The Greely Chronicles

By Chad W Richardson

Sergeant Greely and his motley Special Ops crew work the streets of Atlanta with a sense of controlled chaos. Life is about living on the edge and Greely loves every minute of it. Natasha, a former Olympic Judo champion, joins his crew as their newest undercover narc. She's tough as hell and ready for battle. But, life has a way of testing the worthy. His name is Lieutenant Wurster, a man with unexplained power and ruthless determination. It's his crew now... the honest need not apply.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Shadow Dreamworks LLC
• Release date: Feb 24, 2019

Book preview

Darkness

1

GREELY SAT IN THE corner parking spot, facing Piedmont road.  He shifted his focus from the white Mustang sitting inconspicuously in the middle of the urban shopping strip across the street to the entrance in front of him. Without looking, he opened the McDonald’s bag and poured two salt packets into the container, labeled super-size. It wasn’t part of his normal routine except during drug deals. For some reason, fast food made him feel more secure as he waited for his undercover narcs to work their deals. He grabbed a french fry and tossed it into his mouth.

Cold? You gotta be kidding me!

There is nothing greater than a hot and salty McDonald's french fry, seconds from the fryer. There is nothing worse than that same french fry, forgotten and left alone on a cold counter. He couldn’t go back. 

I’ve got eyes on the prize and entry point one, Greely calmly stated as he depressed the transmitter button. The shopping plaza was like just about any other row of shops along a commercial road. There was the anchor store, in this case, probably the Michael’s store at the far end and then a string of small, supporting shops. They shaped this shopping strip like a rectangle with one of the long sides missing. Greely was sitting across from the open side, in a prime position to call the eye on his seasoned undercover officer.  All the public parking was inside the rectangle and back side reserved for truck deliveries. From store to street there were probably over thirty rows of parking and there were about 10 shops in total. The Michaels at one end, a Marshall’s near the middle and a Smashburger at the other end and next to another entrance. 

South and East, transmitted Cod.

On foot, south side entrance, transmitted Footlong.

North, transmitted Newbie. 

West entrance. Going silent, said Greely. 

Lot of people, Greely muttered to himself as he studied the scene in front of him. He had faith in his narc sitting in the white Mustang. Bubbles had proven he could keep his cool under pressure. Greely wasn’t worried about the drug deal itself. However, if the deal went haywire, he worried about his crew getting in and taking out the bad guy without collateral damage. Greely didn’t like the meet spot from the very beginning but Bubbles insisted the doper would meet nowhere else. That alone told Greely the dealer was streetwise. And that made him dangerous. 

It was a Saturday afternoon and shoppers were happily exorcising their purses and pockets of burdensome cash. Without conscious thought, Greely absorbed everything around him. He saw the mom with two children in tow. She made the mistake of trying to load her purchases first and then spring to life when a vehicle backing out of its parking space, nearly ran over the smallest one. He felt the timing and rhythm of the traffic in front of him. A cadence developed in his head. He absorbed the pattern in which each person left a particular store and walked to their vehicle. He knew which stores were busy and which stores produced little to no pedestrian traffic. Suddenly, Bubbles broke the mandated silence as his hidden wire came to life. 

He’s calling me, said Bubbles to the team he trusted with his life. 

Greely dropped the french fries on the passenger seat and turned up the volume on his receiver. His senses sharpened. It was game time. 

What’s up? I’m here… white Mustang… where? Yeah, I see you. No problem, said Bubbles. A moment later, after ending his call, Bubbles updated the team. S-1 is in a black Nissan. He’s backed into a spot in front of the Michaels. I’m going on foot. 

There’s an escape route  behind that store, Greely called.

Got it, Cod replied almost on top of him. 

Greely grabbed his scopes and watched as Bubbles exited his vehicle and walked the thirty or so yards to the black Nissan. He didn’t like it. He went from a perfect view to a pock-marked one with trees, parked cars and pedestrian traffic. 

Bubbles held the Fedex shipping envelope in his hand like it was mail he’d rather toss in a dumpster than make the short trip to the nearest shipping center. Except in this envelope, it contained $5,000 worth of Benjamin’s, courtesy of the Atlanta P.D. 

Bubbles was one of his better undercover cops. He had grown up in a seedy area of Atlanta by his single mother who refused to give up on him. He knew the streets and the people. Greely had watched him grow as a young officer and then work his way into a savvy and reliable narc. If it was another UC, Greely might have canned the deal. 

