Page 62 of Wayward

“Okay.”

Deep breath from him. “When you were a criminal, did you move drugs?”

I shook my head. “Racketeering, extortion, fraud… We dealt in real estate, lots of land deals, who gets to build what, where, the transportation of goods, that level. Prostitution, drugs, guns, that wasn’t what my family did. Not then.”

“And now?”

“Now they would have changed direction, but because of me, there is no business anymore. All that’s left is my brother, who’s a good man.”

“So you left everything better than when it began.”

“Technically, yes.”

“I dunno, Maks, I’m getting an awfully strong hero vibe from you,” he baited me.

“Just tell me your story. I don’t want to talk about me.”

Gale had been a SWAT member when he lived in New York. Dean Wells was another member of the team, and being together day in and day out, what started out as friendship eventually became more. Two years in, Dean got hurt in the line of duty. He tore his ACL and rotator cuff, and like a lot of people, was prescribed pain meds.

“I’ve heard this one before,” I said.

“We all have.”

It didn’t take Dean long to get addicted to the oxy he was given, and then his doctor became certain that between rehab and the healing passage of time, the SWAT officer shouldn’t need pills anymore to manage his pain. Shortly afterward, Dean went from filling his prescription at a pharmacy to getting it on the street.

“You must have seen a change in him.”

“I did. And I wasn’t the only one. Our sergeant—our team leader—did everything he could, we all did to cover and try and help, but eventually, everyone saw what we’d been trying to hide.”

“He lost his job.”

“He was put on administrative leave, and he blamed me for that, which ended us.”

The words were spoken matter-of-factly, but I knew then that Gale would have preferred to cut out his heart. He was caring and kind, and he wore that easily, like he lived well in his skin.

“I begged him not to leave me. It was embarrassing and humiliating, the lengths I went to, anything to try and get him to stay. I made a fool of myself, but if I hadn’t, then I wouldn’t be able to say now that I did all I could.”

I stayed quiet, just listening.

“By then it wasn’t love anymore. It was that sense of loyalty and my stupid ego. You get to that place where you think that even though everyone else had failed, you certainly won’t.”

“But he left.”

He nodded.

“I’m sorry.”

“You and everybody else,” he said with a sigh.

“Then what happened?”

“Between his drug addiction and a series of investments that didn’t pan out, he got in deep with the Contreras Cartel out of Mexico City that was operating in LA and moving product across the country to New York.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know you are. I can tell from your face. Who do you know with an addiction?”

“My cousin.”