Short Cut (The Reluctant Hustler Book 2)

by J. Gregory Smith

  “Sure you can.” Rollie craned his neck to keep an eye on the cruiser. “Use the whole road.”

  And Tom did just that. He swerved left and right, and even jumped the curb when there wasn’t room and sent pedestrians scattering.

  Still Grist came on and I thought Rollie would start shooting past me when the car banged into our rear bumper.

  The police car’s PA blared behind them. “DON’T BE STUPID, TOMMY.” Wham! “DOESN’T HAVE TO GO LIKE THIS.” Wham! The rear end fishtailed and the back trunk on the flimsy car crumpled.

  Rollie pointed at an oncoming truck. “Cut hard left across this guy. It’s gotta be close.”

  Tom saw what he meant and nodded.

  I heard more sirens, but it wasn’t Grist this time. Two real police cars were coming up fast toward us, from up behind the truck.

  “Now!” Rollie yelled.

  If the truck hadn’t already been slowing for the cops coming up behind him, I think we would have been T-boned. As it was, the driver locked up his brakes and we just slipped past. The truck’s grill looked close enough to reach out and pat the chrome Mack bulldog.

  I looked to see if Grist had been crazy enough to follow us through the turn down the side street, but instead realized that he’d bailed and continued straight. Both police cars had e-braked into bootlegger one-eighty-degree turns to follow Grist up Girard Avenue.

  “Slow up, Tom,” I said. “They both went after Grist.”

  Tom backed off a little and we were able to drive clear of the area.

  Rollie smiled. “Where’d you learn to drive like that?”

  “University of They’ll-cut-your-hands-off-if-you-get-caught.” Tom smiled back, but I didn’t think he was joking.

  * * *

  Scorpio Photography Studios

  Tom pulled to the back of the old church to let Rollie and me out before he returned the “borrowed” vehicle. We were five minutes away as the crow flew, but crows didn’t have to dodge a pair of psychos.

  Part of the hour had been creeping down side streets listening to the growing din of sirens from police cars, then fire trucks. We also had to keep an eye on the sky as a police chopper circled near a thick plume of black smoke.

  “He must have torched it,” Tom had said. “Pity he wasn’t inside.”

  We were desperate to find out what was going on in the apartment building across the street from Rollie’s, but we knew better than to cruise past. The best we could do was call VP, who let us know about the police and ambulance activity from the perspective of her cameras.

  She couldn’t see whether the people getting loaded from the apartment building into the ambulances were alive or not.

  At the church, Rollie got out of the front seat and I unfolded my aching limbs from the confines of the cramped back seat. “Tom, wait a minute,” I said.

  “Shake a leg, Mate. This ride isn’t a healthy look for me anymore.”

  I nodded and rushed past Rollie to get inside.

  We all knew the smart thing to have done was ditch the car as soon as we were clear, but we agreed to return the car. We’d left a lot more than a scratch on the old thing and while I didn’t know the owners, this was their property and the best they could manage.

  Back outside, I handed Tom an envelope with “Sorry for the mess” scribbled on the outside.

  Tom peeked inside and whistled. “You sure?”

  “Just leave it and get back here safe.” I didn’t care if it was enough for the owners to buy a better used car. They hadn’t asked to be part of our crap.

  “We’re coming with a posse if you don’t,” Rollie added. He’d made Tom say where he was going.

  * * *

  Thirty tense minutes later Tom knocked on the door and came inside. He was sweating and considering the climes he was used to I didn’t think it was from exertion. At least he grinned when Rollie suggested now might be a great time to take up drinking.

  “Just some of your floor-sweepings tea, thanks.”

  Bishop finally returned our call. I put it on speaker.

  “I think you people need to look up the meaning of ‘laying low,’ because you’re doing it wrong,” Bishop said over the burner phone.

  “At least you can’t say we’re being paranoid,” I said.

  “Nope,” he said. “That base is covered.”