Even so, there were a lot of unknowns in this deal. Tiny alarm bells were going off in Greely’s seasoned head. This one didn’t feel right. Greely fought the urge to trust his feelings against the urge to get the job done. For now, he let the deal roll. 

Bubbles made his way to the black Nissan and walked up to the driver’s side window. Luckily, Greely had an eye unless vehicles passed by.

I still have an eye, UC is with S-1. 

I thought we were doin’ this car to car? Bubbles asked.

Naaa, man. Just give me the five G, said the drug dealer from the driver’s seat. He sat, unbuckled, in the running vehicle making no attempt to exit and negotiate outside of the car. 

The alarm bells were growing. The drug deal was set up by a new, untested and unproven informant. He went by the name, Dice. Greely never made the mistake of trusting any informant. Once he dealt with an informant a few times, he was rarely, if ever, taken by surprise. This informant was temporarily classified as a mercenary informant. He wasn’t a true rat because he had to work off charges for himself or somebody he loved. He wasn’t a born again savior of the world or an anti-drug advocate. He just wanted a cut of the action. Usually, these were the best informants. The informant had passed Cod’s tests during the interview process and Bubbles felt good about trusting him. Greely trusted his team did a good job during the recruitment process and believed in allowing his employees to have a voice. If the new informant was the right type, as expected, he would soon prove to be cold and heartless but efficient. A necessary ingredient in the unforgiving business of drug trafficking. 

Greely’s concern grew as he continued to have trouble maintaining a visual of Bubbles. The inner turmoil grew. There was a red Suburban parked next to the drug dealer’s black car, partially obstructing Greely’s view. Not to mention the flow of constant traffic of unwary driver’s looking for a parking spot. 

I got it. You got my package? Bubbles asked.

Whatchu accusing me of? The drug dealer asked.

Hey… I just want this to be the beginning of sometin’ special, that’s all, said Bubbles. 

Then give me the fucking money, my special friend!

Greely squeezed his scopes harder. He needed to see more. Another vehicle passed as he focused and re-focused on Bubbles. He stood next to the driver’s door, looking down at the driver. Greely’s heart jumped. There was movement behind Bubbles. A man emerged from behind the Suburban, stopping a few feet from his officer. His right hand was behind his back. Greely couldn’t tell if Bubbles knew of his presence. 

All I’m saying is, I got the cash… but I need the package, said Bubbles. 

Greely could see him open the FedEx envelope wide to show the contents to the driver. The man standing at the back of the Suburban moved closer to his UC. Greely zoomed in on the man’s hand. It wasn’t empty. It was black and cold. He was holding a gun. We have a second party on foot with a gun, white hat with red sneakers, said Greely to the surveillance crew.

Bubbles couldn’t hear Greely or any other member of his cover team. But he didn’t need to, he spotted the man. You guys are real party crashers. 

Take down and arrest, NOW! Greely exclaimed.

The shit has hit the fan signal. The term, party crashers was verbal code the undercover officer was in over his head and needed immediate help. They were words Greely had heard too many times in his career as the Sergeant of the narcotics squad. They were terrifying to the bottom of his soul. It meant the UC, who could never afford to lose control of the deal… had lost control. And that meant, he feared for his life. 

Greely wasted no time. He hit the gas and drove over the parking block with his Dodge Ram pickup and directly across the southbound lanes before slamming on his brakes in the middle turn lane, stopped by an impenetrable flow of traffic traveling north along the two lanes. He knew the rest of the surveillance crew was racing in but that didn’t brunt his desire to charge in like a roaring mother lion, protecting her cub. 

… in the fucking head, Greely heard, over the wire.

He looked for Bubbles. He spotted him standing between the two cars but could see the second man was holding his arm to the back of Split’s head. Suspect #2 is standing between a red Suburban and the suspect vehicle with a gun to UC’s head, said Greely to his responding crew. 

Unfortunately, they were all having the same problem getting into the parking lot, except Footlong. He had been sitting in one of the outdoor patio seats at the Smashburger. He dropped his fresh, hand-packed, never frozen meatball on the table and ran at a full sprint toward the drug deal gone bad. Greely scanned the traffic again and felt a sickening feeling of helplessness. He looked again toward Bubbles location and he wasn’t there. He was running. Greely spotted him dodging between two cars, running between the lanes. The black Nissan weaved between parked cars in hot pursuit while the second man chased on foot, waving his gun wildly like he ran the joint. 

Footlong had been running along the storefronts and was almost there, when the UC ran away from the shitbags. Bubbles ran toward the Smashburger, probably to get Footlong’s help. But Footlong was now behind him, playing catch-up.

