The lot itself was surrounded by a ten-foot-high cyclone fence crowned with miles of concertina wire. You walked a fifty-foot corridor of fencing with razor wire strung across the top to get to the front door. Just beyond the front door a narrow staircase with worn carpet rose between grimy walls. At the top of the staircase a large window made up of a half dozen layers of bulletproof glass protected employees from taxpayers.
It was mid-morning, already hot and humid. I quickly concluded the heavyset woman ahead of me on the staircase hadn’t showered for the better part of a week. Including her, there were eight people in front of me. Amazingly, none of them could understand why their car had been towed, not that it mattered to the attendant behind the glass. Over the course of forty minutes I inched my way up the staircase until I confronted the pale, humorless clerk behind the glass.
He was actually more sallow looking than pale, about one hundred and twenty pounds soaking wet, and in need of a shave. He wore rumpled jeans and a stained, wrinkled T-shirt with a hole in it that he had probably pulled on a week ago. He had the look of someone who’d slept in his clothes, regularly. I’m guessing he hated his job. Who could blame him? Although he’d probably stick with it for forty years. The place seemed to have leached all humanity from his soul.
“License number,” he mumbled, not looking up at me.
“Minnesota, IAB 114.”
He typed my plate number into the computer. I saw a screen flash in the reflection of his glasses, and a moment later he wheeled around on his desk chair to grab a sheet coming out of a printer.
“Three twenty-five,” he said, still not looking at me.
“Hunh?”
“Three hundred twenty-five dollars,” looking down at his desktop.
“But it just got here yesterday.”
“Ticket, tow charge, two days in the lot, processing, and tax,” he said in an expressionless, practiced manner as his head sunk a little lower.
Arguing would only waste more of my time, and they’d probably charge me by the minute so I nodded, slid my debit card into the metal tray and prayed.
He retracted the tray beneath the thick glass panel and ran my card.
“Access denied, sorry,” he mumbled, sounding like he wasn’t, looking straight ahead at his computer screen.
“Oh shit,” a disgruntled voice from somewhere back in line wafted up the staircase.
“I just came from the damn bank,” I lied.
“Might want to get it checked out then. You got a credit card we can run?” Still completely disinterested and now focused on the wall behind me.
I handed him my credit card, then prayed I wasn’t already over my limit.
“I’ll need proof of insurance before I can release the vehicle.”
“It’s in the car.”
He nodded, maybe he’d heard some of this before.
“Show the attendant this, along with proof of insurance,” he said returning my credit card with the invoice stamped paid in the metal tray. He never looked up at me.
Chapter 29
The Rolodex was still in the front seat. I phoned Sunnie as I exited the impound lot.
“Sunnie, I’ve got that Rolodex you wanted.”
“Oh, when can you get it to me?”
“I can be there in fifteen minutes.”
“No later, Dev, I’ve got a lecture at eleven I have to review for.”
“Any idea how long this might take?”
“The lecture?”
“No, finding the password.”
“No, I ran some programs yesterday, without much luck. We’ll just have to see. It’s a little like asking what the weather is going to be like in three weeks. Who really knows?”
Twelve minutes later I handed the Rolodex to Sunnie at her front door as she said, “Look sorry, don’t take it personal but this is my crazy day. I’ve got a lecture at eleven and then I’m working labs all afternoon. You interested in a late dinner, say seven tonight?”
“Yeah, I can do that, what are …”
“Don’t ask what I’m serving.”
“I was going to ask what can I bring?” I lied.
“Just your good company. See you at seven, I gotta run,” she said and closed the door.
Chapter 30
I phoned Aaron from in front of Sunnie’s house and left a message.
He phoned me back about fifteen minutes later just as I was driving past my house. I noticed a red Lexus across the street, the right front end looked mangled and scraped, like it had hit something. Maybe a wheelchair?
“Where are you?” Aaron asked.
“You know those red paint chips taken from Da’nita Bell’s wheelchair?”
“Yeah?” Aaron sounded curious.
“Well, I was chased yesterday by three thugs in a red Lexus, an SUV. There’s one parked across the street from my place right now, and it’s got a damaged front end.”
I heard some paper rattle before he answered.
“That’s not red, it’s Nobel Spinel, and the vehicle isn’t an SUV it’s a Lexus LX11.”
“Oh that’s just great, and the three thugs?” I asked.
“They in it now?”
“No it’s empty, actually. I’m going around the block. Hell, as far as I know they could be waiting inside my place for me.”
“They chased you yesterday, you said?”
“Yeah, fortunately I fell into the gentle caring hands of a couple of your guys, with the help of that jackass Peters.”
“Peters? The Fed?”
“The same. Look, I’ll tell you about it later. How soon can you get here?”
“Okay, I’m there in six minutes, pull over. I’m sending a squad to meet you. Don’t let them do anything until I arrive, clear?”
“I’m not going anywhere. See you in six,” I said and pulled to the curb.
The police squad arrived about five minutes after Aaron. I was finishing up telling him about my previous day and the interaction with officers Jorgensen and Elling.
“And they told you they spoke to Peters?”
“Yeah, said they contacted you, or tried to, Peters answers, tells them about a task force and that they might be saving the city a lot of money by getting me in custody so soon. They were thinking they made a big score.”
“With you?”
“Yes, me, that’s beside the point. From the way they talked, could that jerk have answered your phone? I mean how else would they even know about the guy?”
“Possible, I was going over some stuff in homicide with Hale for ten or fifteen minutes. Call could have come through then, I guess.”
“Hale, the I.C.E. guy?”
Aaron nodded, deep in thought.
“Here’s your squad, pulling up behind us,” I said watching in my mirror as a squad car came around the corner.
We used our three vehicles to box in the Lexus against the curb, then approached my house. The two uniformed officers went into the backyard. Aaron and I went up onto the front porch.
“I feel like I may have done this once or twice before,” he said, pulling his pistol and jiggling my front-door handle. It was locked.
“You wouldn’t happen to have your key, would you?”
I unlocked the door, pushed it wide open, then quickly stepped back behind Aaron.
“Police,” Aaron called.
No one answered.
“Police,” he called again, this time much louder.
We went through the place cautiously, room by room, and found nothing except my breakfast dishes. He called the officers out of my backyard, walked with them over to the Lexus.
“Run the plates on this damn thing,” he said to one of them, then turned to me. “I think this is an unfortunate coincidence. I said LX11, right?”
“Yeah.”
He pointed to the chrome model number on the rear of the vehicle.
“This is a GX 460, the lower-priced version. Goes for something like fifty-five grand, about twenty less than the LX.”