  “C’mon, what’s going on with my neighbor?” Rollie said. It had been all we could do to convince him not to check up on him this afternoon.

  “I figure you saw the breaking news reports,” Bishop said.

  We had. The helicopter footage of the burning cop car was particularly compelling.

  “I talked to my friends in the Philly PD. Officer Vinton is doing fine and was released. The word is that he got clocked as soon as he came into the old guy Thibaut’s place. The old man called out for help and it was lights out. He never got a good look at his attacker.”

  “It was two of them,” I said. “What about Thibault and the property manager?”

  “The old guy is pretty confused and had some dehydration. It looks like your friends had him tied up and blindfolded while they used his apartment. He can’t ID anybody, unfortunately.”

  “But he’s okay?” Rollie said.

  “Yeah. Traumatized, but they didn’t work on him like the other guy.”

  “What happened to him?” Tom said.

  “The guy, named Franklin, was lucky you guys stirred the pot when you did. He only lost one tooth and got a broken nose. Any idea why they’d lean on him like that?”

  “What did he say about it?” I said.

  “He says he was just looking for an old friend and must have been at the wrong address and doesn’t want to say any more. My pals in blue don’t believe him and think he’s some sort of burglar, but they are buying that he can’t ID the dudes who snatched him.”

  “So, the cops are in the dark?”

  “The cops are beyond pissed at what somebody did to one of their brothers and then made them look like jackasses by shaking pursuit and cooking their car and any evidence along with it. They hope to find more in the apartment, but it could take a while.”

  I felt awful about the old man and bad about Franklin, but better that it looked like we might have prevented a double-killing and that the officer wasn’t seriously harmed.

  Tom said, “Do they have any clue about the kidnapping tipster who kicked this off?”

  “They don’t,” Bishop said. “They’re frustrated as hell with the phone company for not being able to track the caller.”

  “No comment,” I said. VP was good. “Is it safe to say we’re in the clear?”

  Bishop let out a breath. “I think so. The eyewitness reports are all over the place. The descriptions of your car don’t match, and from what I hear, the traffic cameras never got a plate. It was pretty chaotic and you weren’t the only car scrambling out of the way.”

  “And they aren’t going to catch those psychos?” Rollie said.

  “You sure you don’t want to give them more to go on? They’d be all in to help, believe me,” Bishop added.

  “No,” I said. “Crazy as it sounds, we still have a shot to pull off our deal and they’ll go away on their own.”

  “Meaning you expect them to stick around until you do?”

  “Or they stop us and take it for themselves.”

  * * *

  Scorpio Photography Studios

  A day after the neighbor rescue fiasco we hadn’t budged from our fancy hideout. VP hadn’t reported anything new, but she sent one of those stoner bikers over with a care package consisting of another thumb drive for me to load into Delivergistics computers when I got the chance. I wasn’t about to just drop by socially and until the shipment arrived there wasn’t a reason to go there. We all figured that was where we were most at risk.

  * * *

  Two days later

  Time had taken on a syrupy quality that made waiting unbearable. We couldn’t make a move until the next
phase was in place. On the other hand, we didn’t hear any more from Barnaby or the police and VP had grown just as bored as us staring at the front of Rollie’s place. Aside from the mailman, no sinister visitors.

  I almost didn’t recognize the sound of my regular cell phone when it rang. Burner phones stood like dominoes atop my dresser.

  Caller ID showed it was from my boss Cliff at Delivergistics.

  “Kyle? You’re not going to believe this, but I have a driving gig for you.”

  “Yeah?” I tried to sound surprised.

  “You know the shipment we have coming in, right?”

  “All that pre-eviction equipment from Iraq? You still want me to work on the yard when it comes in?”

  “That’s the one, and I had you top of the list like I promised, but I just got a last-minute priority request to take one of the trucks to Pittsburgh.”

  Tom had heard the phone chirp and was leaning in the door frame from the room I used. He pantomimed exaggerated shock. Of course, he’d forged the request and arranged for it to drop now. I didn’t want to laugh, which made it harder to stop.

