Black Friday

by Judy M. Kerr

  Nick pulled his arm from Klein’s grasp. “Hold your horses.” He pulled out his cell. “I need a snap of the lady inspector.” He angled the phone around the building.

  Quentin leaned against the wall and stared at the ground. He didn’t utter a sound. Not one peep.

  The kid gave Klein the creeps. He shivered. “Enough Nick. Stand there much longer and they may come over and drag you inside and start asking questions. Seriously, man. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

  “Hold on. I’m waiting for her to show her pretty face. I see two jackets with postal inspector written on the back. Show me the money, honey. Perfect, that’s the ticket.” He tapped the phone screen several times. “She’s kinda hot.” He showed the photos to Klein and Quentin.

  Klein waved his hand. “Great. You happy you got something to whack off to now?” He did an about face. “Move out. Now.”

  Quentin fell in beside Nick. “Why’d you need her pic?”

  Klein said over his shoulder, “He does speak. Here I thought the cat got his tongue.”

  “Leave him be, Klein.” Nick slid his thumb across the phone’s screen. “Never know when a picture might come in handy. Maybe I want to get to know her better.” He leered and clapped a hand on Quentin’s shoulder. “Dig it, my man?”

  “Whatever,” Quentin said.

  “You two get lost. Now.” Klein hooked a thumb over his shoulder toward the shrubbery lining the back parking lot. “Make like a baby and head out. And for Christ’s sake don’t let anyone fucking see you.”

  “Don’t get your panties in a twist,” Nick said. “What’s the plan for tonight? Should we show up at Stennard’s house or what? And are we taking one of the SUVs?” He pointed at the Ford Escapes.

  Klein checked the time on his phone. “No, you’re not taking a car today. I can’t take any chances with all those cops around. It’s almost noon now. I’ve no idea how much longer these yahoos will be here. I’ll ask Mister Stennard when he and Mister Thomson get here what the plan is for tonight. Far as I know it’s still on. Keep your phone handy. I’ll text or call. Now get lost!” He pulled the door open and slammed it shut behind him, leaving the two drug dealers in the cold.

  Klein went to an empty break room about twenty feet from the back door. He pulled aside the blinds and watched Nick and Quentin climb the fence and disappear.

  “Fucking idiots.” He dropped the blinds back into place and went in search of Mike Stennard and Gavin Thomson.

  By two p.m. the team had packed every scrap of paper they could find inside the Stennard building. ASAC Oldfield had been holed up in a conference room next to Michael Stennard’s office for most of the afternoon.

  MC passed the partially open conference room door with a final load of boxes. A booming baritone caught her attention. She slowed outside the door and snuck a peek in.

  “How are we supposed to operate a business without our files?” Michael Stennard slammed a hand down on the table and stood up from his chair.

  “Mike. Calm down.” Gavin Thomson’s even-keeled voice contrasted to Stennard’s over-the-top bleating.

  Thomson motioned Stennard back into his seat. “Agent Oldfield, I’m sure you can understand the importance of keeping our business running and our employees gainfully employed. What can we do to achieve our goal?”

  Oldfield leaned forward and rested his arms on the gigantic conference table. “Mister Thomson, I don’t know there’s much you can do to keep the wheels in motion at this point. Any new records would also be seized under the parameters of the search warrant.”

  “And where is this search warrant?” Stennard demanded.

  MC sidled closer. Len Klein came into view from further down the table.

  “I’ve, ah, got the document right here, Mike.” Klein handed the papers to Stennard. “What he says is true.” When Mike glared at him, he lowered his head.

  Serves you right, you bastard, MC thought.

  “We’re fucked then, aren’t we, Gavin?” Stennard tossed the sheaf of papers at Thomson.

  Gavin Thomson shuffled through the pages and let them drop onto the tabletop. “It appears our hands are tied for now. We’ll get our attorneys working on this right away. Hopefully things will be cleared up before we’ve lost any business.” Thomson rubbed his eyes.

  “Fine. Gavin, get on the horn with the lawyers. I’ll call Linda and have her contact the rest of the staff. Len, you’re in charge of notifying your people about the shutdown.”

