Extraction

Dean sat on a bench at the Santa Monica Pier. He looked strung out. He had been up and down, high and low. Coke and the day to get his work done and party. Then, a couple of shots to bring him down at night. He was slowly becoming useless. He had to get out of it. The OP before he died. He sent Kent. A letter.

Hey, Bruh.

I wanted to let you know how my trip is going. On Friday, I'm going to Vegas with a bunch of people who live there. The whole group of us stayed where Mr. and Mrs. Henderson had stayed. Can you buy me a lottery ticket? I want one from home. My lucky numbers Are 3* 984. Will Charles be there? I'll be calling him, but I am leaving the hotel at 10:30 exactly.

I really need to get out of the sun. It's making me sick. I need to come home.

I like looking out off the pier at noon when the sun is highest in the sky. There's this bench right by the funnel cake stand. I like to sit there and smell the cakes being made. On Tuesdays, an artist makes the most beautiful paintings there. You should come and see them someday. Please tell my lady friend that I am coming home.

Love you, Bro!

Mikey D.

"Mind if I sit down?" Dean looked up briefly.

"Sure, man. I don't own it."

"Funnel cakes, am I right?"

That was the code word. It meant that agents had made sure the area was clear.

"You will be extracted on Friday. We are going to set it up as a medical situation. The setup will be an hour before Giordano picks you up. There will be an ambulance for the medics, Corner, assistant, and van. Two LA police cruisers, two cops. Your cover story is an OD. Death by OD. When medics arrive, you will be given a non-lethal dose of tetrodotoxin."

"Are you fucking serious? Do you have any idea how you detox from that shit? If I do wake up. I have to get a catheter. I don't want a rubber tube shoved up my dick."

"Yes. Make sure you have no alcohol or drugs in your system. Of any kind. Not even a Benadryl. Understand. 24 hours. We will need you to fast for that time. Nothing. Nothing to drink, nothing to eat, no medications. And look at the bright side. You won't be able to feel them putting that in."

"Tetrodotoxin. No better ideas? Not one fucking person is smart enough to think of something else."

"No. We need you to appear dead so we can extract you. That is how we are getting you out. After you have been taken in the ME van, we will execute the search warrant in Henderson at the Giordano Ranch. By the day's end, we should have everything we need and everyone we need to shut this shit down."

Dean looked over At Kent. "I'll be home that night. Right? Tell those bureau cocksuckers they are sending me fucking home."

"No, we have two days of debriefing at the Coil building in Fresno. On a personal note, you look terrible."

"It's been a long ass six months. Someone told me that short of killing someone, I had to fit in, so don't make them question me."

Kent sighed. "That's undercover. "It looks like you're lucky you're getting out now. Is there something you need to tell me? Something we need to discuss."

"No. Just get me the fuck out of here."

"Expect us on Friday at 9:30 AM."

"Hey, Mike."

"What?"

"Did you tell her I am coming home?"

"No."

"What the fuck do you mean no? I told you to tell her."

"I don't follow your orders, Mikey, or whoever you think you are. It would be best to remember who you are and who you are talking to. Look at you. You're strung out, you look like shit, I can smell the alcohol coming out of your pores, and you're giving Rudolf the red-nose reindeer a run for his job. I have never heard you swear like this. Unlike Amy Winehouse, you are going to rehab.

"I don't need to go to rehab. I'm fine. I can stop as soon as I get out of here. I need to get out of this environment."

Mike grabbed his arms and straightened it out. "Unless you're getting a lot of blood work done, that is a hell of a lot of pin holes in your arm. What the fuck have you been doing?"

"You should see between my toes," he mumbled.

Mike got up, bought a funnel cake, and headed to the pier's exit.

Wednesday: Thirty-six hours to extraction.

Frankie was sitting in the VIP booth with Dean by his side. Richie was now the one sitting at the opposite end of the opposite side of the booth. He was seething. He would do anything to get Dean out of his life.

"Hey Mikey, Are you ready? This is a big deal coming up."

"I'm just honored that you will have me there."

"Did you hear that, Richie? He's honored. You expect everything."

"What should we do tomorrow to celebrate?"

"Aren't we celebrating right now?"

"Mikey, you can never celebrate too much."

Dean's head was spinning. He knew he had to get out of tomorrow's festivities. He also wasn't looking forward to starting his detox. From everything he read, it was going to be a miserable experience.

