Chapter 26

Sink Deeper

“I was in the neighborhood, George,” said Ellen pleasantly. “I thought I’d stop by and check in. Your wife seemed so angry with you at the hospital last night. I wanted to make sure that you’d received the medical attention you deserved.”

George felt blood rush to his face and stammered out a reply. “That is so considerate.” He held up his burned hand, which was wrapped in gauze. “On the mend.”

“That’s wonderful.” She stood there calmly, waiting.

“I appreciate the visit, but I’m really busy today.”

“Hmm . . . well, before you get back to whatever that is, I’d like to introduce you to my associate.”

She stepped back, revealing her companion. George saw that the man was wearing a black zip-up jacket adorned with the letters DEA. The acronym slowly cohered in George’s muddled brain. DEA agent. Drug Enforcement Agency.

Oh my god, he thought. George stepped back into the house and tried to slam the door shut, but it was pointless. The agent pushed the door firmly open for Ellen, who crossed the threshold serenely.

“George, I’m surprised at you. There’s no reason to turn us away. This is a friendly visit.”

George spun around and ran for the kitchen, its Italian marble countertop currently littered with several grams over the legal limit of cocaine. He heard the agent following close behind, but George was faster. He scooped up the drugs, skirted around the kitchen island, and dumped them in the sink, pushing them down the food disposal. He turned on the faucet and flipped the disposal switch with glee. Nothing happened. He flipped the switch again, realizing it was just turning the light above the sink on and off. Panicking, he searched the wall, flipping switches at random. He felt a firm hand on his shoulder.

The agent turned off the faucet and asked, “Are you looking for this?” He pointed to a switch placed conveniently at waist level.

If only I’d helped Sue with the dishes more often, George thought, feeling distraught.

“Sir, please step away from the sink.”

George sullenly backed away.

“What do we have here?” asked the agent. He reached into the disposal and pulled out the packets of coke, setting them carefully on the kitchen counter. The packets were dripping wet, but otherwise intact.

“I have no idea,” said George. “I don’t know anything about this stuff. I don’t know how it got here.”

“I brought it, and you bought it,” said Patrick, who’d stepped into the room. “And it’s about time you all showed up. Hey, Mayor Salder. I got you what you wanted—one bird, two stoned dudes. Or is it two birds, one stoned dude?” He hiccupped.

“Patrick, are you high?” Ellen whispered the last word, then shook her head with disapproval.

“What?” Patrick said. “It’s my cover.” He slipped on a pair of worn black sneakers, then opened a beat-up messenger bag that sat on the kitchen island. He removed the paper bag containing the rest of the drugs Sheila had given him and handed it to Ellen.

George was completely bewildered. He turned to Ellen. “How do you know this kid? Are you behind all this?” He stared at her for a moment, putting the pieces together in his head. “I knew Sheila had to be working with someone powerful, but I would never have guessed it was you.”

He saw Ellen and the agent exchange a glance and felt a flush of triumph. “All your talk about wanting to get drugs off the streets. All lies. You’re a mere mortal like the rest of us.”

Ellen didn’t crumple like he’d hoped. “We have very little in common, George. I’m not behind Portland’s recent influx of drugs, though I’d certainly like to know who is. And you’re going to help me.”

He scrambled for some other defense. “What about your daughter? She’s a hooker and dates a drug dealer,” he said, pointing accusingly at Patrick. “I’ll leak it to the press. Your career will be over.”

“Wouldn’t that be terrible?” Her voice dripped with sarcasm. “I wouldn’t have to deal with all the idiots on the city council.” She gingerly picked up a packet and weighed it in her hand. “But you, George, well, you’re looking at a misdemeanor for this level of drug possession, giving you a criminal record easily searchable by the public. Just think about how your more conservative clients will feel when they learn about your cocaine habit.”

George’s heart started racing. “I’ll say the kid broke in, that it was a home invasion.”

“He broke in and left cocaine behind?”

“He planted the coke. To set me up.”

“George, Patrick’s wearing a microphone. We recorded every word you said.” Ellen turned to Patrick. “Please go back to the van. The agent and I need to have a talk with George, alone.”

“Bye, George, it was nice doing business with you. Anytime you want to hang, you know how to reach me.” Patrick flashed his beeper at George and left through the front door.

That little prick, thought George. Once I’m out of this mess, I’m going to bury him.