Boosted Pt. 03

As he changed into his running shorts and t-shirt he repeated what the doctor said and what he did to get the cat to eat and take the pills.

"So, he's going to be okay?" she asked as they exited her house and began walking along the road in front of her property.

"He certainly acts like he feels better. I'm not sure what I'm going to do for the pills. I'm not going to open a can of tuna just for the water each time."

"Why does he need the water?"

"I read somewhere that you need to give a cat water after a pill to make sure he actually swallows it and it isn't stuck in his throat."

"Oh," she said as they began to run.

He'd started jogging with Maggie about a year ago, and she'd nearly run him into the ground. Last summer, after three months of effort, he'd finally managed to run the entire four miles, if you could call his stumbling, uncoordinated gait at the end, running. Now, after almost a year, he could complete the entire distance and still have enough breath left over to talk... and didn't collapse into a heap at the end. She'd been teasing him to up his distance to eight miles, the distance she was running before he started holding her back, but he'd decided four was plenty.

"You know," she began at the half-mile mark, "they sell clam juice in the grocery store. That might work."

They ran in silence for a moment. "You know, it might. I hadn't thought of that. I'll have to pick some up."

"I bet they even make a low sodium version, since he's supposed to be on a low sodium diet."

"Probably," he agreed. They made reduced sodium everything else.

They completed the loop to the stop sign and back, talking little, slowing to a walk as they reached her house. He was breathing hard, but no harder than she was, a big improvement from six months ago.

"Need some help with your shower?" he teased. Most of the time she didn't take him up on his offer, but occasionally he got lucky.

She grinned at him. "Not today. You can shower while I finish up dinner."

"What are we having?"

"Fried chicken."

"With hushpuppies?" he asked hopefully.

"Of course."

He jerked his hand into a victorious fist-pump. He was turning into a regular southern good-ol' boy. "Movie afterwards?"

"Yep. The Departed, with Jack Nicholson, Matt Damon, Leonardo DiCaprio, Martin Sheen, and Alec Baldwin. It's about the mob infiltrating the Massachusetts State Police while at the same time the cops have a mole in the mob. I thought you might like seeing how your old stomping grounds are portrayed in a movie. It's from 2006, but it's by Martin Scorcese, so it should be pretty good."

"You haven't seen it?" he asked, lilting his voice up in surprise.

Unless it was a recent movie, Maggie seemed to have seen everything. Between new releases she was patiently watching films she'd already seen, trying her best to educate him on movies. He didn't know if any of it was sinking in, but that didn't prevent him from enjoying the time, so long as they weren't musicals. He simply couldn't get into those because he could never get past where the music was coming from and how all the characters suddenly seemed to know all the dance moves.

"Not yet. I must have missed it the first time around."

"Wow, a rare treat then."

"You should feel privileged."

He smiled and kissed her quickly. "Oh, I do. Go. I'll start getting dinner together."

He watched her go, admiring the swing of her ass until she disappeared, before he turned to the kitchen. The last time he fried chicken it came out rubbery. He hadn't perfected the art of frying the chicken yet, but he could have the pieces dipped and covered in the seasoned flour, the oil hot, and the hushpuppies cooking so all she had to do was fry up the chicken when she was done with her shower.

He started by pulling out pans, frozen commercial hushpuppies, and cooking oil. The chicken was sitting on the counter in a covered bowl, soaking in buttermilk, with another shallow covered pan of spiced flour for the breading beside. Maggie swore the secret to good fried chicken was the bird had to sit on the counter, soaking in buttermilk, for at least three hours before cooking.

Fried chicken with a side of deep-fried hushpuppies was a heart attack on a plate, but he had to die of something, and there were worse ways to go than to die from eating Maggie's chicken.

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SEVEN

Sean sauntered into the station, feeling better about his life than he had in weeks. Marmalade was eating again, the Loch and Castle had a good crowd last night, and he and Maggie had enjoyed a delicious dinner, an interesting movie, and an unusually intense romp afterwards.

"Morning, Sean. You're here early," Paul said as he waited his turn at the coffee pot.

When he stayed with Maggie he left when she did in the morning, giving him time to stop by his apartment to feed Marmalade and still arrive at work on time.

"Yeah. How was last night?"

"Slow."

"That's good."

"Yeah. I saw a Lambo in town last night. You get a new car?" Paul asked, his eyes teasing.

