Page 83 of More Than a Hero
Jimmy chuckled. “Something like that. Now that I know what car Tamarcus drives, I can check if it’s here before coming up.”
Mike frowned, glancing around. “Not a lot of good places to hide here, though. We stick out with these bikes.”
Jalen jerked his chin toward the back. “Maybe we can stash them somewhere.”
Curious, they hopped back on their bikes and pedaled to the rear of the building. The grass was mowed, and the building’s overhang shadowed the area. Each apartment had a back door that opened to a sidewalk running along the rear of the building. Their trash cans were standing next to the doors like sentinels.
“I don’t think anybody comes to the back much,” Curly muttered, eyeing the neat yard that was empty.
“Probably leftover from the hotel before this place became apartments for older people,” Jimmy guessed. He glanced around, then nodded. “But no one’s back here. If I ever need to hide my bike, this is the spot.”
The others murmured their agreement, and with a silent pact sealed, they rode off toward home, the weight of their new plan settling in their minds like a secret worth keeping.
33
Jeremy gripped the steering wheel of the county SUV, his eyes scanning the stretch of two-lane highway that cut north through the heart of the Eastern Shore. Gray clouds loomed low overhead, casting the flat fields in a silvery haze. Beside him, Pete sat silently, flipping through the notes they’d scrawled from the morning’s dead-end interviews.
They had spent hours chasing whispers, trying to pull something solid out of the fog surrounding Tamarcus Waters. Norfolk PD hadn’t seen him in a while. He wasn’t living where he used to or haunting the same places. The informants for the NPD could only say that Flame was moving up. The word on the street was that Tamarcus was climbing within the ranks of the OBG, stepping into power. That kind of rise didn’t happen quietly. Yet… here they were. Still no face, no recent photo. Just rumors.
Cedric had reluctantly agreed to let them float the idea of a deal to Lashawn, hoping maybe, just maybe, the man would be desperate enough to talk. But desperation hadn’t even brushed Lashawn's hardened exterior.
Jeremy remembered the way Lashawn had sneered, one side of his mouth lifting in something close to amusement.
“I can do my time and live like a king on the inside,” he’d said, voice rough with disdain, “or I can be dead the first night. You go figure which one I want.”
Now, a new call had them heading thirty minutes inland. A possible gang-related shooting. Drugs involved. Jeremy pressed harder on the gas, the SUV chewing up miles of cracked pavement. The air between him and Pete was quiet as the silence filled with shared thoughts and unspoken theories.
They saw the pulsing red and blue lights before they reached the scene, a swirl of chaos illuminating the parking lot of a run-down laundromat tucked just off the highway. Jeremy pulled in behind an ambulance, gravel crunching under the tires, and both men stepped out into the damp air.
Deputies from the Accawmacke Sheriff's Office had already cordoned off the scene, the familiar yellow tape fluttering in the wind. Jeremy offered a chin lift to a few of the uniforms as he and Pete made their way toward the cluster of responders. The laundromat stood in the background, its flickering neon "Open 24 HRS" sign casting a jittery glow.
Their captain, Terry, was mid-conversation with Sheriff Liam Sullivan when they approached. Both men turned, nodding in greeting.
“What have you got?” Pete asked, his gaze still taking in the scene.
Terry blew out a heavy sigh, the kind that carried the weight of too many crime scenes. “Two shots to the head through the driver’s window. Close range. Execution style. The guy never had a chance. His gun was still in the seat next to him.”
Pete’s gaze slid to where a K9 unit circled the crime scene, the dog tugging its handler toward the rear of the vehicle.
“Drugs?”
“Traces,” Terry confirmed. “Dog found a small stash of powder. One of the detectives identified it as coke. So far, only found in the trunk.”
Jeremy stepped in closer, brow furrowing. “Do we know who the victim is?”
Terry gave a solemn nod. “Pennsylvania plates. Driver’s license says Jacob Parsons. Same Blood ink on his knuckles as Lashawn. We’ll know more once the medical examiner gets a look.”
The laundromat stood like a relic from another time, its paint peeling, its windows fogged with years of grime. Still open for business… In this area, many people didn’t have washers and dryers in their homes, so there was always a need. Pete looked around the lot, instinct already ticking. “Witnesses?”
Terry’s expression shifted slightly, just enough to signal something more. “That’s what I thought you’d be interested in. A couple was inside, doing laundry. They said they were watching when the victim’s car pulled in. The engine was still running. He was looking down, possibly texting. Then a black sedan with tinted windows pulled up beside him. Passenger side window came down, shots fired. Clean, fast. No one got out.”
Pete and Jeremy shared a look. Terry continued, “The woman screamed and dropped to the floor. Her husband pulled her behind the counter. No security cameras outside, unfortunately. Just one inside.”
Jeremy shook his head. “Guess the owner only cares who’s stealing quarters.”
Terry smirked. “That’d be my guess too.”
He gestured toward the street. “The ambulance has already taken Jacob’s body to the morgue. Cora said she was going to get started on him straight away. You can check in with her on your way back.”
