by F J messina
Jet took the log back and looked over the page. “In at 9:22 AM.” She ran her finger further down the page. “Out at 5:37 PM.”
Sonia turned away from the computer and looked at Jet. “And was anything stolen Tuesday?”
“No.”
“And the day before?”
Jet searched another page. “In at 9:21 AM and out . . . damn, I don’t have him coming out.”
“And was anything taken Monday?” Sonia’s head was cocked.
“Yeah, stuff went missing that day. Damn it.”
Sonia’s head remained cocked, her eyebrows lifting. “And we can be pretty sure that whether you logged him out or not, he did eventually leave each day, correct?”
Jet dropped her chin and gave Sonia her librarian look. “Yes, wiseass. We don’t think he’s spending the nights inside the restaurant.”
“Then how is it that you’re missing him?”
Jet pushed her chair away from the desk. “Because the freakin’ son-of-a-bitch is not coming out the same damn door.”
Sonia smiled broadly. “I think you’re on to somethin’, sistah.”
Jet stood and started pacing around her office. “Oh, yes, I’m on to something alright. There were only three people who knew about the video surveillance, McCormick, his cleaning guy, and little Ralphie. And now, suddenly, it appears that little Ralphie goes in the back door like everyone else, but on days that he’s lifted something, he must go out the front door. Son-of-a-freakin’-bitch!”
Sonia just sat there quietly, watching her partner.
Jet’s voice grew calmer. “Damn. How do I tell McCormick it’s his own son that’s been ripping him off?”
“Yeah, it would be a lot easier if you had the footage of him leaving with the stuff.” Sonia nodded. “You could just let him watch the video. You would never have to actually say anything.”
Jet sat back down and turned her chair to face Sonia. “I know. That would be great, but I just don’t have that footage. Now I have to walk right up to McCormick and say, ‘Clay, you know that piece of shit you call your son. He’s the one that’s been ripping you off. Lah de dah. Have a nice day.’”
A few minutes passed as they both thought about their predicament. Sonia doodled Roman Numerals absently on a scrap of Jet’s paper. Suddenly she stopped. “Wait a minute. What if you caught him with the goods? What if you had him on video going in the back door and then stopped him out front, with the goods in his possession?” Her voice was rising. “That would do it, wouldn’t it?”
“You bet your ass that would do it. But how do I pull that off?”
Sonia’s smile was coy. “By doing me a teensy weensy little favor.”
Jet’s head rocked back an inch or two. “What you talkin’ about, girlfriend?”
Sonia laughed. That voice. It was Gary Coleman on Diff’rent Strokes. She stood up and moved over to the more comfortable red, padded chair in front of Jet’s desk. Jet’s gaze followed her. “Well, I’ve got a problem and you’ve got a problem. You see, I had coffee with Johnny Adams this morning, and I can’t shake the feeling that he’s trying to keep tabs on me. What’s worse, I let it slip that I might be out of town for a few days.” She gave her shoulders a quick shrug. “His whole response kind of gave me the creeps.”
Jet’s attention was squarely on Sonia. “Sooo?”
“Well, your logs seem to indicate that Friday is a great day for pilfering food from the father’s business, right?”
“That’s right, Willis,” said Jet, staying with the Gary Coleman impersonation.
“So, you’ll have no trouble knowing when Ralphie’s gone into the restaurant.” Sonia stood and began pacing around the office. “Aaand you can be pretty sure that when he leaves he’ll have a giant salmon and half a cow hidden under his coat. Aaand, since you don’t know when he’ll be leaving, you’ll need to be watching the front of the building most of the day.” By then she was gesticulating pretty emphatically. “Aaand, since you’re not Gomer Pyle, when you see Ralphie leaving the restaurant with lumps under his jacket, you’re not gonna run up to him yelling, ‘Citizens Arreeest, Citizens Arreeest.’ Therefore, you’re gonna need a bona fide officer of the law standing right by your side, someone who can, with probable cause, ask Little Ralphie to show him what he has tucked away inside his jacket.” Sonia stopped, squinted her eyes, and looked directly at Jet. “And which officer of the law would be perfect for such a task?” Without waiting for an answer, Sonia released her gaze and continued, “Well, it seems to me that Detective Sergeant Johnny Adams is the perfect guy. What do you think?”