"Frankie, I can't do tomorrow. I need to get some rest. I do not want to meet your father looking like a mook. That's Richie's job."

Everyone laughed, everyone but Richie. He despised Mikey. He wanted to get him out of the way.

"Seriously, though. I want to be my best self when I meet him."

"Yeah, sure, Mikey. I appreciate the respect that you are showing to my family."

"Thanks for understanding."

"No sweat. I have your backup. If I need something, I'll call the second string. Right, Richie!"

Again, everyone laughed except Richie. He had had enough. He got up and walked out of the V.I.P. area.

"Awe. Come on, Ritchie! I'm just busting your balls. Don't go!" Dean called after him.

Ritchie walked out the front door. He needed to get some air. He walked down the steps and lit a cigarette. A young man approached him.

"Hey, Richie."

"Hey, Teddy."

"What's going on? Why are you outside?"

"Because I don't want Frankie to see me with you."

"I take offense to that."

"Do you really?"

"No. So why am I here? What can I do for you."

"You got any on you?"

"Yeah. When did you start using it?"

"Oh, it's not for me. I met this fine-looking strawberry."

"Really? A fine-looking strawberry. I didn't think those existed."

"Strawberry is the bitches name."

They both laughed. "I knew you would never be with one of those hoes. Has she ever done it before?"

"From the looks of it, yeah. But she says that she only uses the good stuff, and Teddy is the man with the good stuff."

"Thanks, man. How much do you need?"

Richie pulled out a wad of cash. Three servings should be good.

He gave him five one-hundred-dollar bills. "This is too much."

"I'm buying your silence and with it. Frankie finds out about this, and I am six feet under."

"Okay, I understand. Be careful with that stuff; it is super strong. The fentanyl gives it that special kick. Don't do more than the recommended daily allowance."

They gave each other the bro hug, and Teddy walked away. Richie put the product into his inner pocket and went back inside. As he was walking in, Dean was walking out.

"Hey, Mikey, are you leaving?"

"Yeah, I need to get back to my room and get some sleep. I've been up for three days and need to cut back on the Coke."

"I got something that will help you."

He went into his pocket and pulled out a mini plastic bag. "Here, this will knock you down several pegs. It's much better than that shit you use."

Dean took the little bag. "What is it?"

"Just a little taste of H."

"Heroin? Richie, I have never done heroin."

"Try it. Ask Allison how to do it. She knows, but you didn't get it from me."

Dean looked at him. He was just going to take it with him, but there was no way he was going to do heroin. He is already in enough trouble with the Dilaudid.

Thursday: Twenty-four hours to extraction.

The waiting was excruciating. Dean knew he was about to get out of there and go home. The days were always the same. His job with Giordano was done. The bureau had the books. They had the time and location of the high table meeting for the bust. He spent most of his time with Frankie. He had morphed into his bodyguard. He was by his side constantly. Even more than Richie some days. Richie was extremely jealous as he saw Mikey replacing him as Frankie's go-to person. And he was right.

It was twenty-four hours before they would give him the tetrodotoxin, and it was time to dry out. He gave himself one last shot of Dilaudid before he started. Just one last push. If anything, he will have a fresh injection site. He lay down on the bed and waited for the laundry list of side effects to start. He wondered how long it would take. Kent had given him a number in case he had specific symptoms so they could send someone to handle the situation.

He felt the Dilaudid wear off. He lay there for hours. About ten hours in, he began to sweat profusely. He knew that it had started. He should have started this the day he talked to Kent. He told Kent he could do it on his own and stop anytime. His muscles began to cramp. He got up and started to walk around the room like a caged animal.

"Dear God, please help me through this. I am so ashamed of myself," he prayed.

Apparently, God did hear him because he immediately had to vomit. He knelt in front of the toilet and proceeded to throw up until he was just wrenching over and over with absolutely nothing left to come out.

He lay on the tile floor; it was cold and soothing. Just when he started to feel better, his muscles cramped. He didn't know what to do. He made his way to the bed. He sat on the floor, with his eyes watering and nose running. He grabbed the Kleenex box on the side table. He blew his nose, and it began to bleed. He put his head back and swallowed the blood running down the back of his throat. Swallowing the blood made him feel the need to vomit again. He crawled his way to the bathroom. He had begun experiencing delirium tremens, also known as the D.T.'s. His night continued this way. His stomach let loose. All of the opioids had caused a mean case of constipation. He felt like he had lost fifteen pounds by the time the sun rose the following day. He didn't sleep. His body was exhausted. He was severely dehydrated. He sucked in ice cubes. He couldn't take the cotton mouth.

