I Am The Sheepdog: An Alex Shepherd Novel Page 3

  “Okay,” he said as I walked him to a nearby bench and made him sit. He was sweating profusely and breathing heavily.

  “I’m scared,” he said. I could tell he was starting to come down from the high, but his pupils were still dilated. “But I am the greatest rapper alive!”

  EMTs showed up and took over as he seemed to drift in and out of coherent thought. I stepped back to let them work as they took his vitals and then put him on a stretcher.

  “Do you want to charge him?” Deputy Harrold asked.

  “Absolutely not,” I said. “I just want to make sure he’s okay.”

  “I’ll ride with him to the hospital,” Harrold said. “So, you can stay here for the rest of the game. Maybe find out where he got it.”

  “Thank you,” I said. I hated to admit it, but he was right. I needed to find out what the boy had taken and if more kids would be affected. I was sure the principal and vice principal would be asking questions sooner rather than later.

  The paramedics loaded the boy into the ambulance. Harrold found the kid’s school ID in his wallet as they emptied his pockets. He handed it to me and I wrote down the information before handing it back. Caleb Wallace, age fifteen, was a freshman at Fredericksburg High School.

  The ambulance maneuvered its way around the crowd and drove out of the stadium. Kruger and I started toward the area where Principal Reese and his wife were sitting. We were intercepted by Marcus, who did his best to get my attention as discretely as possible.

  “Psst! Dee Dubya!” Marcus whispered as he motioned for me to come to him.

  “What’s up, buddy?”

  “How’s Caleb?” he asked, nervously making sure no one could hear him.

  “He’s going to get help at the hospital,” I said.

  “I know what happened,” Marcus said. “But I’m not a snitch.”

  “Is Caleb a friend of yours?” I asked.

  Marcus shrugged. “He’s nice, but we don’t hang out or anything.”

  “He’s not going to be in trouble,” I said. “I just want to get him help. Do you know what happened? What did he take?”

  Marcus leaned in close and whispered, “I saw him smoking with a bunch of kids from my class over by the tennis courts.”

  “Do you know what he was smoking?”

  “I don’t know, man, weed? Whatever it was, it really messed him up.”

  “Where did he get it?”

  Marcus suddenly tensed up. “I’m not supposed to say anything.”

  “You can tell me, buddy,” I said. “I’m just trying to help.”

  Marcus sighed softly. “You can’t tell anyone I told you.”

  “I promise,” I said. “It will be an anonymous tip.”

  “Okay,” Marcus said as he turned and pointed toward the visitor’s side of the stadium. “In the visitor’s parking lot, there’s a purple Chevy Impala with big wheels. I overheard Caleb talking at the pep rally earlier about getting some stuff from them.”

  “Just weed?” I asked.

  Marcus shrugged. “They just said they were getting stuff to party with.”

  “Okay, thanks, buddy. You’ve been a huge help.”

  “Please don’t tell anybody,” Marcus begged.

  “I won’t,” I said as I keyed up my radio and asked for two deputies to meet me near the stands on the visitor side.

  Kruger and I walked past the stands and through the gate onto the sidelines. We took the track that circled the field to the visitor’s side where Deputy Milton and Deputy Matthews were waiting for us.

  “What’s up?” Deputy Milton asked.

  “Got a tip about a car selling drugs in the visitor’s parking lot,” I said. “I think it may be the stuff that student smoked. Purple Impala with big wheels.”

  “Sounds like a good time,” Milton said. “What’s the play?”

  “Find the car and have a chat with them,” I said.

  Milton and Matthews both nodded and we headed out into the visitor parking lot. Although it was a small lot, it was mostly empty. Not many people from the Hondo school had traveled with their team. I immediately spotted the car parked near the corner of the lot under a tree with its parking lights on and music blaring.

  I motioned to Milton and Matthews and we made a wide arc through the parking lot to avoid being seen and approach the vehicle from the rear. I had Kruger sit near the rear of the vehicle while Milton and Matthews covered the passenger side.

