by Steve Brewer
Hand on his service weapon, Romeo approached the solid-looking door. It was pushed shut, but not latched. He eased it open a few inches and looked inside. He could see all the way through the office to the sunny front windows. Nobody home.
He shut the broken door and squeezed out through the gate again. He rounded the corner of the building just as a woman was unlocking the front door of the office.
She was dressed like a man, in jeans and boots and denim jacket, and her hair was short as a man's, too, but she was unmistakably a woman. Romeo sized her up as being around thirty-two, a couple of years older than him. Five-foot-nine, maybe a hundred sixty pounds. Full in the breast and in the hip. Not a delicate flower, but not fat, either. Pretty close to the description of the truck thief. He wondered what she'd look like in a blond wig.
She jumped when she saw him there.
"Sorry," he said, smiling at her. "Didn't mean to startle you. I've been waiting for you guys to open."
"Oh," she said. "We're not really open today. I'm just here to pick up some papers for my boss. He's home sick."
"The boss is sick, so the whole place shuts down?"
"Weird, I know, but Mr. Bell runs everything personally. You might try back tomorrow."
She still had her hand on the doorknob. The door was open an inch, but she didn't seem inclined to enter until she was certain he was going away.
Time to identify himself. He handed over his business card with its embossed logo of an ATFE badge.
"You might be able to help me," he said. "If I could have a moment of your time. I'm Agent Romeo Sandoval, and I'm looking for some missing trucks."
"Romeo? Really?"
"My mother wanted me to be a lover, not a fighter." His standard line. "My father was a boxer before he settled down, and she didn't want me following in those footsteps."
"She thought being named Romeo would keep you out of fights?"
"I know, right? I spent my whole childhood in fistfights. 'Wherefore art thou, Romeo?' Bap!"
That made her laugh, but she still didn't open the door.
"What's your name?"
"Jackie. Jackie Nolan."
"It's cold out here, Jackie. Couldn't we talk inside?"
"I don't know what we would talk about." She looked at the business card again, then tucked it in her shirt pocket. "I'm just a secretary."
"A secretary who wears boots to work?"
"I told you, we're closed. I'm not dressed for work."
"How do you usually dress?"
She looked down at her mannish clothes and back up at him. "Usually, I wear a tutu."
"Sorry I missed that."
"Come back another day."
"Afraid I can't do that. Somebody broke into your office. We need to report it to the local police."
"Broke in?"
"The back door's been jimmied. I peeked in, but I didn't see anyone inside."
She took a step back from the door, as if it suddenly represented danger.
"Let me go in first," he offered.
He pulled the Glock from its hip holster and held it pointed at the floor as he went through the door. He checked under the desks and in a closet-sized bathroom, but there was still no sign of anyone here.
"Okay," he called to her. "All clear."
She flicked on the lights as she came inside. Romeo holstered his weapon and looked around the place. Couple of desks, one bigger than the other, both covered in haphazard piles of paper. Chairs, phones, filing cabinets, the usual. A calendar on the wall featuring an airbrushed photo of a big red Kenworth cab.
"Jesus," she muttered. "Look at my desk."
"Wasn't like this yesterday?"
"I wasn't here yesterday. Someone must've gone searching through the files for something. Or maybe it was Howard."
"Howard is the owner."
"Howard is a pig," she said. "I spend half my workweek cleaning up behind him."
"This would be Howard Bell?"
"That's right. He ransacks my files, then goes home sick. Guess who gets to clean up the mess?"
He smiled at her.
"Say the burglars did this, not Howard. What could they have been hunting for?"
"Beats me," she said. "Nothing here of value. Just lots of paper."
"Would those papers include the documents for that old white Peterbilt out back?"
Romeo thought she twitched, but she controlled herself immediately. Nerves of steel, this woman. Could she be nervy enough to hijack semi trucks?
She didn't look up at him, too busy frowning at the heaps of paper.
"You know which truck I mean?" he said. "White Peterbilt all the way in the back, between a couple of Freightliners."
"Mister, I know every truck in that lot. See this paperwork? That's all I do all day, process these trucks. They come in, they need paperwork. They sell, they need different paperwork. Buyer wants a warranty, that's a whole 'nother set of documents."
"I get the picture," he said. "But you could lay hands on the documents for that particular truck?"
"Usually, I'd say yes, but look at this mess."
From the set of her jaw, she clearly was steamed about the disorder. But he still felt she was being very careful with her answers. Time to throw the change-up.
"How long has that Peterbilt been on the lot? Do you recall?"
"We've had it six months, maybe seven. It needed a bunch of work when it came in here. The mechanics have it up and running now, but so far no buyers."
"Six months," he said, nodding. "Any of the other trucks new? Arrive the last couple of days?"
"Not that I know of, but I wasn't here yesterday. Howard could've taken a trade-in or something."
"Can you check? Maybe give me a call when you find the paperwork on that Peterbilt?"
"Sure. Why are you so interested in that truck?"
"Can't say."
He smiled.
She frowned.
She went to the front door and held it open for him to leave. He took his time crossing the small office, still looking around, as if some clue would jump out from hiding.