HELL NO! Footlong bellowed as his stomach churned and he kicked his long legs into high gear. He probably shouldn’t have started on that second burger. 

UC’s on the run, south thru the lot, S-1 tailing in black Nissan, S-2 on foot with gun. Greely’s heart was kicking but he sounded like the announcer at the local senior-citizen bingo game. He knew it was critical to keep everybody calm, including himself. 

Greely looked away for a micro-second to assess the traffic. He saw a small opening, it was now or never. He seized it, flooring the Dodge Ram across the lanes of traffic as vehicles screeched their objection. The front wheels struck the thick curb, his head hit the ceiling of the truck and a super-sized french fry struck him directly in the right eye. He continued driving into the parking lot like a runaway express, losing the one-handed grip on the steering wheel for a moment, not realizing his other hand was trying to rub the burning salt out of his eye. 

Bubbles approached the next opening between parking spaces. Greely raced toward the same opening while the driver bore down on Bubbles. It would be close. The second man stopped running and pointed his gun at Bubbles. Greely didn’t see but heard the unmistakable sound of a single gunshot ring out and the second suspect dropped from his sight. 

Bubbles made it past the opening, running directly across Greely’s oncoming bow. Greely floored the gas pedal as the Nissan bore within a couple of feet of mowing down Bubbles. Greely rammed his truck into the passenger side of the Nissan. The bone-jarring impact sent the Nissan into several parked cars, near the entrance to the Marshall’s. The airbag blasted Greely and his left elbow shattered the driver’s side window. It didn’t matter. He felt nothing. He jumped out of the pickup, climbed on top of the hood and scrambled to the broken passenger side window of the Nissan, a crumbled mess and sandwiched tight in a heap of twisted metal. 

The drug dealer moaned in pain but at the sight of Greely frantically reached under the driver’s seat. As his hand emerged with a gun, Greely dove recklessly through the passenger side window and torpedoed his own forehead into the side of the man’s skull. Greely was a bull on a freight train. The man’s body crumpled illogically sideways as bones snapped and his brain clicked off like a closet light switch. Greely could have been knocked unconscious, for a few seconds or more, he wasn’t sure. His head swam as he looked down. He swayed sideways, the steering wheel and dashboard holding him aloft. He felt the body of the suspect underneath him. Where’s the gun? He had a gun. It had to be trapped under his body. He shook his head from the fog and looked again. It was in the suspect‘s hand. He carefully removed the gun from the suspect’s fingers. He moved farther into the passenger seat and searched S-1 for any additional weapons as Bubbles ran up to the car. 

Footlong took out the second one, said Bubbles through the window.

Good, now get out of here… NOW! Greely said. He didn’t bother looking up. No other weapons were found on the unconscious man. He would need medical care. Greely handcuffed him to the steering wheel and exited thru the broken window of the passenger door. He returned to his truck, grabbed his radio, turned it to the patrol channel and walked into the middle of the lane. He looked around. People were circling. It was feeding time. Footlong stood several feet away, standing over the second suspect’s body with his badge dangling from his neck chain. People were gathering around him as well. 

Dispatch, this is Sergeant Greely. I’m going to need a supervisor, three rollers, fire and the tech team to respond to our location, ASAP. 

As Greely spoke, Newbie walked up and stood next to him, baseball hat slung low with her long brown, wig escaping onto her shoulders. He glanced at her.

Get lost. 

Greely looked at the carnage in front of him. He looked at Footlong again. Footlong imitated his signature, free-throw line, basketball shot for the win. Greely shook his head and Footlong shrugged back. Greely felt his right eye, burning and red. He rubbed it again as he looked back at his crumpled truck. 

---

Cold french fries… last time.

2

NO DOPE?

Uh… yeah… that’s the unfortunate part, replied Greely. It was Monday morning and he was sitting in Lieutenant Jensen’s sparse and well-organized office. 

We have S-1 in critical condition with his whole right side broken, including his head… with that Lieutenant Jensen looked up from the report on his desk and stared at the knot on Greely’s forehead, and S-2 is dead.

That about covers it, L.T. 

How about the plethora of innocent citizens in danger and the several thousand dollars in property damage? 

Yes sir, I think the key takeaway is Footlong executed a single round elimination of a deadly threat and no innocent people injured in the altercation.

Lieutenant Jensen stared at the reports on his desk, shuffling silently through them for a few minutes. Greely sensed he was stalling, he had something to say and Greely probably wouldn’t like it. Greely had a tremendous amount of respect for the Lieutenant. He was hard-working and arrived at his status with honesty and integrity intact. Lieutenant Jensen took a deep, cleansing breath before proceeding with a softer tone, more like a family priest counseling a young boy.

