Boosted Pt. 07

Even though he was anxious to see the progress on Loch and Castle, it was too early to leave. He'd ducked out prematurely several times already this week, so he forced himself to stay at his desk. He could kill the last hour reading emails or something. Fifty minutes later he stretched again and began packing up his computer to leave. Slinging his laptop over his shoulder he walked out, waving to his dispatcher on the way by. She was busy working a call, so he didn't interrupt her.

He drove first to Loch and Castle. The pub was open for business, but he stopped to inspect the rear door first. The new door looked terrific and appeared to be a perfect match to the door it replaced. He'd have to compare the new door to a picture of the old one to recognize any difference. The door was stained but it didn't glow like the other wood in the pub, and there was a large Wet Paint sign taped to the bricks beside the door as a warning. The finish looked dry, so he carefully touched it in an inconspicuous spot. The finish felt dry as well. He started to rip the sign down but changed his mind and decided to leave it in place.

He circled the building and entered the pub. It was only a few minutes after five, but there was already an older couple seated at a table. "Evening, Mr. McGhee," Jorie greeted him. "Are you staying?"

"No. I stopped by to see how the repairs are going."

She jerked her head toward the back. "The guy was hammering and banging until just before we opened."

"Sean? Need anything?" Laura asked as she approached.

"No. As I told Jorie, I came to see how the repairs were going."

Jorie nodded and moved off as Laura took over the conversation. "I met Ray about eight this morning. He trimmed out the door and stained it today. He also started working on the wall in the office. He wanted to keep working, but I chased him off about three-thirty. He'll be back tomorrow to finish the wall and start on the floor. He'll also seal the door at the same time."

"Did he say when he'd be done?"

"He thinks he might, maybe, finish all the repairs tomorrow. After that, he'll have to sand the floors and walls and apply the stain. That'll take another day. When he starts that, that's when he'll have to seal up the hall. I won't be able to get into the office, but I can work around that. He's going to start the sanding on Monday. All the office furniture is going to have to go into the hall. We're going to lose access to one of the bathrooms, and we're going to have to figure out where to pile stuff from the storeroom so we can get to it, but it can't be helped. It's the only place to put the furniture so it's out of his way unless we put it in here somewhere. So hopefully he'll finish the repairs tomorrow and we operate Friday, Saturday, and Sunday like normal. Monday we'll seal off the hall with plastic just past the women's bathroom door, stack the furniture on the other side, seal that off with another sheet of plastic, and then he sands and stains everything. He'll come back on Tuesday to apply the polyurethane, and we take the plastic down and move furniture on Friday."

"Friday? Why not Wednesday?"

"Ray said it takes seventy-two hours for the polyurethane to fully cure, and he said we couldn't rush it since it was the floor."

Sean snapped his fingers. "Oh, yeah. I remember that now. He told me the same thing." He glanced around. The slow drying of the floors wasn't a big deal before they opened, but three days seemed like a long time when trying to operate a business. At least the hall wasn't blocked during their three busiest days. "That's all I wanted to know. Sounds like you have it under control."

"It's what you pay me for."

"And worth every penny. I don't have anything else. You need anything from me?"

"When are we getting a new safe? I'm having one of Brunswick's finest escort me to the bank every night, but I liked the old system better."

"Soon, but you keep calling for the escort until I get it delivered, okay?"

Laura nodded. "Don't worry about that. I get Ken, Brick, or one of the other guys, to walk us women to our cars, but carrying all that money at night would make me nervous, even with one of the guys walking us out."

Sean frowned. "You notice anybody hanging around?"

She shook her head. "No, but you know what Tilley was like before, and with the robbery and all..."

He nodded. "Yeah, I know who did it. I just have to prove it."

"Who?"

"Some low-level street punk named Jasper Kohler. He goes by Cotton. I put the squeeze on him last night. He's guilty as sh... as can be."

"But you can't prove it?" Laura was a cop's wife. She knew how it worked.

"Not yet."

Her face broke into a broad smile. "I hope you get him and put him in his own locked box."

"Me too. But other than the safe, nothing else?"

"Nope. Business is beginning to slow down a little. Everyone that wanted to try the new place has, but I think you're going to be okay. I'm seeing a few repeat customers."

He grinned. "Well, it's my place, so of course I'm going to keep coming here."

She snickered. "Besides you and Maggie, silly."

"Oh! That's great then." He stepped aside as another couple, much younger than the first entered. "I need to go. Keep me apprised."

"Will do." She turned her attention to her guests. "Please, sit anywhere you like."

He returned to his car and drove to Maggie's. As he turned into her drive, she was walking toward the road in her running clothes. He parked his car, and as he shut the driver's door, she stepped into the garage behind his cruiser.

"I was about to go running," she said.

"If you'll wait a minute, I'll go with you."

"Sure."

