The Life We Lead: Ascending (28 page)

“It doesn’t make sense. I travel, and you are
paying on the rent. No, I am taking up your bed and setting it up
after I take the other down to storage.” James began to dismantle
the bed.

Carissa paused a moment, then walked over,
straightened James up, and kissed him. Two hours later, they
returned to unpacking the vehicles, a bit exhausted, but
invigorated. From the moment of that kiss, her bed became their bed
and his apartment their apartment. Carissa was there to stay, and
they were a couple.

Walking out
of the major’s office in Pittsburgh, carrying the folder labeled
“Operation Joshua,” James couldn’t help but smile. The prior months
had been some of the most confusing, inefficient, and frankly
illogical of his entire life, yet somehow he was still moving
things along and managing to everyone’s satisfaction. For once in
his life, that included his own. He knew he could keep it up for a
while, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to.

Work was progressing as it needed to. He
found he didn’t have to try too hard and was still ahead of most of
his colleagues. In fact, Todd had told him it was his goal “to find
something James can’t do.”

There was a lot of truth to this, as James
was involved in some regulatory work that just so happened to
require him to be in Aberdeen a great deal. The North Sea
restrictions for chemicals were some of the most stringent in the
world and took a lot of time and effort to work through.

For her part, Carissa was getting used to the
idea that James would be gone for weeks at a time. She, too, was
traveling for business for the RBS, or Royal Bank of Scotland, but
not nearly as much as James. She was very sensible and didn’t
complain about the time they were apart. She also didn’t feel the
need to talk to him every day while he was gone about a lot of
nothing. Her view was to enjoy the time they had together, and work
hard when they weren’t. Every time James thought about this, he
grinned.

The Anthony Spara operation was progressing
slowly. To explain why, James used the excuse of work making things
difficult. In part, working a real job was why most individuals
stopped participating in the group after graduation. Another reason
most stopped was to take care of personal interests they’d
developed using the skills they’d acquired. That, and they’d been
trained to get out while they could, before too many “coincidences”
developed. Besides, age brought with it more acceptance of advanced
skills, and that removed a useful tool for members of the
group.

After securing the file on Operation Joshua,
James picked up Daen from the group complex near Johnstown in a
rental car from a pay-in-cash place. They were on their way to see
Patrick Scalpini, the uncle of his friend Patrick from his college
days.

Turned out it wasn’t too difficult to get a
meeting with him. James hadn’t even had to contact Patrick to do
it. He’d simply walked up to a few individuals who looked rather
strung out and had track marks at a fast food restaurant. Their
dealer was there and had taken them to get some food. James thought
it was a smart approach to retaining customers; at least they
didn’t starve to death.

He told them he was trying to get a supplier
so he and a partner could arrange a new distribution arm. Patrick
Scalpini had called him personally two hours later on the throwaway
phone number James had given the drug dealer.

James filled Daen in on the conversation as
they drove to the meeting location.

“So you’re telling me, man, this dealer just
called Scalpini, and Scalpini accepted what you said and agreed to
see us?” Daen asked.

“Yup.” James prepared to make a left
turn.

“That is crazy. What if you were a cop?” Daen
said in a confused manner.

“Seriously, that crossed my mind. If we can
extract enough information on the Spara target, I’m thinking of
letting Jake take this guy down,” James said.

“Nice man, nice. Why didn’t you just bring
him instead of me?”

James shrugged.

“I’m calling BS on that, you had a reason,
man. Don’t even try to play with me like that. I’ve worked with you
way too many … Oh, I know. This Scalpini thing feels too easy.
You’re on your guard and need someone you know and who knows how
you operate.” Daen smirked at James, who gave no reaction but drove
on.

“No reaction huh? So I’m on the right path,
but there’s more. Hmm, Spara is a reason, but not a major one.”
Daen’s eyes narrowed. “I’m just guessing, but you’re thinking of
saying Virginia and D.C. right? It will give enough distance, and I
know the area, right, man?”

James remained silent but was impressed with
his friend.

“Right,” said Daen.