Theodore… what are the other choices you had… from beginning to end?

Greely felt a moment of shame. He didn’t want to disappoint Lieutenant Jensen, ever. Deep down, he knew where it all went wrong, it wasn’t hard to figure out.

I made the wrong choice at the beginning.

What do you mean? 

The informant. He was unproven. I fell for his pitch, a great salesman and I turned out to be a great customer, said Greely. He tried to sound convincing, because he was lying. He never met the informant. It didn’t matter, it was his responsibility. 

Yes. Listen Theodore, I chose you because of your passion and integrity for the job. You believe in what you’re doing. I know that…

I know, Sir, I…

This was not a mistake or lack of judgement. It was a lack of experience. I know you want to prove yourself, I know you want to make us all proud.

Yes, sir.

Once the ball was rolling, there was no stopping it. There was no way you could know your informant set the so-called drug dealer up, also. You and your team eliminated the threats with no injury or loss of life for the innocent, the people we actually protect. 

Yes, sir.

Listen, I believe in you. Learn from this experience. Grow from it. That’s all I ask.

Okay, sir. Greely got up from his chair and walked toward the office door. 

Oh, one more thing, Theodore… 

Sir?

Lieutenant Jensen held a file in his hand and raised it in front of Greely.

The prosecutor denied the warrant for the assault against you.

Greely looked surprised.

I didn’t file an assault report.

Footlong filed one on your behalf, the Lieutenant said with a mischievous grin on his face. 

Greely grabbed the file and read the header;  ASSAULT AND BATTERY (1) Suspect described as golden brown, approximately one-inch in height, weighing less than an ounce, salty and cold in nature.

That son-of-a-bitch, muttered Greely. 

---

GREELY WALKED OUT OF the office and into the main room. His team was standing there. Footlong stepped up to the free-throw line, bounced the imaginary basketball three times, shot… and scored. Greely waved his finger at him.

One day you’re going to miss that shot and it’s going to cost you.

C’mon now Sarge, don’t you be a poor loser, Footlong teased back.

Once the tomfoolery subsided, Greely called a huddle. The narcotics office was small and packed tight with several desks full of yellow file folders, miscellaneous souvenir seizures, a row of filing cabinets and an autographed poster of Cheech and Chong smoking a large blunt. In the chaos’s middle, stood a large worktable that could accommodate around ten people. Greely’s ragtag crew assembled around the table. 

Cod, said Greely.

Yes, sir?

Find that fuck-stick informant. He’s got some explaining to do. Newbie.

Yes, sir?

Lessons learned?

Synopsis or detail? 

Let’s go with overall theme and impressions, replied Greely.

Sir, I don’t know much about the informant, I can’t really comment there. On the good side, I thought we had good communication and we had the four corners covered. But, I think we should have had at least one member of the survey crew in tighter with our UC.

Exactly. We left our undercover exposed. Everything turned out alright but it was a close call for Bubbles. Too close. Speaking of Bubbles, said Greely as he looked at his thrill-seeking UC. 

I should have taken a bath before the deal? Bubbles questioned with a smirk on his face. 

Yes, knucklehead, Bubbles should have spent more time in the bath and less time thinking on the move, replied Greely. 

Bloop… bloop. Footlong smiled while shooting three’s into an imaginary bathtub, ignoring his Sergeant’s sarcastic glance.

Who ran the deal? Greely asked.

Yeah, I guess I could have pushed more to make the deal happen where we planned. I get it, replied Bubbles. 

Bubbles, once you moved on foot and deeper into the crowd, it set up a whole new set of problems for us. Let me ask you a question, when did the first alarm bell go off? 

Bubbles sat and pondered the question for a moment. He knew the importance of the debriefs. There was a reason football players studied tape and reviewed plays. There was a reason for the Monday morning quarterback. It was a key way to grow and learn, to get better. And, most importantly, for the drug crew to survive. Bubbles glanced at Newbie. Greely was looking for something and knew it was time to be honest. He sighed.

From the very beginning.

What do you mean by that? Greely asked.

The informant. I didn’t work him hard enough, I didn’t get the information I needed. I guess I just heard what I wanted to hear. I should have listened to your advice. 

I’m not looking for an atta-boy. And, I’m not going to start interviewing your informants and being a pain-in-the-ass. We all just learned a very valuable lesson—right?

Yes, sir. One, I won’t forget, replied Bubbles.

Greely gave him a look of approval. Good. Cod? 