He kissed her quickly and then hurried into the house. They had run together only twice since Marmalade got sick, and not at all after he'd taken the cat to the hospital for the last time. He hadn't felt like running, the loss of his cat still dragging on him, but today he thought a run would do him good. He quickly changed and hustled out. Maggie was standing in the drive stretching and loosening up.

"Ready?" she asked.

"I guess."

They started out slow to warm up and then fell into step. His natural pace was faster than hers, probably because of his longer legs, but he still didn't have the endurance she did. They started out at his faster pace, but it wasn't long before they slowed to, what he assumed, was her comfortable pace. Even though they were running slower, by the time they reached her house again he would be pushing himself to keep up.

When they'd returned home and slowed to a walk in her drive, they were both sweaty and out of breath. "I shouldn't have taken a week off," he panted.

"It's amazing how fast you lose it, isn't it?"

He nodded. It was probably mostly, if not entirely, in his head, but it felt like he had to push harder today than he remembered. They stepped into her kitchen and hydrated with water from the pitcher she kept in the refrigerator. "You want to shower first?" he asked.

She took another long pull from her water. "Yeah. Pop the casserole in the oven? 350 degrees for thirty minutes."

He nodded. As she left for her shower, he pulled the dish out of the 'fridge and examined it. He could see bits of browned hamburger, along with shredded cheese, cooked onion, black beans, probably diced green chili peppers, and maybe tortillas or something similar, all in a creamy sauce. He slid the dish into the oven and then set the temperature and time. Whatever it was, it looked Mexican-y, so he made sure there were a couple of cold beers in the refrigerator as well.

When Maggie stepped out of the shower, he was waiting there with a towel to wrap her in. "Thanks." She smiled before she wrinkled her nose in mock disgust. "I'd offer to kiss you but you're still all sweaty."

"I thought you liked it when I get all sweaty."

"That's different." She waved her hands at the shower. "Go."

He kissed her anyway but made sure only their lips touched before he began undressing. He wasn't long in the shower, and as he entered the kitchen scrubbed and dressed, he could smell the casserole. Definitely Mexican.

"What are we watching tonight?" he asked, pulling her backwards into his chest and holding her there for a nibble on her neck.

"Heat. Al Pacino, Robert De Niro, Jon Voight, Natalie Portman, and Val Kilmer. You seen it?"

"No."

"I think you'll like it. It's long, though. Almost three hours."

"What's it about?" he asked as he pulled two beers from her 'fridge.

She began dipping the casserole onto plates. "Cops and robbers. One of the better ones."

"Oh. Since it had Padamé in it, I thought maybe it was a space opera," he said as he opened the bottles of Samuel Adams.

She grinned. "This was early in her career and way before she became famous as Padamé Amidala. Heat was made in '95 so she couldn't be much over fifteen or sixteen in this movie."

They carried their food and drink to the living room and settled in. The room was comfortably furnished with a monster of a television, surround sound, and a brown, faux leather couch with two built in recliners and a wide, fold-down, center armrest with cup holders. There was a matching chair and ottoman, but it was rarely used, except occasionally for the ottoman to hold pizza or snacks. A large area rug in tans and browns over the honey-colored hardwood floor pulled it all together. Like the rest of her house, it was modest yet still functional and stylish.

The flavor of the casserole was rich and intense, and reminded him of enchiladas. They watched the movie as they ate, pausing it after they'd finished their meal to load their plates into the dishwasher and put the remainder of the casserole into dishes to serve as her lunches. He often ate leftovers on the weekend, but he should also eat them for lunch during the week like Maggie did. It'd be cheaper, but he liked to get out at lunch, both because it gave him a break from the office and because it allowed him to be seen around town.

Kitchen tidied, they returned to the movie where he lightly caressed Maggie's neck with his fingertips as she snuggled in close.

"What'd you think?" she asked as the end credits began to roll.

"Pretty good movie. What'd you think of it?"

"I'd seen it before, but I liked it."

"Of course you have. Is there any movie from the eighties to now you haven't seen?"

She grinned as she sat up and then moved over to sit in his lap sideways, her legs stretched across the couch. "Lots, but they're not on streaming. I told you before, sometimes I used to watch two movies a night, and maybe three or four on Saturday and Sunday."

"What changed?" he asked with a small smile of his own.

"Take a guess."

"Work?"

"Mmm..." she purred. "More like exercise. Work implies it isn't fun."

"Oh," he rumbled as he softly kissed her. They were starting their seduction dance. "You think exercise is fun?"

"Don't you?" she breathed.

"Depends on the exercise."

She brushed his lips with hers. "That much is certain."

"Ready for bed?" he asked.

"If you are."

He damn sure was, and it wasn't because he was sleepy. "Love you."

She rewarded his words with a tender smile. "Love you too."

-oOo-

It was just after eleven and Maggie was curled in his arms. They were basking in the afterglow of their lovemaking, no words needed or spoken. He was watching her face as her eyes became heavy with sleep, her finger slowly tracing his lips.

