Boosted Pt. 08

The bait car was a trick system. The officer monitoring the car didn't even have to sit and watch the Honda. They went about their normal patrols, but when the doors of the Honda were opened, the remote unit alerted the officer. The officer then used the built in GPS to locate the car, the engine cut-off to disable it, and the in-car audio and video to prosecute the crime. The car had proven to be so popular the department had resorted to drawing straws to determine who got to carry the remote. When the car was taken, whoever had the remote would call in his fellow officers for support. His department would then run the car down, disable it, and both times thus far, engage in a foot chase when the perpetrator ran. It might be great fun for his department, but he'd decided BIGS wasn't going to take the bait. They were too smart to shit in their own nest, so to speak. Still, since he had the car for two weeks, he figured he might as well use it to bust as many would be car thieves as he could before he returned it to County.

That wasn't to say BIGS wasn't still running their operation. Once or twice a week, the shop would light up in the middle of the night and anywhere from two to four cars would arrive. A few hours later, trucks would arrive to haul off the remains, and then the shop would go dark again. Another interesting tidbit of information was another new Porsche, a 911 this time, was spotted in town. He wouldn't have given it a second thought, since the car was spotted in the daytime, but a Huracán, a Panamera, and now a 911 had all been spotted in Brunswick or Tilley. He had first-hand knowledge that BIGS Automotive Repairs did good work, but why would they be working on cars that were likely still under warranty? He was sure BIGS was doing more than parting out cars, but what?

He saw a man walking, and as he approached, he recognized his quarry. He flipped on his lights and rolled to a stop at the curb. "How are you, Jasper?"

"Man, why do you keep hassling me?" Cotton asked.

"Because I like you. Heard anything about the safe we're looking for?"

"No, man! Why would I hear anything about that?"

"Word on the street is you know who did it."

"The word is wrong. Your boys are on me like shit, so you know I ain't doing nothing."

Sean couldn't help but smile. The more stress Cotton was under, the more he bobbed and weaved, and the more often he made the pinky and pointer finger gesture. "That's not what I'm hearing."

"Man, if you got something, arrest me! Otherwise, why don't you leave me the fuck alone?"

"In good time, my man, in good time. How'd you get that cut on your hand? You been working?"

"None of your business."

"Looks painful." Cotton scowled at him but said nothing. "Bleed much? I'd hate to see you get blood everywhere. Blood's so hard to clean up, you know." Sean paused for effect. "I remember one time I cut my hand. Wasn't even that bad a cut, but I found blood for days. A little here, a little there, even after I thought I cleaned it all up." Cotton continued to glare at him. "Did you know every drop of blood contains your complete DNA?" He shook his head slowly in mock amazement. "I find facts like that amazing, don't you?" Cotton's face made it clear he didn't find it nearly as fascinating as Sean did. "Well, good talking to you, Jasper. Take care of that hand. I wouldn't want anything to happen to you." He rolled the passenger window up as he slowly pulled away.

Cotton was cool, Sean gave him that. Cotton had to know that Sean knew it was him, but he hadn't broken yet, and neither had anyone on his crew. He also knew if Sean had any hard evidence he'd already be in jail. Cotton was trapped. He probably hadn't gotten the safe open yet, otherwise he'd have dumped it somewhere and his officers would've found it. He had to be terribly frustrated. He'd had the safe in his possession for more than a week and he still hadn't gotten inside.

The safe was becoming a millstone around his neck. His officers were constantly patrolling past his grandmother's house, and what they assumed was his girlfriend's house, and when they found him out walking, they slowly tailed him, just to let him know they hadn't forgotten about him. He was under pressure from all sides. Garland had witnessed Cotton and his assumed girlfriend having a shouting match in the front yard, but the moment they saw the cruiser, they shut up and went inside. Cotton knew one slip, one mistake, and the Brunswick PD would have him, and he was having to constantly look over his shoulder for fear of leading the police to the safe.

