Father Figure (A Jaxon Jennings' Detective Mystery Thriller Series, Book 3)

by Richard C. Hale

  The silence was eerie.

  “There’s nothing here,” Ray said, his voice echoing in the cavernous space. Jaxon glared at him. “Sorry,” Ray whispered. Even that sounded loud.

  Jaxon pointed to the right and Ray nodded.

  They walked toward a set of double doors, the cement floor announcing their movements to whomever or whatever occupied the building, but to Jaxon, it felt empty.

  At the doors, Jaxon saw they were padlocked. Ray pulled on one confirming it was secure.

  “These are brand new,” Ray said.

  “I see that. Let’s go.”

  “We just got here.”

  “There’s nothing to see.”

  “There’s plenty to see. We just need to look.”

  “We will. Later.”

  “Later? How much later?”

  “2 a.m.”

  “Shit. I don’t get paid enough. Do I get overtime?”

  “Sure. Just not from me.”

  They exited the structure, Jaxon pushing the loose board back in place, and got in the car. The air conditioning was heavenly.

  “Exit the way we came in then drive around to the back,” Jaxon said. “I want to see if it looks any more active.”

  Ray did what he was told and arrived at a back gate that still looked functional. A new padlock and chain secured it. Recent tire tracks created a path in the overgrown weeds and grass of the back lot. It was well worn.

  “Let’s go,” Jaxon said. “Drop me off at the office. I’ll pick you up at 1 a.m.”

  “What about food?”

  Jaxon suddenly realized he was hungry. “Pick a place.”

  “Bar-B-Que,” Ray said, smiling.

  “I hate Bar-B-Que.”

  “What?”

  “I’ll pick.”

  Ray shook his head. “Fine. I’ll eat my shoes in a few minutes.”

  Jaxon was quiet for a minute. “Bar-B-Que.”

  “You’re an idiot.”

  * * *

  After catching up on paperwork, Jaxon took Vick’s car and drove to the shipping and packing store from which his mystery package had come.

  Walking into the deserted store, he saw no one. He wondered if they were still open at this hour in the evening and maybe had forgotten to lock the door. Stepping to the counter, he glanced at the register. It was still on.

  He noticed a faint smell of wax. Maybe it had clung to his clothes and he was smelling himself. He sniffed his shirt. Nothing.

  “Hello,” he said loudly. “Anybody here?”

  He heard some shuffling and voices and an employee popped out of the back room and said, “We’re closed.”

  “The door was open.”

  The guy walked up to the counter, the waxy smell growing stronger, and yelled to someone in the back. “Henry. You forgot to lock the door again.”

  Jaxon heard a muffled reply, but could not tell what was said.

  “I guess I can take care of you if you really need it today,” the employee said. His nametag read ‘Greg Stevens.’

  “I don’t need a package sent or anything like that,” Jaxon said, showing Greg his ID. “I have a question for you.”

  Greg became a little tense, but remained silent.

  “I had a package arrive at my house without a return address on it. It was shipped from this store.”

  “So.”

  “I need to know who it came from. Any chance you would have that information?”

  “We have records, yes, but I’m not allowed to divulge that information without permission from the sender or a court order.”

  “I figured as much,” Jaxon said, pulling out the roll of bills from his pocket. He pulled off four twenties and set them on the counter. “I used to be a cop. Now I’m a Private Investigator. It’s kind of important that the sender doesn’t know I know.” He pushed the bills closer to Jill.

  Greg looked at the money and then back at Jaxon. He licked his lips.

  “I can’t help. Sorry.”

  Jaxon shrugged.

  “Guess I’ll have to do it the hard way.” He picked the bills up and added them back to the roll. “Smells kind of funny in here,” he said looking around the store. “Kind of like crayons. I would think it would smell like paper.”

  “We have a big shipment of them we just got in.”

  “Crayons?”

  Greg nodded. “Must be for some school or something.”

  “Where are they going?”

  “I don’t know. Couldn’t tell you anyway.”

  Jaxon looked the guy in the eye and the man looked away after a second. A voice yelled something from the back and Greg said, “Is there anything else? I really need to lock up and go help in the back.”

  “No. Thanks anyway. I’ll be back.”

  Greg walked him to the door and locked it behind him. The guy watched Jaxon walk to his car then he disappeared through the back door. Jaxon called Tate.

  “Can you do me a favor?” Jaxon asked after Tate answered.

  “Depends.”

  “I need to find out who sent me a package. It was shipped from a local store, but they wouldn’t give me the information without a warrant or something. Can you put some pressure on them for me?”

  He could hear Tate sigh on the other end. “Give me the info.”

  Jaxon recited the address and the date the package was shipped.

  “It was addressed to me,” he said, “and sent to my home address.”

  “Got it. Anything else?”

  “It smelled like wax in the store.”

  “As in crayons?”

  “Yeah. When I asked the clerk about the smell, he said they just got a big shipment of them in and were processing them to go out. He wouldn’t tell me where.”

  “How big?”

  “I didn’t see and he didn’t tell me. Enough to stink up the store.”

  “I’ll see what I can find out.”

  “I appreciate it.”

