Uncommon Thief

by William Manchee

Chapter 37

  The Search

  After their discussion with Fred and Roberts in court on Friday, Steve and Randy left the courthouse to eat lunch and plan their strategy in searching for Sam. They quickly realized the job, for which they had so eagerly volunteered, wouldn’t be all that easy.

  "So, now what are we going to do?" Steve asked.

  "I’m not sure," Randy replied. “We just have to think about it logically.”

  "Let’s start at his home,” Steve suggested. “Maybe he left a forwarding address or told someone where he was going."

  "That's sounds good. Let’s go home, pack a few things, and tell our parents what we're going to do."

  "No, that might not be a good idea. You know how parents are. They might try to stop us."

  "Hmm. I guess you're right, but what are we going to do about expense money?" Randy asked.

  "Oh, Maria gave me $5,000 in cash from FDF.”

  "Oh, good. That ought to be enough for the weekend.”

  "I should hope so! You have some clothes over at your apartment, don't you?"

  "Yeah, sure,” Steve said, “and you can borrow some of Fred's.”

  "Okay, we're all set. Let’s get going."

  Steve and Randy went to the apartment in Santa Monica. They packed everything they needed for their journey and then headed for Big Bear Lake in Randy’s yellow ‘62 Volkswagen Beetle. Big Bear was a couple hours from LA, so it was early Friday evening when they arrived and pulled into a gas station to refuel. It was cool when they got out of the car, as Big Bear was over 5,000 feet in elevation, so they dug out a couple sweatshirts. While Randy filled the tank with gas, Steve checked the oil.

  "Let's get a motel. We can snoop around town some tonight and in the morning, if necessary," Randy suggested.

  "Okay. There is a Travel Lodge ahead. It looks pretty decent."

  "Fine. Let’s check it out."

  A few minutes later, they checked into the motel and took their baggage to their room. Inside were two queen-sized beds, a night stand, a desk, and a TV.

  Randy threw his luggage in a corner and collapsed on the bed.

  “Oh, man, I’m tired. What a day.”

  Steve went straight to the desk and fumbled through its drawers. "Here's a telephone book. I’m going to look up Sam Stewart.” He flipped through the pages until he found what he wanted. “Here it is! 2007 Crestline Drive, telephone number 555-4474."

  "Give that number a call and see what happens," Randy said.

  Steve dialed the number. After a few rings, a squeaky female voice came on the line. "This is a recording. The number you have reached has been disconnected."

  "Damn. We'll have to go over there and check it out in person," Randy said.

  "It's already dark."

  "That's good, right? No one will see us that way."

  "What do you mean? Why do you care if someone sees us? You're not thinking of—"

  "Yes, I think we need to take a look inside Mr. Stewart's house."

  "But that's breaking and entering," Steve noted.

  "So what? You weren't worried about that when we were up in the Topatopa Mountains a few years back."

  "That was different, and Fred certainly wouldn't approve."

  "I don't think even Fred would mind if we took a look inside Sam's house tonight."

  "Okay, okay. I can see you're not going to be dissuaded from this foolish escapade, so let's just get on with it."

  Steve and Randy left their motel room and got into the VW. "Let’s go to that Union 76 station down the street and ask for directions," Steve said.

  "Good idea," Randy replied as he pulled the car out of the motel parking lot and headed toward the Union 76. They pulled into the station and rolled down their window. A tall, white-headed man walked up to them and asked, "Can I help you?"

  "Sure hope so. Do you know where Crestline Drive is?"

  "Sure. Who you looking for?" the attendant asked.

  "Sam Stewart."

  "Hmm. Haven't seen Sam around for a while, but you can go have a look if you want. Crestline Drive is up the road a half mile. Just take a left at the first stop sign and go about three miles. You can't miss it. It's an old log cabin on the right side of the road, kind of out by itself."

  "Thanks. We really appreciate your help."

  "You're welcome. Hope you find him."

  They drove out to Crestline Drive and took a left as the old man had directed them. They followed the narrow dirt road, weaving through a grove of tall pine trees for what seemed far more than three miles. It was a dark night and difficult to see much beyond the headlights. Finally, they approached a mailbox and what appeared to be a driveway going off to the right. The mailbox had the name ‘STEWART’ on its side in silver reflective decals. They rolled down their windows and peered down the driveway. It was as quiet as it was dark, not a light in sight.

  "Okay, let's go check it out," Randy said.

  "You're sure you want to do this?" Steve questioned.

  "Yeah. Bring your flashlight."

  "Okay, I’m coming."

  They left their car by the mailbox and walked slowly toward the house. As they neared the log cabin, the bushes shook in front of them. Randy pointed his flashlight toward the noise. "Who’s there?" he demanded nervously.

  Steve looked toward the light and saw two eyes reflecting the light from the flashlight. "Shit! What is that?" Steve shrieked.

  "Hang on! It's just some kind of animal."

  Just then, the animal took off, almost knocking Steve and Randy over.

  "What in hell was that?" Steve said.

  "I think it was a big buck," Randy replied.

  "The damn thing scared the shit out of me!"

  "So I see. Come on. Let's see if the cabin is open."

  They finally made it to the front porch. Randy knocked on the door to make sure no one was home. When they got no response, they tried the door. It was locked, of course.

  "Now what?" Steve asked.

  "Let's check the back."

  Just as Steve and Randy were walking around to the back of the cabin, the flash of headlights could be seen coming down Crestline Drive.

  "Oh shit!" Steve said. "Someone's coming."

  "Maybe they will just drive by," Randy said hopefully, though he didn’t believe it himself.

