never eat at an establishment like this. With plates
of food starting at eighty dollars. I'm a pizza, snickers and beer
or OJ kind of guy. Not fancyshmancy.
Fake glancing at the menu, my eyes take in
the room. Precisely picking out the man we came here to spy on.
Doctor Michael Landers; also known as Dr. D—which is short for
doctor drug. He’s been trafficking drugs to and from New York City,
supplying his five known dealers with the purest smack aka heroine
and lightly stepping up his game to X. You name it, though, and he
can supply it. And guess what? The white cookie cutter house beside
mine belongs to him. So now we’re neighbors. All part of my new
job.
Me—Calvin James. Also known as Wade Carter;
investor and freelance financial advisor. Or that’s what my
business cards say. Marie, my wife here, is a housewife, as is
Michael's—who, according to all of the FBI files, he’s faithful to.
And even though he’s about my age, his wife is surprisingly age
appropriate. I’d picture a bigwig drug peddler to have some young
hot babe clinging to his arm. Not that I can talk, I’m old enough
to be Mama Bear's father.
But Michael's wife, Joanna, is thirty eight,
has short golden brown hair and dark eyes. She’s also plus sized,
in an attractive, bones-are-for-dogs-and-meat-is-for-men kind of
way. And Dr. D looks exactly like his surveillance photos. Early
forties, dark blonde almost brown hair, teal eyes and thin as a
rail with lean muscles. The furthest from looking like me as you
could probably ever get.
Gonzales and I have been ordered during our
painfully dull and mind-numbing downtime to make friends with this
couple and find out as much as we can. And as bad and unpatriotic
this is going to sound, I don’t care one iota what we do or don’t
uncover. Which I’ve sort of expressed rather heatedly to Gonzales
today as she not so delicately tried to dress me by laying out my
clothes like I’m a damn three year old. 'Control freak' should be
tattooed in big black old English lettering on her forehead.
We order, I select the steak tartar and fill
the tension between us with more silence. Her eyes forever glue to
me in one strange way or another. I pay close attention to the drug
doctor eating with his wife. Both of them happily carrying on
without a care in the world. Sipping pink champagne from crystal
flutes, feeding one another. Something couples in love do. Couples
like what I just had a mere four days ago. The love of a good woman
and two beautiful newborns.
We flew to DC. The flight was rather painful
but my old buddy Brewer kept my emotions from combusting. We
relieved the good ol’ times of our time together in the service.
Me; being the constant fly on the wall and him the poster boy for
Bud Light and Astroglide. A forever flirty, horny, mouthy, southern
farm boy who drank copious amounts of alcohol and screwed his way
through life. Joining the military right out of high school to see
the world. A lot of boys do that. Thinking you’ll be stationed in
some beautiful tropical destination. But in reality since 9/11 most
find themselves deployed constantly and living in countries
consisting of dry heat, too much sand and Muslims. It’s no Tokyo or
Pearl Harbor. Trust me; I’ve traveled to over sixty counties and
all of the states, with California and Oregon being my favorites.
Although after spending two glorious weeks with a perfect, pregnant
redhead in Colorado, it’s bound up the list to second place.
Anywhere she is will always remain my number one. Just as she is my
number one. Always and forever.
So after our flight, we were driven by
armored truck to the Pentagon to be briefed, scanned and booked for
my new job and placed in suburban hell, constantly reliving my life
with Emily in my head just to get through my day.
We were given new identities, an assignment
along with the safe link extraction protocol, new government cell
phones and strict unwavering orders not to under any
of food starting at eighty dollars. I'm a pizza, snickers and beer
or OJ kind of guy. Not fancyshmancy.
Fake glancing at the menu, my eyes take in
the room. Precisely picking out the man we came here to spy on.
Doctor Michael Landers; also known as Dr. D—which is short for
doctor drug. He’s been trafficking drugs to and from New York City,
supplying his five known dealers with the purest smack aka heroine
and lightly stepping up his game to X. You name it, though, and he
can supply it. And guess what? The white cookie cutter house beside
mine belongs to him. So now we’re neighbors. All part of my new
job.
Me—Calvin James. Also known as Wade Carter;
investor and freelance financial advisor. Or that’s what my
business cards say. Marie, my wife here, is a housewife, as is
Michael's—who, according to all of the FBI files, he’s faithful to.
And even though he’s about my age, his wife is surprisingly age
appropriate. I’d picture a bigwig drug peddler to have some young
hot babe clinging to his arm. Not that I can talk, I’m old enough
to be Mama Bear's father.
But Michael's wife, Joanna, is thirty eight,
has short golden brown hair and dark eyes. She’s also plus sized,
in an attractive, bones-are-for-dogs-and-meat-is-for-men kind of
way. And Dr. D looks exactly like his surveillance photos. Early
forties, dark blonde almost brown hair, teal eyes and thin as a
rail with lean muscles. The furthest from looking like me as you
could probably ever get.
Gonzales and I have been ordered during our
painfully dull and mind-numbing downtime to make friends with this
couple and find out as much as we can. And as bad and unpatriotic
this is going to sound, I don’t care one iota what we do or don’t
uncover. Which I’ve sort of expressed rather heatedly to Gonzales
today as she not so delicately tried to dress me by laying out my
clothes like I’m a damn three year old. 'Control freak' should be
tattooed in big black old English lettering on her forehead.
We order, I select the steak tartar and fill
the tension between us with more silence. Her eyes forever glue to
me in one strange way or another. I pay close attention to the drug
doctor eating with his wife. Both of them happily carrying on
without a care in the world. Sipping pink champagne from crystal
flutes, feeding one another. Something couples in love do. Couples
like what I just had a mere four days ago. The love of a good woman
and two beautiful newborns.
We flew to DC. The flight was rather painful
but my old buddy Brewer kept my emotions from combusting. We
relieved the good ol’ times of our time together in the service.
Me; being the constant fly on the wall and him the poster boy for
Bud Light and Astroglide. A forever flirty, horny, mouthy, southern
farm boy who drank copious amounts of alcohol and screwed his way
through life. Joining the military right out of high school to see
the world. A lot of boys do that. Thinking you’ll be stationed in
some beautiful tropical destination. But in reality since 9/11 most
find themselves deployed constantly and living in countries
consisting of dry heat, too much sand and Muslims. It’s no Tokyo or
Pearl Harbor. Trust me; I’ve traveled to over sixty counties and
all of the states, with California and Oregon being my favorites.
Although after spending two glorious weeks with a perfect, pregnant
redhead in Colorado, it’s bound up the list to second place.
Anywhere she is will always remain my number one. Just as she is my
number one. Always and forever.
So after our flight, we were driven by
armored truck to the Pentagon to be briefed, scanned and booked for
my new job and placed in suburban hell, constantly reliving my life
with Emily in my head just to get through my day.
We were given new identities, an assignment
along with the safe link extraction protocol, new government cell
phones and strict unwavering orders not to under any
Similar Books
