Episode 9: Trouble in Jackson

Marcus “Mack” Alexander was sitting in his office in Gulfport, sipping his coffee and scanning through some old case files when his phone rang. He didn’t recognize the number, but there was something about the caller that made him pick up.

“Mack, it’s Dre,” came the voice on the other end.

Mack’s heart skipped a beat. Dre, his cousin from Jackson, wasn’t one to call for help often, but when he did, it usually meant trouble. Dre had always been tough—ex-military like Mack, with connections in the city that ran deep. But hearing the anxiety in his voice made Mack realize this wasn’t just another routine call.

“What’s going on, Dre?” Mack asked, his voice steady.

“I’m in deep, Mack. Real deep,” Dre replied, his voice tense. “I need you to meet me in Gulfport. There’s no time to explain, but things are spiraling out of control. I don’t know who else to trust.”

Mack’s brow furrowed. “You got it. I’ll be there soon. Just hang tight.”

---

Within a few hours, Mack was waiting outside a small, nondescript motel on the edge of Gulfport. Dre’s car pulled into the parking lot, tires screeching slightly as he slammed the brakes. Mack could see the tension in his cousin’s face as he stepped out, his normally confident demeanor replaced by a look of exhaustion.

“Man, you look like you’ve been through hell,” Mack said as Dre approached.

Dre let out a deep breath, his eyes scanning the area as if making sure no one was watching. “You have no idea. Let’s get inside.”

They entered the motel room, and Dre immediately locked the door behind him. Mack took a seat on the edge of the bed, his instincts kicking into high gear. Dre had always been a straightforward guy, but now he was on edge, his eyes darting around the room as if someone might burst in at any moment.

“What happened, Dre?” Mack asked again, his tone more urgent this time.

Dre ran a hand through his hair. “I messed up, Mack. I got involved with some guys in Jackson—guys I shouldn’t have. They promised me a deal, some easy money, and I got greedy. But now it’s turned into something bigger, something dangerous.”

Mack’s eyes narrowed. “Who are these guys?”

“I don’t know their names, man. But they’ve got connections. Powerful ones. They run a smuggling ring out of Jackson. Drugs, guns—whatever they can get their hands on. They pulled me in because I had access to some old military equipment, and at first, it seemed like a good idea. Easy cash, no questions asked. But then I started seeing things I wasn’t supposed to, things that scared me.”

Mack leaned forward. “What kind of things?”

“They’re planning something big. A shipment coming through next week. I overheard them talking about it. But I don’t know exactly what it is, Mack. All I know is it’s dangerous, and now they think I know too much. I tried to back out, but they won’t let me go. They’re threatening my life, Mack. And I’m not sure who I can trust anymore.”

Mack’s mind raced. It sounded like Dre had gotten involved in something much deeper than a simple smuggling operation. The fact that they were willing to kill to keep him quiet meant the stakes were higher than Dre realized.

“Alright, Dre. You’re here now, and we’re going to figure this out,” Mack said, his voice steady and authoritative. “You’re gonna stay put while I look into this. I’ll handle the rest.”

Dre shook his head. “You don’t get it, Mack. I can’t just hide. These guys are everywhere. They’ll come after me here. I need to know what they’re really up to, and I need to stop it before it gets worse. I can’t be the only one who knows about this.”

Mack stood up and grabbed his coat. “Then we’ll figure out what they’re up to. But we do this my way. I’ll make some calls and see what I can find. Stay here and lay low for now.”

---

Mack got to work quickly, using his connections in both law enforcement and the underground world to track down information on the smuggling ring Dre had stumbled into. After a few hours of gathering intel, Mack had a name: Malik Rivers, a former associate of Dre’s who had ties to the Jackson crime scene.

Mack made a plan. He knew where Malik frequented—an old bar on the outskirts of town that catered to people with secrets. If Malik was involved, he would be there, and Mack was going to find out what the operation was really about.

When Mack and Dre arrived at the bar, the air was thick with smoke and the sound of clinking glasses. The place was dimly lit, and the crowd was a mix of rough-looking characters and quiet regulars. Dre tensed up the moment they walked in, but Mack kept his cool. He wasn’t just going to confront Malik; he needed to learn who else was involved.