The informant was savvy, I got taken on this one. I admit it, lamented Cod. 

It was Cod, the detective, who originally met the new informant and assigned him to Bubbles pool of informants. Cod was the first line of defense. His job was to thoroughly review, study and get to know any potential informant before putting them in play. Once the informant was assigned, it was then the UC’s job to recognize if the informant would be viable and trustworthy. The undercover officer lived in the world of bad guys. Their radar for bullshit and danger was at a level way beyond the normal, street officer. 

Newbie, you get the lesson? Greely asked. 

I think so? 

The informant was shit. We’re supposed to be able to smell shit. Instead, Cod and Bubbles plugged their nose and saw a piece of Godiva chocolate. But guess what? 

Sir? 

Shit doesn’t taste like chocolate. We all got that? 

Everyone nodded their heads, except for Footlong.

What if the person ate chocolate and then shit? Is it possible, Bubbles and Cod smelled the chocolate in the shit? 

Greely tried to contain himself as the crew laughed, even Newbie. Footlong was funny, he had the unique ability of changing from a focused and determined warrior to the class clown in seconds. And his timing was impeccable. Once the chatter died down, Greely re-focused the crew.

Footlong, are you done with your report? 

I am.

You know the drill. We’ll see you once the psychiatrist gets done fixing what’s broken. I think all of us can attest to the fact—a lot is broken. Greely couldn’t help get in his own dig.

Damn, that’s cold. Aaawwwright, you kiddo’s have a good time without me, replied Footlong as he gathered his belongings. 

Greely knew it was a good shoot. He wasn’t overly concerned with his officer getting in trouble. But, per standard procedure, Footlong had to go on paid administrative leave until the shooting investigation was complete and Footlong cleared of any wrongdoing. In the meantime, Footlong had to attend mandatory psychiatric sessions. The department wanted to know if he had a screw loose or was suffering from P.T.S.D. Greely knew Footlong had no mental problems. They were very alike in the fact, things were pretty much black and white. Here, it was really simple. S-2, a bad guy, was trying to get in position to shoot Bubbles, a good guy. Footlong stopped bad guy and good guy won. As far as Footlong was concerned, that’s about as deep as it went. In that respect, they were different. 

Greely looked at every aspect of the shooting. A full and complete 360. He often drew diagrams to scale, studied the team’s movements, the suspect movements and patterns, etc. He wasn’t a psychology professor but he could have fooled any university classroom. He wanted to understand the layers. He constantly searched for ways of learning how to do the job better, finish better. 

After Footlong left, Greely looked around the table and focused on Newbie.

It’s time.

Tension raced to the surface of her face, mixed with barely contained excitement. It was time for her first drug deal. It would be one of the most exciting moments of her life. Greely knew the feeling first-hand… and it was exhilarating. And, at the same time, utterly terrifying. Greely watched the flood of emotions, unwilling to remain hidden from public view.

You ready?

Natasha tried to swallow, her mouth arid as a boot in the desert.

Yes, sir. She sounded more like a young croaking frog.

Good. Rule number one. Never forget I believe in you. I know you can do it. That’s why you are sitting here today instead of hundreds of other officers—male officers I might add—that would die to be in your position.

Yes, sir, she replied, a twinge of insecurity rippling through her vocal chords. 

Look at me. Do you get it? 

She looked in his eyes. They were steely and determined. It felt like they spread a protective womb around her body. Her heart rate slowed and breathing returned, close to normal.

I’m ready. 

Good. I’m giving you one of Bubbles top informants. He’s done over fifty deals with us, probably more. We trust nobody but he’s as close as it gets. We’re going to meet back up at 1900hrs. Here. Everybody go home and relax until then… except Cod. 

Huh? 

Cod… grab a couple of uniforms and find that piece-of-shit informant. Also, get a hold of Pineapple. I think he’s over at the court right now. We’re going to need him to fill in for Footlong tonight.

Yes, sir.

Alright, see you tonight. Greely looked at Newbie again. I’m really excited for you. Go home, relax and get ready to have some fun. 

---

HER REAL NAME WAS Natasha Young. She was a light-skinned black woman, the top graduate of her class and she was tough as hell. She learned long ago, to command respect, she had to learn how to fight. As an ex-marine, her father was all for it. She started young and before finishing her career, she was one of the top Judo amateurs in the world. Natasha had no doubt, her Judo background attracted Greely to her. He was a warrior and respected other warriors.

She had worked her ass off for over four years in patrol to have a shot at this moment. Her entire focus on patrol was to make herself an attractive