Grave Consequences (14 page)

“If not, I've got an idea, a way to use the stolen pickup.”

“What's the plan?”

Gordon chuckled, turning north along Fourth Street. “If what we did last night has Clarence pissed off, this will probably put him over the top.”

 

Chapter Twelve

Wearing gloves, Charlie drove the stolen F-250 past the Pi
ñ
on Mesa Steakhouse just after lunch, Gordon following in Charlie's Dodge. The restaurant parking lot was full, and the blue SUV that Clarence Fasthorse used for transportation was in its usual slot.

“The bug in the car still works,” Gordon announced via Bluetooth, “and I'm going to see if we can still listen in when we reach the used car lot. With all the high-rise office buildings around, the signal might be blocked.”

“Okay. Stand by to make that call to APD. I can see Rex's lot ahead,” Charlie replied, stretching out his left leg, appreciating the space. The pickup was nice and the cab enormous. This truck was almost as well appointed as Gordon's.

Charlie took one more look around the cab, making sure there was nothing left behind, then came to a halt, waiting for cars to pass so he could make the turn into Rex's customer parking area. Beyond were four rows of cars plus the business office. In one of the garage bays was the van used in last night's carjacking—or at least the GPS bug Gordon had stuck under the seat.

Nancy had helped him search public records for the owner of Rex's Quality Rides and got a corporate name neither recognized. It was a shell company and would take awhile to backtrack to the actual owner. Charlie's money was on Clarence, his mom, or maybe a relative of theirs.

Charlie parked the truck, climbed out quickly, tossed the key under the vehicle, then waved at a salesperson in a white shirt and tie standing just outside the office. Charlie turned away and took off his gloves as he walked over to the sidewalk. Gordon pulled up in the Charger and Charlie jumped in.

“Cops are on their way?” Charlie said.

“According to dispatch,” Gordon said, racing away from the curb, heading back in the direction of the Fasthorse restaurant.

“How did the department employee working dispatch react when you told them where to find the stolen truck—and more?” Charlie asked, listening in on the bug beneath Clarence's SUV.

“She wanted my name. So I repeated Rex's Quality Rides, their address, and asked her to advise officers that there might be other vehicles on site that are connected to crimes. I told her I was an anonymous caller and didn't want to be involved. I added that she should ask Detective DuPree to come to that location as well.” Gordon grinned.

“All that?”

“What can I say? I like to talk to women, and they usually listen.”

“Huh?”

“Funny man. Anything on that bug?” Gordon said, nodding toward the receiver Charlie was holding.

“Hang on. Better pull over,” Charlie said, glancing in the side mirror.

Gordon squeezed to the right, allowing an unmarked sedan with emergency lights to race past. “Hey, is that?”

“DuPree. Looks like he got the message. Better get out of here before he sees us,” Charlie advised.

They were heading north, halfway to the pawnshop, when Charlie's phone rang. He looked at the display—the call was unlisted. “Bet that's Detective Dupree,” Charlie said, touching the green phone icon.

“If it is, put it on speaker,” Gordon whispered.

“Charlie, what are you and that evil dwarf up to now? The salesmen here claim a big Indian dropped off that stolen truck and that they know nothing about it.”

“Dwarf? I'm hurt,” Gordon said, loud enough to be heard.

“They said it was me?” Charlie asked.

“Not by name, but the description sure fit you,” DuPree responded.

“Well,” Charlie replied, “it is possible that the people working at Rex's aren't among the same three that took the pickup last night, though they're connected. That site is where the Night Crew parks some of their vehicles—maybe the stolen ones as well. What else did you find besides the van used by the crew when they 'jacked that pickup?”

“How did you … never mind, I don't want to know,” DuPree said, his voice rising in pitch.

“Breathe deeply, Detective, then count to ten,” Gordon suggested.

“Count the number of fingers I'm holding up, Sweeney,” DuPree replied. “How did you two end up with a stolen Ford pickup, anyway?”