They sat at a corner booth and waited. It didn’t take long for Malik to show up—walking in with a couple of rough-looking men flanking him. The man was a little older than Mack remembered, but the same arrogance still shone in his eyes.

Mack stood up as Malik passed their table. “Malik,” he said casually, “long time no see.”

Malik froze, his eyes narrowing as he recognized Mack. “What the hell are you doing here, Mack?” he spat. “This ain’t your business.”

Mack didn’t flinch. “I think it is. My cousin’s life is on the line. And you know what they say about people who make enemies with the wrong folks.”

Malik’s men started to move toward Mack, but he was already ahead of them. With a swift motion, he grabbed Malik by the collar and slammed him into the booth.

“Talk,” Mack demanded, his voice low and dangerous. “What’s going on with this shipment? What are you planning?”

Malik hesitated for a moment, then glanced around the room, calculating his options. “I don’t know who you’re working for, Mack, but you need to back off. You don’t want to get involved in this. There’s too much at stake.”

Mack leaned in. “I’m already involved. Now tell me about the shipment.”

Malik sighed, clearly realizing he wasn’t going to escape. “Alright, fine. It’s a weapons shipment coming in from overseas. We’re moving it through the Gulf Coast, and once it hits Jackson, it’s going to be distributed all over the region. Guns, explosives—enough to start a war if it falls into the wrong hands. That’s why you need to stay out of it, Mack. You don’t want to cross people who can make you disappear.”

Mack let go of Malik’s collar and took a step back. “You’ve made a lot of mistakes, Malik. But you’ll make one more if you don’t shut this operation down.”

---

With the information in hand, Mack and Dre contacted the authorities, setting up a sting operation to intercept the shipment before it reached Jackson. As the plan unfolded, Mack kept a close eye on Malik’s every move, ready to shut down the operation for good.

By the time the dust settled, Malik and his crew were arrested, and the smuggling ring was dismantled. Dre, though shaken by the experience, was relieved that the danger had passed.

Mack stood with Dre outside the motel, the night air cool against his skin.

“Thanks, Mack. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you,” Dre said, his voice sincere.

Mack nodded. “Just don’t get mixed up in stuff like this again, Dre. Some things aren’t worth the risk.”

Dre smiled. “I hear you, man. But I’ll never forget this.”

As Dre drove back to Jackson, Mack watched him go, knowing that no matter how far apart they were, family would always have each other’s backs when trouble called.

Episode 8: Black Spring Break

Marcus “Mack” Alexander had never been a fan of the spring break crowds in Biloxi. Every year, the coastal city became a hotspot for young college students, especially during Black Spring Break, a week-long celebration that drew thousands. The noise, the traffic, the chaos—it wasn’t exactly Mack’s scene. But this year, things took a darker turn.

---

It started as an ordinary call from Camille. She’d been at the courthouse all day, busy with work, when she called Mack around 10 p.m. with a strange case—a hit-and-run that had left a local college student in critical condition. The victim, a 20-year-old from New Orleans, had been struck while crossing the street near the Biloxi Lighthouse, just as the Black Spring Break festivities were reaching their peak. Witnesses said the car had fled the scene without stopping, and no one had seen enough to identify it.

"We need to find out who did this, Mack," Camille said, her voice steady but urgent. "The victim's in bad shape. No one at the hospital knows what happened, and the police aren’t getting anywhere."

"On my way," Mack replied.

---

When Mack arrived at the scene, the street was still buzzing with people, some partying in the bars along the beachfront, others stumbling toward their cars or huddling in groups. It was a nightmare for anyone trying to work a case.

Camille was already there, talking to a few witnesses, her professional demeanor cutting through the noise. She spotted Mack and waved him over.

"Thanks for coming," she said, pulling him aside. "We have very little to go on. The victim, Chris Daniels, is a local student. No history of trouble, just here for Spring Break with friends. He was crossing the street when the car hit him and took off. No plates, no description. Just a vague memory of a dark sedan."

Mack looked around at the crowd, his mind already ticking through possibilities. "Who’s in charge of the case?"

Camille motioned toward Officer Davis, a young cop who had been stationed in Biloxi for the past year. "He's been here since the accident, but he’s running into dead ends. No one’s talking, and the people who saw the car are too intoxicated to remember anything useful."

