Thirteen: A Conflicted Hart

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"Hello? Is this Lars?" I ask through the speaker of my burner phone

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"Hello? Is this Lars?" I ask through the speaker of my burner phone.
"My name is Dexter. I have something that you may be interested in," I add.

"Sixty kilos of bump."

"How did you get your hands on sixth kilos of cocaine?" He laughs.

"You'll have to meet me to find out," I retort.

There's a long silence on the end of the phone, I begin to think that maybe he's hung up.
But I know he has a soft spot for cocaine. A little bit of research has told me he's been arrested for possession multiple times, unfortunately, nothing has stuck due to money and it never being anything more than enough for personal use.

"Name the time and place."

"Lee your phone on you, Lars." I disconnect the call and bin the phone.

Okay, so you're probably confused, let me explain.

It's been three days since the night of Summer's parents' party and I've been working non-stop to find Dominic.

I've contacted every dodgy, seedy, half dodgy and slightly seedy contact I've made in the last eight years.

Thankfully, Ace Herrera, a petty criminal that I've helped out on more than one occasion seemed to know quite a lot about him.
Like the fact that when he's running his drug ring he refers to himself as Lars- huge insult to Lars Frederiksen if you ask me.
Ace also gave me the cocaine tip. Google really came to life once I added that little morsel of information into the search words.

Lucky for me I have access to an extremely strong GPS tracker and now that I know that number does, in fact, belong to Dominic Wright, I enter the number and begin to follow the directions.

Now, I'm almost certain that there's more to Dominic than drugs.
He's trying so hard not to be found and of course, when you're the leader of a huge drug ring, you're not keen on developing ties to people outside of it, but something is not sitting right with me.

After fifteen minutes of following the GPS directions, I find myself outside of a large and dilapidated warehouse.

I pull up on the same side of the road about two hundred meters away. I want to be close but not too close.

I slip on my hat and my sunglasses and rush around to my bonnet, lifting it up, looking inside and throwing my arms around exasperatedly.
Hopefully, my acting is as good as I think it is and anyone watching thinks my car just broke down.

I slide back into my car and wait.

It's not until the cover of night that I notice some activity around the building.
Large men loiter out the front, smoking, talking and drinking.
But my ears really pick up when I see two women being forcefully pushed inside the building.

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