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The Kirland Port Group near Garfield Heights was a Cleveland success story.
Founded in 1971, the group had supplied transportation and intermodal services to businesses throughout the Midwest and East coast. The family-owned company provided delivery of cargo for businesses over local, regional, or long-haul destinations. Kirkland Port Group could even offer transportation and storage of hazardous materials. The company had developed into more than just an intermodal trucking company. Instead, it was a business that could help other companies with a much wider variety of supply chain needs.
Their facility in Garfield Heights was also a familiar place to police.
Due to its proximity to the city, it was an easy rendezvous point for criminal activity. So it had become a place that was more heavily patrolled by Cleveland Police in recent years. The company had invested a large amount of money into durable fencing, security cameras, and armed guards, but criminals still found ways to distribute drugs and hide bodies.
Melinda had refused to go with Stacy at first. She didn’t understand why Chance couldn’t come to the loft and meet with them and even more serious doubts about Chance using a show of force against his sister. Stacy refused to argue her story and told her mother that it didn’t matter if Melinda believed it or not. They were both going to meet Chance.
Stacy pulled her Camry slowly and cautiously down the outer fence area of the property. Chance hadn’t told her where to meet, but she assumed by his demeanor at the hospital that he wouldn’t want to meet anywhere that might attract the attention of guards or security cameras.
Melinda wore a puffy teal jacket from Stacy’s closet and dark gloves, and a scarf looped around her neck. Even then, she shivered as Stacy killed the ignition.
“I’m freezing,” she said. “This is just totally ridiculous. A few hours ago, I had a cop with a gun pointed at my head. Then I was in the police room being questioned like a criminal. Now I’m out here in some junkyard meeting the son that my daughter swears is not here, despite my comments to the contrary.”
It was the arrogant, self-righteousness Melinda deployed when she thought she was right that made Stacy roil with frustration.
Stacy gave her a heavy-lidded glance. “Do I have to say it?”
Melinda looked perplexed. “Say what?”
“That you told me so.”
Melinda looked out the window and shrugged. “It would be nice, but you’ve never been one to give me much credit for anything.”
“Mother, let’s not do this now.”
Before anything else could be said, Melinda pushed open her door and stepped outside the car. Stacy followed and waited for her mother to come around to her side.
The night was cold and crisp. The quarter-moon was protected by the looming clouds that had been in the area. In front of them, and behind the gated fence, long, squared shadows of stacked intermodal containers rose into the sky like hands trying to reach up into the night. The chilly breeze whipped around the crevices between the containers and through the fence openings, shoving the air into them with a force that chilled them both.
Stacy zipped up her heavy blue jacket with the gold Cleveland Police Department seal on the breast. The phrase Cleveland Police was etched on the back and sleeves.
Stacy felt anxious and uneasy. Her mind was wandering in all directions. She agreed with Melinda on one point: meeting Chance out here seemed odd, but she wanted to see her brother and hear what he had to say.
Stacy’s boots dragged against the gravel as Melinda followed behind her. For a few minutes, they trudged along the gravel perimeter of the facility. Stacy could make out the honeycombed metal fence that followed them as they walked.
Melinda rubbed her hands together. “We don’t even know if he’s going to show up or where he’s going to show up,” she scoffed. “I still say the loft would’ve been a better meeting place, and you should’ve insisted on it.”
“Enough, Mother,” she replied dryly. “Stay focused.”
In a few minutes, Stacy noticed a shadow coming toward them. The footfalls were light and quick, but they slowed down as Stacy and Melinda walked closer.
“Stacy. Mother. It’s me.”
He stepped forward. A square light mounted on one of the storage buildings inside the fenced area produced a diagonal swath of light that accented his face.
Despite his slightly gaunt face and greasy hair, Chance was still handsome. He had smooth skin that looked like milk under the light. His bright green eyes flickered with a seriousness that matched his chafed lips, fixed in an expression of moodiness. He wore a dark trench coat that hung below his knees.
As he glared at them, Stacy looked thoughtfully at her brother before glancing at Melinda.
“Chance. We’ve been so worried.”
He took his eyes off Stacy and looked at Melinda. She cupped her gloved hands around her mouth, eyes welling with tears.
“My boy, my baby boy,” she said in the same endearing voice that a mother would use to speak to an infant.
Melinda’s face then seized with worry. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”
“I’m fine,” he said flatly. Stacy watched him reach into the inside pocket of his coat and pull something out. As she watched his motions, Stacy heard something fall heavily in the space between them.
When she looked down, it was a small clasped envelope that was so full that it bulged at the edges.
Stacy cut a glance at her mother. Her features turned grim.
Stacy was uncertain. “What’s this?”
“Call it leverage.”
“For what?”
“To get things moving and to get out of trouble.”
Unsure, Stacy stepped forward. Chance didn’t move but put his hands inside his jacket. His eyes followed Stacy as she bent down to pick up the pictures.
“Don’t look at them now,” he instructed, “but later. Those are the pictures that have Kendall and the other cops all over the city protecting these drug dealers.”