  The car kept coming and slowed down as it approached the driveway. It stopped momentarily, and someone shone a flashlight at Randy's car. After a moment, the car turned into the driveway and headed straight for them.

  "Let's hide," Steve whispered.

  "No, there’s no use. Whoever it is already knows we're here anyway. We better just sit tight."

  The car pulled up and shone a spotlight on Steve and Randy, blinding them. They both turned away and put their hands over their eyes.

  A man got out and approached them. "What are you boys doing up here?" he asked.

  "Uh, we're looking for Sam Stewart," Randy answered. "Who are you?"

  "I’m Sheriff Johnson," the voice replied. "Paul at the gas station said someone was looking for Sam, so I came out to see what business you had with him."

  "Uh, well, um . . . a friend of ours is a messenger for Bank USA, where Sam used to work, and he told us Sam was the best fishing guide around. He said Sam might take us out fishing if we came up here and asked him," Randy lied.

  “You sure you weren’t planning to rob the place since Sam is out of town.”

  “Oh, no!” Steve said. “We just wanted to go fishing.”

  "Sam's been gone for several weeks."

  "I know. We called him, but since his phone was disconnected, we thought we’d come out to check.”

  "Well, I'm afraid you're out of luck. He went to Las Vegas to do a little gambling, I guess."

  "Bummer. That was kind of sudden, wasn't it?" Randy asked.

  "Damn sure was! I've known Sam for ten years, and he was a creature of habit. He was up at six every day, had breakfast at th
e café in town every morning, did his morning route down to San Bernardino and came back for lunch. Then he'd play nine holes of golf in the afternoon or hang around the lodge shooting the breeze with some of his friends. At 4:00 p.m., almost like clockwork, Sam would have dinner at the café, and then he’d leave at four thirty-five and run his route down to San Bernardino again. You could set your clock by him."

  "What happened to him?"

  "Well, one day he came by my office and said he was tired of his miserable existence and was going to start doing a little living before he got too old to enjoy life. . . . said he was going to play around a little in Las Vegas and then maybe head out to the east coast."

  "Oh, well. I guess we'll just fish by ourselves then," Steve said.

  "Hey, I know another fishing guide I could hook you up with. It would only cost you twenty-five bucks."

  "Really? That would be great. Why don't you just give us his name and number, and we'll call him in the morning."

  "Okay. His name is Bart Small, and you can find him at the lodge after seven tomorrow morning."

  "Did Sam leave a forwarding address or anything?"

  "Nope. Far as I know, Sam never got any mail. He didn't have much of a family. They all deserted him when he was in the joint. His sister is the only one who stuck by him."

  "In the joint?" Steve echoed.

  "Yeah. Sam spent ten years in San Quentin for armed robbery, but that was a long time ago."

  "Well, thanks for your help, Sheriff," Randy said.

  "No problem. You boys got a place to stay tonight? Don’t even think about breaking in and crashing here."

  "No. Never,” Steve replied. “We're at the Travel Lodge in town."

  "Good. Now you best be on your way. Folks around here don’t much like teenagers loitering about."

  "Okay. No problem."

  The Sheriff drove off, and Steve and Randy breathed a sigh of relief.

  "Well, I guess there is no need to go inside now," Steve said.

  "I don't know. Do you think he really went to Las Vegas?"

  "Now that you mention it, it doesn't seem logical to tell the Sheriff where you're going when you know good and well the FBI may be looking for you. That doesn’t make sense at all. Surely Sam was smarter than that."

  "We better take a look inside," Randy said. "You keep watch out here in case the Sheriff comes back, and I'll go in.

  “No,” Steve replied. “The Sheriff may be waiting down at the end of the road to see if leave. We’ll have to leave and come back later.”

  Randy grunted in frustration. “But we’re here now.”

  “I know, but we have to leave.”

  Randy thought a moment. “You leave. It’s dark so the Sheriff won’t know that I’m not in the car. Come back in a half hour and get me.”

  Steve took a deep breath. “Okay,” he said reluctantly. “See you in a half hour.”

  Steve got in the car and drove off the way they had come. Randy watched him leave, then worked himself around the cabin perimeter, trying every window and door to see if there was any way he could get in. After circling the entire cabin, he considered breaking a window, but decided against it since the Sheriff knew they had been there and might put two and two together.

  Figuring a key might be hidden somewhere he checked under the mat and over the front door. Finding nothing he checked under a flower pot, but there was no key. Frustrated, he went to the back door and started searching there. Sure enough, there was a key on the ledge above the door. Randy stuck the key in the lock and slowly opened the door.

  Someone had obviously beat them to the punch he surmised looking around. The cabin had been ransacked. All of the drawers had been opened and searched with little delicacy. Papers and books were strewn all over the floor, Sam's bed had been overturned, and the dresser drawers were all pulled out, their contents scattered carelessly about. Randy quickly realized he was not going to find anything of significance. Any clues that might have been there, the FBI had clearly already taken with them. Just as he was thinking about what to do next, he noticed a broken picture frame with the photograph of Sam Stewart with another woman. He leaned over, picked it up, and then left the cabin. When Steve drove up ten minutes later he opened the door and got in.

  "Find anything?" Steve asked.

  "No. The FBI’s already been here and taken anything that might have been useful. I did find a photograph of Sam Stewart, however, which might come in handy."

  "Yeah, it might, but that’s not a whole lot to go on."

  "I know. Let’s go back to the motel. It's getting late. We need to get an early start in the morning.”

  Randy turned the car around and drove back to the motel. Steve called the front desk and requested a wake-up call. Then they went to bed. They were both exhausted, yet neither of them could sleep. They had to find Sam, but how could they do it with so little to go on? The task suddenly seemed impossible.