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Loose Ends: A California Corwin P. I. Mystery (California Corwin P. I. Mystery Series)

Page 5

by D. D. VanDyke


  I realized they were checking the parked cars as a spotlight washed over Molly. Lucky Bill had left the vehicle. He’d never have been able to hide from a good once-over sitting inside. As long as the perps didn’t get out to look closer I should be all right.

  The van passed by, engine revs increasing as it turned the corner and accelerated away. I rose carefully and waited until it showed up again at the other end of the street, having circled the block. Hopefully Bill had stayed well out of sight and wouldn’t blow the stakeout.

  This time the van turned crisply into the warehouse drive, and then a hand reached out the driver’s window to buzz at the gate. The metal barrier immediately rolled out of the way, Lattimer’s doing for sure. The vehicle surged in, turning off its lights and parking quickly by the steel personnel door to the windowless building.

  A woman got out of the passenger side. At this distance, forty yards or so, I couldn’t make out much except she was about Mira’s height and build, with dark hair. She opened a box on the wall and picked up a handset.

  Molly’s passenger door opened quietly and Bill slid into the car, shutting it quickly and silently like a pro. At least the vodka hadn’t impaired his technique. Probably he was already starting to sober up.

  “They’re early,” he said.

  “Guess I still need to work on my Sherlock routine.”

  “You were pretty close. Fifteen minutes.”

  I grunted and turned back to look at our prey across the street near the warehouse. The woman talked for a minute on the handset, and then hung it up. After another moment, probably to input the code and apply the fake fingerprint to the scanner, she set her feet, leaned hard and pulled open the warehouse’s personnel door. It must be quite heavy to take that kind of manhandling.

  While she was doing this the driver, a heavyset white man in a dark jacket and knit cap, hopped out and folded the side mirrors flat. After getting in again he backed the van up and did a quick one-eighty as the woman opened the cargo loading door. In reverse, the vehicle rolled completely inside, barely clearing the edges. The steel curtain slammed down, leaving no trace of its presence.

  “I see why they didn’t get a bigger truck,” Bill said.

  “Yeah. Perfect size.”

  “Wish we could call this in.”

  I glanced sideways at him. “The girl, Bill. I don’t give a shit if they get away with millions in pills as long as we get Talia back.”

  “I know. Still…”

  “You want one more shot at glory, Bill? Proof that you can still cut it?” I felt like slapping him, but stopped myself, letting my voice do the work. “The only way that’s gonna happen is if we find that little girl. Once she’s safe, you can take all the credit you want. Get your name in the papers. Be a hero. ‘Former Chicago Cop Saves Kidnapped Child in Drug Heist Bust.’ You can have the publicity. I don’t want it.”

  Bill eyed me skeptically. “You for real? Something like this could get you reinstated.”

  I shook my head, turning to stare at the warehouse to cover the stab of pain I felt. “That ship has sailed. The Thin Blue Line never forgets. I might be able to work at some other department, but not here in the Bay Area. Probably not even in this state. The City is my home. I’m not leaving it.”

  “God, you’re beautiful,” Bill blurted.

  “And you’re still drunk, so how’s about we call it even,” I returned in a flat tone. Funny what attracts men and what comes out of their mouths at the oddest times.

  Or maybe, not so odd at all. I’d just made a declaration of loyalty in front of a guy who’d been ditched by his wife and discarded by his profession. No matter how justifiable, those things left deep scars, especially on a cop. With the good ones like Bill and me, honor and integrity wrapped our core, stiffened our spines. Without it, we felt – I felt – brittle. Hollowed out.

  “I saw something,” Bill said suddenly.

  Our thieves hadn’t left the warehouse, so I glanced around. “What?”

  Bill stuck his thumb over his shoulder. “Back behind us, around the block. When I went to piss. Guy in a late-model green Audi sedan, just sitting.”

  I craned my head to look, but Bill shook his head. “Naw, he left when I made him. Probably completely unrelated.”

  “What’d he look like?”

  “Young. Late twenties? Light skin, maybe blonde. Average height and build. Hard to say more.”