Stacy gripped the envelope tightly and walked back to stand next to Melinda. “I know what happened, Chance. Brandon basically stalked you. I know that the truck collided with the cruiser that day to send a message. I know that you threatened Brandon that you would tell me what the real purpose of the pictures was and that it wasn’t for some department brochure.”
Melinda looked over at Stacy, surprised. Chance turned his head and looked at them in amazement, eyes wide. “Stacy, I agreed to do it. I didn’t come and tell you what was going on. I’m not innocent here. Not at all. Now I’m trying to make up for it.”
He nodded to the envelope in her hand. “Those are copies of pictures I took without Brandon or anyone else knowing what I was doing. There are pictures of them taking money from the dealers and exchanging it with them and the users. It’s all there. Take that to the police and the prosecutor,” he said earnestly.
“What about the postcard, Chance?” Melinda called out. “It was sent to me. Why me and not to Stacy?”
He glanced at Stacy. “You were in danger. I knew that Dearfield and Jackson would be frustrated that they couldn’t find me. Plus, you and your partner had made some arrests. I kept thinking back to what Dearfield said about killing all of us. I needed you to know, but I couldn’t take the risk of you finding me and then putting all of us in danger. Chance swallowed and then refocused. “So, I sent the postcard to Mother in hopes that she would contact you.”
Stacy had never heard Chance speak with so much clarity and conviction. She glanced down at the envelope before eyeing her brother. “Chance, it’s not that simple. These pictures make you an accomplice to what these men were doing.”
Stacy looked over at Melinda as she looked at her daughter like she had spoken the worst words. Melinda began to talk but then shut her mouth. Stacy noticed her hands were trembling, and tears streaked down her face. Her chest was heaving unevenly.
“I know. That’s why I’m leaving.”
“Leaving?” Stacy replied brusquely. “Where?”
“Mexico.”
Stacy looked at Chance as if she were seeing him for the first time. “I can’t let that happen, Chance. It’s time to stop running.”
Stacy removed handcuffs from her holster. Chance pulled something from his belt. He stared down at his hands for a moment then looked up, his eyes watery.
He pointed a .357 Magnum revolver at them. “I’m not going anywhere in handcuffs.”
Stacy cleared her throat. Melinda stood frozen in place, weeping quietly.
“The evidence is there. Take it and use it!” He eyed them carefully. “I want both of you to know that I did this for us—for our family. Deerfield and his cop buddies threatened to kill my entire family and me if I didn’t do what they asked. I had no way of knowing if he was bluffing me.” Chance kept the gun steadily pointed at them while he flailed a hand overhead. “The police have all of these fancy databases and weapons... I figured if Deerfield said he would do it, then he could do it.”
He looked over at his mother and pointed the gun at her. He shifted his gaze to Stacy before he spoke. “It was me that broke into the townhouse. I couldn’t take a chance that Kendall or any other dirty cops in the department would find out about the pictures. I watched you go to Neo Pro, and that’s when I knew that you had found my camera.”
Stacy made a face. “The camera in the closet. Was that planted there?”
“Yes,” he said. “I remembered the seal on the fire escape window never closed tightly, and I slipped in one afternoon and hid the camera.” He ran a hand through his greasy hair. “I thought you’d forget about it or think I had it with me. When the pictures were developed, I wanted to make sure Kendall Jackson or anyone else in that group didn’t find out about the existence of duplicates.”
Stacy let a few beats pass. She pushed off her back heel and came forward. “I’m sorry, Chance.”
He frowned. “For what?”
“For everything.”
He gazed at her, puzzled. His eyes rimmed with tears.
“All of this is my fault. I kicked you out of the loft in a moment of anger because I wasn’t strong enough to manage my thoracic condition and keep my professional and personal lives separate. I took out my frustrations on you. Had I not done that, none of this would have happened. Jamal Harris wouldn’t have kidnapped you, and there would’ve been no need to get in Deerfield’s police car. My actions, mine, sent everything spiraling out of control.”
Stacy dropped her handcuffs onto the walkway. “And I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I love you. But please,” she pleaded, her eyes burning. “We just got you back. Let us have a chance to be a family again.”
Chance noticed Stacy flick her gaze down to the barrel of the gun. Sensing that she would pounce, he pulled back the hammer and backpedaled.
Chance then gripped the barrel of the revolver with both hands. Melinda gasped.
“Please know that I love both of you, but that I need to go. Don’t follow me. When I arrive where I’m going to be, I’ll reach out.”
Melinda raced up to Stacy and tugged her arm. “Stacy, please. Do something!”
Chance still had the gun pointed at them. Stacy swallowed nervously and then looked down. “Go on, Chance, before I change my mind.”
Melinda was incredulous. “Stop him, Stacy. He’s your brother! My son! Don’t let him just go like this.”
Stacy held up an arm, blocking Melinda from moving forward. Still looking down, she hollered. “Go. Now!”
Chance lowered the gun, then he turned and sprinted into the darkness behind him. At that, Melinda broke down into sobs.