A few minutes passed, and then Daen turned to
look at James. “It’s simple. It always is with you. What is this
music?” Daen turned the radio off as some annoying song came on. As
he did, he glanced at his hand, then at James.

“That’s good. Real good. Ha ha ha, man, I
didn’t think of that. Bring a black guy to a drug deal, like that’s
a rarity.” Daen laughed, and James smiled. He knew full well that
Daen wouldn’t be offended, but it was one of the reasons he wanted
him there.

They pulled into the parking lot of an
Italian restaurant. James shook his head as Daen commented, “Talk
about stereotypical, but I guess that’s why it’s a stereotype.”

James slowly turned his head to look at
Daen.

“What, man? You’re banking on stereotypes,”
Daen said defensively, throwing up his hands.

James gave a slight tilt to his head as his
eyebrows went up to acknowledge that fact. “True.”

Walking in the front door, James prepared to
do his normal scan, but was amused by the décor. It was like
something right out of a gangster movie. That is, if gangster
movies went out of their way to have checkered tablecloths, wax
candles in wine bottles, shabby curtains, and a speckled tile
floor.

Daen leaned into James and whispered,
“There’s your stereotype.”

“Indeed,” James whispered back.

“Can we help yous?” a man said, approaching
them. There were three other guys in the place. They all looked
like they could use a shower and possibly a pacemaker, given the
state of their bellies and forced breathing.

Daen gave an extremely brief snicker that
sounded like he was stopping a sneeze.
There’s your
stereotype
, thought James, knowing that was why Daen had
snickered.

“We have a meeting with Mr. Scalpini.” James
spoke in an even, but nonthreatening, tone. He didn’t want to give
them any cause to feel disrespected or threatened. He tried to get
his brain to stop noting the stereotypes, but it was just too
easy.

“Oh, Mr. Scalpini, is it? I am sure he is
‘spect yous.” The man did a weird bow and motion with his arms. He
and his cohorts laughed at this.

Daen and James stared ahead, silently waiting
for the man’s next move.

He checked them both for weapons and
presumably wires as he ran his thumb, hard, down their
sternums.

“Sit there.” He directed them to a table to
their right in a corner. “I’ll get him for yous.”

Daen and James took a step as the man turned
around and shouted, “Yo, Patrick, you gots some guests and whatnot
out heres. What do yous want I should do with ‘em?”

The other men looked in the direction of the
back, too, which was a good thing, as James and Daen both cracked
wide grins as they hurried to the table.

“Yeah, I’ll be there in a minute,” came a
voice from the back.

A teenage boy walked out carrying a video
camera and a stepladder. He looked familiar. He spoke to the man
who had shouted, saying, “Can you not yell all the time?”

“Hey, Albert Einstein, do the fancy video
stuff and mind your business, eh?” The man raised his hand as
though to strike the teen, who was clearly out of reach. The boy
just shook his head as the man sat down with a grunt.

They waited about a minute before the same
man yelled again, “Yo, what’s yous doing? Going make these guys
wait here all day or what?”

A string of swear words flowed from the back,
followed by, “I’ll be there in a minute.”

After a good five minutes, the faint sound of
rushing water could be heard and out came a middle-aged man with a
rather bad hairpiece. As he rounded the corner, he nearly tripped
on the stepladder, mainly because he wasn’t looking where he was
going as he adjusted his pants.

“Why you gots this out? Could hurt somebody
with this thing here!” Patrick Scalpini said, yelling at the
teenager on the ladder.

“You asked me to install this now, so that’s
what I am doing. How else do you think I can get up here?” the boy
asked through gritted teeth.

Patrick looked at him and shook a finger.
“Don’t get too smart there, genius boy. You are my nephew and I
love you, but I will kick this ladder right from under yas.”

The man hitched up his pants one more time
and then put a plastic smile on his face as he walked over to greet
James and Daen.

They stood up to shake hands and introduced
themselves. Daen used Bryan Douglas, but James had changed to
Christopher Macker because he’d burned the Stephen Lewis name.