Mack surveyed the scene, taking in the brightly lit streets, the bustling bars, and the dark alleys where a vehicle could easily disappear. He had to dig deeper.

---

The first step was checking the local surveillance cameras. Biloxi was a tourist city, and cameras were everywhere. They managed to get footage from a nearby hotel parking lot that showed the dark sedan just before the hit-and-run, but the footage was grainy, and the vehicle’s license plate was unreadable.

"You think it’s a local?" Mack asked, watching the footage replay on Camille’s laptop.

"Could be," Camille replied. "But the car sped off in the direction of the casinos. Not exactly a place someone would drive if they didn’t know the area."

Mack’s mind raced. Black Spring Break had brought thousands of people to the city. Tourists, out-of-towners, and college students all blending into the crowd. Finding one driver out of so many wasn’t going to be easy.

"I’ll ask around. You check the hospitals. See if any local drivers were involved," Mack said.

---

Mack spent the next few hours canvassing the area, talking to people near the scene. He even approached a few street vendors and hotel workers who might have seen something. After a while, he caught a break.

A security guard from a nearby casino told him he’d seen a car speeding toward the highway just after the accident. "It wasn’t going that fast at first, but then I saw the car veer onto the highway like someone was trying to get away," the guard said. "I didn’t think much of it, but it was a dark sedan, maybe an Audi."

Mack made a mental note of the details. An Audi. That was a clue, even if it wasn’t a clear one. He turned to the casino’s security footage and scrolled through the cameras until he found the same vehicle speeding away. But this time, he managed to catch a glimpse of the logo on the car’s rear bumper. It was a dealer plate.

"Dealer plates," Mack muttered. "That’s something."

---

While Mack followed up with the dealer plate information, Camille was at the hospital, checking in on Chris Daniels. He was still unconscious, and the doctors weren’t optimistic. Camille spoke to his friends, who were devastated by what had happened. None of them had seen the car, but they told Camille about Chris’s interactions with a man named Troy, who was part of their Spring Break group. Troy had left abruptly the night of the accident, claiming he was going to meet someone.

"Troy’s been acting a little strange," one of Chris’s friends said. "He’s from out of town. He was hanging out with this guy he met in New Orleans. I think they were up to something, but I didn’t really ask."

That was all Camille needed to hear. If Troy had been involved, he could have been the key to tracking down the driver. She shared the information with Mack, and they both agreed to dig deeper.

---

By morning, Mack had tracked down the car’s owner. It wasn’t registered to anyone local, but it had been leased by a car rental service just outside of town. The car had been rented by none other than Troy’s friend, the man from New Orleans.

They found Troy’s apartment in a rundown area just off the coast. Mack knocked on the door, and when no one answered, they made their way inside. The place was sparse, but there was evidence of a hasty departure—clothes thrown around, a suitcase half-packed. It didn’t take long for Mack to find a stack of receipts for car rentals, and sure enough, one of them matched the vehicle involved in the hit-and-run.

But where was Troy?

---

It didn’t take long to find out. The car had been abandoned at a nearby gas station, its tires slashed, as if someone had deliberately left it to be found. Inside, they found a duffel bag with a small stash of cash—enough to confirm that Troy and his friend had been involved in something shady.

Mack and Camille put the pieces together: Troy had panicked after the hit-and-run, realizing the severity of what had happened. He’d planned to run, but his guilt had gotten the best of him. They tracked him down to a local bus station just as he was preparing to leave town.

When Mack confronted him, Troy cracked. "I didn’t mean to hit him, man. It wasn’t supposed to go down like that. We were just trying to get some fast cash. I didn’t know what I was doing."

---

With Troy’s confession, the case was closed. Chris Daniels, though still in critical condition, was expected to recover. Mack and Camille stood together outside the Biloxi hospital, both relieved that they had cracked the case.

"You did good, Mack," Camille said, giving him a smile.

"Couldn’t have done it without you," Mack replied, looking out over the Gulf Coast waters. "Just another crazy Spring Break."

As the sun set over the beach, they both knew that there would always be more cases to solve in Biloxi. But for now, justice had been served.