The entire night, he listened to the playlist he had made when he first arrived in California. The same one that made Frankie insist he went to the club the night his life began to unravel. The same fourteen songs played over and over all day and night. Allie never left his mind. He wanted her there so badly to hold him and tell him he was going to be okay. He thought about her taking care of him when he had the flu. She even dressed in a sexy nurse's outfit to make him smile. Tears poured from his eyes; he couldn't catch his breath. He curled into the fetal position and started talking to himself out loud.

"I'm sorry, Alexsandra. I am sorry for what I did. You are never going to forgive me. She is never going to forgive me. Why did I agree to do this? God, I wish I had a couple lines. I do have the heroin Richie gave me. Are you fucking out of your mind! No. No. See, you were wrong; you cannot do this on your own. Oh God, what is Natalie going to say? I don't want my Bug to hate me."

He continued to sob. "Mom and Dad. I am so sorry. They are going to disown me. They should. No one wants a son like me."

He had finally made his way to the bed. He closed his eyes and tried to think of Allie. Every time he got close, he thought about Allison and all the random women he mindlessly fucked. Soon, he was thinking about that. He remembered taking beautiful women into the corner booth and having his way with them.

"Maybe it wasn't that bad. I mean, I can't even begin to count the number of orgasms I had or how much head I got... and gave."

He actually started to miss Allison. Well, all of the sex and the drugs they did together.

"It wasn't all bad being with her. I wonder how she is going to take my death. I wish I would actually die right now. I can't do this much longer. I need you, Alexsandra. I need you so badly. I know you could help me through this."

Friday: Day of extraction 0930 hours.

A knock on the door woke him. When he opened his eyes, Kent stood at the end of the bed looking at him.

"What the fuck happened to you?"

"I had a rough night." He slowly got out of bed.

"You need to take a shower. You fucking reek of sweat and vomit. You have exactly fifteen minutes max. We don't have time for this bullshit."

"All right. I'm going."

Dean took his maximum of fifteen minutes to shower. His muscles and scalp hurt, and he could swear that his teeth hurt, too. He walked out of the bathroom and went to get dressed.

"Boxers only!"

"What? I can't wear any fucking clothes."

"Who gets dressed up in a suit and then shoots up?"

"Shoots up?"

"Yeah. It is the perfect cover. I saw your arms."

Dean gave him an angry look. "Fuck you."

"Watch it."

Dean put his boxers on and threw the towel on the bathroom floor.

"Want to tell me what the hell this is?"

He held up the small bag of heroin.

"Richie gave it to me. He seemed pushy about me taking it."

"Would that be normal for him?"

"No. He has not talked to me in the last two months. I may have taken his place. He was jealous of my close relationship with Frankie."

"Really?" He looked around the room that was now filled with people. "You." He waved an officer over. "I need you to find the agent posing as the coroner and tell him I need a CHNO kit.

"CHNO, sure got it."

"You're going to test the heroin?"

"I want to know what is in it. What it's been cut with. I tried to tell the deputy chief you were the wrong person for this assignment."

"I got it fucking done, didn't I?"

"At what cost? Look at you. Is Dean Carron even in there anymore? What have you done to yourself?"

"Long story."

"I look forward to hearing it. All of it," Mike said seriously.

The officer came back into the room with a white box. Kent took out the contents and put them on the table.

"Let's see exactly what your buddy gave you."

Kent took a small amount of heroin out of the bag. He separated it into six small tubes. He took a small bottle that looked like eyedrops. He added three drops to each tube.

"Do you really think it's been cut with something besides the normal talc or powdered milk?"

"Every pusher has their own secret formula. Your buddy got it from the territory of one Teddy Dukes. He has a habit of creative cutting with a heavy hand. If this is his, I know his formula, and it's nasty. My guess is your buddy Richie knows it, too. This isn't shit you give to first-timers. This is for seasoned users."

Kent got eye level with the table. "Pink, green, and blue. Shit. Well, it's definitely Duke's recipe. You didn't try this, did you?"