“Has anyone ever told you you’re brilliant?” Jet pushed off her desk and twirled her swivel chair around 360 degrees─twice. “First, you figure out that some of my log-ins don’t have log-outs. Then you narrow it down to Little Ralphie. And now you’ve figured out how to have a police officer catch Ralphie with the goods, while at the very same time tying said officer up so he can’t tail you and your merry band of ne’r-do-wells as you traipse around the country following drug dealers.”
Sonia waited a moment then asked, “Okay. So, this makes sense to you?”
Jet put her hands together, as if in prayer, and bowed her head. “Absolutely, Grasshopper.”
Grasshopper? Now she’s David Caradine’s mentor on Kung Fu. Yikes. Sonia jumped back into business mode. “I’ll get Adams to do it.” Sonia noticed the question mark in Jet’s eyes. “Don’t worry, I’ll get him to do it.”
Sonia walked to the door. “I’m outta here.”
Jet lifted her hand and gave it a quick twist. “Just be back by eight, fair damsel. For tonight, tonight is the witching night.”
“I’ll be back,” Sonia retorted, Arnold Schwarzenegger’s voice ringing in her own mind.
29
At eight o’clock that evening, Sonia walked into the BCI offices wearing her black quilted vest, dark jeans that hugged her body, and black running shoes. She was expecting . . . almost anything, including Jet dressed up as a witch. That was not, however, what she found. Jet was sitting behind her desk with a big grin on her face, clearly excited about the evening’s upcoming adventures. She, too, was wearing jeans and athletic shoes, but she had on a white hooded sweatshirt, something that surprised Sonia.
Sonia chuckled. “Well, you look like the cat that swallowed the canary. Are you ready to tell me about the plan to end all plans? The plan that will rain destruction down on Bob Dylan?”
Jet stood up with a gleam in her eye. “Yes, my dear, I am.”
“Wait, sit down.” Sonia moved to the red chair opposite Jet’s desk. “Before we get into that, I’ve got to tell you about my phone call to Johnny Adams this afternoon.”
Jet sat, then leaned back tenting her hands in front of her face. “Do tell.”
“Well, I called Adams and reminded him that at one point he had asked me if there was anything a local police officer could do to help our investigations.” Sonia smiled her snarky smile. “You could almost hear him sit up in his chair at the other end of the line.” She shook her head. “Of course, I believe he was sorely disappointed when it turned out that all I needed was his help with Clay McCormick’s case, but by then he had fallen all over himself so much that he really couldn’t back down. Eventually, I told him that we needed his assistance apprehending Ralphie McCormick with stolen goods on his person. I guess the thought of making a collar didn’t sound so bad to him. When I told him that I needed him to show up by ten in the morning and wait with me for what might be the better part of the day, he really seemed to brighten right up.”
Jet furrowed her brow. “I thought you were hoping to follow one of those pickup trucks tomorrow.”
“I am, trust me, I am.”
“Well,” Jet sat forward, “how are you going to pull that off?”
It was Sonia’s turn to play coy. “Simple my dear, devious, deceptive, friend. When Detective Sergeant Johnny Adams shows up in front of McCormick’s restaurant tomorrow, he’ll be ex
pecting to meet me. Unfortunately, I will have been called away for a little while, so you will have volunteered to cover for me, just until I can get there. Eventually, as the time goes by, you’ll feel the need to call and ask when I’ll be getting there. I’ll tell you that I’m just waiting to get the perfect photo and as soon as the cheating son-of-a-bitch walks out of that motel room, I’ll be heading on over.”
Jet bobbed her head. “Nice. Very Nice.”
“Then as it gets later and later,” Sonia looked coyly toward the ceiling, “you’ll have to start pressing me to get there since you also have a stakeout you’re working on. But I’ll have to say things like, ‘give me just a little more time,’ or ‘listen, we can wrap this up with one more photo, don’t pull me out of here now.’ ” She looked back at Jet. “All the while, you’ll just keep apologizing and apologizing to Detective Sergeant Adams. If we’re lucky, little Ralphie will walk out the door with Friday’s ‘catch of the day,’ and at that point, Adams will have to forget about me and do his job.”
“And voila,” said Jet, sounding suddenly French. “Ze great magician that you are, you just made ze police detective disappear.” The accent went away. “Brilliant, just brilliant!”
