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    The Cucumber Mafia
    The Cucumber Mafia
    The Cucumber Mafia
    Ebook91 pages1 hour

    The Cucumber Mafia

    By M. W. Conerly

    ()

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    About this ebook

    THE JABEZ O'BRIEN CRIME SERIES - A widowed former US Army paratrooper carries on the family business. Jabez “Jabe” O’Brien is a fifth generation Irish cop trying to maintain law and order in the southern town of Goldsboro. His career takes him from narcotics investigations to racial riots – from illegal liquor stills to homicides and police corruption. All the while Jabe tries to live up to the legend of honor and integrity that comes with the family name – O’Brien.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherM. W. Conerly
    Release dateFeb 9, 2017
    ISBN9781370804603
    The Cucumber Mafia
    Author

    M. W. Conerly

    Author Michael W. Conerly is a former US Army Paratrooper (MOS 11-C), followed by working over 33 years as a North Carolina Law Enforcement Officer. During this time he worked as an Undercover Narcotics Investigator, Uniformed Patrol Officer, Sergeant, and Captain, as well as the Support Services Commander supervising the SEU (Selective Enforcement Unit), the SWAT team, and Public Housing Division. He received his Advanced Law Enforcement Certification as well as being a graduate of the NC State AOMP program, class 33. He received his BA in Justice Studies form North Carolina Wesleyan College.

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      Book preview

      The Cucumber Mafia - M. W. Conerly

      A former US Army paratrooper carries on the family business. Jabez Jabe O’Brien is a fifth generation Irish cop trying to maintain law and order in the southern town of Goldsboro. His career takes him from narcotics investigations to racial riots – from illegal liquor stills to homicides and police corruption. All the while Jabe tries to live up to the legend of honor and integrity that comes with the family name – O’Brien.

      ISBN: 9781370804603

      © September 2016, Michael W. Conerly - All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

      This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people - please purchase an additional copy for each additional recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

      This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

      The Jabez O’Brien crime Series

      (INSPIRED BY THE REAL LIFE CAREER OF THE AUTHOR)

      The Cucumber Mafia

      Contact the author at:

      author@mwconerly.com

      FRIDAY NIGHT – HOOD’S FARM

      I had the driver’s seat of my undercover car - a ’73 Camaro, reclined as far back as it would go. I should have been comfortable, but the August heat was making me sweat, even at 11:30 at night. I started to cut the engine on and run the air conditioner but decided against it since I had to be able to hear any vehicles approaching.

      I tried rolling down the windows but the mosquitoes started to bother me so much I had to roll them back up – leaving them open only a fraction. Every few minutes the window would start to fog. I ran my hand across it to try and clear it. After 15 minutes of this I couldn’t stand it anymore and opened the car door. I stepped out and leaned on the front fender, keeping a watchful eye on the white paper bag lying on the passenger’s seat. I absently swatted at the buzzing around my head.

      $10,000.00, that’s how much money was in the white paper bag. Enough to buy a quarter-pound of supposedly pure cocaine. Of course, I knew it was rare for a drug dealer to sell cocaine with a purity level much over fifty percent. I’d be doing good if the quality hit 60 %. I also knew I was paying too high a price unless it was very high quality. I was relying on Hood Sawyer – my new undercover target, being too greedy to get suspicious.

      My story to Hood was the same all dealers used, I’d step on it once and make a few thousand profit, more if the quality was as good as I’d been led to believe. Hood would claim it was, even if it wasn’t. I’d do a field test on it later but actually there was no way to positively know the purity until I got the analysis back from the lab – hopefully before the final take-down deal. By then, with a few deals completed and no arrest, that and Hood’s greed would make the final deal run smooth and simple. I guess I’ll have to wait and see, I thought.

      The bullfrogs were calling loudly from the pond nearby and the air was heavy, making it hard to breath. Even with no breeze I could still catch the faint smell of hog pens and tobacco drying in barns somewhere nearby. The location Hood had selected for this deal was a spot on a dirt road in the middle of a stand of woods on his farm, and a few miles outside Goldsboro.

      His farm was just over a hundred acres, about average size for this area of the state. Like all good farmers, except for a small area to raise his hogs, Hood leased most of his land to other growers for tobacco, corn, soy beans, and most importantly, cucumbers. Cucumbers, they were the biggest crop of the area – sold to the Mount Olive and Cates pickle companies, both of which had big factories nearby.

      Even with a full moon it was dark and hard to see. Actually, it was a good place to do a deal. The trees overhanging the dirt road cut off all light, including the moonlight. Yea I thought, it was the perfect place for a deal – or a robbery. It had been the price to pay to get the deal to go down.

      I’d agreed Hood could pick the location in exchange for only Hood and me being present. Now, looking around, I wondered if that was a mistake. Subconsciously, I pulled my Def Leppard t-shirt down in back, over my small revolver. I had a 38 caliber, Smith & Wesson, five-shot revolver in the middle of my back for protection.

      My mind continued to drift. I was thinking, I was twenty-two years old, six foot one and 190 pounds and still in pretty good shape from the military. Hood was at least thirty years older than me, in his fifties. And he was big – huge really. Hood was about six feet, seven inches and somewhere between 350 and 400 pounds. His hands were huge too. In fact, everything about Hood was huge.

      And I always had a hard time understanding what he was saying. I could never tell if it was Hood’s country accent, huge throat causing his mush-mouth, or just Hood mumbling on purpose, in case he was being recorded.

      Of course, tonight Hood would be recorded. I’d tucked a radio microphone transmitter in my cowboy boots – about the size of a pack of cigarettes. It would transmit our conversation to a base unit that had enough tape to record two hours of conversation before a tape change was needed. And in this case, the base unit was locked in my trunk. I’d tested it earlier and it had a good range, a few hundred feet. Also, Sergeant Reynolds, who was running surveillance a few miles away, was thoroughly briefed. Sergeant Reynolds would see Hood turn down the dirt road and see him when he left too. But for now, it would be just me and Hood.

      About that time the headlights of an old pickup truck appeared a short distance down the dirt road. Damn! I’d had been so lost in thought I hadn’t heard Hood approaching. I stood and stepped back to the driver’s side door, opened it and sat in the driver’s seat, leaving the car door open. I slid my hand down to my boots and flipped on the microphone, then made sure my jeans were pulled back down. I grabbed the white bag just as the pickup pulled up.

      The pick-up’s motor died and I stepped over to the driver’s door, Hood was by himself. Mostly for the sake of the recording I spoke first; How’s it going Hood? He just mumbled and nodded, then motioned for me to get in on the passenger’s side. I walked around, sliding the paper bag into my right rear jeans pocket as I went. As I rounded the front of his truck, Hood cut off the headlights of his truck too. I couldn’t see very well but at least no engine noise would help with the recording I thought.

      I opened the passenger side door and, leaving the door open I started to slide across the seat. I’d left the door open for two reasons: for the light and to make it easier for me to jump out if I had to. As the light came on and I was sliding across the seat, I saw a

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