"I've become an asshole, not an idiot. What's in it?"

"Pink is the heroin. Your basic base. Green is fentanyl. See how dark it is?"

"Yeah. What does that mean?"

"The darker the color, the more that product is in the mix."

"So that means…" His voice trailed off.

"There is a high amount of fentanyl in it."

"What is the blue?"

"The blue is how I knew it was Dukes. It's called xylazine. It's a non-opiate sedative. You can only get it from a veterinarian. It's a muscle relaxant. When added to the mix, it has been known to cause overdose or, more commonly, respiratory arrest. This is some serious shit, Dean. I think he was trying to kill you".

"That son of a bitch. What the fuck! Why? Because I became Frankie's go-to?"

"You took his place?"

"I guess. I didn't try to. Frankie liked me better."

"You know nothing about the hierarchy of the business. Again, we sent the wrong person. Well, you just overdosed on heroin."

"Now what?"

Kent looked at his watch. "Follow me."

He handed Dean a robe, and they walked through the back hallways and took service elevators until they reached the food storage area. Kent opened the large, heavy door.

"Get in."

"What?"

"Get. In." Mike said through gritted teeth.

"I am not getting in there. You are out of your fucking mind."

"We can't take out a warm body. Now, get on the fucking gurney."

"I am not—"

"Carron, get in the fucking refrigerator. Or would you prefer the freezer?"

"This is fucking bullshit. I am fucking resigning as soon as I get back to Cleveland. Do you understand?"

"Completely. This is not an airport. You don't need to announce your departure. Now get-in."

Dean walked into the refrigerator and got on the gurney.

"How long am I supposed to be in here?"

"Till your lips turn blue. Then, we'll take you out, put you in the body bag, and have the doctor administer the tetrodotoxin.

"Then?"

"Hopefully, you wake up in the next twenty-four hours without a rubber tube up your cock.. Then it's back to work."

"Kent."

"What?"

"If I don't, I'm sorry, man. You have always been good to me. You and your wife took me in when I knew no one. I do value our friendship. Let my parents know that what I did, I did for the greater good. The good of the many, right? Tell Bug, I mean Natalie, she is the best damn little sister a brother could ask for, and don't eat too many apples. She'll know. And tell Allie–"

"Alright. You can tell Allie yourself. I don't think I'll have to send your other messages, but I got it."

Kent went to leave.

"Wait. Tell Allie that she was the last thing I thought about, and I am sorry that I left her. Do what makes her happy, whatever that might be. Just not Alvarez."

"Is that all?"

"One more thing. My last name isn't Carron. It's Stapleton as in the Kentucky Stapletons."

"The billionaires? Your brain is starting to freeze. Those drugs sure did a number on your brain."

"Ask the deputy chief. He'll verify it. Now I am done. Just wanted you to know since we are what I consider good friends."

"I knew you were still in there somewhere, Dean, whatever your last name is."

"Kent walked out and closed the door to the industrial refrigerator."

It didn't take too long for Dean to start to shiver violently. He felt like he had been in there for an hour. He was sure he had hypothermia.

Finally, the door opened, and agents dressed in EMS attire walked in. The one took his temperature.

"94.7"

"Alright. Let's get him in the bag and out the door. I guess the suspects arrived ten minutes ago. They are out there talking to Kent."

They put him into the body bag and wheeled him out. Before they zipped it up, a small woman approached him.

"Agent Carron, I'm Dr. Breeding. I will administer the tetrodotoxin. I will give you the smallest dose possible to achieve what we need. Thank you for your service. I'll see you tomorrow."

She looked for a vein. She saw the marks in his arms. She looked at him. He looked back, ashamed. She inserted the needle and slowly pushed the plunger. His eyes closed, and his breathing became highly shallow at six breaths per minute. His heart rate was there but barely registered.

"He's ready. Take him out."

One agent zipped up the bag and headed to the hotel's main entrance, while another prayed the Our Father and the Hail Mary over him.

Frankie and Richie pulled up to the Omni at 10:30.

"What the hell?"

They saw the medical examiners, the ambulance, and an unmarked Dodge Charger that matched the two cop cars.

"What the fuck…"

"Call him. He was supposed to be outside."

Richie called Mickey's cell phone, and it just rang. It went to voicemail. He tried three times, but there was no answer.

"You should go in and get him. I'll stay in the car and keep calling."