  I flipped the hood on my level III holster forward to allow better access to my duty weapon and pulled out my flashlight. Shining it into the dark tinted rear window, I saw two occupants seemingly oblivious as the door panels rattled from the subwoofer and speakers blasting rap music.

  I approached the driver’s door with my flashlight in my left hand and my right hand resting on my weapon. I stopped behind the b-pillar and tapped on the window. The driver lowered it, squinting as he looked up at me with glassy eyes. I immediately smelled weed and saw open alcohol containers in the center console cup holders.

  “What do you need, holmes?” the driver asked.

  “Do me a favor and step out of the car,” I said as I opened the door.

  The driver stepped out. He had a shaved head and a neck tattoo of an eight ball. He said something in Spanish as he pulled up his sagging jeans. On the other side, Milton and Matthews ordered the passenger out of the car as well.

  “Keep your hands out of your pockets,” I ordered as I saw him try to put his right hand in his pocket. “Do you have any guns, knives, or other weapons on you?”

  “No, ese,” he said.

  “Okay, step to the rear of the vehicle,” I said, taking his arm and walking him to where Kruger was sitting patiently watching the event unfold.

  I pulled out my handcuffs and said, “For my safety and yours, I’m going to put these on you. You’re not under arrest.”

  “This is bullshit, man,” he said. Kruger started barking as she saw the same look flash across his face that I did. He was considering running, fighting, or both.

  He nervously eyed the dog.

  “If you fight or run, you’ll only make her day. Do you understand? Now put your hands behind your back.”

  The driver complied as I cuffed his hands. I did a pat down, finding a loaded snub-nosed .38 revolver in his waistband. “No weapons, huh?”

  “You have no idea who you’re dealing with, gringo,” he said.

  Before I could answer, I heard Milton yelling at the passenger to stop resisting. I looked up to see Milton and Matthews fighting to subdue him. “Sit down,” I ordered the driver as I pushed him to the ground.

  The passenger wrestled free and took off running out of the parking lot. “Watch the driver!” I ordered to Milton.

  When I was sure Milton had the driver covered, I drew my weapon and took off after the passenger. I whistled for Kruger and she launched like a furry missile in pursuit of the passenger.

  She ran him down in seconds, launching into the air and latching onto his arm. Her momentum caused him to fall face first into the gravel as her titanium incisors buried deep into his flesh.

  “Stop resisting!” I yelled as I arrived. The man struggled with Kruger and rolled onto his back as Kruger clamped down harder. “Stop resisting or she will keep biting you! Roll onto your stomach! Hands out where I can see them.”

  The man complied. I pulled Kruger off him as Matthews arrived to assist. He cuffed the passenger and rolled him onto his side, careful not to come into contact with the man’s bleeding arm.

  Matthews found a knife and what appeared to be crack rocks in the man’s pockets. I holstered my weapon and reconnected Kruger’s leash. We followed Matthews as he walked the suspect back to the car.

  “Pendejo!” the passenger yelled. “You’re making a fucking mistake, holmes.”

  “How’s that?” Matthews asked. “You’re the one in cuffs right now, going to jail.”

  “Los Ocho Locos is gonna take over this town, yo. We’ll fuck you up, gringo,” the passenger said defiantly. “You don’t even know!”

  And with that statement, the spinoff MS-13 gang known as the Crazy Eights had officially started operations in Fredericksburg.

  The war had begun.

  Chapter Four

  WITH BOOKING OUR TWO suspects, writing the arrest report, and meeting with Narcotics detectives and the Gang Unit, Friday night was a very long night. Both Narcotics and the Gang Unit were aware of the possibility of Los Ochos Locos moving into the area, but it was the first confirmation they had that the gang was actually operating in our area.

  The suspect’s vehicle was a gold mine of illegal narcotics. Synthetic marijuana, heroin, cocaine, and even bath salts were found out in the open and in hidden panels. The duo had come to do business, and apparently business was good.

