Under Too Long: Chapter 2
Line of Cocaine
Listen to the audiobook on most podcast services!
While I’d lied through my teeth to my family about what I was doing for work, Tony had been more candid with his. So candid in fact that his wife was a little apprehensive of Tony signing on.
“It’s the chance of a lifetime,” I reassured him. “Tell her if shit gets bad you can back out. And you have my blessing on that.”
“Billy, we’ve never dealt in drugs before,” Tony said. “We don’t know the first thing about what to buy. And now they just expect us to go in and demand it? How is that going to work?”
“I’ve already got a plan.” I smiled.
“The fuck you do,” Tony muttered.
“It came to me last night. It’s simple and brilliant.”
“Brilliant,” Tony questioned, raising his eyebrows.
“I’m going to bring it right back to the ladies.” I smiled. “I’m going to tell them I have this hot young chick who’s only into it for a line.”
“A line,” Tony reiterated.
“A line, a bump. It means cocaine. I looked it up.”
Tony shook his head.
“Anyway, I’m going to tell them my dealer has fallen short and I need a little help or else I ain’t getting laid.”
“You’re going to use getting laid as your forefront to get us in the drug business?”
“Yeah,” I smiled, proud of my genius plan.
“You’re going to get us fucking killed,” Tony said, gripping the steering wheel. “That’s the dumbest plan you’ve had yet!”
“Tony, trust me. We make it complicated or somehow walk in saying we need shit for ourselves and they’re not going to believe us. This plan is more believable than anything else we could do.”
Coming up with strategies like this was something I’d been producing since my career in undercover began. They were sharp, quick and effective, although if you asked outside of the police realm they’d call them volatile and offbeat. But that’s what made me who I was. I didn’t think like cops, never did. I thought like a criminal, which brings me back to the line. Did it work, you wonder? I think it’s fair to wager over two million dollars in sales and the largest take down in New York State as collateral.
***
Tony and I spent the next two days reloading our liquor and playing with all the little accessories that came with our shiny new van. It was fair to say we’d gotten the better end of the stick as our surveillance crew had to spend their days learning how to maneuver all the new materials and camera equipment.
“It’s a better deal until we get held up at gunpoint for making a bad deal,” Tony stated.
“That’ll never happen,” I said naively, patting his shoulder. “We won’t be in it long enough to get that deep. Remember, we say when. And if it gets too risky, we bounce. It’s our unit before theirs, remember. That was the deal.”
Tony didn’t respond. Deep down, I wondered if I believed my own lies as much as I thought.
The morning of our delivery to Thirsty Bear, Tony was nervous. He questioned what we’d say about the new van, what we’d do if Nash got mad about my drug inquiry and who would bring the liquor inside if Nash banned us for life.
“Tony, you’re living in the future,” I said, searching the radio station for FOX News. “We have a new van because the other one broke down. We need drugs because I have women problems… and unless Nash’s short-staffed, he’s never allowed us to bring the liquor down to begin with.”
Tony remained quiet, chewing on the end of his fingernails. By the time we pulled into the parking lot there was nothing left for him to bite off.
***
Our time within the bars hadn’t always been so smooth. Tony and I had been brought into the operation with Staton under the premise of uncovering untaxed liquor sales through liquor distribution centers. I’d sat idly, waiting for any type of new gig, while mourning the loss of the crew and supervisor we’d recently lost in the towers, so I wasn’t as quick to jump up and give my unimpressed input at first. Frankly, I was just happy to have been taken from my desk and the watchful eyes of Internal Affairs, and brought back onto the field. Sitting in a quiet office every day, imagining supervisor Mills helping several people down the stairs and out of the crashing towers, haunted me. I’d try and look through old files and drum up a new case, but his wife’s eulogy would pop into my head.
“He died remaining true to who he was and doing what was instilled in him. He died a hero.”
For months, stories of the man who’d pulled coworkers off an elevator and down the stairs, helped a frantic woman who was being trampled, and yelled for people to keep moving as the roar of the building caved in above them flooded them emerged. I kept those stories, and his wife’s words, with me as I tried to imagine how to go on. And then, just when I seemed to reach a mental breaking point of day to day nothingness, Mill’s appointed replacement, Staton, called.
As the previous Assistant Director for our New York City agency, Staton was recognized for the strong moves he’d made in the field. He was bold, daring and known for his high intelligence and successful reverse sting operations. However, his appearance left people thinking otherwise. This guy had long white hair pulled into a low ponytail at the back of his neck and a long beard. He didn’t dress like other superiors. Instead of a suit, Staton sported cargo pants and flannel shirts.
Rumors had spread that Staton was pulling files on all employees for a large internal investigation he was conducting. It was a method said to be responsible for the renewed success of two Downstate operations he was running. It was also a method that made us wait nine long months after 9/11 before our phone rang. Only the call wasn’t for a case, it was for my pulled file.