  “Will do, Mike.” Klein scooted toward the door.

  MC hustled toward the elevator. She peered back as the door opened behind her. Klein stared. MC stood her ground.

  ASAC Oldfield stepped around Klein. “Pardon me. Hey, McCall, are you finished?”

  MC shook her head as if ridding herself of a demon. She tapped the cart handle. “This is the last load.”

  “Excellent. I’ll meet everyone down front in ten. Would you let Braun know?”

  “Will do.” MC continued to the elevator.

  Klein slithered up behind her. “Mind if I tag along?”

  “Not at all.” She craned her neck to peer down the hall but saw Oldfield was engaged in a discussion with Stennard and Thomson.

  “Hope you find what you think you’re looking for,” Klein said.

  MC refused to take the bait. She tapped a booted foot on the carpet wishing the damn elevator would arrive.

  Klein positioned himself between her and the elevator doors. He stretched his arm across the doors blocking her way. “Exactly what evidence are you after anyway?”

  “I’m not at liberty to discuss an ongoing investigation.”

  “Oh, come on. I’m ex-military. I’ve heard that song and dance too many times. Spare me the play-by-the book.” He leaned into her personal space.

  “Being ex-military, you should know better than to even ask.” The elevator dinged.

  “Hold the door, McCall,” Oldfield hollered down the hall.

  “You got it.” MC eyed Klein. “You may want to take the stairs if you’re in a hurry.” She wheeled the dolly inside the elevator and held the open button.

  “I think I will.” Klein tossed a glare her way and disappeared around the corner.

  “Thanks.” Oldfield hastened into the elevator. “I want the team to get the vehicles to the secure storage facility. Monday the forensic accountants will start sifting through the materials.”

  “Got it,” she said.

  Out in the parking lot, MC stowed her boxes in the last open truck, closed and latched the door. She stepped back and Oldfield signaled for the caravan of vehicles to head out.

  He addressed the remaining agents. “Thank you for your hard work. I appreciate your efficiency. Enjoy what’s left of your weekend. Remember to not say anything to the press, or anyone.”

  MC and Cam headed for their car. They skirted the media, waving off a particularly persistent microphone-bearing reporter.

  “No comment,” MC said as she and Cam hustled to get the hell out of the maelstrom.

  She glanced back once to take in the mayhem, and a white Ford Escape momentarily blocked her view as it fell in behind them. “I wonder how the press will spin this,” MC said.

  Cam said, “Those fucking vultures are like a tornado, they’ll have Stennard and company all twisted up in no time. And, mark my words, the debris field will reach far and wide.”

  Klein sent Nick a text message at around five. You and Quentin meet me at the bottom of the driveway to Stennard’s house tonight at ten sharp. Do NOT be late. Bring ALL the stuff. Plan on staying until the end. You will be adequately compensated.

  Within thirty seconds Nick’s response appeared on his screen. Chill out. Have everything. Need our pieces?

  “Jesus Christ.” Klein rolled his eyes. “What a dumb question.” He fumbled with the keypad and finally typed an answer to Nick. YES!

  Nick’s text appeared: K.

  Michael Stennard, twice divorced, owned a home on Bay View Lan
e on Lake Minnetonka. Bay View Lane was a horseshoe-shaped cul-de-sac and Stennard’s residence sat prominently on the crown of the curve. The five-bedroom, six-bathroom house also showcased a full theater in the lower level and a sunken pool in the backyard despite the fact Stennard owned four hundred feet of beachfront.

  Klein wondered how Mike could pay alimony to two wives and child support for two kids with wife number one and still afford Chez Stennard.

  The most stunning feature was a breathtaking view, from the glass wall at the rear of the main level family room, of Lake Minnetonka.

  The liquor store delivery was due at six, which left Klein less than an hour to run home and change. He drove up the winding driveway to the brick and stone mansion, left the Escalade running, jogged up to the front door and rang the bell. A full thirty seconds went by. He was about to punch the button again when one of the double doors opened.

