kid gets in, it’s damn near impossible to get out. Even if they aren’t real players, just tagging along for protection, it only takes one bad situation before they’re in too deep.”

Cybil absorbed that, her brows knitting together. “Are all the Bloods working together?”

Jeremy let out a short laugh, though there was no humor in it.

“Believe it or not, some of them are working against each other. It’s not all one happy family.

Especially with the drug pipelines coming from New York, Philly, Baltimore, and DC.

We’re right in the middle of it—ripe for a damn turf war. ”

A heavy silence settled between them as they returned to their work. The weight of the conversation pressed on them, an unspoken understanding that their quiet little county was always just one bad shipment, one new recruit, one stupid decision away from chaos.

The office had settled again when Pete noticed a new email pop up on his screen.

He clicked it open, scanning the details before speaking.

“Looks like we got fingerprints back from Lashawn’s vehicle.

As you can imagine, there are Lashawn’s and Robert’s.

Some are smudged, but they pulled up three others. ”

Jeremy leaned forward, his interest piqued. “Anything we can sink our teeth into?”

Pete’s eyes flicked across the report. “Two are from the Philly area. Both served time. Both are tied to the Bloods. I’ll send their pictures around.

But the third one…” His fingers stilled on the keyboard as he read further.

“The third one is Tamarcus Waters. He’s not from Philly—his record’s out of Norfolk. ”

Jeremy’s brows lifted. “Norfolk? I wonder if he’s the one Robert saw around here.”

Pete’s fingers moved over the keyboard, pulling up the police database. “Getting an image of his mug shot now.”

Jeremy and Cybil abandoned their chairs, moving around to look over Pete’s shoulder. The moment the grainy booking photo loaded, Pete let out a low whistle.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” he muttered.

Jeremy exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Looks like Tamarcus Waters might be the guy Robert saw with Lashawn Tate.” His eyes zeroed in on the distinct features in the image. “Tattoo of a star on his throat, mole right on the side of his nose—same description Robert gave.”

Pete didn’t hesitate. He grabbed his desk phone and dialed the DTF office in Norfolk. After a few rings, a woman’s voice answered.

“NPD, how can I direct your call?”

“This is Detective Pete Bolton from Eastern Shore DTF. I need to speak to someone about Tamarcus Waters. Looks like his last arresting officer was Detective Paul Munfries.”

“One moment.”

After a few minutes of hold music, a gruff voice picked up. “Munfries.”

“Detective Munfries, this is Pete Bolton, Eastern Shore DTF. We’re looking into Tamarcus Waters. We think he may have been up here with a Lashawn Tate, a Blood from the G-Shine out of Philly. Goes by Ciao.”

There was a low growl of irritation from the other end of the line. “Fucking gang bangers and their names,” Munfries muttered. “That little prick, Tamarcus? Goes by Flame . Supposedly because he wears red. Hell, they all wear fucking red.”

Pete couldn’t help but smirk at the detective’s mini-rant. “You have anything on him recently? I saw he got out of jail about two years ago.”

“Nothing solid. He’s been lying low around here. But if that motherfucker’s been seen in your area, he’s up to something. Down here, he runs with the OGB—Outlaw Gangster Bloods.”

Pete exchanged a glance with Jeremy. “Are they working with or against the G-Shine?”

Munfries snorted. “Who the fuck knows? I don’t even think they know.”

Pete chuckled, shaking his head. They talked for a few more minutes, but Munfries didn’t have any fresh intel. Pete thanked him and hung up, staring at the computer screen in thought.

Jeremy stretched, rolling his shoulders as he glanced at the clock. “What’s next?”

Pete reached for his phone again. “I’m gonna check on Robert.” He dialed the jail, his jaw tightening as he waited for someone to pick up. When the deputy on duty finally answered, Pete asked about Robert’s status.

“His mother picked him up about an hour ago,” the deputy replied.

Pete nodded to himself. “Thanks.”

Hanging up, he looked over at Jeremy. “It’s almost the end of the day.

I’m going to run by Robert’s apartment to make sure he got home okay and see if he can confirm that Tamarcus Waters is the guy he saw with Lashawn.

I’ll show him the picture, leave him my card, and let him know he’s got someone looking out for him. ”

Jeremy gave a nod of approval. “Sounds good.”

The two men grabbed their things and headed out together.

Once outside, Pete made his way to his vehicle and, before getting in, pulled off his protective vest. He kept his weapon holstered but tugged on a jacket to conceal it.

He didn’t want to walk into Robert’s place with his outfit screaming DTF, but at the same time, this was professional, even if he was also checking in personally.

Sliding into the driver’s seat, he exhaled, gripping the wheel for a moment before starting the engine. The day wasn’t over yet.