  I shook my head. “You should have told me that first.”

  “It didn’t matter. Like I said, he hung a U and sped off.”

  “He could have come back. Could be watching now.” I craned my head around, not trying to hide my surveillance anymore. As Audis were common rally platforms, I felt fairly confident I could spot one even half-seen in the dark.

  Nope. Nada.

  Bill cleared his throat and tugged his collar. “You think these guys are pro enough to have brought a cover driver?”

  “If it was me I would. One lone jockey can knock a tail off or decoy pursuit if he’s good, and then bug out any number of ways – on foot, swapping cars, even a boat or helo. Anything to get the goods away.”

  A grunt came from Bill, wordless agreement.

  I pointed. The warehouse cargo door showed a dim crack beneath it before rolling up suddenly, quickly. The van pulled forward and the driver leaped out to slap a button, causing the big portal to close before he climbed back in and drove to the gate. I could see the plates had mud smeared on them obscuring the numbers, a common trick.

  “Does your security center open the barrier or is it automatic?” I asked.

  “It’s automatic unless we disable it or the alarm trips.”

  I reached for the ignition to start Molly, leaving all lights off. “Better buckle up, then. This might get interesting.” I pulled my four-point harness down and snapped in.

  “Uh…”

  “What?”

  “I get carsick.”

  “This isn’t a high-speed pursuit. If they make us, we have to drop off anyway.”

  “Then why the seatbelts?”

  “Same reason you got a safety on your weapon. Unexpected shit happens.”

  Bill stared at me for a moment, and then reached for the harness. Once buckled, he opened his hand. “Flask.”

  “Like hell,” I retorted, not feeling charitable right then.

  Bill dropped his hand, defeated.

  I hoped I wouldn’t regret this night, trying to help a fellow ex-cop get over his fears and back into the field. Maybe I should have come alone. I put the doubts out of my mind as the van exited the warehouse drive to steer left and away, cruising back the way it had come from.

  Easing Molly out, I let the van get a block ahead, then two before I turned on my lights. Checking my rearview mirror, I didn’t see any tails. No Audi, green or otherwise. We followed as the thieves picked up the state highway across the top of San Pablo Bay toward Vallejo.

  “Where you wanna bet they go?” Bill asked.

  “South,” I said. “Napa’s too refined. Hard to hide. The 80 corridor is a possibility, but their options that way get more and more limited the farther they go until they hit Sacramento at least. South, though, and you got nothing but suburban sprawl for miles. Lots of places to hole up.”

  “You don’t think they’ll drive the haul out right now? Head for a big city to fence the stuff – Vegas, L.A., Seattle? Leave the girl somewhere, phone the mother for a pickup? That’s what I’d do.”

  I chewed my lip. “They gotta know the theft will be found out in the morning, maybe even tonight during the next shift if your guys are diligent in checking the logs and get suspicious. Everything is on video even if the plates were obscured. At the very least they’ll have to transfer the cargo to a new vehicle and it’s logical the girl will be there with a third member of the crew.”

  “It could get dicey if we find their hide. What if they decide to tie up their loose end?”

  “They won’t. Murder takes the story from t
wo forgotten column inches and a mention on the local news straight to the front page of the Chronicle and nationwide TV coverage. In fact, if that happens, I know an investigative reporter that will run these sons of bitches to ground before law enforcement does, if I don’t first.”

  “You’re assuming rational self-interest, but what about the two-day delay?”

  “Could be one of many reasons. Like, the first two trucks they stole both broke down. Or the driver tripped, hit his head and had to sleep off a concussion. Or they scored some uncut smack and put themselves out for a day and a half. Maybe they ate some bad burritos and spent a sleepless night on the crappers. With lowlifes it could be anything.”

  “What if they aren’t making the decisions? A heist this big…they deliver the cargo, their employer pops them and the kid too, just in case. Five gallons of gasoline and, poof, there goes the evidence.”

  I glanced over at him as the shifting lights washed his face. “Is doom and gloom your default mode, Bill?”

  “For a while, yeah.” He sighed. “I ain’t a big believer in everything working out.”

