by Frank Perry
hood of his parka and sprinted to his car, splashing through standing water. Jelavich had escaped, so now Peter would take his boxes back to Florida and be looking over his shoulder the whole way. Jim wouldn’t get his murderer. He’d been thinking about what to say to Kiki when he entered his house. Before he could say anything he saw her, her face was sheer terror, sitting on the couch staring at him without moving. “What’s wrong!” She just looked at him with pleading eyes, without speaking. He went to her, “What’s wrong, Kiki?”
She could hardly speak, “Chad. I don’t know where Chad is.” With all the evil occurring around the old boxes and the high-stakes trap that had been set, her nerves were on edge.
Jim tried to be reassuring, although privately concerned as well – where was Jelavich? “He’s at college; he’s probably doing something and doesn’t want to be disturbed.”
“I don’t know. I tried calling this morning at our usual time. I tried again all day. I even tried texting him. I just called his roommate, and he hasn’t seen him today.”
He put his arm around her, has this ever happened before?”
“Once; he dropped his phone in the toilet and it didn’t work after that, but that time he called me with a friend’s phone so I wouldn’t be worried. He’s really good about it. I just thought; I don’t know, maybe with everything going on here, maybe he’s in trouble.”
She was brave; she didn’t cry. She was scared, but she was still functioning. They sat and talked until almost ten. She called Sherry at home to see if Chad had called the office, forgetting that his mother was in Michigan.
Jim suggested, “Kiki, I don’t know; we could call the campus police and have them look for him.”
With all that was happening with the boxes, she worried that something bad could happen to Chad, “No, I’ll wait; he’d get really mad if I went snooping around. It would embarrass him.” She had a hard time remaining composed.
“All right, sweetheart, I’ll help any way I can; just tell me.”
“No, you go on with the shipment tonight. You need to finish this. I’ll stay here and think of something.”
He felt helpless. It seemed impossible for Jelavich to put all the pieces together so quickly, but it was something to worry about. He had to keep his mind clear, Jelavich was an evil man, but he had to play this through tonight.
At eleven-thirty, he kissed her and went back to the armory. All the lights were on and several police cars were already on scene. Security was tight except it was hard to distinguish the cops in the dark, wearing their rain-slicked overcoats.
Precisely at midnight, large flatbed semi-trucks started arriving. So did Peter Mikhailovich. As a Floridian, Peter didn’t have a suitable coat for this cold windy and wet weather. Jim watched him hurry from the back of the parking lot, far from the trucks, with only a company ball cap and soaking windbreaker. They shook hands, and Jim noticed that Peter was shaking, presumably from the storm. They didn’t talk as the first driver positioned himself and the forklift started moving boxes aboard the truck bed. Five trucks were now in the queue that would drive in convoy to Florida. It took about twenty minutes to load each truck while drivers moved out of the way successively to cover and strap down their loads. Drivers helped each other fighting the wind and rain to cover and secure their loads. Peter seemed edgy. Jim tried to talk several times during the loading process, but Peter wasn’t in the mood. It was understandable given the investment he’d made and the Russian mafia threat. No one would be satisfied until the convoy was underway.
As the last truck was finishing, Jim approached Peter, speaking loudly against the wind noise, “Have you done anything for security along the way?”
Peter glanced at Jim momentarily then looked away, saying, “I, ah, called each of the state police offices along the route and told them we would be coming through. I’ll call each one when we cross their line that should be enough.”
Something about Peter’s demeanor seemed odd. Jim couldn’t qualify it, but it just seemed odd. Maybe it was his lack of eye contact, or nervousness, or reluctance to communicate. Jim said, “Say, I’d like to meet your son, I imagine he’s in line for the throne of Russia, too. I’ve never met royalty before.” He started toward the back edge of the parking lot, when something stopped him. Peter hadn’t moved.
Jim turned casually around and looked back at Peter, whose face was hidden in a dark shadow under his dripping cap. He said, in a low tone, “What’s going on, Peter?”
The contractor seemed to gain some strength, looked composed, like he was putting on an act for whoever might be watching. “It’s under control, Jim.”
