April 2017, A House in the Rural Midwest
"I'm home!" a man said as he walked into his house and removed his nice suit coat.
"Daddy!" cried an adorable little girl as she toddled into his father's loving arms for a hug.
"Hi, sweetie!" he said as his wife walked in behind him.
"Sequoia, it's nice to see you home at a decent time."
The man, former Detective Sequoia Anson, smiled at his wife. While he had a lively career after bringing in drug manufacturer Butch Conner, he couldn't turn down an opportunity to take a high-ranking position in the Thom County Sheriff's Department. Being able to come home to his wife and kid at night was worth any reduction in pay and rank.
However, tonight was different from his new routine as the phone started ringing just before he could kiss his wife.
"Anson here." he said as he answered his phone to his wife's annoyance. He recognized the voice as one of his former superiors practically begging for his help.
The next morning, he walked into a conference room in the Thom County Sheriff's Department and sat down in front of a video screen with a webcam.
"Thank you for letting me do this." Anson said to his superior, who nodded and walked out of the room. After a bit of typing at the keyboard, he was patched into an interrogation room in Oregon.
Anson sighed as a familiar face appeared before him.
"Butch Conner. It's been a while."
"Indeed. Almost two years and two legs ago."
"Yeah. Prison treating you okay?"
"...I'm a man confined to a wheelchair convicted of murdering one son and attempting to murder another. What do you think?"
"You're still alive. That's more than I expected, honestly."
"Right? You remember when I said that I had some information for you?"
"Yeah, and you remember what I told you? No dice."
"I know, believe me, I know."
"So, what do you want?"
"I want you to have that information. I know that you can't do anything with it, but I'm trying to make up for my misdeeds, and… I just, need this."
"Feeling sorrow, Butch?"
"I guess you could say that."
Anson noticed that a detective was sitting just barely out of frame.
"So, what do you have?" he asked encouragingly.
"Okay, when I was serving it up, there were some people who live in Hollywood that would come to Oregon just for my stuff."
"That's quite a drive."
"Right? They would place some big orders ahead of time and would buy way more than your average junkie at any given time. Paid cash."
"You called me to talk about your clients?"
"Not just any clients. These clients. I'm not stupid, I know that they were selling it down there. They never admitted it, but I knew. But I didn't care. They didn't compete with me, so I had no problem being their wholesaler."
"And you know who these people are?"
"Hell, I know their address by heart."
The detective craned his head in with interest.
Two Weeks Later
It was business as usual for a small apartment building in Los Angeles. The usual noise of the city was put on hold as police cars surrounded the building. With tact and grace, drug enforcement officers stormed the building and made their way up the stairs.
As curious people cracked their apartment doors slightly, one apartment was their target. The officers kicked in the door and quickly apprehended the two adults sitting in the living room. The two people, users as much as they were dealers, kept their mouths shut.
Officers looked around for a third person, to no luck. As they realized that the third person was still on the loose, they didn't know that she was really one step ahead of them. The girl, a few months away from being a teenager, knew exactly what had happened and remained hidden from the police officers.
As her first alone night fell, she looked up at the sky and wished that her life was different.
"Help me, Sylvester."