“Is taking a truck away from someone who just stole it from the owner, stealing?” Gordon asked. “You might want to check with your sources on this case, if you catch my drift. One of them might be able to tell you more about this.”

Charlie wondered why Al hadn't passed the events of last night along to his undercover team, but didn't want to ask, knowing DuPree might have someone standing close by who didn't need to hear.

“I'm alone now, speak freely,” DuPree responded. “And, no, our inside contact hasn't reported in yet.”

“Probably because of the encounter he witnessed. If they were trying to show him how the professionals jack a vehicle, they failed,” Charlie added. “And now that their vehicle stash location may have been compromised, they're having to go with plan B.”

“You think the subjects under investigation have any idea who's been screwing with them?” DuPree asked. “You two aren't very subtle and you certainly have a motive. They've encountered you two, what, four times now, and tried to take you out at least twice.”

“I'm hoping they're going to try one more time and we can finally take them down,” Gordon said.

“But with a murder charge, not just strong-arm carjackings and robbery,” Charlie added.

“Don't forget felony assault and windshield bashing,” Gordon tossed in.

“Droll, Sweeney. Someday, guys, you're going to put yourselves out there in the bull's-eye one too many times,” DuPree warned.

“We're whittling them down, though, and this might help your source get what is needed to put them away—a witness, a gun, something…” Charlie pointed out.

“Just be careful. You guys create too much paperwork for me as it is.”

“Sorry for the inconvenience,” Gordon responded, looking over at Charlie, who couldn't help but smile.

“Go home, go back to work. Whatever. Just stay out of trouble,” DuPree advised.

“One question first,” Charlie replied.

“What?”

“Has anyone found any trace of Lola Tso? She knows where she got the squash blossom necklace, and that makes her a threat to the Night Crew and Mr. Fasthorse.”

“We've got officers watching her place, twenty-four seven, and checking the places we think she might visit, but she hasn't turned up anywhere. The tribal cops have been following up with their sources on tribal land and none of them have heard a thing either. Lola Tso has gone to ground.”

“Hopefully not literally. Let us know if there are any leads whatsoever, okay?” Charlie asked, deciding to press Nancy again and see if she could come up with a lead on Lola.

“Give me something you've learned about Clarence Fasthorse or his Night Crew. This sharing has got to go both ways, boys.”

Charlie looked at Gordon, who nodded. “We've been in a position to overhear a conversation or two, and we've discovered that Sheila Ben, Fasthorse's mother, definitely knows what's going on. She even knew about the move on the Ford F-250, the one that ended up at Rex's,” Gordon explained.

“That didn't come from our source,” DuPree responded, meaning Al Henry.

“No, but it adds another name to the short list of known Night Crew affiliates. The lady may even be financing the operation. She's got a business background and ran a tribal casino at one time, right?” Gordon said, looking over at Charlie, who nodded.

“I'll pass this along. We knew that Clarence and his mother are close, but this info will open up additional avenues of investigation,” DuPree said.

“So what else do you have on Lola Tso?” Charlie asked.

“Like I said, not much. There's been some discussion about pulling the surveillance on her apartment. Three officers are tied up their entire shifts and so far we've got zip. Have to go now, guys. Watch yourselves.”

By then they were approaching FOB Pawn. There were several cars parked along the street. “More traffic than usual,” Gordon observed. “Is it the curious, or customers?” Gordon added.

“Hopefully the latter. Park this baby and let's see if Jake and Ruth can use some help,” Charlie said, making a mental note to call Nancy in the evening after she went on shift. Maybe she could offer something new concerning Lola.

*   *   *

There were a lot of people to serve, as they'd hoped, and Charlie and Gordon ended up doing some heavy lifting, boxing then loading a big screen TV and gas barbecue grill into the van of a wheelchair-bound vet. They offered to help him unload the items when he got home, but the man, a former Marine, said he had friends who'd be off work by then and were coming to help.

There was also paperwork to do, catching up on the cataloging of pawn, then locking the items, which included three guns, into the secure storeroom's metal locker. Around four in the afternoon business tapered off and Charlie and Gordon took over the front room while Ruth and Jake did the bookkeeping, a never-ending process.