  “Everything okay?” Cliff said.

  “Yeah, it’s great. You just have no idea how much I needed to hear some good news.”

  “Always happy to be the bearer of glad tidings. Can’t promise it’ll be a trend.”

  After I hung up, Rollie said what we were all thinking. “Unless they head for the hills, anyone want to guess where those two goons are going to stake out next?”

  Chapter 27

  Port of Philadelphia

  I wasn’t sure about the worst part of the trip. Aside from the darkness and stifling heat inside this cardboard coffin, the never ending starts and stops of the truck had me rattling around the little breathing space I did have. On second thought, the worst thing was that it had been my brilliant idea.

  Like Rollie had suggested, we knew Grist and Mauser would be watching the Delivergistics site. Of course, the local guys, Cliff and the rest, had no reason to feel any heightened danger, and we wanted to keep it that way.

  “How you holding up?” the driver of the big brown truck asked, as he did every time he made a stop, which was often. He was one of Bishop’s contacts and for a price was willing to bend the company rules, especially for what he thought was just an elaborate prank.

  “Fine,” I replied again, despite sweating buckets and wanting to take a leak. By this point I decided that Bishop had lied to me that the packing tape would only work once so I had stay inside this thing for the “quick ride across town.”

  * * *

  Delivergistics

  I recognized the voice of Doug, the gate guard, when the driver finally reached Delivergistics. Judging by his tone he knew the driver and the truck was a common sight. Perfect.

  Also good that the truck pulled around to a loading area that I knew was partly shielded from view, at least from the street. Cameras covered the area and if they had access to those then my stupid idea made sense after all.

  “Afternoon,” I heard Cliff say. “What’ve you got for us today?”

  “The usual, I’ll put it over here. And then there’s this.” The box I was in rocked, then tilted sharply backward and I tried not to slam into the back while the dolly whisked me off the truck.

  “What the hell is that?” Cliff said.

  “I’m just the messenger,” the driver said. “You need to sign for it and it is supposed to go inside.”

  More rolling. I hoped out of sight of the street.

  “‘CyberPanion Deluxe Model’?” Cliff was reading off the manifest. “Gotta be a mistake, if that means what I think. We’re slow around here, but not that slow.”

  “I learned a long time ago not to ask questions.” The driver sounded like he was a having difficulty controlling himself.

  I heard a door slam open and felt the dolly go up and over a metal threshold.

  “Where are you taking that?” Cliff said. “It’s just going to have to go back on the truck. We didn’t order a sex doll or robot or whatever it is.”

  We had to be out of sight by now.

  “I’m ready for youuuu, Cliffie.” I lost it before I could say anything else.

  “You gotta be shitting me.” Laughing, Cliff slapped the side of the box. “Nothing deluxe about this model. Drop it into the river.”

  The driver helped open the box before I decided to hack my way out from the inside.

  “You lost your mind, Kyle?” Cliff said as I brushed cardboard chunks off my clothes.

  “It seemed funnier before they taped the box shut.” I held my hand up for the driver to wait up. He nodded but pointed to his wrist. These guys were all about time, but he was my ride home. He stepped outside to wait for me.

  “My truck’s in the shop,” I told Cliff, “and I wanted to see if this would work to get me in the gate.”

  “That’s what this is about? You auditing our security?”

  I saw the strain around his eyes. He wasn’t kidding.

  “No, not like that. But it is strange days, and with something coming in and us in the news so much, you never know. But I don’t want to get anyone in trouble.”

  Cliff wasn’t buying, but I didn’t think he’d guessed my real reason for pulling my stunt. “Too much time on your hands isn’t agreeing with you, Kyle. Let me get your paperwork and in the meantime, clean that mess up.” He pointed to the box and all the cardboard scraps on the office floor. I eyed the computer terminal and promised it would be done by the time he got back.