  Tall, model-thin, blond-haired, and blue-eyed Tori something or other stood in the doorway. She wore a blindingly white cashmere turtleneck sweater over black leggings that looked painted on. “Yes?”

  Klein remembered Stennard’s current flame was a woman of few words. “Is Mike around?”

  “He’s indisposed.” She rested a skeletal claw on a bony hip. Her talon-like nails could be registered as lethal weapons.

  “Tell him I’ll be back by six to oversee the liquor delivery. And security has been lined up for tonight.”

  “Okay.” She began to close the door.

  “Wait.” He stuck his hand out to stop the door’s movement.

  She eyed him up and down and sniffed as though she smelled something foul. “Problem?”

  Klein clenched his jaw. “Why are you so rude? You act like you’re queen of the castle. I got news for you, honey, you’re nothing more than the dame of the moment. Don’t get too comfortable.”

  “Such wise words from a security boy who’s on the back end of forty sliding into fifty. Please do dish out more advice. I’m sure you’re full of it. Full of something, anyway.” She shoved the door closed and slammed home the deadbolt.

  “Fucking bitch.” Klein marched back to his car. “I don’t know where Mike finds these broads.” His fists white-knuckled the steering wheel. “I’d love to teach her a lesson.”

  “I’m turning up the heat before we leave,” Barb called up the stairs to MC. “It’s chilly in here.”

  MC brushed her teeth in the upstairs bathroom and did a quick check of her hair in the mirror. Dressed in a white tee under a plum colored chamois shirt and well-worn jeans, she decided she was ready to face the world. She shut off the light and headed down the steps.

  “If you’re cold now, then yes, turn up the heat. Temp is supposed to nosedive tonight—low around twenty.”

  Barb was at the thermostat in the dining room. MC stepped up behind her and wrapped her arms around Barb’s mid-section. She eyed her partner’s strong, smooth hand working the dial. “Exactly how cold are you?”

  “Why? Do you think seventy will be too warm?”

  “We’ll roast like turkeys in an oven.”

  “Oh.” Barb reached for the dial again.

  MC laughed. “I’m kidding.”

  Barb twisted around to face her. “Smartass.”

  “I love you, too. Now let’s go before we’re late for the movie.”

  “Better hustle, if we’re late Dara will never let us hear the end of it.”

  MC grabbed their jackets. She wrapped a favorite soft gray cashmere scarf around her neck.

  Barb fixed the scarf and straightened the collar on MC’s pea coat. “You’re quite dashing. All the gals will be so jealous.” She laid a warm hand on MC’s cheek.

  “Oh, puhleeze.” MC felt the heat of a blush creep up her neck and bleed onto her cheeks. “Let’s go before Dara starts texting me.” She turned Barb around by the shoulders and guided her out the back door.

  Fifteen minutes later, they found Dara and Meg waiting outside the Grandview Theater.

  “You’re lucky you showed up when you did. I was about to send you a text, MC.” Dara waggled her cell phone in MC’s face.

  MC said, “You’re the picture of patience—not. Let’s get inside and get tickets. Remind me again what we’re seeing.”

  “We talked about seeing The Homesman,” Meg said. “Unless you want to see something else?” She surveyed the threesome, with a poor attempt at a frown.

  Barb linked her arm through Meg’s. “I’m not one for the life story of some gangster and how he became an FBI informant in order to take down a Mafia family invading his so-called turf. Do you two have anything to add?” She pinned MC and Dara with her silvery-gray gaze, wind ruffling her short blond hair.

  Dara said, “I got nothing. The Homesman sounds dandy. I don’t know about MC, though. Maybe she feels the need for more intrigue. I’m not sure she’s got enough in her own life.”

  MC elbowed Dara. Even through her winter jacket, the move hit its mark. “Yow!” Dara dramatically grabbed her side.

  “You’re fine, Dara.” Meg rolled her eyes at MC. “Let’s take this party inside before we all turn into human popsicles.”

  Barb stepped back and threw an arm around MC. “You two are like siblings, I swear. Or like a couple of my students.” She laughed, sending misty puffs of vapor twirling off on the wind.