That was the frustrating thing about police work. He knew Cotton was the man who broke into his pub and stole his safe, but there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it until he had tangible proof. The gesture wasn't enough. All the defense had to do was show another guy making the same hand gesture and that was reasonable doubt. It was the same with BIGS. They were guilty as shit of something, certainly chopping cars, but probably more than that as well, but again, like with his safe, he had no proof. All he could do was keep chipping away at both cases and hope he caught a break.

His phone rang, the melody of Stevie Wonder's I Just Called to Say I Love You filling the car. He smiled. He'd changed Maggie's ringtone from the Beatles I Want to Hold Your Hand to the new one after she'd told him she loved him. She'd liked his old ringtone for her. She'd heard it when she'd called his phone after he'd lost his phone in her car. It hadn't been planned the first time, but he might have to 'accidently lose' his phone in her couch sometime, so she could hear his new selection. He wasn't above a little innocent skullduggery to score some brownie points.

"Hi!" he said.

"I'm done."

"Get your problem fixed?"

"I think so. Our pH was steadily getting worse, no matter what we did, but I think we found the problem. It appears our meter was going bad. We've probably pushed it too far the other way now. Once we figured out the meter was the problem, we put everything back to our normal. Now we just have to wait and see if it levels out."

"So you're coming to dinner?"

"Yeah. I should be there in ten minutes or so."

"I'll go get us a table."

It was nearly six when he walked into the pub, and the restaurant was almost full. He saw one empty table, and there were a half-dozen people sitting at the bar taking up half of the stools. Laura had taken on extra waitstaff for Friday and Saturday, and no wonder. This was as busy as he'd seen the place. He moved to claim the table before someone else did.

"You're Mr. McGhee, the owner, right?" the girl asked as she stopped at his table. She had to be at least twenty-one, but she looked like she was about fifteen. God, he was getting old.

"That's right. And you are?"

"Millie. Millie Haas. I just started this week."

Sean smiled and extended his hand. "Nice to meet you, Millie."

She shook his hand. "What can I get you?"

"A pint."

"A pint... of Guinness?"

He smiled. "Millie, in an Irish pub, if a customer orders a pint, you can be assured it's a Guinness unless they specify otherwise."

She looked like she'd been scolded. "Oh. Sorry."

He smiled at her to let her off the hook. "Don't worry about it. Maggie is on her way, so we'll need two menus."

"Right away," Millie said before she hurried away.

He'd tried to create an as authentic Irish pub experience as he could, but that was his one concession to being in America. In Ireland, most pubs expected patrons to place their orders at the bar and to collect their food and drink orders themselves. He'd instructed Laura to make sure customers could do that here as well, if they wanted the full experience, but orders could also be placed at the table. It would be chaos otherwise because Americans expected to be waited on.

Laura appeared with his Guinness and two menus. "Helping out tonight?" he asked.

"When we're busy like this, yeah."

"How long has it been like this?"

"Not long. I don't think we've peaked yet. I expect to have people waiting before the night is over."

He looked back as another couple entered. All the tables were full, so they went to the bar. "Where are all these people coming from?"

"Are you complaining?"

He sniffed out a brief laugh. "No. Just a little surprised."

"It is Friday night, plus we're new and unique, guys want to impress their girls by taking her someplace new, and we're starting to pull from outside of town. I saw a guy in here with his wife or girlfriend last weekend that was obviously military. That probably means they drove up from Fayetteville."

"That's forty-five minutes away!"

Laura smiled. "Great, isn't it?"

He was a bit overwhelmed. Through the week business had dropped off, just as Laura said it would, but they were still going gangbusters on the weekends. "Yeah. Keep it up."

She grinned. "Got to go. I assume Maggie is joining you?"

"Yeah. She should be here any minute."

He'd taken his first sip of heaven when Maggie appeared in the door and glanced around. She looked right over him the first time, so he rose to go get her. She saw him as he stood and approached. When she reached him, he wrapped an arm around her waist and kissed her. It was a quick, public kiss, but he saw several people smiling at them as he escorted her back to his table. Loch and Castle was a happy place.

"This place is happening!" she said as he held her chair.

"Yeah. This was the only open table when I came in."

Laura appeared again. "What can I get you to drink, Maggie?"

"I think I'll just have water... no! Make it an iced tea."

"Sweet, right?"