"A Lamborghini? In Brunswick? Where?"

"Getting off the interstate. I'm not up on my Italian exotics, so I don't know what it was other than a Lambo, but that thing was sweet! I figured it must be yours since you're the only person in town that could afford a car like that... being that you're a big restaurateur and all."

Sean spluttered dismissively. "Because I'm a restaurateur, the only Lamborghini I can afford is on a poster."

Paul snickered. "I started to pull it over for speeding. I figured I could make it stick by showing the judge a picture of the car." He paused a heartbeat for effect. "Even if he wasn't speeding right then, he either had been, or would be."

Sean grinned. "Yeah, you might be right. Don't see many of those in the greater Brunswick metroplex."

"No. I figured whoever was driving it was stopping for gas, but it drove right on past and headed out of town."

"Really?" Sean asked, surprised. "I wonder where he was going?"

"Beats me, especially that late at night."

"What time was it?"

Paul shrugged. "Not sure. I'd just come on shift, so between eleven-thirty and midnight I'd guess."

"Drugs?"

Paul's mouth twisted to the side as he slowly shook his head. "I don't think so. I ran the plate. Nothing came up and the driver didn't act like he was looking for anything. I followed it a little ways, but when it turned on Highway 210, I didn't bother to follow anymore."

Sean nodded in understanding. 210 led out of Tilley, into the boonies, and out of their jurisdiction. There was nothing out there... except BIGS Automotive Repair. He frowned as he thought it through. He didn't know where the nearest Lamborghini dealership was, but if it wasn't in Raleigh, maybe he could understand an owner taking his Lambo to BIGS for service, but not at midnight.

"Paul, do me a favor."

"Sure... what?"

"Keep an eye on BIGS Automotive Repair tonight, that new car repair place that opened up there in Tilley. You know the one I'm talking about?"

"Yeah, in the old Chevy dealership. Why?"

"Call it a hunch."

"You think the Lambo was going there?" His eyes narrowed a bit. "You think it's a front for laundering drug money or something?"

"I don't think anything at the moment. You have any idea where the nearest Lambo dealership is?"

Paul shook his head as he grinned. "No. You don't pay me enough for me to need to worry about it."

Sean smiled. "Well, after you move to Raleigh, and get that big raise you can--"

"Still not worry about it," Paul said, talking over Sean.

Sean snickered. "Yeah, okay. Just do a couple of drive-bys tonight and let me know what you see, okay?"

"What are you thinking?"

"Like I said, nothing. I'm just wondering why somebody would be driving around in the boondocks so late at night in a car like that."

"Maybe he was going out there to stretch the car's legs a little and not get caught."

Sean nodded. "Maybe. That's probably it. If that's what he was doing that's County's problem."

"You don't think that's it," Paul said, his tone making it a statement.

Sean shrugged. "Honestly, I have no idea. Grueller said BIGS was all lit up Monday night. Now this. It's got me to thinking, but it's probably nothing."

"Chop shop?" Paul asked.

"Oh man, I hope not. It hurts to think they were going to chop a new Lambo."

Paul watched Sean a moment. "Well... shit. I would pick now to leave, just when something interesting is happening. I call dibs on this if it breaks before I leave."

"You got it," Sean said with a grin as he turned away and headed to his office.

After booting his computer, the first thing he checked was the location of the nearest Lamborghini dealership. It was in Charlotte. A little time spent looking at Google Maps confirmed that if a driver wanted to do it the hard way, they could use Highway 210 to get to Charlotte. It added almost an hour to the drive, even from Brunswick, and thirty minutes more than that from Raleigh, the only city close where a car like that might be found. But that didn't explain the time.

He closed the mapping program. His spidey sense, that intuition that something wasn't right that many cops developed, was tingling. He knew he was tilting at windmills. It didn't matter why the Lambo driver wanted to go the way he did, or the hour he wanted to travel. If the driver wasn't breaking any laws, he or she was free to travel as they wished. He started to open his email, but on a hunch, he looked at the BOLOs--Be On the Look Out--to see if a Lambo had been reported stolen. There had. A white 2016 Lamborghini Huracán had been stolen from a club in Raleigh about one this morning. That was well after Paul saw the car, but who knew when the car was actually boosted? He leapt to his feet and hurried out of the back of the station. Paul's cruiser was gone. He'd already left for the day. He returned to his desk and looked up where Paul had run the plate. The plate matched the one on the stolen car.