  As soon as he left the room, I pulled the thumb drive VP had given me and accessed one of the computers. She’d told me my login would be enough for the program to work and that it wouldn’t come back to me, or Cliff, in any case.

  * * *

  “See you in a few days, and next time use the employee entrance huh?” Cliff said as I sat on a stack of boxes in the back of the delivery truck. The door rolled down and we were off.

  The driver let me sit up front once we were clear of the facility (and I thought it was safe).

  A few stops later Bishop met the truck and I got a lift in his cruiser.

  “Thanks again. I know those guys are tracked so they stay on schedule. Hope he won’t get in trouble.”

  Bishop shook his head. “Nah, he’ll be fine and I paid him enough that a little ding in his performance won’t bug him. Was it worth it?”

  “It better be. I’ll catch up with VP to find out for sure.”

  * * *

  Scorpio Photography: Two days later

  “That’s the last pallet,” Tom said while we flicked through the camera feeds VP had linked to us. True to her word, the little worm I’d planted had given her access to all the security equipment at the Delivergistics site.

  With VP now on point to relay all she saw from the video feeds, I figured I had no choice but to let her know I was going to let them know that she was a she. I couldn’t risk a message getting garbled down the road because she was using a voice scrambler. She complained a little when I fessed up, but all in all I don’t think she was really mad. It was a relief not to have to remember to cover for her.

  We could see the truck listed on the manifest VP was able to pull up, along with all the other gear, spare parts and other sundries associated with an operation pulling up stakes. I felt sad when I saw all the people I’d gotten to know, doing their best to organize the material, all the while knowing that they were going to have to find new jobs. Most of them would be okay, they worked hard and were good at what they did. As for me, I just wanted this damn monkey off my back.

  “Get your people lined up, Tom. Cliff will call me in to move the truck as soon as everything from the incoming shipment is inventoried, a couple days at most.”

  I’d have to come up with another way onto the site without getting spotted. I didn’t think Cliff would fall for the UPS bit again.

  * * *

  One day later: After midnight

  I was dreaming about
one of the many arguments I used to have with Beth about my time away from home due to work when she started to scream at me in long trilling pulses. As my brain swam toward consciousness, I realized it was one of burner phones.

  I swung my legs out from the covers and planted my bare feet on the cold floor. The phone that was ringing also vibrated and walked across the surface of the dresser in a drunken circle in time to the rings.

  It was VP. “What’s up?”

  “Not you, sounds like.”

  She wouldn’t call just to chat. Adrenaline kicked my eyes open. “Whatcha got?”

  “Something’s going bump in the night over at the port,” she said. “Can you get to your computer?”

  “On the way.” I scooped up a couple more phones and pounded on the doors for Rollie and Tom on the way to where we had our PC set up.

  VP caught me up while the guys emerged from their rooms. It hadn’t taken much to rouse them.

  “I noticed the place is real quiet at night, but a couple guys walked by the fence line and they didn’t look like homeless types.”

  “It’s them?”

  “They picked a spot not covered, but if it’s them, we’ll know soon enough.”

  I put her on speaker and got the link to the feed working. We could see the cameras, but we were at VP’s mercy as to which camera to watch.

  “What are we seeing here?” Rollie spoke.

  “The northwest fence line,” VP said. “I think they went by the wall you see at the edge of the picture. No sign of them around the corner on the next camera yet, though.”

  “Too many blind spots,” Tom muttered.

  “Any sign the guard on duty is alerted?”

  She laughed. “That dork—sorry if he’s a bud—must be crashed. He hasn’t switched feeds in more than an hour.”

  When did she ever sleep?

  “Can you get us a wider shot of the yard?”

  “Yeah, sorry. Here you go, this is—oh shit.”

  We all saw it. Two figures emerged from the blind spot to do a slow weave between containers. Two trucks sat at the front of the containers, one ahead of the other. I already knew the one with our shipment was the lead vehicle, ready to roll off.