Maggie smiled. "This is still the south, isn't it?"

Laura returned Maggie's smile. "One sweet tea, coming up."

They ordered and enjoyed their meals, talking about their day. Even though there were a few people queued, waiting for a table, he refused to be rushed. A pub was supposed to be a place to relax with friends. Laura was used to running a regular restaurant, where they tried to turn the tables, and though she would never say anything, he noticed her watching, waiting to pounce on a table as soon as one was available.

"You ready?" he finally asked.

"If you are."

With his hand on her back, he escorted her out. It was a perfect spring evening, the air warm and soft, the bright moon high in the sky. It was too perfect a night to waste. He wished he had his Jag key with him so he could go get his car right now. His police car could sit in the parking lot all night as far as he was concerned.

"Can you follow me to my place?"

"I guess. Why?"

"You'll see. Park in my spot when you get there."

He escorted her to her car, and then after shutting her door, walked to his car. They drove home--no, they drove to his apartment. He thought of Maggie's house as home now. He pulled up behind her car and left the Dodge running. "Wait in my car. I'll be right back," he said as she exited her car.

"What are you up too?"

"You'll see." He hurried to his apartment, retrieved the key to the Jag, and then quickly walked back to his car, throwing himself under the wheel. He pulled the car into gear and made his way back to the road. It didn't take long before she figured out what he was planning.

"I like your idea."

"I just need to get away. One of the things I was looking forward to when I took this job was leaving shit like this behind in Boston."

"What shit?"

"This thing with BIGS, and the pub being broken into."

"What do you mean?"

"I get these cases stuck in my head and I can't let them go. It's one of the reasons I wanted to move to a small town. I don't want to worry over this stuff anymore."

"So don't. Or don't worry about them so much."

He snorted. "Easier said than done." He sighed. "I don't know what I'm complaining about. Three cases in a little over a year. I used to get that many in a week."

"You need to learn to leave the job at the office. It's what I do."

"I don't know how."

"You just do it. Once I'm out of those gates, I don't think about that place again, unless they call me, until the next day."

He pulled to a stop by the keypad that opened the self-storage facility gate. He quickly typed in his code and the gate began to rise. "You need to teach me how to do that."

"I've tried but you don't listen."

"Well, hit me in the head with a pan or something, to make sure you have my attention the next time."

She giggled. "I'm liking this idea better all the time."

He pulled to a stop at the unit that held his Jaguar. Leaving the Dodge running, he opened the big, blue, rollup door and carefully squeezed into the Jag. Since he'd driven the car only a few weeks ago, and the carbs had been adjusted, the big straight six roared easily to life. Feathering the throttle, he backed the car out and parked it out of the way. The Dodge went into the space just vacated by the Jag, and the door was shut and locked. He'd come get it before Monday. So far BIGS' nighttime activities didn't seem to happen over the weekend, and even if they did, he'd removed the notice to call him, so he wasn't likely to need his car tonight or tomorrow. Sitting in a car, watching a building in the middle of the night, was proving useless in solving the case.

With Maggie in the seat beside him, he worked the Jaguar out of the self-storage lot. He turned onto the road, carefully feeding in the throttle. The carburetors may have been adjusted, but the big cat was still a cold natured beast. Once he got some revs on it, he buried his right foot, the 4.2-liter six howling as the E-Type surged away before he slowed and drove reasonably. He headed south, out of town, to a little used road that had a few curves and hills. It was his preferred road when he wanted to stretch the E-Type's legs.

Once he turned onto Plank's Dairy Road he put his foot down. The speed limit was only forty-five, but he was doing twenty to twenty-five above that, tossing the Jaguar through the bends, braking and downshifting for corners before accelerating again as the road weaved through the countryside, rising and falling with the slight rolls of the land. He could almost feel the tension draining out of him as he focused on the road, the concentration shoving thoughts of work out of his mind. What did he have to complain about? He had a job he enjoyed, most of the time, and Maggie was in his life. His situation was better in every way than it had been in Boston. She was right. He just needed to leave the work at the station. In Boston, his job was his life. If he were honest with himself, maybe it was because he couldn't leave the job at the office that Stefanie had sought comfort somewhere else. He'd tried to be there for her, but she couldn't share him with his job, and she shouldn't have had to. He was older and wiser now, and he realized he had so much more to live for than his job. He needed to learn to leave the job at the station as Maggie said. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Starting now, that was what he was going to do. He loved Maggie and he didn't want to lose her too.