  “Hey Jaxon.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Thanks.”

  “No problem.”

  At home, Jaxon sat down at the kitchen table and stared at the pile of stuff from the mystery box. There was a dress parade sword lying across some pictures and Jaxon picked it up. He unsheathed it and admired the inlaid pattern adorning the blade.

  It brought back more memories of his childhood when he had made another trip into the parents’ forbidden closet and had found the sword behind his dad’s suits, leaning up against the back wall. It had been a child’s dream discovery. He had played with it for about fifteen minutes, pretending to be a pirate battling other pirates, slashing the air with the sword and even knocking over a lamp. His father had walked in, of course, and yelled at him for an additional fifteen minutes before sending him to his room. He was put on restriction for a week. To Jaxon, it had been worth it.

  He slid the blade into the scabbard and laid the sword on the table. A book he hadn’t looked through yet sat underneath it. It was newer than the rest, something recent in the pile of old and musty relics. He pulled it out and glanced at the title. It was a reunion album of sorts. From the Naval Academy. His father’s fiftieth class reunion album.

  He opened it and glanced through the pictures and words, looking for his father.

  About half way through the book, a picture caught his eye and he realized it was his dad in younger days, standing next to another midshipmen holding glasses up and toasting some unknown person behind the camera. It was from his days at the academy and he grinned with a youthful vigor and innocence that Jaxon rarely saw.

  The caption read, “Two Bills.”

  Next to the older picture was a new one.

  A much older William Jennings was standing next to a much older buddy, but they were holding glasses to the camera, Jaxon’s dad putting on a strained smile that couldn’t live up to the original.

  The caption read “Two Bills At It Again,” with his dad’s name and ranking followed by the other man’s name and ran
king. Jaxon had to look twice, but once he realized the other’s name was genuine, the picture only made it more real.

  Jaxon stared at the man next to his father and wondered why his dad never mentioned he knew him. Especially since he was somewhat of a local success. Shifting his gaze to his older father, Jaxon began to see something in his old man’s eyes that made him feel uncomfortable.

  The camera had not caught the two in a candid pose, so his father was doing his best to give the photographer a good shot, but Jaxon could see something that the camera couldn’t hide. At least not from Jaxon. His father was afraid.

  And William Rothstein looked to be causing his fear.

  Chapter 9

  Jaxon arrived at Ray’s apartment promptly at 1 a.m. He had to bang on the door repeatedly before Ray answered.

  “I thought you were cured,” Jaxon said.

  “I’m exhausted,” he said, rubbing his face with his hands. “I didn’t get much sleep last night and now you’re dragging me out, interrupting tonight’s slumber.”

  Ray closed the door behind him and locked it.

  “Do you really engage in slumber?” Jaxon asked.

  “I sleep.”

  “But slumber sounds so—you know—effeminate.”

  “You mean gay.”

  “Yeah.”

  Ray slid into the passenger seat, buckling the safety harness.

  “You don’t have to worry. I’m not gay.”

  “I wasn’t worried. There’s nothing wrong with that anyway. I just thought it a strange way to put it.”

  Ray shook his head. “I need coffee. Stop at a convenience store and let me get a cup.”

  “Do you mean a latte?”

  “No. Coffee. Black.”

  “One coffee coming up.”

  After stopping for some caffeine, Jaxon drove directly back to the warehouse on Eighth Street and they parked a block away. Grabbing a bag from the bag seat, Jaxon locked the doors and activated the alarm. He wasn’t sure if the car would be in one piece when they got back.

  “What’s in the bag?” Ray asked.

  “It’s a surprise.”

  “I like surprises.”

  “It’s not for you.”

  “Then what is it?”

  “Something I might need.”

  Ray shrugged and they walked in silence. Jaxon decided entering through the front door was their best choice, since all of the signs of activity they saw earlier were evident at the rear.

  Jaxon pried the loose board back and slipped into the warehouse. He heard Ray squeeze through behind him. The blackness was total. He listened closely but could hear nothing. He pulled a small flashlight from the bag, switched it on and light bloomed outward from their position.

  Movement out of the corner of his eye caused him to shift the beam in time to see a large rat scurry away deeper into the huge space. It disappeared into the gloom as the reach of the flashlight’s beam faded. Jaxon swung the beam back toward the doors they had found locked earlier and he started walking toward them. Ray shuffled along beside him.

  At the doors, Jaxon dropped the bag, handed the flashlight to Ray, and then opened the bag. He pulled out large bolt cutters and worked the handles opened and closed, loosening them up. Ray grinned. As Jaxon put the jaws of the device around the clasp of the first lock, a loud screeching echoed through the warehouse and he froze.

  “Put the light out,” he whispered quickly.

  Ray shut it off. Darkness enveloped them.

  A voice spoke at the other end of the warehouse and then an engine started and lights shone into the huge space. Jaxon grabbed Ray’s sleeve and tugged. They ran to hide behind the nearest column. Ray couldn’t find enough space so he ran to the next closest and did his best to squeeze behind it.

  A cargo van rolled into view from around the derelict machine at the center of the warehouse and made its way toward them. It turned at the doors and then backed up in front of them. The engine was cut and two men got out.