  We also found five thousand dollars in cash. Because the money and the vehicle were used in a drug crime, they were both confiscated. Los Ochos Locos probably wouldn’t even flinch, but it felt like a victory anyway.

  Although we had taken the drugs and cash off the streets, the unfortunate reality was that the two suspects would likely be back on the streets within a year. Immigration had a hold placed on them. They would be held and deported, only to most likely cross the border again and continue their business venture on the streets of Texas.

  Kruger and I returned to the school on Monday morning and briefed Principal Reese and Vice Principal Lawrence on what happened after the game. The synthetic marijuana the student had smoked had been mixed with incense and a few other chemicals the crime lab was still analyzing. He had been kept in the hospital overnight for observation but was expected to make a full recovery.

  Principal Reese insisted that charges be filed against the kid, but I successfully argued that the experience and the wrath of his angry parents would be punishment enough. The important thing was that we managed to take the dealers, drugs, and cash off the streets for the time being. With the help of Vice Principal Lawrence, I managed to negotiate a two-day suspension plus detention for the young offender in lieu of expulsion. It was a small victory.

  The rest of the morning was thankfully uneventful. I didn’t see Marcus to thank him for what he did, but I figured I had just missed him due to the meeting with the school administrators. Kruger and I sat in our usual spot in the cafeteria at lunch and I kept an eye out for him.

  Miss Jenkins placed her tray on the table and sat across from me. She had made it a point to join Kruger and me for lunch every day since our first lunch a week earlier. She usually brought a new teacher to introduce and get to know me, but today she was alone.

  “Who are you looking for?” she asked.

  “I haven’t seen Marcus yet today,” I said.

  Jenkins frowned. “I think I saw his name on the unexcused absentee report this morning.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “His parents didn’t call in,” she said.

  “You think he’s okay?” I asked.

  Jenkins smiled warmly. “You’ve really taken to Marcus, haven’t you?”

  “He’s a good kid with an asshole stepdad,” I said gruffly.

  Jenkins reached across the table and touched my arm. “I’m sure he’s fine. This sort of thing happens all the time with students. Usually the child gets sick and the parents are scrambling around trying to get to work and forget to call. All it takes is a sick note to mark it excused when he comes back.”

  “Maybe I’ll swing by his house on my way home to check on him,” I said.

  It might have been nothing, but something just seemed off. I didn’t trust the boy’s stepdad and my gut was telling me it was more than just a forgotten sick call. I hoped I was wrong.

  “You’re very sweet,” Jenkins said. “How is a guy like you not married?”

  I shrugged. There was no easy way to answer, and I certainly didn’t want to risk blowing my cover story. Miss Jenkins was very attractive and extremely smart. Before I met my wife, I would’ve been tripping over myself to date her.

  But this was another life. I had buried my wife and daughter a year ago and every time I closed my eyes at night I still saw them. Despite having moved past the sadness and the rage against the demons that had taken them from me, I wasn’t quite ready to rekindle my romantic spirit. It was just too soon.

  “You must have been through something pretty bad,” she said, her blue eyes staring deeply into mine.

  “What makes you say that?” I asked as I withdrew from her touch.

  “Your eyes,” she said. “My mom always said the eyes are the windows to the soul. There’s a lot of sadness there.”

  “Allergies,” I said with a half chuckle. “I’m still not quite used to the Texas summers.”

  “Right,” she said. “Of course. So, I hear you had a busy night Friday.”

  “Your friend, Mr. Tyson, might be right,” I said as I started eating my cheeseburger.

  “About what?”

  “Mexican gang activity,” I said between bites. “Those guys we arrested were part of Los Ochos Locos.”

  “Oh my gosh,” she said. “Gangs? In Fredericksburg? What are the police going to do about it?”

  “I have a meeting with the Gang Unit, Narcotics, and DEA on Wednesday,” I said. “They’re supposedly coming up with a plan before the Crazy Eights get a foothold here. I’ll brief the school sometime after. Maybe before Friday’s pep rally.”