When they were face to face, he said, "Aren't you forgetting something?"
"What?"
"You were here to get some papers for your boss, remember?"
"I told you, my filing system is completely screwed up. He can come down here and find his own damn papers."
He stepped out into the chill breeze and zipped up his jacket while she came outside and locked the door.
"You're not going to report the break-in?"
"Not my problem," she said.
"Kind of a hard case, aren't you?"
"It's this job. My boss drives me crazy."
"What about other people? Do they drive you crazy, too?"
She looked at him sharply, then her face softened and returned his smile. "Most of them. You?"
"Nearly all of them." He grinned wider. "You seem okay, though."
"That's what you think. I'm a mess."
"Aren't we all?"
Chapter 33
Jackie Nolan couldn't believe she was still talking to this guy. Soon as he identified himself as a fed, she should've scooted out of here and gone straight to the nearest lawyer's office. Instead, she's chatting him up, asking about his name, playing cute. With a federal agent.
She turned toward the El Camino, and he followed right along, practically shoulder to shoulder with her. Trucks and cars zipped past on the street, adding their noise to the whoosh of the winter wind. He had to speak up when he said, "You know how to drive those big rigs yourself?"
"I know how they work, if that's what you mean. But I don't have a license to drive them."
"Don't you ever want to climb behind the wheel? Take one for a spin?"
She stopped. So did he. She turned to face him.
"Are you perhaps a little insane, Agent Sandoval?"
"Please, call me Romeo."
"I'm still having trouble with that."
"You'll
get used to it."
Another flash of those white teeth. He had a killer smile and he knew how to use it. Dangerous as a snake.
"I doubt I'll get the chance," she said. "But I'll call you if I locate those papers you want."
"That's my cell phone on the card. So anytime, day or night."
She wanted to tell him to not get his hopes up, but better to part friendly.
"Nice car," he said as she opened the door.
"It was my dad's," she said. "I'm just borrowing it."
"El Camino. A classic. You could get a fortune for it if you sold it to one of those car club guys."
"I told you, it's my dad's. Not for sale."
He walked the length of the El Camino, looking it over. Jackie was awfully glad she'd taken it through that car wash.
As she climbed behind the wheel, her mind flashed to the sawed-off shotgun in the duffel bag behind the seat. She quickly wiped away that thought before it could register on her face. She closed her door. No reason for Agent Sandoval to look inside the car. None at all.
He leaned down, though, and motioned for her to roll down her window.
"Yeah?"
"You spend much time at the truck terminal?"
"What?"
"Big truck stop? By the Big I?"
"I know where it is. But why would I go over there?"
"I don't know. I've been over there a lot lately, working on an investigation. I thought I might've seen you there."
"Wasn't me," she said. "I don't remember the last time I was in that part of town."
"Okay. Don't forget to give me a call. About those papers."
"You bet."
She cranked the engine and threw the El Camino into reverse. Backed around in an arc so she could see the traffic on South Broadway. She shot out into the street at the first gap, then glanced at her rear-view.
Agent Romeo Sandoval was standing near the shoulder, hands on his hips, watching her go. She felt sure he was memorizing her license plate number.
Her heart was racing, now that the worst of the danger was over, and she had to force herself to let up on the accelerator. Stick to the speed limit. Last thing she needed was the attention of some passing traffic cop.
She checked the mirror again, and saw that Sandoval was trotting across the street toward a white Ford parked at the wrecking yard across from Duke City Truck Salvage. She lost sight of him when a big rig went past, but the white Ford didn't follow her.
Doesn't need to, she thought. He's the federal government. A few clicks on a computer and he'd know everything about her, including her address. What if he showed up at the house? How would she explain the blood-stained floorboards just inside the front door?
She remembered what she'd told her mother about the mythical termites. Really getting the place tented would make the house uninhabitable for a few days, keep anyone from going inside. It could buy her some time to get other things squared away.
She checked her mirrors again. Still no white Ford behind her. She turned right at the first traffic light, headed toward Interstate 25. She'd zoom across town, do what she needed to do at the house, throw a fresh rug over the bloodstain. Then call every pest control company in the phone directory until she found one that could tent the house right away.
Jackie felt a little better after she was on the freeway without any sign of being tailed. She had things to do, a checklist to accomplish, and that always made her feel more in control. She was happier when she was busy.
Plus, staying busy might keep her mind off Agent Romeo Sandoval and his killer smile.
Chapter 34
Estes Duvernay sat low in his seat, watching the government Ford drive away, headed south. As soon as Agent Sandoval disappeared from sight, Estes cranked up his rental car and took off after the woman in the El Camino.
She matched the description of the truck thief, right down to her boots. And she undoubtedly was the "Jackie Nolan" who shared the office with Howard Bell. My hunch is paying off, Estes thought. That woman could well be our hijacker. Otherwise, why would Agent Sandoval be so interested in her? From the moment he'd spotted the ATF agent poking around the salvage lot, Estes had felt he was on the right track.
Fortunately, the shiny El Camino was a distinctive ride. He was able to follow from half a mile behind and never lose track of her as she drove up onto I-25. He stuck to the slow lane after he followed her onto the freeway, hanging back, but keeping the El Camino in sight.
