CHAPTER TEN

 

Sunday – March 28

 

Jack sat across from Ray at the Navarros’ dining table. Zelda was bundled like a burrito in her soft, pink blanket and nestled in the crook of his arm.

"I don't know how you do it, Jack,” Maria said as she set two cups on the table along with milk and sugar. “She cried so much today. No matter what I did, she wouldn't settle. You pick her up and she goes right to sleep."

Jack smiled. "I wouldn't be much of an uncle if I didn't have the magic touch."

Maria gave Ray the eye at the spluttering sound he made before reaching down to take the sleeping baby.

"Leave her with me,” Jack said. “Get some rest while you can."

"Are you sure?" she asked. Her features noticeably relaxed.

Jack knew how hard it was raising a newborn. "Absolutely."

“Thank you so much.” Maria leant down to kiss Jack on the cheek before scurrying into the kitchen to where Dewayne was rinsing dishes in the sink before putting them into the dishwasher.

The teen looked happy. CPS normally didn't foster kids with cops, but Ray's reputation was exemplary, especially after the two major busts last year—discovering and stopping The Butcher and The Drag Queen Killer.

What clinched the deal in letting Dewayne stay with the Navarros was the boy’s promise to the social worker that if the Navarros, or Jack, couldn't take him, he'd run away from anywhere he was fostered, which included state care. He'd already proven he could take care of himself, so they let him stay where he wanted.

The cherry on top for CPS was the Navarros refused the usual foster care payment and were supporting Dewayne as if he were one of their own. Maybe Dewayne realized the Navarros weren’t taking him in for the money; maybe they did care about him. Whatever it was, it was clear he was happy and not going anywhere.

A moment later, Jack heard the dishwasher switch on, pulling him out of his thoughts. Maria and Dewayne headed out of the kitchen. Maria placed a hot pot of coffee on the table and muttered, “¡Un largo baño de burbujas está llamando mi nombre!” She disappeared down the hallway.

Dewayne stopped on his way to the living room and said, “If you still want me to show you that game, I’ll be in the living room with Choo Choo.” Choo Choo, the dog formerly known as Butch and who’d belonged to Ginnie Whitney-Cummings, had also been taken in by the Navarros.

“We’ll be in after we have our coffee,” Ray told him. Dewayne nodded and headed for the sofa. "You don't have to do this," Ray said, nodding at Zelda as he poured their coffees.

"Maybe I want to. I’m telling you now, though, if she needs her diaper changed, I’ll be passing her over to you." Jack grinned at his friend’s glare. "Tell me what you found on Rybak. Or was this just a ploy to get me out of my cave?"

Chuckling, Ray said, "Maybe a little of both." A moment later, he had pulled out the pages from the folder they'd been in and spread them across the table in front of him in purposeful stacks.

“You’ve been busy,” Jack said.

“You have no idea. Okay.” Ray took a deep breath. “Last week at lunch, you suggested Rybak might have driven to your house. I looked through his school records and found a photo of a 1977 Pontiac Firebird Trans Am. I ran the plate number and confirmed the car was registered to Rybak. From the photo in his class records, the vehicle looked well-maintained and had one of those special gold-on-black paint jobs like in that movie.”

“What movie?”

Ray scratched his head. “I can’t remember what it was called. It had a guy in it from that movie where some friends go into the woods to hunt, and the kid playing a banjo—”

“You mean Deliverance?”

Nodding, Ray said, “That’s the one. He was one of the hunters.”

“There wasn’t a Trans Am in Deliverance, my friend.” Jack lightly laughed.

“I know that, vato. He was in another movie that had one. He was being chased by the poli gordo with the big white hat. Come on, you’re the car guy. You know what I’m talking about.”

Jack did love his classic cars and he knew exactly what movie Ray was talking about, but it was fun watching him flounder. “You mean Burt Reynolds. He drove a black Trans Am in Smokey and the Bandit.”

“Yes! Finally.”

Smiling, Jack said, “Let me see the photo.” Ray found it in his stack of papers and slid it across the table. “Sweet ride. It does look like Rybak took good care of it. This is what they call Bandit Style—black car with gold pinstriping, brushed gold aluminum snowflake rims, and a big gold Laughing Phoenix on the hood. Just like in the movie.” Jack slid the photo back across the table to Ray. “FYI, the decal was also called a Laughing Chicken, Screaming Chicken, and Fire Chicken.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Showoff. DMV records also confirmed the vehicle has remained registered, despite Rybak’s disappearance.”