  “That’s terrible,” Jenkins said, shaking her head. “I thought we were safe here.”

  “You are,” I reassured her. “The Sheriff’s Office and local PD will work together to make sure of it. But in the meantime, you need to stay vigilant.”

  “I always carry my gun in my purse when I’m not at school,” Jenkins said. “I have a concealed carry permit.”

  “Good,” I said. “I’ll talk about it when I have more details, but it’s important that the students and their parents maintain awareness as well. This gang is known for abductions and human trafficking. Your girls on the dance team are especially at risk.”

  “Okay, I’ll talk to them,” Jenkins said, finishing her meal. “Well, I should get going. It was nice chatting with you as always, Dee Dubya.”

  “You heard about that, huh?”

  “It’s starting to catch on.”

  “Great.”

  “It’s not a bad thing. The kids are really starting to like you, especially since you’ve been sticking up for them to Principal Reese.”

  “I’m just trying to do the right thing and not ruin anyone’s life over a mistake,” I said.

  “I know,” Jenkins said with a smile. “And that’s what makes you so great.”

  Chapter Five

  AFTER THE SCHOOL DAY was over, I looked up Marcus Riley’s home address. I tried calling the contact number listed for his mother, but it went straight to voicemail. His house was on my way home, so I decided to stop by to check on him.

  My gut was still telling me something was wrong. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but the hair on the back of my neck was standing straight up as I pulled into the driveway of the small single-family home. There were no cars in the driveway or carport and I couldn’t see any lights on in the house.

  I left Kruger in her custom-made kennel in the back of my Tahoe and walked to the front door. It felt like any of the hundreds of domestic violence calls I had been to during my career with the St. Tammany Parish Sheriff’s Office. But, other than my gut, I had no reason to suspect that things were about to go south. I was just on edge.

  I walked up the steps onto the front porch and stood at the edge of the door. I tried to look into a nearby window, but the curtains were drawn. From what I could see, it looked dark in the house. I knocked on the door three times and stayed off to the side.

  It was a technique ingrained in me since the academy. Angry people often blindly shot through doors, especially during domestic calls. It was a lot safer to be behind a wall than to expose yourself to potential gunfire through the door.

  There was no response to my initial knock. I couldn’t hear any movement or talking inside. I tried again and rang the doorbell. I waited a few more minutes, but there was still no answer.

  I walked back to the Tahoe and sat in the driver’s seat, contemplating my next move. Were they just out for dinner or a family activity? Were they in the hospital? Had they skipped town? Was it really even my business?

  I backed out of the driveway and turned to exit the neighborhood. I saw an older Lincoln Town Car in my rearview mirror as I reached the intersection to the main highway. It looked familiar, but I couldn’t place where I had seen it before. I had been too distracted with finding Marcus.

  I turned right onto the two-lane highway, heading back toward the school away from my house. The highway was mostly surrounded by open fields and trees. The car followed me, accelerating right up to my bumper as I reached the speed limit.

  I slowed slightly and the car sped around me and slammed on its brakes. The car had no license plate. I called in my location to Central Dispatch and advised them that I would be making a traffic stop as I activated my overhead emergency lights.

  Kruger started barking anxiously as I followed the car onto the shoulder. A Criminal Patrol unit on shift advised that she was en route to back me up as I stopped behind the car.

  “Driver, step out,” I said over my unit’s loudspeaker. I quickly exited the vehicle, drawing my weapon to the low ready as I watched the car.

  The driver exited the vehicle. “Show me your hands!” I yelled as I trained my Glock 17 on him. “Do it now!”

  The driver walked slowly toward the rear of the vehicle, keeping his hands out to his sides. Kruger was still barking furiously in the back of the Tahoe, begging to be let out to bite the suspect. He stopped at the trunk and kept his hands out. He looked bored, almost like it was just a minor inconvenience that he was being held at gunpoint.

  “Turn around. On your knees! Do it now!” I ordered.