by G. K. Parks
I checked the progress on the search and called it a night. Hopefully, I could flip-flop my days and nights to something resembling normal or at least more normal. After all, Alexandra Riley had to be up early to transcribe patient records.
When I woke up the next morning, I felt hungover. I wasn’t, but it sure as hell felt like it. Too much sleep or too little sleep or some combination of the two over the last couple of weeks had taken their toll. After showering and making a pot of coffee, I returned to the computer. There were a dozen hits in the international databases. Skimming through the details, I eliminated half the possibilities based on race and age. The remaining few had arrest records, but one, in particular, caught my attention.
Reginald Barlow had a record for petty theft, assault with a deadly weapon, and grand theft auto. The mug shot appeared on my screen, and while it was outdated by close to a decade, it was the same guy. The tattoo was photographed separately, and it matched perfectly. Barlow was born in England but held Canadian citizenship; although, he had no discernible accent. I incorrectly assumed he was American, but from his passport records, he should be considered international. In the last six months, he visited Germany, Switzerland, France, and Belgium. This factoid complicated things.
Reviewing the files Islind provided, I scanned through the stolen vehicles. They were all rare finds. With the proper acid wash, re-etching of VIN numbers, and falsified documentation, they could easily be exported and resold internationally. “Goddamn,” I sighed, “why can’t a chop shop just be a chop shop?”
International sales made this a federal matter too. Sure, the local police department could take the collar, but some three letter agency would have to become involved to search cargo ships, access shipping manifests, and track down the international buyers. It must be me. Nothing I was involved in could ever be simple; I was a jinx and proved it again. No luck would be preferable to my luck.
As I assessed the situation, listing the stolen vehicles in chronological order to conduct my own search before contacting my friends at the OIO, FBI, and Interpol, a key scraped in my lock. Always paranoid, I grabbed my nine millimeter from my desk drawer and waited. Marcal, Martin’s driver and valet, opened my door. He smiled and held up my car keys.
“Thanks.” I put the gun down. “The paperwork’s on my counter.”
“Anything else I can do for you?” he asked, retrieving the documentation. He was always pleasant, but I feared my relationship with Martin led to taking advantage of his hired help every once in a while.
“That was it. Can I get you a cup of coffee or tea? Maybe some toast or,” I tried to recall what my fridge contained, “some leftover Indian takeout?”
He shook his head. “Jones is waiting downstairs.” Jones, a.k.a Bruiser, was Martin’s bodyguard. “Have a good day, Ms. Parker.”
“You too.” He let himself out, and I relocked my door.
Something pinged in my brain, but it disappeared before I properly latched onto the thought wisp. Europe, Hoyt, exported cars, Reggie, what was it? Frustrated, I returned to mapping out the stolen vehicles, but my focus was shattered.
* * *
Over the course of the next two days, I compiled additional information on Reginald Barlow, Robert Gregson, Tommy Claxton, and all of the stolen vehicles. Although I couldn’t be positive they were being sent overseas or shipped internationally, given Barlow’s recent travel history, it wouldn’t have been surprising. I called Agent Mark Jablonsky, my former mentor at the OIO, and gave him the non-incriminating version of my current gig. He agreed to work with the Interpol liaison, Patrick Farrell, to track any suspicious auto sales in the EU and Canada that matched the make and models of the stolen cars. At this point, going to the precinct would be premature, so I kept O’Connell in the dark. My boss could make that call when the time came.
Tommy tried to talk to me a handful of times, each time leaving more aggressive messages. By Thursday evening, I was tired of the harassment and answered. We were supposed to work together the following night, and I was edgy enough without dealing with a spurned would-be lover.
“Tommy, stop calling. What part of leave me alone don’t you understand?”
“We were doing good, and then you overreact. What the hell?”
“Are you going to keep it together tomorrow night?” I asked.
“Can’t we talk about this?” I couldn’t get through to him. “Rob tells me to do one thing, and then you flip the fuck out because of it. Shit. What was I supposed to do? I can’t go against Rob.”