“Yes, yes,” said Sonia, feigning modesty. “All in a day’s work for a magician. What is it they say in the Bible, ‘their tongues practice deceit?’ But in this instance, it’s all for a good cause.” Sonia smiled and turned to Jet. “And now I believe you have a plan of your own you would like to share with me?”
A big smile crossed Jet’s face. “Well, I’m not a fan of one-upmanship, but hang on to your hat, this one is quite a doozy in its own right.”
Jet stood up and walked over to the large armoire that served as her closet. Since the entire BCI space had been fashioned out of an attic, there was no natural closet space; each of the women had brought in a large armoire to fulfill that function. Needless to say, Sonia and Jet had heard some highly colorful expletives from the men who wrangled those monsters up the stairs to the BCI offices.
With a flourish, Jet pulled open the doors, reached in, and took out two chambray shirts. Each one had embroidery over the left breast pocket.
“What are those?” Sonia stood and walked to the closet. She took the shirt Jet handed her.
“These are the key in which we will perform Bob Dylan’s final song. It will be his swan song, so to speak.” She gave Sonia a sly look, “In a minor key of course.”
Sonia shook her head almost imperceptibly. Ah, more music allusions. Then she focused. “What are you talking about? I don’t get it.”
“And what does it say on these shirts?”
Sonia took the shirt from Jet, held it shoulder height on its hanger, and pulled down on its lower edge. She looked carefully at the embroidery: Bluegrass Gas. “That’s the name of the gas company. Aren’t these kind of like the shirts the guys from the gas company wear.”
“Exxxxxactly.” Jet’s eyes were like headlights on high-beam. “These shirts are going to get us into the lair of that sicko, Bob Dylan. They will get us in, and we will end this sorry tale once and for all.”
Sonia stepped back, still examining the shirt. “And exactly how will wearing these shirts get us into Bob’s place?” She held the shirt’s hanger under her chin, checking out her reflected image in the large window overlooking East Main.
“Well, you wouldn’t want to let him and his bimbo fry, would you?” Jet tipped her chin down and a bit sideways.
“What?”
“Listen, we’re getting reports that something’s wrong with the gas line over at that house on Clay Avenue.” Jet’s pace was accelerating. “We’ve got to get over there and check things out. Of course, we’ll knock on the door and everything, but if no one answers immediately we’ll be forced to enter the premises without waiting for an invitation. Hell, the people in that room could be expiring from gas inhalation. Or worse, they could be on the verge of being consumed in a giant fireball of death.”
Now it was Sonia’s eyes that were wide open. “Are you crazy, Jet? We can’t just barge into the place.”
Jet stepped closer to Sonia, pressing. “We can’t, can’t we? Listen, when the gas company put these uniforms on us, we swore a solemn oath to serve and protect the members of our community. It’s our sacred responsibility to crash into that apartment and save those poor souls, evil and decadent as they may be.”
“I think you’re mixing up your mottos there my friend.” Sonia laid the shirt down on Jet’s desk. She slowed the pace down. “I believe it’s the police who serve and protect.”
“Don’t you see?” Jet picked the pace right back up. “When it comes to gas leaks and explosions, it’s these brave guys and gals who put their lives on the line. And tonight,” said Jet, standing tall and looking off into the distance, “tonight, you and I are going to proudly join the ranks of those who have taken the vow, the vow to save those around us from the ravages of natural gas.” She was already taking off her white sweatshirt.
Sonia turned and took a seat in the red chair. Oh. My. Gosh. The girl has totally lost it. She’s totally, totally lost it. She didn’t say a word.
Jet followed suit and took a seat as well. “Don’t you see, Sonia? We know that we’re never going to get an image of Bob with the bimbo. We’ve tried and tried. We’ve got to get in there, and this is how we’re going to do it. We wait until we’re sure he’s well into his sexual gyrations, then we walk right up to that door, bang on it, and yell ‘Gas company! Gas emergency! Gas emergency!’
“If we’re lucky, slippery ol’ Bob won’t even have locked the door. A moment after we knock, we pile into the room. I’ll do the talking, telling them that there’s this gas emergency and we’re looking for a leak. You’ll be behind me with that iPhone of yours unobtrusively recording. If we’re really lucky, we’ll not only catch him with his pants down, we’ll catch him doing whatever disgusting thing it is that he makes that poor bimbo watch for three hours every Thursday night.”
