BLACK in the Box

by Russell Blake

  Larry strode into the great room and selected a set of keys hanging from hooks near the entryway. He opened the foyer closet, removed a dark gray hoodie, and slipped into it on the way to the six-car garage.

  In addition to his Bentley, he had a Lamborghini, a Ferrari, a Porsche, and a Maybach – none of which would be suitable for this trip. He opened the door to a four-year-old Ford Expedition and climbed into its elevated cabin. The big engine roared to life, and he waited as the garage door rose behind him before backing out, careful not to hit Bethany’s aqua Toyota Tercel parked to one side.

  He checked his watch and calculated how much time his errand would take. At the late hour with no traffic, no more than forty-five minutes each direction, and perhaps another twenty at his destination in South Los Angeles.

  Larry could be back in Bethany’s arms in a few hours, tops.

  He pulled down the long cobblestone drive to the coastal road, his face set with grim determination, and waited for his ornate wrought-iron gates to swing open before gunning the gas.

  Why his partner in his side racket was coming apart at the seams puzzled him, but he attributed it to the stress of the murder at the store. What was more important was what he could do to protect himself in the event of…of the unthinkable.

  Larry’s collaborators in Home World were gentlemen whose interests included gambling, loan-sharking, money laundering, extortion, and a host of other lucrative endeavors that generated mountains of cash that required investment to be sanitized. His idea of creating a new chain of big-box stores to compete with rivals like Costco, but with an emphasis on home improvement along with the usual foodstuffs, jewelry, furniture, and electronics, had been enthusiastically welcomed.

  It was only after the first stores had opened that they proposed a new strategy to boost their returns: selling pirated electronics labeled as the genuine article. The margin on a fake tablet or knockoff big screen TV was astronomical compared with legitimate products, and his associates increased their profits by selling the genuine goods they swapped for the fakes in the store at cut-rate prices from the back of their trucks. It was a clean operation that was virtually risk free – not that Larry had any say in the matter.

  Larry, being entrepreneurial, unknown to his investors had decided to trim off a portion of the goods and have his trusted employee sell them, splitting the proceeds. If his investors ever learned of his treachery, he would be buried in a building foundation somewhere in San Pedro. But they trusted Larry to level with them, and he didn’t have to share with them the insurance claims for missing or damaged goods – a normal amount of “shrinkage” was expected in the business, and it had been a tidy scheme until the Alec incident. Of course, it was more the principle of the thing than the paltry few thousand dollars of spending money he pocketed each shipment. Larry had learned growing up in Jersey City to play all the angles, and this was low-hanging fruit. To not do it violated some sense of predatory ethos that he’d developed from childhood – to not do it made him a chump.

  But now he was exposed, and he was being forced to take corrective action. There was a weak link in the chain, but that could be dealt with. He wished he could do so by making a phone call, but unfortunately he was too well known among the locals that specialized in delicate matters, so he’d have to attend to it himself.

  Larry didn’t mind getting his hands dirty.

  It just annoyed him that he had been painted into a corner where he had no choice.

  Chapter 23

  Black hung up with Roxie and resisted the urge for a cigarette that resulted from his steady caffeine intake, and instead went in search of the next worker on his list: Lee Tran. He found the muscular stocker in the employee locker area. Black approached him and smiled at the photographs of Japanese street-racing cars affixed to the inside of the locker door.

  “Hi, Lee. Got a minute?”

  Lee shrugged. “Don’t suppose I have much choice. But I don’t know anything, so it won’t take too long.”

  Black eyed the photos. “You like the Nissan GT-R, huh?”

  Lee’s voice became animated. “Hell yeah. They got loops on YouTube of one taking a Lambo to school. It’s like as fast as a Ninja motorcycle.”

  “I think I’ve seen that. Pretty impressive.”

  “That hardly covers it.” He frowned. “But a hundred grand puts it outta my reach.”

  “That your ride in the lot? The lowered 300ZX?”

  “Damn straight. It’ll get up and go.”

  “You race it?”

  His face grew guarded. “It’s against the law to street race.”

  “Oh, of course. I meant maybe take it to the track?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Let’s hit the break room,” Black suggested.

  “Sure thing.”

  Black let Lee lead the way and took in the elaborate tattoos on his arms and the ink that peeked from the collar of his shirt. When they entered the break room, Black continued trying to build rapport. “You ever clock your ride?”

  “Yeah. It’ll do fours.”

  “Wow. That’s Porsche fast.”

  “Smoked my share of ’em.”

  “So you’ve been working here for two years?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “You like the job?”

  “I’m still here.”

  “Pretty awful about Alec, huh?”

  “That shiz is sick. Straight-up twisted.”

  “Any idea who’d want to put him down?”

  Lee shook his head. “Like I said – I don’t know anything.”

  “Let’s try what you do. How well did you know him?”

  “Not well. Just regular work stuff. He was always in the office. I’m on the floor most of the shift.”

  “You ever see him fight with anyone?”

  “Naw. He wasn’t a fighter. More like a pencil neck.”

  “You lift?” Black asked.

  “When I have time.”

  “What do you press?”

  “Two-fifty.”

