by Mary Mead
He slid the little pink paper over, the one I had written his code on, looked at it for a couple of heartbeats. He reached up and took one of our business cards. He stuck the code on the back of the card before bringing out his wallet.
“No,” I said.
He looked up at me. “What?”
“Don’t put the code on my business card. You drop the card or lose it somewhere and you’re giving someone twenty four hour access. Memorize it, or put it in your phone as a contact ID.”
He pulled the code slip off the card and stuck it in his wallet, returning the business card to the holder on the counter. “Good point,” he said. “Do you think that could have happened? That someone found a code to get them in?”
“It’s possible,” I said. “No matter how many times I explain it, people don’t get it. They write ‘storage code’ on a slip and stick it to the dashboard of their car where anyone can see it. They put it on the refrigerator where all their friends can get it. All kinds of silly things. I literally picked up one of our cards in the parking lot at the grocery store and found a code written on the back, like you were going to do.”
“What did you do?” he asked, leaning back and finishing his coffee.
“Shot him,” I said, with a straight face.
He choked on his coffee and sprayed it down his shirt and across the counter. I slid his application out of the way and handed him the box of tissues I keep under the desk.
“I wouldn’t be surprised,” he said when he could. “Point taken, although the idea of you with a gun is scary enough.”
“You might be surprised, Burke,” I smiled.
He met my look. “Now what?”
“Now I show you around,” I answered, standing up. “These are your keys. Please don’t lay them down somewhere and forget them.” Indicating the different colored rubber rings on the tops of the keys, I explained. “Red is for the overlocks, yellow is for company units, where most of the tools are kept. Blue is for the garage, where we keep the golf cart. The key to the cart is left in it, just remember to turn it off.”
“What if someone steals the cart?”
“Then you chase them. You can probably catch them on foot. It’s not that fast.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“The other thing you need to know is the owners. They do come in from time to time. Mrs. Murphy has a couple of units here and her son has one of his own.”
“Which son?”
I looked at Burke. “You know the sons?”
“I know most of the family. Paul and I went to school together.”
“Then you’d recognize them if you run into them.”
“Oh, yeah.”
“How do we play that? Do they know you’re a cop?”
He thought about it a minute. “Not positive but I don’t think so. Haven’t seen much of them the last few years. I’ve run into Paul a couple of times at the Gem but it was just a brief hello.”
“Then it’s up to you how to handle it,” I said. “I report directly to Paul, indirectly to Mr. Murphy. I had to notify them of the undercover business, have them okay it. It is their business.”
“Understandable. I think we’ll be okay. What about Trick? Does he come in?”
I looked at him. “Who?”
“Trick. The younger son.”
“Patrick?”
“Yeah,” he said. “They always called him Trick. He had quite a way of dodging the ladies.”
“I haven’t met him. I’ve seen him on the cameras, helping his mom unload stuff. He’s never introduced himself. Do you have a problem with him?”
“Nope. Doubt he’ll remember me. He was a couple of years behind us, me and Paul. And we weren’t that close. Played football, baseball, tennis, that stuff.”
“School jocks?”
He chuckled. “You could say that. Mostly we competed. In everything.”
“Academics?”
“Well, no, that was one area we left alone.”
“As long as you know they can squelch this deal at any time. They have the right. I explained that to the DEA guy.”
“Understood.”
“Come on, let’s go see the lot.”
We spent an hour or so around the lot. I pointed out the company units where we stored ladders, hoses, garden tools, all the larger tools in one, another which held trash bags, light bulbs, sprayers and the other small tools. Burke asked a few questions and those he did ask were intelligent and to the point.
Being honest and observant I had to admit Declan Burke was a very good – looking man and he appeared to be very fit. Wide shoulders, heavy chest and solid thighs. My guess would have been linebacker. If I had to guess. At least I wasn’t going to have to worry about him not being in shape for the physical side of the lot, pretty sure he could manage a ladder and a broom without mishap.
I introduced him to the few customers in the lot when we were touring. He handled himself perfectly with just the right humility and graciousness, even joked with Randy, our resident spy.
Back in the office I took my seat behind the counter and checked the phone for any messages. Burke leaned on the counter.
“Anything else? Have I completed my training?”
“Looks like,” I said. “If you need anything we don’t have make me a list and I’ll pick it up at the hardware store. We keep an open account at Greg’s Hardware over in Monarch.”
“Got it,” he said. “Now am I through?”
“Far as I’m concerned,” I said, leaning back in my chair.
“How about dinner tonight?”
I shook my head. “Sorry, not a good practice to hang out with the help.”
He grinned at me. “We’ll see,” he said, before turning for the front door.
“When are you going to start,” I called to his back.
“One day this week. Watch your cameras, you’ll see me. Hard at work.”
“Take care, then, “I said as he went out the front door.
He turned and shot me with finger and thumb. “You too, babe. See you soon.”
