Fatal Decree by H. TERRELL GRIFFIN

Author:H. TERRELL GRIFFIN
Language: eng
Format: mobi, pdf
Tags: Thrillers, Fiction
ISBN: 9781608090709
Publisher: Oceanview Publishing
Published: 2013-01-15T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

Logan was waiting for me when I pulled in front of his condo complex. At six, the morning was still dark. We drove to St. Armands Circle and grabbed some Starbucks coffee to fuel us for the trip. We drove south on I-75, crossed the wide Caloosahatchee River and took the off ramp to Highway 80. The weather had cleared and warmed. We drove east into the rising sun, the highway coursing through small river towns until we reached LaBelle. We found the jail and parked in front.

I showed my ID and told the deputy manning the booth in the reception area that Chief Lester had made arrangements for me to see Bubba Junior Groover. It turned out that he was the ringleader and neither the DEA nor Bill Lester thought the others would be of any use to us.

Logan had laughed when I told him the name of our interviewee. “There’re generations of ignorant rednecks in that name. They can be some dangerous dudes.”

We were asked to wait for a few minutes, and were then shown to an interview room where we found Mr. Groover shackled to a chair that was bolted to the floor. He was a small man with unkempt hair hanging over his ears. He had a scar that ran diagonally from the edge of his mouth to the tip of his chin and what I guessed was a permanent scowl. His skin wore the reddish complexion that field hands in this part of the world develop before they reach their teens. It’s what sailors call a blue-water tan, a mild sunburn superimposed on years’ worth of deep tan. He was wearing an orange jumpsuit and cotton slippers, the kind that you have to slide along the floor to keep them from falling off your feet.

“Mr. Groover,” I said, as Logan and I took seats in the other two chairs in the room, “my name’s Matt Royal. I’m here on behalf of the Drug Enforcement Administration.” I was stretching that a bit, but I figured this was not a man who would ask a lot of questions. “Do you know that agency?”

“Yep.”

And you know that it was the DEA that arrested you.”

“Yep.”

“I know you’ve talked to some of the agents already. Do you understand that your cooperation will be taken into account at any sentencing?”

“Yep.”

“Do you know Pete Qualman?”

“Yep.”

“Where do you know him from?”

“We did time together.”

I was relieved that his vocabulary extended beyond “yep.” “Where?” “Glades.”

“How long?”

“Couple of years.”

“What were you in for?”

“Drugs.”

“Using or selling?”

“Running.”

“You working out of the same airfield where you were busted?” “Yep.”

“That wasn’t real smart, was it?” I asked.

“Didn’t turn out to be.”

“How long have you been out?”

“ ’Bout two years.”

“How’d you hook back up with Qualman?”

“Pete came here the day he got out. Needed work.”

“What kind of work?”

“He knowed about my crew and thought I might have a place for him.” “Did you?”

“Yep.”

“Doing what?”

“Mule, mostly. He’d take the stuff from the planes down to Miami to

our distributor.”

“How often would he make that run?”

“Two, three times a week.

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