At the Big I interchange, she took the flyover ramp to eastbound I-40, and he stayed with her. Lots more traffic through here, so he closed the distance slightly. She stayed in the center lane. He stayed one lane to the right, ready if she suddenly veered to an exit.
After a few miles, her blinker flashed, and she cut across lanes to get off at the Wyoming Boulevard exit, Estes a safe distance behind her. They went north. He followed the El Camino for miles, but almost lost it at the last second. He rounded a curve on a suburban street, and the El Camino suddenly was nowhere to be seen. He slowed and backtracked and finally spotted it parked in the driveway of a stucco house that looked pretty much like all the other ones in this neighborhood.
Estes parked at the curb and sat looking at the house for a minute. He guessed its value at three hundred thousand dollars, something like that, certainly less than the worth of those missing guns. Didn't seem like the kind of home a skilled truck hijacker would choose, but maybe that was part of her cover.
He got out into the wind and took a moment to hitch up his pants, which were weighed down by the .45 stuck in the back of his belt. He walked up the sidewalk to the driveway, passing close to the empty El Camino on his way to the front door.
When he reached the porch, he saw that a pane in the front window was broken. That made him pause, wondering, but after a moment he stepped up to the front door and rang the doorbell. He waited a full minute, long enough that he was reaching for the bell again, when the door flew open and the woman pointed a sawed-off shotgun at his face.
"Well, hello," he said, as close as he ever allowed himself to showing surprise.
Estes had faced down guns before. The secret was to not look at the gun, but at the eyes of the person holding it. That's where their intention shows, a split second before they pull the trigger. Sometimes, a split second is enough.
"Jackie Nolan?"
"That's right. Who the hell are you?"
She was a fierce-looking woman, her brows crouching over her eyes, her lips pressed into a straight line.
"You expecting trouble, Miss Nolan?"
"Are you with the Mexicans?"
"I assure you," he said, "I don't know anything about any Mexicans. I've come here alone and I mean you no harm."
He glanced at the shotgun, then focused his attention back on her, trying not to smile.
"What is that you have there, Jackie? A sawed-off, double-barreled Remington? Twenty gauge?"
The shotgun didn't waver.
"I hear," he said, "that a gun just like that one was stolen the other night from the Albuquerque Truck Terminal."
She tensed slightly, but she didn't shoot him in the face. He felt encouraged to keep talking.
"'Course it wasn't just the gun that was stolen, but an entire truck and trailer, including its load of valuable cigarettes. You'd think a trucker who carried a sawed-off like that one would know how to use it, but no, he lost the whole rig."
She said nothing, just kept the gun pointed at his head. She was only a few inches shorter than him and the shotgun was practically up his nose. He could smell that it had been fired recently. That didn't make him feel any better about the current situation. Once a person pulls the trigger, he'd found, it's easier the next time.
"I asked who you are," she said.
"Colonel Estes Duvernay. U.S. Army investigator."
"You got ID?"
"In my hip pocket. Under this coat."
"Never mind. Keep your hands where I can see 'em."
He hel
d his empty hands out from his body, and said, "Yes, ma'am."
"Why is the Army ringing my doorbell?"
"I was hoping for a friendly chat," he said, "but at this point I would settle for a peace treaty."
"Not interested."
"Why so scared, Miss Nolan?"
"I'm scared of the mess you're going to make on my porch when I pull this trigger."
"All right." He took a step backward, keeping his hands in plain sight. "Maybe this isn't a good time to talk."
"Good guess."
"Why don't you tell me where you put that shipment of weapons, and I'll be on my way."
Not even a flinch.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Maybe you'd prefer to deliver them yourself," he said. "I'm staying at the Plaza del Rey Inn, that one on the hill overlooking downtown, looks like it's made out of mud? Make that trailer show up there, and I mean today, and I can forget I ever saw you. We can both get on with our lives without anyone else getting hurt."
"I'm telling you for the last time to get off my property."
"Yes, ma'am. That's a fair warning, under the law. You'd be within your rights now to shoot me as a trespasser if I don't leave. Is that what you want?"
She said nothing. Just closed one eye, sighting down the barrels, as if any aiming was necessary with a shotgun at this range. A twitch of her finger, and his head would be vaporized.
"Okay, Annie Oakley, I'm going," he said. "Clearly, you want to do this hard way. I can come back with a search warrant from the federal magistrate."
Still nothing. Estes turned away, but he couldn't help watching her over his shoulder. She stayed just inside the doorway, her aim steady on him as he walked to his car.
As he climbed into the rental, he called out to her, "I'll be watching you."
She kicked the door shut.
Chapter 35
Heart pounding, Jackie Nolan peeked through the gap between the drapes and the broken window. The man who'd identified himself as an Army colonel sat in the white sedan at the curb, openly watching the house.
If he was from the Army, why hadn't he brought an entire battalion of guys in here to arrest her? Why didn't he call the local cops and have them do it? Was that what he was doing now, waiting on backup? Jackie needed only a few more minutes at the house, then she could split and find a new motel where she could hole up with her mother. If she hurried, she might get away before his reinforcements came.