Patrick pointed to each man in turn. “That
there’s Fat Tony, next to him is Nicky, then you have Big Tony and
his brother, Bobby.”

Bobby turned out to be the man who had
greeted them.

Patrick swung around and said, “And the
genius with the video camera is my nephew Andrew. His mother is my
sister, but she did right and had him with an Italian named
Sebastino.”

“Nice, glad you approve of my dad for being
Italian, even though he’s in jail for beating my mom,” Andrew
growled at his uncle.

Now James confirmed the teen’s identity in
his head. Andrew was his friend Patrick’s little brother, based on
the last name. Patrick had mentioned him a few times.

“Yo! Don’t talk about the family like that,
ever. You hear me? Just do your magic, video wizard,” Patrick
barked as he turned to face his guests.

“I keep telling you, I don’t know how most of
this works. I’m into computer graphics and gaming systems. This is
just hooking up wires,” Andrew told his uncle, rather
exacerbated.

“One more word, and I swear by the Holy
Mother and her son, Jesus, I will break that pizza paddle over your
head!” Patrick said, making a motion toward his nephew.

“Mr. Scalpini,” James said, drawing Patrick’s
attention to him and Daen, “we have a long drive ahead of us, so
perhaps we could start?” He couldn’t believe how this was playing
out. It was almost surreal.

“Yeah, right, sorry. You know kids, gots to
keep them in line.” He adjusted his pants again and sat down. “How
can I help yas?”

“As you may recall, we are in need of a
supplier. We do not like to source locally as it tends to lead to
complications if the network is somehow breached. I’m sure you
understand,” James said.

Patrick nodded. “Yeah, ‘course. You don’t
play too heavy in your own yard. Smart. I like smart business
associates.”

James laughed in his head and Daen jumped
in.

“We are looking for a reliable source.
Looking to do five kilos a week to start. If business is …”

“Hold on, let me stop yas right there,”
Patrick said. “I don’t do
black tar
like that.”

Daen glanced at James, and James stared
ahead, his mind working furiously.
Stereotype: Italians didn’t
like black people. Still, Scalpini’s body language didn’t indicate
it was a racist comment. In fact, his body language—tight muscles
and dilated pupils—indicated he was fearful.
That was
interesting.

“Mr. Scalpini, we discussed what we’re
looking to buy over the phone. I don’t underst …”

“Yeah, and I don’t move that kind of volume,”
Patrick said in a more casual voice.

Daen kept quiet, still staring in a deadpan
way at James.

This was why James liked to work with Daen;
he didn’t overreact. At the moment, Daen needed to play the cold
dealer who was holding James accountable and the stare was giving
that signal loud and clear.

“I indicated we would be looking for
substantial amounts. Perhaps you can facilitate a connection. We
would certainly be willing to share in the profits.” James followed
up his words with a hard smile.

“No, I ain’t gots those kinda connections.
The little I do I get from a guy that sometimes pays me with it to
feed his coke habit. No way he can get that volume, and besides, he
ain’t zactly professional, if yas know what I mean,” Patrick sat
back in his chair defensively. “Now if yous want coke or pot
source, we can do that business.”

Patrick was lying for some reason about his
connections, and James knew it. Perhaps this explained the former
fearful reaction.

Daen, however, made one last ditch
effort.

“You sure you don’t have that connection? I
can pay a month in advance. We would be selling into the D.C.
area,” he said firmly.

“I said no.”

The physical reaction, the man’s fear, was
even more pronounced.

“How many times you need to hear that?”
Patrick stood and put both hands on the table, staring them
down.

“We’ll be going, then,” James said quickly,
standing up. Daen followed, but lifted himself using his hands on
the table.

“Get the fuck out of here!” Patrick suddenly
blazed at them.

There was a sudden scraping of chairs, and
the four other men stood.

“This is my place of business! Who the fuck
do you think you are? Get out, get the fuck out!” Patrick was
furious, and his friends held him back.

Daen and James made for the door while
Patrick’s tirade of screaming and foul language trailed them. Once
outside, they picked up the pace until they made it to the car and
were off.