  “Seriously?”

  “No big deal. It’s mostly about diet and reps, not weight. You?”

  “I used to,” Black lied. “Was Alec well-liked?”

  “I got along with him.”

  “Right, but how about everyone else?”

  “Ask them.”

  “Doesn’t it bother you that he was murdered by someone here?”

  “Course. But what can I do about it? Boss isn’t going to pay me to stay at home. So I come to work. Anyone try to cut me, I’ll break ’em into pieces, straight up.”

  “Any idea who did it?”

  “Naw.”

  “You think Bethany did it?”

  “I don’t know what to think.” He frowned again. “But she’d have to be whacked to do it, you know what I’m saying?”

  “Does she strike you as whacked?”

  “Not really. She’s more of a lover, not a fighter,” Lee said with a laugh.

  “Yeah?”

  “Not like everyone here don’t know about it. I mean, two plus two, you dig? Some stuff’s simple.”

  “Bethany’s love life? Was she involved with Alec?”

  Lee laughed again. “No, dog. But it’s none of my business how she gets her groove on, you know? I just keep my head down.”

  “How much is your Z worth?” Black asked, the thought suddenly occurring to him.

  “Don’t know. Whatever someone’s willing to pay, I suppose. Why? You in the market?”

  Black smiled again and shook his head. “No. I was just wondering if it was expensive.”

  Lee shrugged. “Depends on who you talk to. It’s no Bentley, that’s for sure.”

  “Yeah. I saw that. Pretty sweet.”

  “I’ll say.”

  Black returned to the case. “Did Alec party?”

  “How would I know?”

  “You never saw him high?”

  “Like I said, I mind my own business.”

  Black finished
his questions, touching on whom else Lee had seen before Alec was found, probing for more information that wasn’t forthcoming. As Lee left, Black wondered what a stocker earned. Probably twelve bucks an hour, maybe a little more? He made a note to ask Larry. Lee’s car seemed above his pay grade; but then again, it could have been a gift from his parents, or he might have saved up, or won it – Black had no doubt that Lee was a street racer, and sometimes the races were for pink slips.

  Next up was Matt, who added no new revelations other than to say that everyone working at Home World was honest and industrious.

  “That’s rare, isn’t it? I’d have thought there’d be a lot of turnover.”

  “Not really. If we find someone good, we try to keep them happy. It’s a two-way street,” Matt said, sounding like a junior executive at a high-tech firm.

  “How’s Bethany as a worker?”

  “I have no complaints. You can check her personnel file. It’s clean.”

  “I heard that she sometimes shows up late.”

  Matt gave him a flat look. “She’s not my report, so I don’t pay attention.”

  “Who does she report to?”

  “Technically, Mary.”

  “Technically?”

  “Oh, sorry. Just a bad habit I have. I meant, she reports to Mary.”

  “How about Alec?”

  “Also Mary.”

  “And Nancy?”

  “Everyone answers to Mary, myself included. Mary delegates us to specific areas, and I supervise. No flowchart required.”

  “You’ve got a good vocabulary.”

  Matt shrugged. “I read a lot.”

  “Yeah? What kind of books.”

  “Business and motivational, mostly. If you want to get ahead, you have to have an edge.”

  “That’s probably true. Who do you think killed Alec?”

  Matt smiled sadly. “I have absolutely no idea.”

  “Where were you when it happened?”

  “What, am I a suspect?”

  “I’m trying to place everyone around the time he was killed. Humor me.”

  “I think I was near the loading docks. I’m not really sure. But I wasn’t anywhere near the offices.”

  “Did you see anyone else?”

  “No. It’s pretty quiet back there.”

  “Do you think Bethany did it?”

  “I have no idea, but it seems like that’s how it’s shaping up, right? Although why the cops didn’t cuff her, I have no idea.”

  “It’s not like the movies. They’ll do some research, analyze the crime scene data, that sort of thing. When they arrest someone, it generally means they’ve got a compelling case. They probably don’t believe she did it.”

  “That’s not reassuring.”

  “Exactly. Which is why I’m here. Because if she didn’t, someone else did.”

  “Got it. Anything else I can help you with?”

  “How much does a stocker make per hour?”

  “Around fourteen dollars. Depends on how long they’ve been here. Mr. Jacobs pays decently. I have no complaints.”

  “They work eight-hour shifts?”

  “Seven. With two breaks and a lunch. Although I’ll let them double up if they want, and leave for forty-five minutes.”

  “Not much around here at night, is there?”

  “Most don’t double up.”

  Matt departed, leaving Black with a sinking feeling. The chances were looking better than good that he’d have to give Larry some bad news by morning. He went back into the store to find the remaining staff he hadn’t interviewed, but did so with pessimism.

  Tanika was friendly but had nothing more to add to the story, and Tabitha was no help whatsoever, except to place Henry around his office near the loading area at the time Alec was killed. Paulina was flirtatious and confirmed her alibi, but closed down when he began probing about Alec and possible drug use. She became visibly nervous the more Black dug, and by the end of the interview he had a strong suspicion that Alec wasn’t quite as lily white as Mary had portrayed.