“Really?” Jack exclaimed. “Do you suppose his parents kept it registered on the off chance he’d come home one day?”

“That’s the thing. It’s not registered at his parents’ address. It’s registered to Rybak at an address on Geary Boulevard in the Sutro Heights District. I sent officers to canvas the streets around your house to look for the vehicle, but they came back with nothing, so I'm going over to Geary in the morning.”

“Maybe that’s where Rybak’s been hiding all this time,” Jack suggested.

“Anything’s possible. I can tell you one thing.”

“What?” Jack’s exclamation stirred Zelda but she settled quickly in his arms.

"I don't think Rybak had the car in his possession. You won't believe this."

"Try me."

"I think the car’s with Logan Armstrong."

"What the— how did you link Rybak's vehicle to Armstrong?"

"The address on Geary matches the address in Armstrong’s school records.”

“Do you think Rybak has been staying with Armstrong all this time?”

Ray shook his head. “Based on the condition of Rybak’s remains, I’m sure he was living on the street.”

“I wonder what Armstrong is doing with the Trans Am. If Rybak sold it to Armstrong, wouldn’t he have registered it in his own name?”

Ray shook his head again. “I’ll ask him when I question him tomorrow.”

"Wasn't Armstrong the one who was a year ahead of Rybak and Warren? What's he doing back at the school?"

Ray shrugged. "I'll ask him about that too. In the meantime, I put out a BOLO on the vehicle in case it’s spotted before tomorrow. It's out on the street so we should find it soon enough. Not many '77 Trans Ams on the road anymore."

“What about Armstrong’s own vehicle?”

Ray scanned Armstrong’s paperwork. “School records show he drove a silver 2005 Mazda 3 hatchback registered to the same Geary Boulevard address. I ran the plates and it came back to an Edith Armstrong. Based on her date of birth, she must be Armstrong’s abuela.”

"When was the Trans Am last seen?"

Ray thumbed through the pages. “At the university just after you found Rybak.”

"I don’t suppose there’s any indication he’s made any attempt at paying any of the citations?” Jack asked.

“Nope. Now the vehicle has an order of impound. The next time it’s spotted on the road, it’ll be impounded until the tickets have been paid. Of course, Armstrong probably knows since the car is registered in Rybak’s name, he won’t be held responsible for paying them. The vehicle will probably end up at auction.”

The hairs on the back of Jack's neck stood up at the mention of auctioning the Trans Am. It could be one sweet ride again if there wasn't too much restoration in it.

Jack shook himself. Didn't that defeat the purpose of having a bullet with your name on it?

“Before that happens, let’s put a lien on it. And let's get campus security to keep an eye open for us. Have them call you directly the next time it’s seen on campus and we'll go over ourselves to see what's what."

"Good idea,” Ray said. "There's more. Since graduating, Armstrong has earned himself a record."

Jack frowned. "I thought Fong said he was a good student?"

"They all were, until they hooked up. Armstrong only graduated by the skin of his teeth, as Fong said.”

Jack remembered. "Good students can still have a police record."

"Of course, but Armstrong’s record had been clean until after graduation, even if his grades had slipped.”

“What happened after graduation?” Jack asked.

“Apparently, he has a history of giving—" Ray said the word giving with finger quotes "—his friends weed. Not a big deal since it was legalized, but the two times he was arrested, he was in possession of cannabis over the limit allowed by law, along with a pocketful of cash.”

“With drugs and cash, how was he not cited?”

“What was on him wasn’t sufficient enough to prove he’d been selling.”

“Doesn’t mean he wasn’t. If it was enough to detain him, why not arrest him?”

“The incident reports both said he was cited for possession over the legal limit permitted in a public place. There’s also a note here that says he’d bought the dope at Dragon’s Lair over in Chinatown.”

“Isn’t that one of the places owned by the Jade Dragons gang?”

“Yeah. They have a few shops around town—the Dragon's Head, Dragon's Claw, Dragon's Tail—but the Dragon's Lair is the main shop that handles distribution to the other shops. Why?”

“You know Amy Chin at the department, right? She normally works up in SVU. She helped us over at the Majestic at Christmas.”