Sean pursed his lips in annoyance. Paul had spotted the thief, but because the car hadn't yet been reported stolen when Paul was following him, his officer hadn't known. He picked up his phone to let the Raleigh PD know they'd seen the car. After hanging up he continued to think about what Helen and Paul said. Either item, taken alone, wouldn't raise any eyebrows, but taken together it certainly suggested a chop shop was operating out of BIGS. Most chop shops were shady affairs, run out of small garages tucked away in alleys and away from prying eyes. If BIGS was running an illegal operation, they were ballsy in the extreme. On the other hand, what better cover for a chop shop than a legitimate garage? He stared at the wall, lost in thought. He had to tread carefully. Walking into a place and accusing them of running an illegal operation, only to be proven wrong, would be a public relations nightmare. He shoved the thought aside. It was way, way, too soon to be talking about accusing anyone of anything. All he had was some half-formed suspicions without any facts to support them.

He called up his email. Résumés were beginning to trickle in for Paul's position. He spent several minutes reviewing the two he'd received. Both applicants would be graduating in May and taking their BLET. He placed the two applications aside for later consideration. Before he hired someone fresh out of college, he wanted to see if any old-timers applied. The average age of his department, with all his recent hiring, was frightfully young, and he'd like to have some experienced officers if he could get them, to help the youngsters out.

-oOo-

Sean was preparing to go to lunch when his phone rang. "Sean," he said, picking up the handset.

"Sean, Fish wants to talk to you," Kim said.

"Be right there." He stepped into the dispatch office and Kim pointed at the desk mic. "Yeah, Fish."

"Chief, I have a lady here demanding to speak to you in person."

"Okay," he said slowly. "Have her stop by the station in an hour or so and I'll be happy to talk to her."

"Well, that's the problem. Her car is blocked in, and she wants the forklift moved."

Sean looked at Kim as she rolled her eyes. "So move it."

"The owner isn't here, and--" Sean heard a faint female voice before the radio cut off. There was a moment of silence then Fish returned. "Chief, can you please come down here?" he asked, his voice tightly controlled.

It sounded like Fish was about two seconds from losing it. Fish was as calm and laidback as any officer he had, so if he was running out of patience with the situation, he probably should step in. "Sure, where are you?"

"206 Lawton."

"Five minutes," Sean said and then straightened. "Let me go see what's going on," he said as he started for the door.

He hurried to his office, grabbed his keys, and went out the backway to save a little time. He flipped on the strobes of his car and hustled through traffic, driving above the speed limit but not pushing it. He turned onto Lawton and could see Fish's cruiser sitting at the side of the road with the beacons flashing. He pulled to a stop behind Fish's cruiser and stepped out. A petite woman of about thirty stomped toward him, her face hard.

"Are you the chief?"

"Yes, ma'am. What can I do for you?"

"My damned car is blocked in, and this officer won't do anything to help!"

Sean walked slowly to Fish as he stood beside a burgundy Honda Pilot with an ancient and battered yellow forklift sitting behind it. Even though it's forks extended under the vehicle, the forklift was very nearly in the road. The area where the Honda was parked was striped with faded yellow paint, and a large sign on the wall above said No Parking Anytime, with Towing Enforced on the line below it, followed by the name and phone number of the towing company below that.

"What's going on?" Sean asked Fish.

Fish took a deep breath and sucked on his teeth a moment, clearly considering his words carefully. Fish was lanky and slightly taller than average, standing about six-two, with dull blond hair, piercing blue eyes, and a nose that reminded Sean of a beak. He had an easy smile and friendly eyes, but today his eyes and mouth were hard. If Fish was annoyed there was more to this than a simple parking dispute.

"Ms. Butler parked her SUV here and went to the tanning salon," Fish explained with a jerk of his head in the direction of the small strip mall across the street. When she came out, the forklift had been parked behind her vehicle, blocking her in. I called the owner, and he's out making a delivery. He said he'd be back about two."

"Why did he park his forklift behind her car?"

"He said that's where it stays, and he doesn't have any place else to park it without it being in the way. Here's the kicker, he said he yelled at her to move her car as she was walking away, and she ignored him."

