DEA
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The property was dark and gray and rundown. I was picking up bad vibes from it. I don't always trust my first impression, I'm frequently proven wrong, but the karma was way too into the negativity. There was evil let loose here. I looked at Eddie. There was nothing carefree in his attitude. He didn't like the place either. I left the motor running. "Maybe you should see if anyone's home before I park." He looked a little quizzical but got out and headed towards the house. Eddie stayed on the step below the door and reached up to pound on the screen, then he stepped back. The door was opened. I let the motor idle and moved closer for a better listen. The doorframe held a burly man in a black T-shirt and black jeans.
"I'm looking for Huracan." I heard Eddie say.
"Who wants him?"
"I'm his cousin. Does he still live here?"
"Not anymore he doesn't."
"Do you happen to know where I can find him?"
"Yeh, I know." And then nothing followed.
After a pause, I let go with a jocular snort and called out, "Can you tell us?" I chimed in to let the guy know we weren't as frightened of him as we appeared. He may have perceived Eddie to be a young kid but I wasn't. And I kept my voice on the light side so that he knew we weren't here for trouble just information.
He eyed me. "He's locked up and he won't be getting out anytime this afternoon." He turned his gaze back to Eddie.
He was closing the door as I called out, "Thanks." I was turned towards the car when I heard Eddie tap the screen again. I'd had enough of the place and felt lucky just to be leaving.
"Sorry to bother you again but can you possibly tell me where his wife and kids live."
The guy stared at Eddie a good long time. When he finally spoke, his voice was riddled with a challenging derisiveness, "She lives here. The kids I don't know about. Scattered in foster care. You should have kept in better touch," his tone was not neighborly, "then maybe you'd know about the comings and goings."
"Maybe you should send out a newsletter," Eddie said and if I'd heard it from someone else in a different context without me next to my idling car and a big guy who looked like a Hell's Angel standing in front of us, I probably could have appreciated the remark.
The big fellow didn't seem to take offense. "I'm not too good with the PR stuff. Not that political. But I'd say I won the war where it counts, uh cousin?" And he was sneering right at Eddie.
I called out, "C'mon Eddie. That's the face of victory. C'mon let's go." I was insistent.
I waited beside the idling car, standing outside the driver's side until Eddie was almost in the seat while the big burly bastard stayed behind the screen door.
"That's right, Eddie." I shouted. "The face of victory. Victory is living with a whore in a piece of shit house with the future scattered across the county. Mighty fine victory." And we were off.
We were in the car a minute or two when Eddie pulled out his wallet. He dialed his cellular. I didn't hear all of the conversation but he filled me in on what I missed. "Huracan got a third strike for a bullshit petty misdemeanor drug charge. He's doing life. The kids are in foster care. And get this. His wife is married to a DEA agent. Weird, uh?"