After a while, Jake poked his head out of the office. “There's a guy standing out back beside a dark blue SUV that's blocking the alley. Thought you'd like to know.”

Gordon glanced over at Charlie. “Young, slender, good-looking Indian, white shirt, a dark suit jacket?”

“Naw, a big black guy in his early thirties wearing a light Windbreaker. Looks like he played football—or wrestled,” Jake said. He'd once wrestled in one of the pro circuits.

“Leroy Williams,” Charlie replied. “Looks like we're finally getting through to somebody. Guess the man's here to deliver a message.”

“Or a threat,” Gordon said, reaching into his pocket to make sure his pistol was handy.

“Is this shotgun trouble again?” Jake asked, glancing over at Ruth, who'd come up beside him, concern in her expression.

“No. If he was looking for a fight he wouldn't be the only one out there,” Charlie said.

“Maybe he's not,” Ruth suggested, turning to look at the other outside camera monitor, which covered the front.

“Anyone?” Gordon asked, walking in that direction.

“Not that I can see,” Ruth said.

Jake also took a look, shaking his head.

Charlie checked both monitors again. “Tell you what, guys. I'll go out and talk to the guy. Gordon, keep an eye out but stay inside unless you spot a problem.”

“I've got the front door,” Jake said, coming out and walking toward the front counter.

“Ruth…”

“I'll help keep watch and stand by with the phone, just in case,” she said. “I know where the emergency pistol is kept and have no problem using it.”

Good girl,
Charlie thought. Ruth had kept a revolver handy for years while on the run with her son, Ren
é
e. Charlie wished she'd never have to live in fear again, but around him, and this place, things just seemed to happen.

Charlie checked his own handgun before placing it back into the holster, safety off. Leroy probably knew Charlie carried a weapon, and Charlie knew that Leroy did.

Charlie paused for a second, nodded to Gordon, then stepped out onto the loading dock, closing the door behind him.

“Been waiting long?” Charlie asked as he looked at the fit-looking black man, leaning casually against the side of the blue SUV, a handgun visible in a shoulder rig just inside his Windbreaker.

Leroy shrugged. “Long enough. Don't you watch your security cams?” He nodded toward the surveillance camera along the roof parapet.

Charlie shrugged. “Ask your boss's three stooges, Jerry, Steve, and Mario. You're going to have to speak real loud to the last two.”

“You're getting to be a real pain in the ass, Henry,” the man replied, taking a step forward.

“Just getting started, Mr. Williams,” Charlie said, his hand a little closer to the butt of his weapon.

Leroy looked surprised, for a second, upon hearing his name.

Charlie continued. “We're the new game in town, and we know way more than your boss thinks we do. We're much better thieves than those punks who hang around his restaurant, jacking cars and stealing turquoise jewelry.

“Just so you know, for two guys running a pawnshop, my partner and I bring in a lot of cash off the books,” Charlie added, wishing it was actually true. At the moment, they were still learning the business, and if it wasn't for Jake and Ruth's experience they'd barely be breaking even.

“Then why give up that Ford F-250? There's a big market for newer model trucks below the border. Makes you look stupid.”

“No, what it does is make your boss, Clarence, look like a car thief. Who owns that car lot anyway, one of his relatives? His mommy?”

Leroy's expression turned ugly, and he took another step closer. Charlie stopped him by placing a hand on his Beretta.

Leroy calmed down visibly, but his voice was cold. “You're disrespecting people I care about. If you and your buddy don't back off, you're going to get more than a beat down. That's a guarantee.”

“Okay. Go back to your boss—if he hasn't been arrested and hauled downtown—and tell him you've delivered the message. Warn him not to cross us or get in our way or we're going to do a lot more than embarrass him with the cops. We've kicked bigger butts than his,
I
guarantee.”

Leroy stood there a moment, started to say something, then mumbled a curse and walked back to the SUV. Ten seconds later, he raced down the alley, tires squealing.

Charlie turned toward the camera on the parapet above and made a face.