The battle of emotions on the drive down to Staton’s office had left me nauseous. I knew he was going to be onto something big, and I wanted nothing more than to be a part of that. Yet, as the desire for a future filled with possibilities crept into my head, so did the negative connotations. I assumed Staton had asked around about me and my reputation was less than par. I’d taken some inappropriate digs with my superiors, refused direct commands from Deputy Chief Booth and didn’t always play by the books. Agree with those ideals or not, I spent the ride up the marble elevator wondering if my pulled file was about to be the long-awaited dismissal from the agency.
“Welcome, Bill,” Staton said as he rose from his brown leather seat to shake my hand. “I was just going over your file with a few of the agents. Pretty interesting stuff you’ve got here.”
As I took a seat across from him, I noticed my file, spread open on his desk, full of highlights and Post-it notes.
“I called you here because your file shows you took a break during your career to operate a bar.”
“That’s correct,” I said, twisting my hands together.
“I’d like to know a little bit more about your role in the bar, if you don’t mind.”
“Well, I owned it,” I stated, shifting in my chair. “My buddy and I thought it would be a good idea at the time. The bar was for sale, in a decent location, and we knew a lot of people, so, against better judgement, we bought it.”
“Your file says that you stayed there for four years. That doesn’t sound like poor judgement to me.”
“No, it was a good fit at the time,” I said, meeting Staton’s stare. “But as the years went on I realized that I wasn’t doing what I truly enjoyed. I’d always wanted to be in the investigative field. I think I just got distracted for a bit.”
“Billy,” Staton said, leaning forward, “for the record, I’m not here for the history bullshit. I don’t care why you left the field or why you came back. What I want to know is how much of a presence you held within the bar?”
“Well, I showed up every afternoon around two or three and stayed until we closed. It was my business, so I was there every day.”
“So I’m sure you saw things that weren’t always ethical,” Staton said, his long ponytail falling over his shoulder.
“I think it would be hard to miss, yes.”
“Let me cut right to the chase, Billy,” Staton said. “I’m looking to tap into the untaxed liquor distribution that’s been hitting New York State, and your past makes me think you might be an interesting fit.”
Staton sat back, studying my reaction, which jumped from shock to excitement. I wasn’t losing my job!
“I’m interested!” I said, sitting forward a bit too eagerly than I liked.
“I’m glad to hear you say that.” Staton smiled. “I’ve been watching you. I think you’ve got what it takes to be a good undercover officer. Have you ever thought about dipping into that side of law enforcement before?”
“It’s never been presented in a serious matter before, but I think I would be great at it. I’ve never had your typical cop demeanor.”
“I agree,” Staton stated. The dress pants and tie I’d worn, thanks to my wife, had been closing in on me since the moment I stepped out of the house.
“I think your Upstate office gets the brunt end of the stick. I’ll admit, I dismissed your unit as small-town civil workers as much as anyone else. But after evaluating your unit, I realized that philosophy is wrong. You guys are up there working hard, not giving a shit about the other stuff that goes on inside the office. I saw an openness and desire to learn and grow from every one of your guys. And let’s not forget to mention how huge everyone is. There wasn’t isn’t one person that appeared to be under six foot! You’re all big and burly, like you ate trees or some shit. We need a little ass kicking like that down here.”
What Staton said was true, we were harsher than your typical Downstate cops. None of my guys cared about what shoes matched their uniform or if their hair was fixed. They cared about going to work, busting out their shit and heading back home or down the street to their favorite bar. They were dirty, rough and not always the most articulate, but they meant business and they always got the job done--no matter what the cost.
“I do have one question I need to know before we move any further,” Staton asked. “What’s the deal with you and Booth?”
There it was, the question I’d worried would spear my file.
“Well, he’s my superior, and I respect him in the field, but that’s about it,” I stated.
“Really? Because he didn’t have the nicest things to say about you. In fact, he said you were a bullshit artist with no real skills.”
“That’s because he’s a jealous asshole!” I spat, happy to finally say the words out loud. “I had a chance for Booth’s position. I turned it down, and he can’t get past that. He’s so worried about everyone learning that I scored higher than him on the chief test, a test he didn’t even pass, that instead of doing right and making a name for himself, he’d rather go out of his way to bust my balls. He’s a prick who opts to sit back and complain, rather than make something for our agency and himself. That I can’t respect.”
“That’s what I was hoping you’d say.” Staton smiled. “Now that I can trust you, let’s get to work.”
The job, Staton informed me, required me to go to undercover school, a school I never knew existed.
“It’s a formality,” Staton said. “I can’t send you on the streets without it. But it’s only a few weeks, and it’ll teach you things to keep you out of trouble.”
I agreed to go before Staton finished his sentence. I’d never been one for classes or tests but, for the first time in my life, I couldn’t wait to get started.
Under Too Long by Billy the Liquor Guy
Copyright 2020 William Soldato
All rights reserved. No part of this post may be reproduced by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, except for short passages used in critical reviews. No AI training allowed.
Published by Genius Book Publishing, PO Box 250380 Milwaukee Wisconsin 53225 USA https://geniusbookpublishing.com