Episode 7: Road to Jackson

Marcus "Mack" Alexander had been on the trail for over a week, and the case was starting to feel like a dead end. A high-profile murder had taken place in Gulfport, a local businessman shot in his office under mysterious circumstances. The police had a few leads, but nothing concrete, and the investigation had stalled.

Then came the breakthrough—a witness had come forward, claiming to have seen a man fleeing the scene, a man with a distinctive tattoo. The problem? The witness had seen the man in a car heading north, toward Jackson, Mississippi.

Mack knew that Jackson wasn’t just a few hours up the road—it was a different world, one where connections and allegiances ran deep. He needed to find the killer before he slipped through his fingers.

But he wasn’t going to do it alone.

---

Mack pulled into Jackson late one evening, his mind racing with what he had learned so far. He'd spoken with his cousin, Deandre "Dre" Alexander, earlier that day. Dre had been a longtime resident of Jackson, and his connections to the city’s underworld and its law enforcement made him the perfect ally in this search.

Dre met Mack outside a local bar, his tall frame easy to spot in the crowd. He greeted his cousin with a firm handshake and a wide grin.

"Man, I didn’t think you'd make it," Dre said, his eyes twinkling. "Jackson’s a bit of a jungle. You sure you're ready for it?"

Mack smirked. "You know I’ve got a good reason to be here. We need to find out who killed Lamar Hayes."

Dre’s expression immediately hardened. "Yeah, I heard about that. Hayes wasn’t exactly the nicest guy, but he didn’t deserve to die like that. We’ll get you answers, Mack. But you gotta understand—Jackson’s got its own rhythm. The right people need to be approached in the right way."

Mack nodded. "I’ll follow your lead. Just point me in the right direction."

---

The next morning, Dre took Mack through some of the less glamorous parts of Jackson—places where the streets told their own stories. The first stop was a local pawn shop. Lamar Hayes had been known to frequent the shop before his death, buying and selling various items. If anyone knew anything, it would be the owner, a man named Tyrone “T-Bone” Jackson, who had a reputation for being a bit of a gatekeeper.

The pawn shop was a cramped, cluttered place, with items piled high on shelves and a strong smell of old wood. T-Bone was behind the counter, a tall man with a crooked smile and a pair of dark sunglasses that never seemed to come off, even indoors.

“Dre! What brings you by?” T-Bone called out as Dre and Mack walked through the door.

"We need to ask you a few questions," Dre said, getting straight to the point. "About Lamar Hayes."

T-Bone’s posture stiffened, but he didn’t back down. "Hayes, huh? What’s the story? He ain't a man I'd expect to be making waves in Jackson. More like a fish out of water."

"Who was he meeting with recently?" Mack asked, keeping his voice calm. "Anyone unusual?"

T-Bone thought for a moment, his fingers tapping the counter as if searching for the right words. "Lamar... he was looking for something. I don’t know what, but he was asking around about a deal. Something big. He had a look in his eye like he was trying to make a power move, you know? But that’s all I know. He didn’t give names, but he was hanging around with a crew I don’t trust. You’d be better off asking around town.”

Mack was about to press for more when Dre cut in. "We’ll go check out his last known associates. Thanks for the tip."

---

The next lead came from a street corner. Dre pointed out a club that Lamar had been spotted at frequently in the weeks leading up to his death. The club, called "The Mirage," was a dimly lit, low-key spot that catered to Jackson’s more... discreet crowd.

Inside, the music was loud, and the atmosphere thick with smoke. Dre’s cousin, a bouncer named Tony, greeted them at the door. He was a big guy with a stern face, but when Dre introduced Mack, he let them in without hesitation.

“I heard you were lookin' into Lamar's death,” Tony said as they made their way to the back of the club, where a few familiar faces hung out. “I don’t know much, but you should talk to Marcus ‘Big M’ Turner. He’s the one Lamar was meeting with a lot before he died.”

Big M was a local businessman with questionable connections. He ran a chain of car dealerships and had a hand in more shady deals than most people cared to admit. His presence in Jackson’s underworld was a known fact, but getting a meeting with him wasn’t as easy as walking up and shaking hands.

Dre and Mack headed to Big M’s office—a sleek, modern building on the edge of town. The receptionist at the front desk was polite but didn’t give up much information. After a brief conversation, they were shown to a private office in the back.