Ritchie walked up to the door. He was stopped by one of the officers.

"Are you a guest here, Sir?"

"No, I am here picking up a friend."

"We are having a situation. Why don't I have the front desk call their room and have them come down?"

Frankie watched him talk to the cop. "What the fuck, Richie? Just go inside. He's going to fuck up and say something stupid."

Frankie was getting nervous. They were going to be late for the plane, and his dad was going to be angry.

"His name is DeLuca, Mikey DeLuca."

The cop looked at him. "I'll tell someone to get a hold of him for you."

The cop went into the building. Frankie saw the two talking. The first cop hitched his thumb and then shook his head. He came back out with a man in a suit, Mike Kent.

"I am Detective Moore. I heard you were here looking for your friend, But he's not answering his phone."

"Yeah, I called him like a dozen times."

"Can you describe this friend, Sir?"

"Uh, he's a big guy. Like big, big. Dark hair. Oh, and these eyes that look like grass-green eyes."

Frankie was debating whether to go up. He started sweating a little, so he turned up the air.

Back on the steps, Ritchie and the detective were still talking.

"Ok, so if you saw him, your friend, can you positively identify him?"

"Positively identify… What is going on?"

"Sir, you have described a deceased person we have found in a hotel room. You have described him, and while in the room, his phone rang three separate times."

"What? What happened?"

"I can't say, but I do need to ask if your friend had a drug issue."

"Drug issue? I need to call my friend. He's in the car over there."

Ritchie pointed in Frankie's direction. "What the fuck is this mook doing?"

Frankie's phone rang. "Hey. We have a little problem over here."

"Besides, you talking to the cops and pointing me out to them?"

"Boss, I think Mikey is dead. This detective is asking me all these questions; from what he told me, it must be him. He wants me to identify the body."

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"They found this guy dead in his room, and it's got to be Mikey."

"I'm coming over there."

Frankie exited the car, made his way over, and joined the conversation.

"He's his friend, too. This is Detective Moore. He's asking about Mikey."

"Mr., I didn't catch your name."

Frankie thought of which fake I.D.s he had in the car. "Boyer."

"Boyer. Well, I was just asking. I don't know your name either."

"Abade. Wilson Abade." Frankie had answered for him.

"Yeah. What he said."

"I was just asking Wilson here if, by chance, your friend had any drug issues."

"I don't think so."

"Hmm. When we found the deceased, he had a needle in his arm."

Frankie felt sick. "Are you sure it's Mikey?"

"We found an I.D. for Eric Adams."

Eric Adams was the alias that Frankie had given him.

Shit, he thought.

"You said your friend was Mike DeLuca?"

"Yeah."

"Will you identify the body?"

"Yeah. We all need to know. Sure."

"See where they are with the body," Kent told the officer.

He nodded and keyed his radio. "Moore wants to know where you are at with the body."

"They are buckling him down right now. Should be out in two minutes."

Moore nodded his head.

"Copy," the officer answered.

"I would appreciate it if you two gentlemen could get your identification before the body comes down."

"Sure. No problem."

The two walked over to their car.

"I can't fucking believe this. He must have overdosed on that shit Allison turned him on to. Stupid fucking bitch."

They got the IDs with their alias.'

The coroner and assistant were bringing out the gurney. Kent waived them over.

The two of them handed their ID to the officer. He walked off.

"Go ahead," Kent said to the coroner.

They unzipped the body bag. There was Dean. His skin and lips were purple, and his face was void of life.

"Holy fucking shit," Frankie blurted out.

"Oh, mother of mercy," Ritchie said, making the sign of the cross.

"I take it this is your friend. You said his name is Michael DeLuca."

Frankie touched him and felt the icy skin.

"Are you sure he is dead?"

"Seriously, Ritchie.

He took his hand and put it on Dean's ice-cold chest.

"Do you feel anything you mook?"

Ritchie moved his hand after Frankie finally let go.

"No. I don't feel anything."

"He's also about twenty degrees too cold!"

"Suppose the two of you could please refrain from touching the body. We can't have you doing that." the coroner zipped the bag back up.

"Yeah. That's him. That's Mikey."

The officer came back with the ID cards. "They check out."

He handed them back. " I'm sorry about your friend."

He shook both of their hands and let them go.

Dean was loaded into the van. They slammed the doors shut and then drove off. The case was about to