Page 67 of More Than a Hero
Robert shook his head and gave a small, defeated shrug. "He didn’t explain, and I didn’t ask." His eyes flicked up toward them, and for a moment, Pete was struck by how young he looked. Just a kid. But there was something haunted in his gaze, something that hinted at knowledge no sixteen-year-old should carry. "I was never scared of Lashawn," Robert admitted, his voice quieter now, "but he didn’t seem like the kind of guy you wanted to keep pushing for answers."
Pete nodded, jotting down the information in his notebook, the scratch of his pen filling the silence. "And you never saw this other guy again?"
"No. Never." Robert let out a long, weary sigh. "I know it’s not much, but I swear, I’m trying. I’m trying to give you everything I can think of."
Pete set his pen down and met Robert’s gaze. "We appreciate this, Robert. We really do." He gave the boy a reassuring nod before continuing. "We know you were drug-free and in the passenger seat. We also pulled your school records. Your attendance is solid, and your grades are decent. That tells us you weren’t out skipping school to run with some gangbanger."
For the first time, hope flickered in Robert’s expression. "Will you tell the judge that?"
Pete leaned back slightly, exchanging a glance with Jeremy before answering. "Right now, you don’t have to worry about a judge."
Robert blinked, confusion evident in his widened eyes. "I don’t understand."
Jeremy spoke this time, his voice steady but reassuring. "The way this works is the district attorney reviews our evidence and decides whether you’ll be prosecuted for a crime. Everything you’ve told us, your drug test results, your school records, the fact that you weren’t driving that car—all of it is taken into account. And what you’re doing right now, helping us? That goes a long way in your favor."
Robert swallowed hard, his lips pressing together as tears welled up in his eyes. He nodded, unable to speak as the emotions overwhelmed him. A single tear slipped down his cheek, and he swiped at it hastily, as if embarrassed. “I’m grateful for anything you do.”
Pete and Jeremy stood, prepared to leave, but just as they turned toward the door, Robert’s head jerked up suddenly.
"A mole!"
Both detectives stopped in their tracks, swinging their heads back toward him. "What?" Pete asked, eyes sharp with interest.
Robert lifted a shaky hand and pointed to the side of his nose. "That other guy—the one who was with Lashawn. He had a mole. Right here." His fingers hovered just to the side of his nose. "It was kinda big, but I didn’t want to stare, so I can’t tell you much more."
Pete exchanged a look with Jeremy, a spark of something passing between them. This was new. This was something. "Good job, Robert," Pete said, his voice filled with approval.
As they stepped out of the room, Jeremy signaled to the guard to escort Robert back to his cell. He exhaled, running a hand down his face before turning to Pete. "I want to check with the Philadelphia DTF, see if they can ID this guy and what they’ve got on Lashawn. Then we’ll talk to the DA."
With a firm nod, Pete clapped Jeremy on the back. "Let’s get to work."
Pete sat at his desk, flipping through the file in front of him, his fingers skimming over pages of mugshots, arrest reports, and surveillance notes. Lashawn Tate. Twenty-four years old. A history that read like a road map of bad decisions—multiple drug arrests, suspected in at least two gang-related assaults, and a two-year stint in prison that clearly hadn't done much to straighten him out.
Jeremy leaned against the desk, arms crossed, listening as Pete hit the speakerphone button and dialed a number from the file. It rang twice before a gruff voice answered.
"Philly DTF, Detective Russo."
"Russo, it’s Pete Bolton, Eastern Shore DTF. Got a minute to talk about Lashawn Tate?"
A brief pause, then the sound of heavy fingers on a keyboard met their ears. "Yeah, I know him. Bloods. Small-time player with a big-time mouth. Always had more ambition than sense."
"Looks like he’s still trying to play big shot. He got himself tangled up in a bad situation here. Transporting cocaine. About fifty grand in tens and twenties. Speeding. Evading police. You get the picture. And he’s sitting in jail right now.”
“Well, well… good you got him down there. He won’t have quite the same group as he had up here.”
“We’ve got a witness putting him in a black sedan with an unknown male—Blood tattoos, shorter and stockier than Lashawn. A gold incisor. The guy has a mole on the side of his nose. Ring any bells?"
Russo let out a slow exhale. "Lashawn, I know. The guy with the mole? Not off the top of my head. But I can ask around, see if it shakes anything loose. You got anything else on this mystery man?"
Pete glanced at Jeremy, who shook his head. "Not much. Penchant for reflector glasses, last seen in a red Nike tracksuit. Could be nothing, or he could be the real shot-caller."
“Could be. If he’s rolling with Lashawn, he’s either using him as a front or keeping him on a short leash.”
Pete’s jaw tightened. That was his thought too, and it didn’t sit well. "You got anything fresh on Lashawn? Last known associates, recent heat?"
Russo grunted. “Last we had him pinned, he was running deals for a mid-level supplier. Name came up on a couple of wiretaps, but nothing solid enough to charge him. We know he’s still moving product, but he’s gotten cautious. Keeps his circle tight.”
“Anyone in his crew we should be looking at?”