  Tom was quiet and polite, and when he entered the office, he kept his eyes on the floor in what Black assumed was an indication of respect.

  “So, Tom, you’re Chinese?”

  “Yes.”

  “You been here long?”

  “Almost two year.”

  “Pretty different from there?”

  “Oh, yes. I love U.S.A. Great place.”

  “Any family? Are you married?”

  A head shake. “No. Haven’t met right girl.”

  “That’s usually an important element.”

  They discussed Tom’s job, and then Black steered the conversation to Alec. “Do you remember where you were when they found him?”

  “In back. Cleaning where trucks come.”

  “Did anyone see you there?”

  Tom looked confused by the question, so Black rephrased it. “Can anyone confirm you were there?”

  “I see Mr. Henry.”

  “Okay, I’ll verify that.” Black paused. “What do you know about Alec and drugs?”

  Tom studied Black’s face before answering, and Black returned the look, unable to read him. “Drugs? Nothing.”

  It was the same story as with the others: nobody knew anything, everyone was just there for the paycheck. But Black was detecting an undercurrent of tension whenever he introduced the topic, and he suspected that someone was dealing in the store. Maybe Alec. It was still a largely unformed impression, but his gut was telling him there was something else going on than what appeared on the surface.

  The last person on the list was Kristen, but his enthusiasm was fading and he needed a break, the intensity required to catch any subtle signs of lying flagging as the hour ran later.

  The lure of a cigarette had built to the point where Black was ready to buckle. He told himself that it was reasonable – the charge of stimulant would clear his head, and he could call Sylvia while he savored one. That was another land mine he’d been trying to avoid, but he couldn’t put it off any longer. By now she should have calmed down.

  At least, that was his hope.

  Chapter 24

  Tom pushed his broom with the enthusiasm of a prisoner, working the aisles methodically, the floor constantly dirtied by the stockers. Behind his quiet façade his thoughts were a rush. The investigator had asked about drugs, and the man had been watching Tom with keen interest when he’d answered that he knew nothing about it.

  That could be disastrous for the triad. A murder investigation evolving into one involving drugs would raise uncomfortable questions, especially with a shipment sitting in the warehouse, awaiting pickup at the end of the night shift. His worst nightmare was cops swarming around the area, scrutinizing everyone with a more careful eye. The risk of tripping across the shipment was too high, endangering Tom’s cover as well as the shipping method they were using to move drugs from the port.

  The triads had long ago decided that hiring commercial freight companies made the most sense, because they were on regular routes and so nobody gave them a second glance. Their drivers were competent and equipment good, and they had no idea that once a week, one of their shipments was ten kilos of heroin or meth artfully hidden in the products that arrived on the loading dock.

  The scheme had been working well for all concerned, even though the triad partner who worked at the store was suspected of skimming small amounts for his own dealing. The Chinese accepted a little petty larceny – in the scheme of things a few grams of shortfall here and there didn’t change the profitability enough to care about.

  But if that small-time dealing drew attention and embroiled the partner with the police, it would be catastrophic for their business.

  Tom found an empty area and withdrew a small phone from the pocket of his overalls and placed a call to his triad supervisor. The man answered moments after the first ring.

  “Yes?”

  Tom told him about the interview and his concerns. When he
was finished, the man was silent for several seconds.

  “But there are no police there now?”

  “No. Just the investigator.”

  “Does he suspect you?”

  “No. I’m only the janitor. Nobody suspects cleaning people – we’re invisible.”

  “Keep an eye on our partner. Your instincts are good. If the situation escalates, call me and we’ll discuss what action to take.” He paused. “Is there any indication that the investigator is onto him?”

  “It’s hard to tell. The investigator is good. He dresses like a clown, but his eyes are intelligent. I think he is smarter than he looks.” Tom hesitated. “And he has been roaming around the store, not just interviewing people. I don’t see the point to that unless he’s looking for something.”

  “It could be unrelated.”

  “Yes. I just wanted you to know everything.”

  “Of course. Again, call if there is anything more. I would hate to lose our shipment – or worse, have our colleague there arrested. It would pose too much of a risk to the entire operation. He knows too much. Where everyone lives, our pickup people, the shipping company that brings it into the port…”

  “It would be most unfortunate if he were to be taken into custody,” Tom agreed.

  “Very well. It is too soon to make any decisions. Simply watch and report.”

  “You can depend on me.”

  The arid wind had died down, the banshee wail as it blew through the steel girders above the employee entrance now faded to a dim howl. Black guiltily tapped out a cigarette and counted the remaining smokes in the box – only six. He’d bought the pack two days earlier, so his resolve to quit had proved about as durable as his commitment to Sylvia. At least that’s how she’d see it, he was sure.

  He lit it and drew a deep drag into his lungs while he stared at the stars, hating himself for his weakness while at the same time enjoying the rush as the nicotine constricted his blood vessels and his heart rate accelerated. He considered calling Sylvia while he smoked, but she had cigarette radar and would know from his breathing if he was doing so while talking. He resigned himself to waiting, and ambled over to where Lee’s car was parked near a lowered white Mercedes coupe – maybe six years old, but still, a pricey vehicle.