Sonia shook her head and looked directly at Jet. Her voice was strong. “No way. No way am I barging into someone else’s residence pretending to be from the gas company. Jet, it’s illegal; it’s got to be illegal. Plus, it’ll never stand up in court.”
Jet leaned back in her chair and tented her fingers in front of her chin. “That’s the beauty of it, honey, that’s the beauty of it.” She smiled. “It doesn’t have to stand up in court.” Then she dropped her hands and sat up straight. “Think about it. We break in. We get the shots. We show them to Mrs. Dylan. Does she have to take him to court? No. Does she have him by the balls, even though she’s the only one who knows how we got the shots? Ab-so-lutely.
“Does Bob, who just got caught doing who knows what, try to take us to court for intruding on his privacy while he performs lewd acts? I don’t think so. Hell, as soon as we’ve got the shots we’re out of there. He never even knows if we’re really with the gas company, no less who the hell we are. And the grateful Ms. Dylan? She’s certainly not going to tell anyone.”
Jet leaned back in her chair, tenting her hands again. Silence hung in the room as Jet stared into Sonia’s eyes. Finally, she said, “Are you in, woman? Are you in?”
Sonia thought for a moment. She thought about their friendship. She thought about what Jet would be doing for her tomorrow. She thought about how great it was to have somebody to count on, to really count on no matter what. “I’m in, crazy lady. You bet your ass I’m in.”
30
It had rained that afternoon, and it was a cold, wet evening. Having checked their watches, and assuming Bob and the bimbo were fully engaged in their regular routine, Sonia and Jet walked to the house on Clay Avenue. They climbed the slippery steps. Sonia looked around and noted the wooden porch was old and in desperate need of paint. As Jet placed her hand on the door that led into the building proper, Sonia saw it had been wedged open. “So much for security,” she whispered.
“Oh, yes, security first,” said
Jet quietly as she opened the door and led the way into the hallway. Their bodies moved slowly, carefully─as if waiting for the floor to suddenly collapse below them.
Sonia could see tarnished metal numbers hung on the doors on either side of the main hall and could tell the building had two apartments downstairs. She assumed the same was true upstairs. From the pungent smell wafting down from the second floor, she also surmised that at least one of the tenants had a passion for Asian food.
Jet waved Sonia over to the door that led into Bimbo Babe’s apartment. Ever so slowly she put her hand on the black, paint-covered doorknob. With excruciating stealth, she slowly, slowly, attempted to turn the knob. “Eureka!” she shouted in a whisper, as the door latch clicked open with just the tiniest sound.
Sonia’s heart was racing. She wanted desperately to be everything Jet needed her to be at that moment. But illegally crashing into someone’s apartment, to stand there and take pictures of them naked? Sonia shivered. This is crazy. She heard the sound of her own breathing and Jet’s voice whispering, “One, two, three.”
Sonia stood in momentary shock as Jet pounded on the door. Then all hell broke loose. “Gas company! Gas emergency! Gas company!” Jet threw open the door.
Sonia watched Jet fly into the room. She knew she had to follow.
“Gas emergency!” Jet shouted again as she pushed into the center of the room. “Looking for a leak, dangerous leak!”
Sonia had come alive. She tried to appear official as she held her iPhone surreptitiously at her side. She was glad that she had practiced shooting images from the hip that afternoon since it was going to be tough getting the shots they needed. Trusting that she was getting the right images, Sonia walked forward, bumping directly into Jet’s back. Jet had stopped moving, and the room had gone silent.
Standing so close to Jet, and being quite a bit smaller, Sonia had to lean to her left and look around Jet to see what was in front of both of them. Her eyes went first to the bed at the back of the room. There she saw the bimbo, her lips red, her body robust, a stunned look on her face. She was trying desperately to find something with which to cover herself. Unfortunately for her, all she could get her hands on was a thin, bright pink, gauzy, scarf that was already covering her most private parts. Then Sonia’s eyes found Robert “Bob” Dylan, the dastardly, devious, demonic, douche bag, whose perverted predilections had brought them all into this room on an evening so early in the spring.