Big M stood up from behind a large mahogany desk as they entered. His dark suit and expensive cologne gave off the air of someone who didn’t want to be disturbed. But he didn’t flinch when he saw Dre and Mack.

"Well, well, well, if it isn’t Dre and his cousin," Big M said with a sly grin. "What’s the trouble? I heard you were poking around Lamar’s death. What, you think I had something to do with it?"

Mack studied the man carefully. Big M’s charm was obvious, but it didn’t hide the tension in his eyes. "We just want to know who was involved. Lamar’s dead, and we’re trying to find out why."

Big M shrugged, leaning back in his chair. "Lamar was a loose cannon. Always trying to hustle, always making moves with people he shouldn’t have been. But I don’t kill my associates. That ain’t good business."

Mack pressed, "Who was he dealing with? We know he was looking for something big, something risky."

Big M leaned forward, his voice quieter now. "Lamar got mixed up with a guy named Johnny ‘The Rat’ Romano. He’s a lowlife from Chicago who came into town a few months ago. He promised Lamar the world, and Lamar thought he could get a cut. But if you ask me, Johnny’s the one who took Lamar out. You wanna find your killer? That’s your guy."

---

With that lead, Mack and Dre set out to find Johnny Romano. After tracking him down to a warehouse on the outskirts of Jackson, they finally cornered him. When confronted, Johnny didn’t hesitate to confess.

"Lamar was a liability," Johnny said with a laugh, his voice cold. "He got too greedy, too fast. He wasn’t supposed to know what he was getting involved in. He had to go."

Mack and Dre had finally cracked the case. Johnny Romano had killed Lamar Hayes over a failed drug deal, one that Lamar had tried to back out of at the last minute.

---

With the case closed, Mack stood outside the warehouse, the Mississippi sun setting behind him. Dre was next to him, his expression thoughtful.

"You did good, Mack," Dre said. "Jackson’s not an easy place to navigate, but you kept your head in the game."

Mack smiled, "Wouldn’t have been able to do it without you, Dre. Thanks for having my back."

As Mack headed back to Gulfport, he couldn’t shake the feeling that the road to Jackson had led him down a much darker path than he had originally anticipated. But that was the job. And he would always do whatever it took to find justice.

Episode 6: The Night Shift

 

Marcus "Mack" Alexander hadn’t planned on taking another case so soon after his brief break, but something about the call nagged at him. It wasn’t the usual robbery gone wrong or missing person. No, this one was different.

A murder at Rouses—the local grocery store on Pass Road in Gulfport.

Mack stood in front of the store early the next morning, the sun barely rising over the horizon, casting a dull glow over the familiar sign. He’d shopped here himself countless times. This was his neighborhood. A small-town grocery store shouldn’t be the site of a brutal killing. But here it was.

---

The victim was an overnight stocker named Alex Chambers, a quiet 27-year-old who’d been working the graveyard shift. According to his coworkers, Alex was a reliable employee, always on time, never in trouble. No one could think of a reason why anyone would want to harm him.

Mack approached the crime scene, where Detective Owens, a seasoned officer from the Gulfport PD, was already standing by the door, his face tight with frustration.

"Morning, Mack," Owens greeted him, his voice low. "Thanks for coming out. We could use your help on this one. Something doesn’t feel right."

Mack glanced at the scene, noting the police tape cordoning off the store’s stockroom area. "What do we have?"

Owens led him inside, where Alex’s body had been discovered just a few hours earlier. It was clear from the bloodstains that he had been attacked violently. The store’s security footage showed little—just the usual hustle and bustle of the late-night shift. But the moments leading up to Alex’s death were a blur, and there were no obvious suspects.

"The door was locked from the inside," Owens explained. "So, no sign of a break-in. But the killer wasn’t caught on camera. We think it was someone who knew the layout of the place. Whoever did this, they knew how to avoid detection."

Mack eyed the area. The shelves were stocked neatly, the rows of cans and boxes arranged in a way that spoke to Alex’s meticulous work ethic. But something stood out—one shelf was knocked over, cans scattered across the floor.

"That’s not a robbery," Mack muttered. "A robbery would have been messier. This feels personal."

Owens nodded. "That’s what we’re thinking too. But we don’t know where to start. His coworkers didn’t see anything unusual, and his background checks out. Nothing in his history that stands out."