  “Let’s stay positive and do the job, all right?” I focused back on our perps as we approached the I-80 on-ramps. “South, baby, come on…”

  The van turned onto the southbound freeway entrance and I kept an eye on it as we followed.

  “Shit, he’s rabbiting,” Bill said.

  I swore. He’d seen it before I had, that the heavily laden van was accelerating far faster than it needed to. “They must have spotted us, gotten suspicious,” I said as I downshifted and accelerated, thumbing the button to kick in the supercharger.

  Molly leaped forward as the blower screamed like a fighter jet. I loved that sound, and I loved the kick in the ass even more as I took the sweeping turn onto the on-ramp at the optimal line, still accelerating north of seventy.

  “Cal, back off! Cal!”

  “What?” I snapped, letting the revs climb toward redline as we approached the merge.

  “You’re confirming their suspicion that they’re being tailed. You’re gonna get the girl killed! You told me yourself this isn’t about busting them.”

  “Crap. You’re right.” I took my foot off the gas and dropped back to the speed limit, watching the van pull rapidly away. My body shuddered with the excess speed in my veins, the natural stuff, better than anything from a needle or a pill.

  “They might not even have seen us. Could be they just wanted to shake the bushes and see what they scared out.”

  I slapped Bill’s thigh with the back of my right hand. “Good call.”

  Bill put his head back against the rest with a faint smile. “Thanks. But what now?”

  “I’ll speed up gradually, try to hang on to them.” I thought I still had their lights in sight about a mile ahead.

  “Good luck. Hope your eyes are better than mine.”

  “My eyesight’s very good, thanks.” That was one reason I didn’t let the bomb damage bother me too much. It could have been so much worse. “Looks like they’re heading east on the feeder.”

  If I had the correct set of taillights they’d soon dump onto the freeway heading north or south. I strove to keep them in sight by accelerating, weaving among the cars in light traffic at about eighty. Given that the van had no rear window, I hoped that we would be impossible to pick out in the darkness from this distance.

  When our quarry approached the freeway interchange I lost them. There was too much town and landscaping in the way, or maybe they turned off their lights. I floored it and Molly rocketed smoothly up to one-ten for half a mile, but by the time we reached the interchange I couldn’t locate anything that looked like them.

  “South,” I muttered, sticking with my earlier guess, and held steady at ninety around the smooth curve of the feeder and onto the Benicia-Martinez bridge. Bright lights from an oil tanker sparkled in my peripheral vision as we passed Army Point and the pipeline terminus before hurtling across toward the multiple refineries on the south shore that fueled the California economic machine.

  Two minutes and three miles later I admitted defeat. They’d had several exits to escape and we’d lost them. I slammed my palm on Molly’s wheel. “Dammit.”

  “Dammit,” Bill echoed flatly. “Sorry, Cal.”

  “Any ideas?” I dropped back into the right lane and cruised under the speed limit, still heading south.

  “If I was still on the job or if I had ears on the street around here I’d try to find some word of the heist. Maybe we’ll get lucky and they’re going to offload some of it locally for quick cash. If so, the big fish clue in the little fish, who tell the minnows, who tip off the plankton.”

  “Plankton.”

  Bill sniffed, looking away. “I always loved those marine shows. Sea world. Aquariums. Cousteau. So did Sandy.”

  I resisted the temptation to talk about his dead child. This wasn’t the time for therapy. “Okay. It’s a shot. I know a few people.”

  “So where’re we going?”

  “You’re going home, Bill.”

  “The hell I am.” He sat forward with a drunk’s bluster, bouncing against the four-point harness.

  “You’re fine now, Bill, but soon enough you’ll be wanting more of the sauce and it’s getting later all the time. You’ve been a big help, but right now I have to go places you can’t, or shouldn’t.”

  “What is that supposed to mean? I saw it all back in Chicago. No way anything in this burg can be any worse.”

  “That was back before you cracked. Before Sandy,” I said harshly, regretting it immediately. “Sorry.” Me and my mouth.