He continued to hustle the car down the narrow, winding road, allowing his annoyance and frustrations to fly away in the wind rushing over the car, until he rolled to a halt at a stop sign. He made a right, heading back to Brunswick. He was back on a more traveled road, so he kept his speed close to the posted limit. Once the car settled into cruise, he reached over and took Maggie's hand.

She gripped it. "Thank you," he said, speaking a bit louder than normal to be heard over the open top.

"For what?"

"For putting up with me... and for the advice. I've decided to follow it."

"And leave the work at the office?"

"Yeah. Starting now."

"Just like that?"

"Just like that," he confirmed.

"Good."

"You'll have to help me."

"Okay, sure. How?"

"I don't know, but when you see me starting to wind tight, remind me of what's important."

"Which is?"

"Life. You. Not work."

She gripped his hand again. "Okay." She paused for a moment. "I don't think you've done too badly. The only time I've seen you like this was on that arson case."

"That's because we weren't dating yet when I was working the Locoste case. It's these cases where... no, never mind. I'm not going to worry about it until Monday."

She smiled at him. "See, you're learning already. It gets easier with practice. When I first took over the plant, I used to worry about everything all the time. It's part of the reason why I watched so many movies. It helped to keep me from thinking about stuff. Then I realized it was stupid. That I was being stupid. Worrying didn't change anything, it just wore me out. So, I quit worrying."

"I know. I'm turning over a new leaf. Starting right now I'm leaving all that stuff at the station." He paused and decided he'd better clarify. "I still might get called in the middle of the night, or work some weird hours, but even then..." He shrugged.

"That's the spirit. But I do have one question."

"What?"

"Does this mean I can't hit you in the head with a pan?"

He laughed. "Only if you think you need to."

Monday morning Sean stood in the weed choked lot, taking pictures of his safe with his phone. The vault was lying on its side with two tracks leading from the street crushed in the tall weeds from the truck that had hauled it. While on his normal patrol, Jonathan Lister had spotted the big steel box and called it in.

"I figure it was dumped sometime last night," Jon said. "I asked around, but of course nobody saw or heard anything."

Sean nodded. "Of course not."

He didn't expect any other answer. Tilley, despite Hud's attempts to make his town a better place to live, protected their own, and he was still an outsider and a cop. The safe hadn't given up its contents easily. The combination lock on the front was badly deformed and had been drilled, but it hadn't yielded. That was probably where the crooks had started. That was also likely when they realized cracking a quality safe wasn't as easy as it appeared on television and in the movies. He was no expert on safes or safe cracking, but when he'd bought the vault, the dealer who sold it to him had explained all the safe's security features and what they were for.

He smiled to himself as he imagined the would-be crackers with their ear pressed against the door as they slowly rotated the dial. Maybe they'd even used a stethoscope. It wouldn't have taken them long to realize nobody, no matter how sensitive their hearing, could hear the locking mechanism working in a high-end safe. He figured they'd probably tried to drill the lock next. He wondered if they even knew what to do after they'd drilled the hole. Probably not. They only knew it was something people did in the movies to open a safe, and they probably hoped it would magically unlock. Little did they understand that drilling the lock probably tripped the relockers, which only made the safe that much more difficult to open.

After giving up on the lock, they'd resorted to cruder methods. On the left side there were several burn marks where the thieves had tried to burn their way in with some type of torch. That attack had probably been frustrated as the heat of the torch melted the protective layer between the steel and the concrete like composite material inside, a layer designed to fill the area with thick choking smoke to thwart cutting with a torch. They'd moved to the bottom, and then the top, as they tried to cut the steel away with a blade, only to abandon those penetration attempts as well, and move on to another spot. He wondered how may cutting blades they'd ruined before they gave up, the blades hopelessly gummed up by the same goop that produced the smoke when using a torch.