Mack squatted down, his eyes scanning the scene more carefully. His mind began to click through the possibilities. Alex had been working alone, but had he been expecting someone? Maybe a visitor during the late shift—someone he knew?

"Let’s talk to his coworkers," Mack suggested.

---

The store’s manager, a woman named Carla Davis, met them in the office. She looked as stressed as anyone could expect after something like this, her hair frayed and eyes red from lack of sleep.

"He was a good kid," Carla said, her voice shaking. "Worked here for almost two years. Never caused any trouble. Always showed up on time. He was quiet, though. Kept to himself."

"Did he have any problems with anyone?" Mack asked, watching her closely.

Carla hesitated, looking down at her hands. "Not that I know of. But..." She trailed off, clearly uncomfortable. "There was one thing. He used to hang out with a guy named Brandon—Brandon Thomas. He worked here a few months ago but left after an... incident. I don’t know all the details, but something happened between them. They stopped talking after that."

Mack’s ears perked up at the mention of Brandon. "What incident?"

Carla shifted uncomfortably. "I don’t know the full story. But from what I heard, there was a fight. I think it had to do with money or some personal issue. Brandon left pretty quickly after that. But Alex... he never mentioned it again."

Mack’s gut told him there was more to this. If Alex had been involved in some kind of conflict, it was worth investigating.

"Where can I find Brandon now?" Mack asked.

Carla hesitated for a moment. "I think he still lives in town, over on 15th Street. I’m not sure exactly where, but I know he didn’t move far."

---

Mack and Owens followed up on the lead, heading to a rundown apartment complex off 15th Street. Brandon Thomas was there, sitting on the porch when they arrived, a cigarette hanging from his lips.

Brandon looked up as they approached, his face hardening when he saw the police.

"What’s this about?" he asked, his voice defensive.

"Brandon Thomas?" Mack asked, keeping his tone neutral. "We’re investigating the murder of Alex Chambers. We understand you used to work with him."

Brandon stiffened, his eyes narrowing. "Alex? What the hell happened to him?"

"That’s what we’re trying to figure out," Mack said, watching him closely. "We heard you two had a falling out. What happened between you?"

Brandon’s gaze flickered with something—guilt? Anger? He rubbed his hand through his hair, looking away. "Look, we had some differences, but I didn’t kill him. You can ask anyone. We had a fight about some personal stuff, but that was months ago. I haven’t even spoken to him since."

Mack wasn’t convinced. "You were friends, and you just stopped talking for no reason?"

Brandon shrugged. "Sometimes things go south, man. But I don’t know what happened to him. I didn’t have anything to do with it."

Mack studied him for a moment. Brandon’s story wasn’t adding up, but there was no clear proof linking him to the crime. Yet.

---

Back at the store, Owens and Mack reviewed the security footage again. After hours of watching the grainy footage, something caught Mack’s attention—a figure walking past the stockroom just before Alex’s body was found. The person was in uniform but didn’t appear to be an employee. Their face was obscured, but their movements seemed deliberate, almost as if they were hiding something.

"That’s our guy," Mack said, pointing to the screen. "We need to get a clearer image."

---

The breakthrough came when they identified the mysterious figure as someone who had worked briefly with Alex. His name was Darren Miller, a part-time employee who had been let go months ago after a few suspicious incidents.

Darren had a history of theft and had been trying to get back into the store, but Alex had refused to vouch for him when the manager asked about rehiring him. That was the last straw.

With this new information, Mack and Owens tracked Darren down, finding him hiding out in a nearby motel.

When confronted, Darren cracked. "I didn’t mean to kill him," he confessed, tears welling in his eyes. "It was supposed to be just a scare. I needed the job back. Alex... he just wouldn’t let it go. I tried to intimidate him, but he fought back. I didn’t know what to do. It got out of hand."

---

The case was closed, and Darren was arrested for murder. Alex Chambers had been killed because of a petty grudge, the result of a falling-out over a job—a senseless, violent act that had taken a life.

As Mack walked away from the scene, he couldn’t help but feel the weight of it all. Sometimes, the smallest of issues could spiral into something much larger, and the consequences could be deadly.

He’d solved the case, but at what cost?