Chapter 26: Preparing to Catch Drug Dealers—Thrilling Indeed

Whether Little Black was happy in the station or not was a mystery, but Carles and his team were in high spirits, eager to pry open Little Black’s mouth and extract the name of his supplier. The American police were just as hungry for results—if they couldn’t show how many cases they’d cracked, how many criminals apprehended, or how much the crime rate had dropped, how could they possibly persuade the council to approve their budget? If the funds fell short, what would happen to the officers’ salaries? After all, they were here to make a living, not to work out of the goodness of their hearts.

And as for the actual amount of drugs, narcotics, and guns seized each year that truly made it to the destruction process—well, that was a secret the department kept tightly under wraps. Matters like these were beyond Aosi’s concern. He went back out on patrol, handed out a speeding ticket, and arrested a homeless man.

This vagrant had been wandering the streets; when an elderly lady stepped aside to let him pass, he shoved her to the ground, injuring her head and back. Aosi happened to pass by and arrested him, but he could do nothing for the old lady. The vagrant clearly had no money, so she’d get no compensation—bad luck for her, and she’d have to pay for her own treatment.

Homeless people faced plenty of discrimination, much of it thanks to those who were mentally unstable. The old lady had already stepped aside, and he still pushed her—pure madness. Then again, perhaps it was simply a loss of control, not illness, because if it were classified as a mental disorder, he might avoid punishment altogether.

No sooner had Aosi delivered the homeless man to the holding cell than Carles came looking for him.

“You’re back just in time, Aosi. I need you for something—let’s talk in my office.” Carles gave him a meaningful look.

Aosi immediately understood and followed Carles inside.

“Did you manage to get Little Black to talk already? That fast?”

Carles smiled mysteriously. “Of course. We have our ways. Anyway, we got what we wanted.”

It seemed they’d resorted to some less-than-humane interrogation techniques. Though every country had strict rules forbidding torture, humiliation, or sleep deprivation as methods of questioning, whether these were truly observed was a matter of perspective.

As for the so-called “fruit of the poisonous tree” in the United States—all evidence collected illegally could not be used as valid proof in court against a suspect. But in real life, whether a suspect was convicted wasn’t the police’s main concern. They’d made the arrest and closed the case; their job was done. The rest was up to the district attorney. If the suspect wasn’t convicted, so be it—they’d file a record, and next time they caught him, it would be another case solved. Two birds with one stone.

Carles began to explain the details. After Aosi brought Little Black in, they’d taken the matter seriously, first conducting a background check. They discovered he was just a local street dealer—not affiliated with any gang, and the drugs weren’t gang-owned.

But that didn’t add up. Little Black had far more product on him than a low-level dealer should possess. As an aside, marijuana wasn’t cheap: by market rates, an eighth of an ounce—about 3.5 grams—sold for $35 to $50, sometimes even more. In the heart of the Empire, New York, fifty dollars was the going price; in California, you could get it for $35, sometimes less, and if you bought three or four, you might get a free caramel or brownie laced with weed—there’s your profit margin, so let’s get to work.

They brought in experienced officers to examine the cannabis products and found they’d been produced recently.

Here was the real problem: a street-level dealer in possession of quantities far beyond his means, and all freshly manufactured. This suggested a local processing operation, taking raw product and making goods for retail.

The drugs didn’t belong to any established network; they were freshly made. Carles suspected they’d hooked a big fish and quickly pressed for information.

According to Little Black, he’d met someone called “Night Angel” on Snapchat—a disappearing-message app invented by two Stanford students. Through chatting, they’d established that Night Angel could supply what he wanted. They’d negotiate quantity and price—Night Angel’s rates were notably lower than other sellers. Once a deal was struck, Night Angel would have the buyer send a photo of the cash to prove he wasn’t bluffing.

They’d then arrange a time and place. Upon arrival, Night Angel would send a photo of the agreed-upon location, signaling the buyer to come pick up the goods.

Because Night Angel’s prices were well below market, Little Black thought he could resell for a profit. But he’d never dealt before and had no connections, so despite the cheap supply, he didn’t know whom to sell to.

After getting high, he simply made a DIY T-shirt and tried hawking it on the street—only to be caught red-handed by Aosi.

Well, catching a drug dealer—now that was exciting.

Aosi couldn’t wait to ask, “What do you need me to do? Should I pose as a buyer to meet Night Angel, and then when we make the exchange, you all can jump in and catch him with the goods?”

Carles resisted the urge to roll his eyes. For someone so new to the force, Aosi had a lot of confidence.

“We’ve already assigned our most experienced officers to contact Night Angel through Snapchat. Once we have more information, we’ll make a plan. For now, you just focus on your job and be ready to give it your all when the time comes.”

“Of course! I’ll give it everything I’ve got!” Catching drug dealers called for nothing less—he and they were sworn enemies.

Carles was pleased with Aosi’s enthusiasm and told him to return to his duties and act normal, since the operation was highly confidential.

Aosi felt pretty good about it. These old foxes might have their own agenda, but it still felt good to be trusted.

After a moment’s thought, he asked, “Shouldn’t we be sharing this intel with headquarters’ narcotics division or the DEA?”

“Of course not. Why hand over our leads to them?” Carles patted Aosi on the shoulder. “We find the clues, HQ takes the credit, and we don’t even get a mention in their reports. Would you be okay with that?”

Aosi immediately understood. The rivalry between departments was fierce; if they shared information, the others got promotions while they got nothing. Only a fool would share.

Just then, an officer knocked quietly and said, “Chief Carles, we’ve made a deal with Night Angel!”

That fast?

Carles and Aosi exchanged a look—both were startled. Dealers rarely responded so quickly; usually, there was plenty of hesitation and suspicion before a deal was struck. Why was Night Angel playing by a different set of rules?