Sean glanced around. Voliski Machine Shop wasn't a large operation, occupying an older building squatting close to the road, its dull gray paint faded and peeling. In the center of the building was a single large roll up door for access to the interior, with the forklift and a rusting shipping container on the left, and a tiny office with a glass door on the right. Short of parking in front of the big shop door, there wasn't any place else to park save for the one space in front of the office. The oil spots on the concrete indicated someone parked there often, probably the owner. He turned his attention to the woman.

"Ms. Butler, you are illegally parked and--"

"Okay, maybe I shouldn't have parked there, but he has no right to block my car in like this! I have to go get my kids!"

"Didn't he warn you to not park here?"

"I didn't hear anything!"

"You didn't hear him yelling at you to move your car?"

"No! I had my earbuds in!"

"Was that why you couldn't read?" he asked, pointing at the no parking sign.

"All the spots were full! He wasn't using it! So, I made a mistake! Big deal! I'm sorry, but I'm already late to pick up my kids! I want that thing moved so I can get my car out and your officer won't do anything to help!"

Sean glanced at Fish. No wonder he was annoyed. The woman thought everyone should jump for her mistake. He turned his attention back to the woman. "You'd better make other arrangements to get your children then, because it doesn't appear you're going to be able to get your car out until around two."

"What?" the woman shrieked. "Are you kidding me? You can't do that!"

"Ma'am, you are illegally parked on private property. He could have had your vehicle towed. I think you should feel grateful that--"

"Grateful! Are you shitting me!" she interrupted.

"Grateful," Sean said again, "that you are merely inconvenienced. If the owner wanted to, you could have been inconvenienced and paying a towing fee."

The woman glared at him a moment. "I want to talk to your supervisor!"

"Fine. Call the mayor's office and make an appointment." Sean jerked his head at Fish, indicating they were leaving, but then he turned back to the woman as she was staring at him, her eyes wide and her mouth slightly opened. "Oh, and Ms. Butler, I suggest you don't do anything you'll later regret."

"You can't do this! This isn't fair!" the woman screamed.

"We're done here."

"What am I supposed to do now!"

"Call someone and arrange for a ride."

She glared at him a moment. "You fucking cops are all the same, sitting on your asses all day doing nothing. I pay your fucking salary!"

He nodded, forcing his face into pleasant neutrality. "Have a good day, Ms. Butler."

"Thanks, Sean," Fish said quietly as they walked back to their cars. "She didn't like hearing that from me."

"Another entitled princess who thinks the rules don't apply to her. Maybe she'll think twice the next time."

"You think she'll go to the mayor?"

They paused at Fish's car. "Ask me if I care."

Fish took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I didn't feel like I could say 'tough' like you did since she was raising so much hell, not without clearing it with you first."

"You did fine. Don't worry about it. Let me handle stuff like this because I can tell her get over it even if you don't think you can."

Fish nodded and opened his car door, dropping into the driver's seat. Sean let Fish leave first, and he had to hide his smile as he drove past, the woman giving them both the finger as they passed. Sometimes the hardest part of his job was not slapping the cuffs on someone who desperately needed an attitude adjustment. Since he was out, he stopped for lunch, grabbing a quick sandwich at one of the shops in town. As he was leaving, he decided he'd drive by BIGS. He wanted to look at the place again to see if anything caught his eye, something he hadn't paid any attention to before.

As he worked his way across town, he almost changed his mind. Why was he looking for something that probably didn't exist? He finally decided that a quick drive by wouldn't hurt, since he was out anyway. As he passed, BIGS looked exactly as he expected it would. There was an eighties-something Fiat Spider in the parking lot, and he could see a person, probably the car's owner, standing at the service desk inside. He drove past to Juniper where he turned around.

He was barking at shadows. Grueller had seen the shop all lit up late one night, but that didn't mean they were doing anything illegal. Paul had seen the stolen Huracán, but that didn't mean it was going to BIGS. The thief was probably taking the car out for a joy ride and the car would turn up in a day or two, or maybe he was taking it to Charlotte for some reason and wanted to stay off the interstates to reduce the chances of being caught. There was nothing to tie the theft to BIGS. He pulled back onto the road, and he could see a man ambling out of the showroom toward the Fiat. He drove past and looked the business over one more time. There was nothing, absolutely nothing, to indicate BIGS was anything other than what it seemed to be.