I watched him go, heard him slam the door of his truck and then heard the engine kick over. This was going to be interesting.
I have to admit the guy worked his buns off over the next week. He was there when I came down to open the office on Monday morning, already at work in the back lot.
He had been sweeping for a while, to judge from the piles of sand and gravel lining the main corridor. Checking the cameras I saw several trash bags lined up along the first two buildings. He must have gotten an early start.
During the week he was in and out for several days - sweeping, bagging the trash, cleaning the driveways and along the fences. He would work for hours, disappear for a while, and come back before closing.
He went through the office several times a day, using the inside door to access the garage and the golf cart. Always a ready smile and some kind of innuendo on his way past the counter. A few times he came in for coffee in the morning, usually taking it with him.
I checked the cameras at night but never saw him. If he was out there he was excellent at avoiding the cameras.
It was entertaining to watch him work. I noticed when it got hot in the afternoons he pulled off the sweatshirt, exposing a tee shirt tight across a broad chest, tight belly and narrow waist.
I wasn’t the only one that noticed.
By Friday there was a marked increase in the female customer’s visits during the late afternoon hours. Two in particular were in on Wednesday, Thursday and Friday. One of them brought him something on a covered plate and spent twenty minutes yakking at him.
Yes, I timed it.
She yapped while he leaned on his broom with one hand and balanced the plate with the other.
I watched on the camera, a technological peeping tom, wondering if he needed help. I was just about ready to go out and interrupt when she gave a little wave and sashayed back to her car. She wiggled like a plump pup all the way to her car. Excell
ent camera system. I could see her butt jiggle with every step.
By Friday I was glad to see the week end. Burke had finished sweeping the whole lot and cleaned along the fences, where plastic bags and trash tend to collect. I had moments of guilt watching him work while I sat in the office. They passed quickly. He had the system down pat, knew what he was doing.
Closing time finally arrived and I headed upstairs as soon as I closed the office. I went straight through to the bathroom and took a long shower. When I was finished I combed through my hair and left it loose. Pulling on some sweats I padded barefoot into the kitchen and put on the water for tea.
While I waited for the water to boil I hung on the refrigerator door and gazed inside. Grocery day was Saturday so the contents were bleak. Closing the door I went to the cupboards and understood how Old Mother Hubbard felt.
Pulling out a can of chicken soup, the standard make do meal for singles, I set it on the counter. I had just got down the tea bags when someone knocked on the door.
It is sadly common for a customer to arrive after the office has closed and assume, incorrectly, that I exist only to meet their needs. A sign at the bottom of the stairs clearly reads ‘Private – Do No Bother Tenants’. I am always tempted to kick those who knock back down the stairs.
I snapped the door open, a hot rebuke already forming, to find Burke on the stairs, holding a huge brown paper bag.
“Hey, boss,” he said. “How do you feel about Chinese food?”
Stuck on my own petard, my hunger overriding the company. I stepped back and held the door for him.
He came in and turned into the kitchen, setting the bag on the counter. “Didn’t know what you like, so I got a variety,” he said. “You want to get some plates?”
I moved next to him and pulled down a couple of plates. He was busy taking little white pasteboard containers out of the bag and setting them along the counter. The smells coming from them had me drooling.
I got down two glasses and filled them with ice while he finished spreading his feast. He rummaged in a drawer and found silverware while I poured tea into our glasses.
“A little bit of everything,” he said, with a grin. “Chicken chow mein, fried rice, egg foo yung, sweet and sour pork, egg rolls and shrimp. If I missed anything we don’t need it.” He dumped out little packets of soy sauce and hot mustard before folding the bag and putting in beside the refrigerator. “Dig in,” he said, still with that grin.
When it comes to food, I eat like a truck driver and have no modesty. I grabbed a spoon and began to fill my plate. Burke moved in right beside me and we bumped elbows getting a little of everything. Once the plates were loaded we each picked up a glass of iced tea and made our way to the couch.
Settled in, I handed him the remote. “You brought dinner, you get the controls,” I said. “And thank you. This is perfect.”
He turned on the television. “Glad you like Chinese. What channel is the movie channel?”
I couldn’t help it, I chuckled. “Make yourself at home, Burke. They start at 225. The oldies are on 237.”
“Why are you laughing? I brought food.”
“Yes, you did. And I thanked you.”
“How about W.C. Fields?”
“Love him,” I said around a mouth full of egg roll.
With that we sat back side by side, eating Chinese food and laughing at the old black and white film. Seventy years later it was still funny.
It was almost ten o’clock by the time the movie ended. I boxed up leftovers for him to take but he refused.
“I’m staying in my motor home right now,” he explained. “Not much room in my fridge. You keep them. If I get hungry I can always come up here.”
“Hardly. You can however go into the break room downstairs. I’ll take them down in the morning and leave them in the fridge.”