“Right. You two have history, don’t you?”

“Not exactly. She wants to make history and I’d rather not. Anyway, her brother, Daniel, was the antithesis of the law-abiding Officer Amy Chin. He was a Jade Dragon.”

The statement hung in the air for a long moment before Ray said, “ịMeirda! Does Haniford know? I mean, he must, right?”

“You can bet your ass he’s been keeping a close eye on her. As far as I know, her record has been spotless. It wouldn’t matter what her brother did or who he associated with. Chin wasn’t responsible for him. As long as she wasn’t involved with the gang or aiding and abetting him, she was as eligible as the next person to become a cop. Since her brother went missing a while back, I’m guessing the spotlight on her has been turned off.”

Ray whistled low. “When did her brother disappear?”

“I can’t remember if it was just before or just after I took sabbatical. A few years ago anyway.”

“A lot of people went missing right around the same time. Think there’s a connection?”

“Possibly.” Jack nodded, then finished off his coffee. The cold bitterness hit the back of his throat like tepid sink water. He swallowed hard to stifle the cough he felt scratching his esophagus. Zelda must have exhausted herself earlier in the day, as she still slept like the proverbial baby when he cleared his throat. “Do you have anything else on Armstrong?”

“Remember he was a chem major?" Ray asked.

“Yeah, what about it?”

Ray went back to his paperwork. “A couple years ago, a citizen reported a man on the beach."

Jack chuffed. "That's not against the law."

"No, but wandering aimlessly while desnudo is.” Jack chuckled. “Reports said he’d been wandering naked up and down the beach, muttering to himself, talking to the sun, accosting sunbathers and swimmers with wild ramblings. A surfer had to pull him out of the water before he drowned himself. He said Armstrong was staring into the sky and didn’t know he was walking into the water," Ray said.

"He was tripping."

Ray nodded. "From the time the first call came in before noon and the time when officers were finally sent down there in the evening, he must have been tripping for as many as nine or ten hours.”

“Shit, that’s a long trip,” Jack exclaimed. “Why didn’t officers respond to the calls earlier in the day?”

“No idea, but even when they took him into custody, he wasn’t immediately arrested. He was taken to the ER for his own safety. The doctors said he didn't know where he was until he came back to earth, and when he did, he couldn’t remember where he'd been all day."

"Did they run a tox panel to see what he was on?"

Ray sifted through the paperwork. “Tox screen came back with a cocktail of drugs . . . lysergic acid diethylamide—”

“LSD,” Jack said.

“Right. Also cocaine—”

Jack sat up. “What? He was on both LSD and coke? Fuuuck! He’s lucky he didn’t stroke out right there.”

Ray nodded. “That’s not all. He also had fentanyl in him and something called trimethyl . . . trymethoxen . . . damn it!”

“Trymethoxphenethylamine . . . or in layman’s terms, mescaline.”

“You know too much, ese.”

“Any of those drugs could knock you on your ass,” Jack said. “Combining them is a death wish. After a ten-hour high like that, I wonder how fucked up he is since then.”

Ray shifted in his chair then pulled another sheet of paper out of the folder he'd set aside and laid it in front of him. "I have a theory."

"I'm all ears," Jack said as he carefully moved Zelda into the bend of his other arm. He felt a familiar ache tracking up his arm to his shoulder from holding the baby in the same position for so long. He looked down at the tiny bundle. She fussed only a little before settling again. Her smile just then made him want to lean down and kiss her forehead, but the serious look on Ray's face refocused his attention.

"Hear me out before you tell me it's bullshit."

"When have I ever—" Ray glared at him. "Let's have it."

"This is what we know. Rybak was friends with both Warren and Armstrong, even though they'd only known each other a few months, according to Stacey Maguire."

"Agreed."

"They all met while playing that online game, Head Shop Heist. As it was an online game, let’s assume the guys didn’t actually know each other in person, not at first. But they eventually met face-to-face.” Ray looked at his notes. “I've got our computer geeks looking into all three of their accounts to see when they each started playing the game and when they started playing together. We obtained a warrant for the game company’s server which holds all the data. The game also has a chat facility which we’ll scan too.”

Nodding, Jack said, "Awesome. What else?"