“You picked him over me. That’s the problem.”
“I didn’t pick nobody,” he insisted.
“So what happens tomorrow if Reggie decides I didn’t do a good job and wants you to end it? Or if Rob doesn’t want to split the cut three ways? What are you going to do then?”
“I never killed nobody.” His grasp of the English language was irritating. “It’s all an act. You should know I’m not a tough guy. I’m just a big teddy bear. A Tommy bear.” His maturity level was equally annoying. “Alexandra, I’d never hurt you. I’m falling head over heels for you.” The romantic commentary was supposed to melt the ice around my heart, but it didn’t.
“I’ll think about it.” I sighed into the phone. “Just do me a favor tomorrow night and act professional. After the job, you and I will have a nice long chat. Maybe you can take me out to breakfast at that little diner a block from the garage.”
“It’s a date.” After agreeing, I hung up. Was I leading the poor schlub on? Absolutely. Did I care? Not at all.
Before going to sleep Thursday night, I compiled my files on the nine previously stolen cars in preparation for turning them over to the authorities. Since I was responsible for two of the cars, that left seven counts of GTA the authorities could pass around to Rob, Tommy, Reggie, and Hoyt. With any luck, my weekend wouldn’t be spent in lockup on two pending counts of GTA. Well, really only one since Martin willingly surrendered his vehicle for my use. But regardless of the possible charges, cops didn’t do well in jail, and neither did former federal agents or current private investigators, so avoiding being arrested in the raid seemed like a no-brainer.
After making sure all the relevant information was in triplicate, I repeated the process with the knowledge I possessed on Robert Gregson, Tommy Claxton, and the peripheral players, Reginald ‘Reggie’ Barlow and Hoyt. I placed my personal set of documents in my small fireproof lockbox, and I put the other two sets in envelopes. Tomorrow, I’d drop copies off with Mr. Islind and leave the extra set at my office in case of anything. Reassured that all the bases were covered, I logged almost two hours on the treadmill to burn off the nervous energy before calling it quits.
The next day, I ran a few remaining errands and camped out at a nearby coffee shop to wait for Robert’s message. The sun had just set when my phone rang. Delivery was occurring at eleven p.m., and Tommy and I were to wait for further instructions. A few minutes later, Tommy called. He wanted to work on a plan to ensure everything went smoothly, and since the more information I had, the better, I reluctantly agreed.
An hour later, I was in the passenger’s seat of his car, parked across the street from the high-end dealership. Hoyt declined the invitation to join us which was a relief since I still wasn’t sure who he was, and I couldn’t risk him blowing this operation when I was so close to ending the case. Tommy yapped about how Hoyt planned to pretend to be an employee assigned to unload the truck. He’d get keys and access, and if the three of us acted swiftly enough, we’d be long gone by the time the real employees realized others were doing their jobs for them.
“What happens if they’re outside waiting for the shipment?” I asked. It sounded too simplistic.
“Reggie says his boy’s gonna provide a distraction, so we can take off with the cars.” That’s odd, I thought.
“Okay, but who’s covering for Hoyt so he can nab the last car?”
“You worry too much. Why do you have to overthink everyt
hing, babe? You did the same thing to us.”
“Whatever.” It didn’t matter since I was sabotaging the entire operation anyway. Hopefully, they’d catch Hoyt in the act and find the remaining cars with Reggie, Rob, and Tommy at the garage. The trick was to avoid getting arrested too. “We just have to drop them off at Rob’s, right?”
“Yep, then they’ll deactivate the security beacons, we get our cut, and you and I will be celebrating by dawn.” He smiled lecherously. “I went with ribbed for your pleasure.”
“Tommy,” I practically snarled, “I said we’d talk. I never said anything else was going to happen.”
“We’re stealing some fucking cars tonight, babe. We’re going to make bank on this. You’ll want to celebrate.” I glared at him, but he was too happy to notice. “You’ll see.”