  Jaxon saw his bag lying on the ground and cursed to himself. At least he was still holding the bolt cutters.

  The two men walked up to the door talking to one another about some woman the large one had been with last night. He had a set of keys and unlocked the padlock.

  The door swung open and they disappeared inside. A light came on a few seconds later.

  Jaxon looked over at Ray who shrugged and Jaxon raised his hand telling him to stay put. Ray nodded and peered out from behind the column.

  A few minutes later, the two men came out carrying empty wooden pallets that they loaded inside the van, and then went back into the room. Jaxon could not see into the lighted space since the door was opened up against the van and blocked the view. He left the cover of his hiding place and moved left toward a closer column trying to see inside. When he was halfway there, the two returned carrying more pallets. He sank to the floor and lay flat. Maybe they wouldn’t see him there in the gloom.

  The short guy tripped over the bag.

  “What the fuck?” He went down to his knees dropping the pallets which fell into the van.

  “Hey!” The big guy said. “You screwed up the paint.”

  “You left this bag in the way, dipshit. I could’ve killed myself.”

  “That’s not mine.”

  “What the hell, man?”

  They both grew quiet and looked around the area.

  The tall guy pulled a gun from his waistband. He signaled to the short guy to go around the other side of the van.

  Jaxon was out in the open and would probably be seen. He jumped up and ran to the nearest column, his shoes betraying his movement on the cement.

  The big guy heard him and yelled, “Who’s there? Show yourself.”

  Jaxon held as still as he could behind the column.

  “Parks,” the big guy said, “get the flashlight.”

  A beam of light lit the gloom and it panned back and forth across the floor where Jaxon was hiding. He must have been completely hidden behind the column because the light did not stop and the men did not yell. Ray was not in their line of sight and was safe. If he held his ground and did not move.

  “We know you’re here,” the big guy yelled. “Come out and you won’t get hurt.”

  A sound to Jaxon’s right, over by the back door, caused the light to swing rapidly that way. Jaxon could see the giant rat stop suddenly in the beam and then it ran off, careening into some scrap metal blinded by the light. The noise was very loud in the empty space.

  “Did you see the size of that thing?” the short guy said. “Shit. It was huge.”

  The big guy chuckled. “Looked like a cat.”

  “That was a rat, man! A giant mother-fuckin’ rat.”

  The flashlight panned around by the back door searching for the rat, but after a few seconds, it clicked off.

  “Pick up your shit, man,” the big guy said. “You get to explain to Pete why his van is all scratched up.”

  “Wasn’t my fault. Stupid bag. Who’s is this anyway?”

  “Hell if I know. Stu probably left it last night. He’s a dipshit. Grab it and throw it in the back with the pallets and we’ll take it to him.”

  The short guy tossed the bag into the back of the van and closed the door. They both went back into the room and Jaxon moved away from his column and joined Ray behind his.

  “What now?” Ray asked.

  “We wait.”

  “For what?”

  “Santa Claus.”

  “Ho ho ho.”

  The two guys came out empty-handed, closed the door and then padlocked it. They jumped into the van and drove off, closing the warehouse door behind them. Darkness and silence settled into the big space.

  “Come on,” Jaxon said, and made his way to the locked storage door. Ray followed with the flashlight shining the way.

  Using the bolt cutters, Jaxon rendered the padlock useless and pulled it free of the hasp. The door swung open and they stepped inside.

 
It was a lab. That didn’t surprise Jaxon.

  This lab was much bigger than the one at the house and Ray whistled as he panned the light around.

  “They are definitely serious about this drug,” he said.

  Jaxon agreed.

  Eight to nine tables were spread out around the room each containing a separate set of instruments and equipment. All workstations capable of producing a large quantity of crayons. The waxy odor was strong in here even though no residual chemicals or drugs could be seen in the room.

  “They must move everything out whenever they aren’t in production,” Jaxon said.

  “I wonder how often the lab is cranked up?”

  “Good question. I have no idea how long the process is or how much they can make at once. You said you worked a lab in the Everglades? Any clue how much this one can make?”

  Ray shook his head. “No idea. The one in the ‘Glades was a hick operation compared to this and we never caught the guys anyway. Just moved everything out of the area and shut it down.”

  Jaxon stood by one of the tables and picked up a glass beaker. It was spotless. An efficient and professional operation. Whoever was running it was taking it seriously.

  “We’re going to have to come back,” Jaxon said.

  “Why did I know you were going to say that?”

  “Time to go.”

  “They’re going to know we were here.”

  “Yep.”

  “You don’t care?”

  “I don’t care.”

  Ray shrugged and followed Jaxon out of the room, leaving the broken lock on the floor and the door open. They walked back to the entrance, the giant rat running away from the beam cast by the flashlight. It squeaked as it disappeared into the blackness of the space.

  “That guy was right. That thing is huge,” Ray said.

  “Mother-fucking huge.”

  They slipped out into the night.

  * * *

  Jaxon slept late and woke to find Vick in the kitchen sipping a cup of coffee. She didn’t look well.

  “Everything ok?” He asked, grabbing his own cup.