"For shits and giggles, and because of Armstrong’s possessions record, I went over to Robbery Division and talked with Bud Schuman about any unusual cases they'd been on in the last ten years—had he seen any new trends in burglary or theft, anything unusual that stood out to him. What he told me probably won't surprise you, but until he mentioned it and not knowing about this game, I don’t know if I would have even considered it."

"Get on with it. You're such a drama queen."

"Maybe I like drama, and maybe I like knowing it annoys you." Ray grinned. "Just do me a favor and don't drop my daughter when I tell you."

"I promise. Spit it out. What did Schuman tell you?"

"He asked me if I’d ever heard of Head Shop Heist. When I said no, he told me about it and the sharp spike in robberies in the city’s head shops. Largely grab and goes, but also smash and grabs after hours.”

“What were they taking after hours?”

“Anything they could get their hands on within a minute or so—bongs, pipes, grinders, even edibles, shit for vaping—"

“What about the pot itself?” Jack asked.

“It gets better. Schuman said he’d have someone do a deep dive into the archives for the older cases, but he gave me copies of what he had from when they went digital. There were only a few records but enough to compare the dates of those robberies from around the time Rybak and Warren went missing."

"I'll be damned. By the look on your face, I know you have more."

“Of course. What do you take me for, a rookie?”

“Absolutely not. Lay it on me.”

“His team spotted a pattern with the same three perps—same clothes, same strategy, like they had it down to a science. Their faces were always covered but they were sure it was the same knock-off group. Witnesses who saw the getaways all confirmed it was the same vehicle—an old gray Mazda.”

“Really?” Jack said with surprise.

“There’s more. After one of the shops had been hit three times, they finally decided to upgrade their security and added outside video surveillance. They caught the car pulling up to the shop. Once inside, they destroyed the surveillance hardware, but there had been enough time for the video software to save to the cloud.” Ray folded his arms in front of him and sat back with a smug grin.

“Are you shitting me? Tell me you got a plate number.”

“It’s only a partial, but get this. The partial matches a vehicle already under investigation. A silver Mazda 3, last registered to—”

“Logan Armstrong,” Jack finished. He nearly laughed at Ray’s shit-eating grin. “You need to get someone to trace that vehicle. He might be driving Rybak’s Trans Am, but if he’s still knocking over head shops, it won’t be in that car.”

“Agreed. And if Armstrong was the last person to see his friends, maybe he can tell us where Rybak’s been and what happened to Warren.”

“Great stuff, Ray.” Ray laughed. “What?”

“You thought I was done. That’s funny.”

“Don’t keep me hanging, brother.”

“Guess which head shop got robbed the most?” Jack shrugged. “Dragon’s Lair.”

“No shit.”

Ray put up a finger, telling Jack he still wasn’t done. “Guess where Chin’s brother worked.”

“Dragon’s Lair?”

Ray nodded. “Guess who was working the night at Dragon’s Lair when it got robbed—” Jack opened his mouth to speak, but Ray was quick on the draw. “And guess who went missing that same night.”

Almost under his breath, Jack said, “Daniel Chin.” Ray touched his nose then pointed the finger at Jack, telling him he was spot on. What did Chin’s disappearance have to do with the college boys? Had he been some sort of lookout for the trio? Things were moving quickly. Almost too quickly. “Is it just me or does it feel like this investigation is moving way too fast? I don’t want us missing anything.”

“Jack,” Ray calmly said, “a man killed himself in your house. Haniford pulled in every available cop and has prioritized this. When I told you the other day at Beep’s that you’re still a brother in blue, I meant it. No matter what, you will always be my brother. I will always have your back. So does the department. Everyone wants a piece of this so you can finally get some closure. We’ll figure out why Rybak killed himself in your house, and if it ties into what happened to Leah and Zoë. I promise.”

“Hey,” Dewayne called from the living room. “You still want me to show you how to play this game? If not, I got homework.”

Just then, Zelda jolted in Jack’s arms. When he looked down, Jack saw her big eyes were open and looking directly into his. She smiled for a moment before yawning. Then her face screwed up before a tiny squeak. Zelda smiled as the aroma rose.

Jack stood and passed the infant across the table. “Sorry, brother, but this one has your name written all over it.”

 

For the next hour, Dewayne showed Jack and Ray how to play Head Shop Heist, including built-in game features. The three of them huddled around Dewayne’s games console with Jack in the driver’s seat, playing an anonymous user.