“Yeah, we’ll see,” I replied, unconvinced. “Right now, I’m going to change into something less visible. I’ll be back an hour before go time. I don’t suggest you hang around here until then because Reggie will be pissed if someone gets suspicious and it tanks the job.”
“Good call,” he watched as I stepped out of the car, “to go with that fantastic ass.”
“Charmer,” I retorted, heading for the bus stop.
Utilizing public transportation, I made it to my office without Tommy or anyone else being the wiser. Inside, I changed into all black, knotted my hair in a tight braid, and checked the time. With a couple of hours to kill, I prioritized my calls. First was Jeremy Islind. He promised to phone the legal department and have the DA’s office brought up to speed while I called the police department. Being familiar with protocol and procedure, I cut through the red-tape and asked for Det. O’Connell. Unfortunately, he wasn’t in. I tried his partner, Thompson, who was out on a call. Third try’s a charm. Det. Derek Heathcliff was at his desk, incorrectly believing he was twenty minutes away from going home.
“Parker,” he sighed, “O’Connell warned us you might call. Can it wait until tomorrow when he’s at work?”
“No, but if you’re lucky, maybe this will bump you up on my list of favorite detectives.”
“I’m already your favorite.” He chuckled. “What’ve you got?” I updated him on the impending heist, leaving my own culpability out of the equation. After providing addresses, a reasonable timeframe, and the reason Auto Protection Services hired me, Heathcliff whistled. “Why can’t everyone make our cases for us?”
“Civilians have no manners.” Checking the time, I needed to cut our conversation short. “Look, I need some leeway when you roll up on the heist in progress. My boss wants to make sure we get the head of the chop shop, and since his legal counsel’s been negotiating with the DA’s office, do you think you can grab all the moving parts in one fail swoop?”
“As long as the team splits up like you say, we should be fine. I’ll get some guys to sit on the garage and the dealership, and a couple of mobile units will tail the drivers.” He lowered his voice. “Do you want your cover to remain intact if you get grabbed in the sting?” Sometimes, it was irksome how well he could read between the lines.
“Just in case, but I’m hoping to get away without being sidled with those lovely silver bracelets you carry with you at all times.”
“Any other women on the team?”
“Not that I know of.”
“All right. I’ll see what I can do. But if you get cornered, don’t resist arrest. Your boyfriend would have all of our asses if you were taken down by friendly fire.”
Five
It was almost eleven. I was sitting in an all night diner a block from the dealership, watching out the window. I paid my bill twenty minutes ago, but I remained sipping coffee, ready to dash across the street as soon as I got the signal. Tommy was parked on the opposite side of the road, waiting for the delivery truck. I didn’t have eyes on Hoyt and wondered if he was even going to show up. A dark gray van was idling three blocks away, and I was certain it belonged to the police department.
My plan was simple. Follow directions, get the car, drop it off at Rob’s, and get the hell out of there. If the raid commenced before I arrived, I would ditch the vehicle nearby, hopefully find a cab, and go home. There I could change, speak to Islind, and determine if I needed to spend my night at the police station. A lot depended on how much evidence the police acquired during the raid. I wasn’t sure if they had warrants; although, they might by now. But even if they didn’t, they would be intervening during the commission of a crime. Most things were fair game under those conditions.
My phone buzzed. It was time to move. The truck, loaded with eight brand new cars, just arrived. Zipping my jacket, I pulled the baseball cap lower and met Tommy at his car.
“Hang on,” he said, putting his hand on my arm, “Hoyt’s speaking to the driver.” A man stood outside the cab of the truck, gesturing animatedly as he spoke. Then he waved us over. “Okay, I’ll go first. We’re taking the bottom three 911s. That’s all Reggie wants. After I clear the ramps, I’ll pull around to the side like I’m going around back. You get in the next car and follow.”
“Okay.”