  MC’s heart swelled as she surveyed her self-made family. This is what life was all about.

  By just after nine o’clock the foursome was seated in a cozy corner booth at Rosa’s Mexican Restaurant, located a few blocks from the movie theater.

  Everyone ordered a margarita, except Dara who ordered a glass of horchata—a rice milk beverage with cinnamon and vanilla. And fresh guacamole and chips for the table.

  Meg and Barb were deep into a dissection of the movie, so Dara leaned across the table toward MC. “I saw the news earlier. Stennard, huh?” She raised one eyebrow. “Saw a bunch of trucks and a whole slew of law enforcement out there. Didn’t actually see you, though. I guess you’re not famous, yet.”

  “I still can’t talk much about it. But yes, we were on site removing potential evidence. Amidst a not so happy contingent of the upper echelon.”

  MC dipped a chip into the guac. She chewed and considered all the events of the day, including her run-in with asshole Len Klein. His assholery made her wonder if he had, indeed, played a role in Arty’s murder. She’d love if he were put away for the crime, but something didn’t fit. Klein’s meeting with the two unknown men didn’t mesh with the timeline for Arty’s demise.

  Dara asked, “What’s next for you guys on this Stennard deal?”

  “Not sure. We’ll find out more on Monday. Hopefully the forensic accountants will be able to sift through the documents and piece together the necessary evidence, now that we don’t have a whistleblower any longer.”

  “Hey, you two, enough talk about MC’s work.” Meg grabbed a couple chips. “Let’s talk about something fun and cheery.”

  “I second that.” Barb slid a hand onto MC’s knee under the table and gently squeezed it. With her other she lifted her margarita, took a sip, and leaned into MC. “How about those Vikings?”

  “Argh.” A chorus of disappointment from the other three women set the whole group laughing.

  The waiter, one of Rosa’s many relatives, arrived bearing platters of burritos, chimichangas and enchiladas. Sides of refried beans and sour-cream-topped shredded lettuce and tomatoes garnished each plate. They all dug in with gusto.

  Barb and MC hugged Dara and Meg and the two couples split off toward their respective cars with a final wave good-bye. MC pulled Barb’s arm through the crook of her own, and they strolled the two blocks to where the Camry was parked.

  The inky night spit shards of sleet at them. “I didn’t know it was supposed to snizzle,” Barb said. “I didn’t even think to bring gloves. They must be in my other coat.”

  MC covered Barb’s hand with her own. “Snizzle—you’re hilarious.”

&
nbsp; “What? It’s not really snow. And it’s not really drizzle. More a combination of the two.”

  “Hence, snizzle.”

  “Before you know it, we’ll be buried in two feet of snow.”

  “Which reminds me, I should start the snow blower tomorrow. Make sure it’s working. They keep talking about a possible Thanksgiving night storm.”

  “I hope they’re wrong because I don’t want to miss my Black Friday shopping.” Barb shivered. “I can’t wait to get some good deals.”

  “Don’t get me anything. I don’t need anything.”

  “Don’t tell me what to do, missy. You know better.”

  MC held up a hand. “No need to go all teacher on me.” She leaned over and gave Barb a quick kiss. “How about I get us home. I’m sure the house will be toasty as a wood-fired pizza oven by the time we get there.” She laughed as Barb took a swipe at her arm.

  Safely ensconced in their warm snug bungalow, MC hung their coats in the front closet and locked up. Barb made a beeline up the stairs. “Gonna get my jammies and slippers on. I’ll be right back.”

  MC pulled her work phone from her messenger bag and checked email. Nothing pressing.

  She remembered Sergeant Wilcox from MPD was supposed to email copies of the photos of Arty’s car. She scrolled back through and didn’t see anything from MPD or Wilcox. She was about to compose a message when she heard Barb coming down the stairs.

  She pocketed her phone. No sense in ruffling feathers by letting Barb know she’d been doing some work-related stuff. She rose from the couch as Barb hit the bottom of the staircase.

  Barb asked, “Cup of hot tea?”

  MC considered how incredibly lucky she was to have this beautiful person in her life. “Yes, please.”