“There’s a lot going on here. I thought this was supposed to be an older game,” Jack said.

“Games are updated all the time. When this one was released, players mostly stole what they wanted. Like most games, it was about racking up credits. Credits are game money you use to buy—” using finger quotes around buy “—stuff within the game. Let’s say you only have enough credits to buy some really cheap weed, but if you stole something like an expensive bong, you can sell it to another player, or pawn it, and use that money to buy more expensive weed.”

Ray scratched his head. “What’s the point if you couldn’t actually smoke it?”

Dewayne chuckled. “It’s just a game, Dad. It was probably designed for stoners. What makes sense to stoners?”

Dad.

When had Dewayne started calling Ray Dad? He smiled to himself, remembering the first time Zoë had called him Daddy.

“What else?”

Dewayne turned to Jack. “Remember when I showed you how to play Grand Theft Auto?” Jack nodded. “In that game, players are given point-earning tasks by the game’s crime bosses. Things like stealing cars, kidnapping someone, assassinating someone, etcetera. The more heinous the crime, the more points you earn. Like shooting a cop earns more points than shooting an innocent bystander.”

Jack remembered watching Dewayne’s character shoot a cop in cold blood. It had turned his stomach then as it did now.

If it wasn’t bad enough, these types of games also promoted racism, violent assaults against women, torture, and outright murder. They were teaching users, usually teens, to commit Class A misdemeanors. And now this game was teaching players breaking and entering. Not just any structure, but ones now specifically selling drugs.

“Great. Juuust great,” Jack muttered.

Dewayne had helped Jack create his character. Once in, he was given a basic list of common types of cannabis, a restrictive budget, and a cheap handgun—some sort of six-shooter that came with only six bullets.

“If you run out of ammo, you have to buy more with your credits or steal something you can sell to buy more bullets.” Jack nodded his understanding. “If you get shot while carrying out a heist and survive,” Dewayne continued, “you earn street credits for surviving, but your character’s lifeblood, your game energy, is reduced. Lose too much blood and you’re dead. Game over. Survival money goes into game credits. With credits, you can buy more lifeblood, or paraphernalia to smoke what you steal . . . you can make your character smoke it.”

“Who the hell comes up with this shit?” Jack asked.

Ray grumbled. “I’m not sure I like you playing this game, hijo.”

“Don’t worry,” Dewayne said. “I’m only showing Uncle Jack how to play it.”

“What else do I need to know about this game?” Jack asked.

“When you’re out of money and street credits, you steal what you want. The more expensive the item, the more points you earn.”

“Thank goodness it’s just a game,” Ray said.

Dewayne looked at Ray. “It’s more than just a game these days. Now it includes a real online shop selling CBD products and edibles, and they’ll mail it to you.”

“Welcome to the 21st century. Everything can be yours at the tap of a key,” Jack said on a long sigh.

“No kidding. For lazy people, right? You can also order online and choose the shop closest to you to pick it up yourself.”

Jack clicked a few more links on the site then sat back in disbelief. Dewayne was right about the new site options. The shop was full of marijuana and smoking-related items.

Jack clicked the link marked Store Locator. He typed in San Francisco and watched an interactive city map pop up with pins where all the city’s head shops were located and their contact information.

A flashing graphic on the screen that said Plan your route drew his attention to a link for an interactive game option for the city. It wasn’t uncommon for games to be based in real cities—Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas was based on San Francisco—but to tie locations within the game itself to real shops . . .

“What the absolute fuck?” Jack grumbled. His stomach tightened as his overactive investigative mind went into high gear. Anyone who really wanted to rob head shops could plan it through this game. With the interactive map, especially in cities like San Francisco, with its somewhat complicated road scheme, players could plan a real crime and figure out the best getaway route. The game also gave them the estimated travel times, based on the method of travel, such as by car, foot, or even bicycle.

Why would a gaming company create something like this? Surely, they were promoting real crime and targeting high income shops. It was as if the creators were saying, We give you all the tools you need to plan the perfect crime. You only need to get out there and do it!

He clicked on the About page and read:

Our mission at Head Shop Locator

is to help tokers find head shops in their area.

We believe cannabis in all of its forms should be universally accessible.

 

Groovy Games is a subsidiary of Head Shop Locator

and is intended for casual entertainment purposes only.

“Casual entertainment, my ass!”