  Bill deflated next to me. “Never mind. You’re right. I’m useless now.”

  “You’re not useless, Bill, but you’re not ready for the streets yet. You’ve done enough for tonight. I’ll call you tomorrow and let you know what I found.” I turned toward Oakland and the Bay Bridge, heading back to the City. In light traffic, nowhere was far from anywhere around here though during rush hour some destinations might as well be on the moon.

  I offered Bill a ride home to his San Rafael condo, but he insisted on being dropped off to take a cab, talking to me in monosyllables. I could tell he was angry and hurt. He’d get over it.

  Where I was going, having no partner at all seemed better than bringing along a shaky one.

  Chapter 5

  Some say the Tenderloin is getting gentrified since the 2004 city initiative to clean things up began. It’s true that there’s been nibbling around the edges. PD has more presence, at least between daybreak and midnight. Enterprising restaurants can rent cheap on the corner of a street the average tourist wouldn’t want to walk down, night or day. Maybe that adds to the charm: the whiff of slum, the scent of danger just a stone’s throw away. As long as the establishment is willing to pay for round-the-clock security and the patrons don’t mind getting the stink eye from the crackheads and pregnant junkies and prostitutes – often one and the same – they can make a go of it. Some served absolutely top-notch food.

  Me, I’m a bit bolder than the next girl. These may not be my home waters but I can handle all but the biggest of the sharks. The trick is to always seem too much trouble to mess with.

  Though all the chic places had closed, a meal was still my rumbling stomach’s first priority. Tonight’s nirvana was an all-night Mexican place near Fifth and Ellis called Boca Grande’s, which served up fantastic California-style crispy tacos.

  Something you have to taste to believe, crispy tacos are made by stuffing a large corn tortilla with filling, traditionally barbacoa – shredded beef – clamping it closed and then dropping it into a lard-filled deep fryer. Brought out piping hot and crunchy, the clamp is then removed and they’re finished off with cheese, shredded lettuce, salsa and anything else your heart desires. Heaven in your hand.

  After I dropped Bill off, coming up on eleven thirty p.m. the crowd was still fairly respectable with the inevitable security guard keeping the worst of the transients aw
ay. Not all of them, of course; those that could pay and didn’t smell too bad or cause trouble got a hot cheap meal and a seat on a hard plastic bench for as long as they could nurse a soda.

  When I got in line I felt a hand on my ass. Turning cat-quick, I grabbed the shirt front of the offender – or tried to. What I ended up with was a handful of silver chains cascading within cleavage between mounds to rival Moro Rock, all framed in a black leather biker vest. I shoved the big smirking mulleted bull dyke back with, I had to admit, a touch of envy. Okay, maybe I shoved myself back more than I did her, but my message was clear, I hoped.

  “Problem, ladies?” the hulking young security guard said from behind the groper. His nametag read TYRELL.

  “Not unless this bitch tries to feel me up again,” I replied, releasing the chains with a flick of my short-nailed fingers. I was glad he’d been on the ball. My next move would have been to rake my heel down her shin and stomp her foot. As she sported more muscle than a lot of men I knew, I sure couldn’t hold my own in a close-quarters wrestling match.

  Welcome to the Tenderloin.

  “Back up a bit, please, miss,” the guard said to my opponent, and after a look of pure poison she did.

  “Here or to go?” I heard from behind me, and realized I was now first in line.

  “Combo number one, for here,” I replied, turning my back on the two behind me to pay. Afterward, I nodded to the guard, ignored the bitch and waited off to the side. Three minutes later I’d collected my styrofoam plate and sat down to eat next to a group of slumming college kids.

  When I started on my second taco, the guard came over to me. Amused eyes lit up his dark face, highlighting even white teeth. “Don’t let that bother you,” he opened.

  “I don’t.” I wasn’t giving him any rope, not tonight. Cute, but not my type.

  “Yeah, you handled yourself all right.”

  Yet, as long as he was here…I crooked my finger, motioning him to lean over. With the chaos and buzz of conversation all around, that was all the privacy I needed. “Hey, you been doing this for a while?”

 

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