I waited patiently as Tommy received a set of keys and lowered the ramps on the back of the sixteen-wheeler. As soon as he was inside the car, I made my way to the truck. Hoyt was still facing away from me, talking to the driver, but he held out a second set of keys. The fact that he never even turned toward me set my internal radar buzzing. Either he recognized me, or he was afraid of anyone else on the team being able to identify him. Neither of those possibilities bode well. If Hoyt made me, I didn’t know what would be waiting at the garage, and if he didn’t and simply wanted to keep his identity concealed, then he might be planning to put two in the back of each of our heads.
Ignoring the panic that was starting to build, I went to the back of the truck, climbed inside the second Porsche, and carefully backed out. Shifting gears, I spotted three men shouting and rushing toward the truck. Apparently, our plan wasn’t working out so well. As I turned the corner, the van from earlier hurtled down the street. It was definitely time to get out of here.
Putting the car into fourth, I headed for Rob’s garage. Half a dozen police cruisers were in hot pursuit of Tommy. Thankfully, they were all ahead of me. Cursing, I calculated the risk associated with each of my options. Delivering the car would cast aside any distrust, and in the event Rob and Reggie thwarted the cops, I might need to make sure Alexandra Riley remained intact. Praying not to get stopped, I sped to the drop-off location.
I pulled into the open door of the garage and found Reggie and Robert looking particularly antsy. “Where’s Tommy?” Rob asked as I stepped out of the car. Reggie grabbed the keys, and Rob began scanning the vehicle. In under a minute, they opened the hood and trunk and disconnected the security beacons.
“He was ahead of me,” I mumbled, inching nonchalantly toward the door. “I’m sure he’ll be here any second.”
“What about Hoyt?” Reggie asked. Before I could answer, the sound of sirens grew louder. “Shit.”
Tossing them both a quick glance as they scurried around the room, it was time to go. I ducked out the side door and sprinted across the street, taking a seat at the bus stop two blocks away while I took off my jacket, tossed the cap into the garbage receptacle, and tugged my hair free. It wasn’t much, but it ought to be enough. As I did this, I made sure neither man exited the garage. Reggie shut the large vehicle entryway, but before either could escape, the place was surrounded by police cruisers.
Letting out a sigh of relief, I dialed a cab company and waited. As the raid commenced and both men were led outside in handcuffs, the cab pulled up, and I got inside. Mission accomplished, I thought happily as the city whizzed past, and I found myself forty minutes away from the chaos. Paying the cabbie and overtipping him on account of my good fortune not to be sitting in the back of a cruiser, I went inside my apartment.
After spending the next few hours on the phone with Islind, the attorney he hired, and the poli
ce department, I was assured that all of my files and information were being assessed in conjunction with the evidence obtained tonight. Four men were in custody, along with two stolen Porsches. The entire garage was being scoured for signs of the previously stolen vehicles or any left behind parts. As far as everyone was concerned, the private investigator that was instrumental in solidifying the case wasn’t being brought up on any charges. Happily calling it a night, I went to bed, feeling accomplished and free.
The ringing phone woke me. It was seven a.m. on a Saturday. Phones should not work this early in the morning.
“Hello?” I asked, sounding groggy and annoyed.
“Parker,” O’Connell sounded equally annoyed but not at all groggy, “I need you to come to the station.”
“Am I in trouble?” From the tone of his voice, he was pissed about something.
“We have a suspect in holding that refuses to talk to anyone. The only person he said he’d speak to is you.”
“Me or Alex Riley?” If it was Tommy making a fuss, I’d pay someone to look the other way while I stabbed him.
“Agent Alexis Parker,” O’Connell specified. My throat went dry. Who the hell did they arrest?
“I’ll be right there.”
Dressing quickly, I grabbed my credentials and a set of the documents for last night’s raid, just in case someone misplaced something, and drove at breakneck speed to the precinct. Automatic transmission didn’t pull the tight turns the manual did, but I still made it in record time. As I headed to the major crimes floor, I couldn’t figure out who would be asking for me. More specifically, the former version of me.
“He’s in the interview room,” O’Connell said as soon as I walked in. “I’m coming with you.” I dropped the file on top of his desk and took a deep breath. “He has no identification. We ran his prints through the system, but it looks like someone deleted them.”