“Spoilsport,” he grinned, leaning back against the counter.
“Thanks for dinner, Burke,” I said, leading the way to the front door. “Have a good night.”
I opened the front door for him, stepping back so he could leave. He caught me by the shoulders, dropped his head and planted a quick kiss on my lips. “Thanks, babe. I hate to eat alone.”
He was three stairs down and moving by the time I blinked. At the bottom of the stairs he turned to look up at me. His eyes glinted in the light of the porch lamp. “I haven’t forgotten that kiss,” he said softly. “I’m working my way up to it.”
“Gonna take more than Chinese food,” I called back and shut the door. With my own smile I twisted the lock and shot the dead bolt.
Over the next two weeks we settled into a pattern.
Burke checked in two or three days a week, picking up a list of things to do and a cup of coffee before going to work in the lot. Those days he usually stayed for dinner – whether we ordered out or I cooked.
We usually followed dinner with a movie, the evening stretching to ten or so before Burke headed home, wherever that was.
Several times I noticed that fresh, outdoor smell on his clothes when he came to the office in the morning, that same smell that was on my sweatshirt when it was returned.
He laughed when I asked about it, and explained that he was currently living out of his motor home. He had a small washing machine but relied on a clothes line to dry his laundry. He did give me points for picking up on the scent.
We were comfortable together, sharing many of the same tastes – food and movies. When it came to sports, specifically the NFL, we went our separate ways. I am, and have been, a fan of the Dallas Cowboys while he roots for the San Francisco Forty-Niners. Mortal enemies.
The nine cartons of drugs remained untouched.
In Burke’s case, someone could have lit up a pipe in his truck and he wouldn’t even blink. He was still undercover, had been for close to two years, gathering info, following leads. While he never shared inside information he did teach me a little about the drug pipeline.
We have hundreds of miles of coastline in California, most of it accessible from the sea. Our local news often reports an empty Panga boat floating in the surf or run up on the beach or rocks.
I asked Burke about that and he explained they are a common fishing boat, with a high bow and a wide center, light enough to be powered by a couple of good outboard motors.
Loaded with drugs they can run at night, follow along the coast and layup when necessary with a common GPS system. Hard to see close to shore, easy to handle, and fast.
A pre-arranged meeting point, a rental truck, a quick off load and it’s off again, innocent fisherman if stopped. Easy to abandon when necessary. Pull the motors off and load them in the truck with the cargo and off you go, leaving the boat behind. In some cases even the outboard motors were abandoned.
Considering the amount of drugs they can carry in a shipment, the cost of the boat never enters the equation.
Jade Beach is located about half way between Los Angeles and San Francisco, convenient for shipments going either way. There’s also the great central valley that runs right through the center of the state only three hours east.
Burke referred to our area as a hub – convenient place to load up and move out, in any of three different directions. In past months he had been active in San Diego, before moving up to Los Angeles and now here, traveling in and with different drug dealers, infiltrating and working to find the main source.
There were days in a row that Burke failed to appear, followed by a chain of days where he could be found actively working in the lot.
I did have to caution him about taking off his shirt, which amused him no end. He was, after all, undercover and supposed to be unobtrusive. Fawning females spending hours at a time in small talk brought him a lot of attention.
He insisted I was jealous, and while I hotly disagreed, he wasn’t far off base. The blond hair, dark eyes, and rugged build fit together nicely and I wasn’t dead.
We settled into a comfortable arrangement – dinner two or three n
ights a week, movies, football games – an easy, laid back relationship with no stress or strain. He was an excellent companion, knowledgeable on many things, well read, and had a great sense of humor. I’ve always been up for a laugh.
If he was there, fine. If not? Also fine.
The last days of the month arrived, the first drew close and things got busy. Customers moving in and out of units, traffic in and out of the office with new rentals and rent payments. While many customers were billed automatically on their credit cards others chose to come in and pay in person.
Somewhere in that three days of the month the nine cartons of drugs disappeared.
Burke was absent, of course.
On a whim during the late night drive through the last day of the month I removed the yellow snap tag and went inside to check the cartons.
They were gone.
I spent hours reviewing tapes, checking each camera back several days, monitoring the activity around the unit. I was up till one or two in the morning, monitoring the hard copies of access sheets the past couple of weeks. I wondered if Burke had moved them.
A lot of lost sleep and too much caffeine left me with a few leads.
There were three different pickup trucks with shells on the back, six rental trucks, and four vans around the unit blocking a clear view of the unit door, not to mention the various cars back and forth in the aisle. That was just the past week.
I found nothing I could pin down.
When Burke returned he took copies of everything and backtracked everything I had done. Burke found nothing.
He explained he had been on another case for three days. The bodies of two men had been dumped near the freeway, both shot in the back of the head. One was a known drug dealer identified by Agent Miller. Burke was called in to work that case.