Jim kept his back to the lot, speaking as evenly as he could, “Jelavich?”
“Don’t do anything, Jim; my son ...”
The last truck was finishing strapping the cargo down when Jim extended his hand, “Have a good trip home, Peter, it was nice meeting you.” Peter only nodded and left quickly.
Both men separated; Peter walked slowly back to his rental car and Jim went toward the building thinking fast. Two officers were standing at the entrance under the eaves, ready to close the massive doors. He’d made a decision. “Men, I want one of you to drive to the I-94 entrance and park; call me once you see the convoy head east or west. You (pointing to the other officer) try to follow the car parked over there.” He moved his head slightly indicating the direction of the car far away at the dark corner of the lot.
The last truck engine bellowed, signaling the others to start. Jim gave the signal to the officers. “Okay, look routine, nothing to alert anyone, now go.” Both officers walked to their cars and drove out of the lot, following orders.
Jim turned off the building lights and closed the armory doors as the last truck in line was leaving through the gate. Peter’s car was already gone. He rushed to his car and steered toward the interstate. He’d made the decision to follow the convoy; that’s where Jelavich would be. He drove slowly, trying not to overtake the convoy and risk being spotted. That’s when the first radio report came in “Ah, Detective, I lost the car.”
“Say again.”
“I lost it, Jim. He pulled some slick-ass move and passed all five trucks, had to take over a mile, musta had the front truck spotting for oncoming. I couldn’t follow without lights and siren. I got around one by one, but they’re gone. I can’t see much in this shit. Sorry.”
“Ten four; keep looking for turnouts and call if you find anything, out.” He was beginning to doubt his strategy. His only objective now was to capture Jelavich. He had to catch him in a criminal act, something to hold him on. Instinctively, that meant stealing the convoy boxes.
“Ah, Detective, this is car fourteen out at the interstate, the trucks all went west, Jim, I say again, west.”
“Okay fourteen, roger that, you can go home now.”
West, not east? Where are you taking the shipment, Gregor?
It was after two in the morning when he turned onto the interstate. Traffic was mostly trucks, widely spaced due to the storm, using this main commerce artery between Detroit, Indianapolis and Chicago. He could not see the convoy at first, but it would be at least an hour before there were any main highways it could use; he’d find it soon enough traveling slightly over the speed limit. It actually took only five minutes before he could see the uniformly-spaced row of driving lights ahead in the darkness. They were driving slower than the limit, not pressing it, just a safe speed under the conditions.
He slowed down and maintained a long separation behind them, occasionally allowing other vehicles to move ahead of him, he wouldn’t lose sight of the train ahead. After three more hours, they were still on I-94W, just passing Michigan City in Indiana. It was early morning, still night really, but he used his radio to start the law enforcement machine in motion. He was out of his jurisdiction, way out, but it didn’t matter, he was acting as a private citizen at this point. He called his dispatcher and told
her to contact the FBI about a shipment of stolen property heading across state lines, currently in northern Indiana. At six o’clock, he called again and asked for radio contact information for Chicago; the convoy had turned on to I-90W in Gary, Indiana, directly toward the Port of Chicago.
In another half hour, he was in direct contact with the Chicago field office of the FBI, who was also coordinating with the Port Police. The decision was made to maintain surveillance until the exact destination of the trucks was known. The authorities were in agreement that Jelavich should be caught in the act if possible.
Jim stayed with the trucks at a greater distance as dawn displaced darkness. As the trucks approached the Port terminal south of Chicago, the weather was improving as the lead truck steered onto the Calumet river frontage road, eventually stopping beside a ship docked at the head of the river, where it entered into Lake Michigan, gateway to the Great Lakes and the Atlantic Ocean.
Jim parked outside the port gates, showing his badge to the guard. It didn’t matter that it said Jackson County Sheriff, in the darkened drizzling morning. It was a badge, which was all the guard cared to notice from inside his small heated shack. Jim walked across the huge asphalt staging area for seagoing shipping containers, crossing train lines and under the monstrous rolling