"Love you," she whispered.

He stretched to kiss her. "Love you too." The words were barely out of his mouth when he rolled his eyes as the Hawaii Five-0 theme began playing. "Are you kidding me?" he grumbled while disentangling himself from Maggie and rolling over for his phone. He took a half-second to compose himself, so he wouldn't bite the head off whoever was calling. "McGhee," he said, his voice still harder than he wanted it to be.

"Sean, this is Fish. The lights are on at BIGS."

"Okay. Thanks, Fish. I'll take it from here." He hung up and looked at Maggie. She'd rolled over and placed her back to him. He cuddled up. "I'm sorry. I have to go."

"Can't Fish, or one of the other officers, do it?"

"No, not really. He's in a cruiser and..."

"And what?"

"And this may be a waste of time."

"Then why are you doing it?"

"Because it might not be a waste of time."

She took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and rolled over to face him. "This is twice this week. It's already getting old."

"I know, but crooks don't work regular hours."

"I don't know why you always have to do everything yourself."

He touched her face. "You know I'm not."

"You are on this BIGS thing."

"It comes with the job."

She sighed out a breath. "I know, but that doesn't mean I have to like it."

He kissed her "I don't like it either. I'll be back as quick as I can."

He rolled away from her and quickly started dressing. Finished, he kissed her and then hurried to his car. Like the last time, he ran hard with his beacons flashing until he got close, before switching them off and slowing. He took up position in his regular spot and settled in to watch, hoping he hadn't missed the opening act. He sat scrunched down in his seat, watching, but nothing was happening. After an hour he pulled the mic from the dash. "Fish, you there?"

A moment later Fish's voice came over the radio. "Right here, chief."

"Are you sure the lights weren't left on in the shop? I haven't seen any action."

"Positive."

Sean grimaced. "Okay. That's what I wanted to know. Thanks."

He watched for another two hours when, finally, a rollback, probably the same one he'd seen before, passed on the highway in front of him. He sat up in the seat, the drowsiness he was feeling vanishing in an instant. He watched until the truck disappeared behind the fence. It was decision time. Since he hadn't seen any cars arrive, he had no idea how many might be hauled out tonight. He decided to follow the first car. He started his Dodge and turned right onto the highway, driving away from BIGS in the direction the tow truck had come. He needed to find a place to pull off so that he could follow the rig to its destination. He didn't want to pull out of Juniper directly behind the truck for fear of tipping off everyone BIGS was being watched, but he couldn't go too far because the truck could turn somewhere, and he'd lose it.

He knew from the last time he'd seen the rollbacks he had about a ten-minute head start, which should give him plenty of time to find someplace to cover his tracks. He drove to the next crossroad and slowed. This was a good spot. He turned right and drove down the road until he was well off the highway. There was a field to his left that gave him a good view of the road. He turned around and waited, his car idling in park with his lights switched off as he watched for approaching headlamps. A pair of lights appeared on the highway. He'd just pulled his car into gear when he realized there were no marker lamps. It wasn't the truck he was watching for. The first car had barely passed when another set of lights appeared. After a moment he could see the marker lights above the cab and on the bed. This was it. He put his car in gear again and waited for the truck to pass before he turned on his headlamps. He drove to the intersection and turned right to follow, staying far enough back so all he could see were the truck's taillamps.

He followed the truck for about ten miles before the rollback made a left. Sean arrived at the narrow country road and slowed to a stop, glancing in his rearview mirror to make sure someone wasn't coming up behind him. The truck had disappeared behind some trees, over a ridge, or around a corner. This was obviously a little used road, but he had no choice but to follow. He turned and drove slowly down the road, his car bumping and jiggling over the rough surface. He kept his speed low, but when he passed a house he sped up a little. If there were houses there was traffic, and he could be a little bolder.

He rounded the bend in the road, and on his left was a scrap yard. He continued on, not slowing. The truck wasn't in sight, reinforcing the idea the scrap yard was the truck's destination. He put his foot down, driving between fifty and sixty miles-per-hour down the road even though it was posted for thirty-five. He wanted to see if he could catch sight of the truck.

He had no idea where he was going, and he flashed past several cross-roads before he rolled to a stop at a stop sign. The road sign said he was sitting at the intersection of Gates Chapel and Cleveland Road. He knew, more or less, where he was now. He was between Brunswick and Raleigh. Since he hadn't caught the rollback or seen its taillamps on one of the crossroads, that reinforced his idea that the truck had stopped at the scrapyard. It made sense. BIGS was parting out the cars, and the scrapyard was disposing of the hulks. A neat little operation. The scrapyard was far out of his jurisdiction, but if he could find tangible evidence of what was going on, he'd turn it over to County and let them prosecute the case. With a smile, he turned right onto Cleveland and headed back to Brunswick. Tomorrow he'd look at a map and figure out exactly where the scrapyard was located, but for now, he needed to get home before Maggie's bed got too cold.