Cesspool (17 page)

“Don’t tell Mom that.”

“I won’t.”

“So I heard Emory locked up that teacher who lives next to Harold.”

“Prick needed to be taken off his high horse.”

“How’d he do in lockup?” Dale asked.

“He was cryin’ all night for a doctor,” the chief said.

“These liberal faggots got no backbone.”

The chief cackled. “What was the take from last week?”

“Kurt was light last Wednesday,” Dale said. “I think he might be skimmin’.”

“He knows better than that.”

Dale grunted. “When has he ever known better?”

“He wouldn’t dare,” the chief said finally.

Jessica brought their coffee. The men asked about her family and how school was going. Jessica’s responses were polite but short. “Your food will be out soon,” Jessica said.

“How’s Margie and the girls?” the chief asked his son. “They must be itchin’ for spring.”

“I’ll tell you what, Pops. Margie’s not like Mom. It’s never enough. The more money I make, the more she spends. The girls are little carbon copies.”

“That’s why you gotta marry an ugly woman.”

Dale laughed. “Don’t tell Mom that either.”

Jessica brought their food. They thanked her and began eating. The conversation slowed to benign chitchat. Grunts and probably body language became acceptable forms of communication.

“You see what happened in South Perry the other day?” Dale asked.

The chief grunted.

“These cameras are lethal. Reputations ruined by the Internet. Should be a crime to film police.”

The chief grunted once more.

Dale continued, “Nigger had it comin’ if you ask me.”

The chief swallowed and said, “People want the trash taken out, but they don’t wanna
see it
bein’ taken out.”

“His family’s hollerin’ about excessive force and racial profilin’. It’s liberal bullshit if you ask me, but they got some public support.”

“Stats don’t lie. Black males commit crimes at a much higher rate than any other group. We’d be stupid not to target ’em. You just can’t say that.”

After listening to ten minutes of mundane gossip, followed by silence, James stopped the recording.

“I’m not sure I understand what they’re doing,” Brittany said. “Can we get them in trouble?”

“Not exactly,” James replied. “Recording someone without their knowledge is illegal, remember? It’s inadmissible and would get us arrested.”

“Then what’s the point of all this?”

“Information is power.”

Chapter 14: Preparation

Chapter 14

Preparation

James parked his truck in the small lot in front of the self-storage center. The morning sun was blocked by the trees. Frost clung to the edges of his windshield, where he’d neglected to scrape. The faded metal sign read Gil’s Storage. Across the street was the entrance to the trail they had used to hunt mushrooms and pawpaws. James exited his truck and stepped toward the business.

The glass door to the office had the Open sign posted. James entered the cramped space. It was almost as cold inside as it was out. A white-haired man sat behind a metal desk in a parka, knit hat, and gloves.

“How are you doing?” James said.

“What can I do for you?” the man asked.

“I’d like to park my car here for about a month.”

“Six months is the shortest lease we’ll do.”

“How much would that be?”

“What kinda car you got?”

“It’s a compact car. It’s small.”

“Compact car will run you about forty a month, provided you got good credit. We do credit checks.”

“What if I paid for the term up-front … in cash?”

He grinned. “Well then, I know you’re good for it.”

The old man gave James the combination to the front gate and pointed to a map of the storage center on the wall, showing him his space in the back corner.

“Number twenty-two, marked on the asphalt. You can’t miss it. Don’t be parkin’ in someone else’s space. It’s a pain in the ass when that happens.”

James left the office, removed the burner phone from his pocket and dialed.

“Hello,” Brittany said.

“It’s ready,” James said. “Come right through the gate, and drive all the way to the back. Don’t park in front. I’ll be waiting in back.”

James walked through the gate, toward his parking space. Brittany drove through a few minutes later. She stopped next to James and powered down her window.

“Park in number twenty-two,” James said, pointing to the tight space.

They left the car and hiked to James’s truck. He cranked the engine and looked at Brittany.

“Get comfortable,” he said.

* * *

They drove a few hours southeast, into Maryland. The traffic was heavier, the cars more expensive. James parked in front of a three-story brick-and-glass office building.

In the lobby, they read through the directory to locate Direct Data in Office 212. They took the stairs to the second floor. Inside, James told the receptionist that he had an appointment with Stephanie. An attractive thirtysomething emerged from a back office.

“Mr. Miller,” she said to James.

“Please call me Ray,” James replied.

James paid the woman in cash, and she produced four boxes of Avery labels. James opened one of the boxes. Names and addresses were printed on every label as specified. He shut the box.

“Thank you, Stephanie. I appreciate it.”

“Next time, if you give us a week, we can mail the lists. Save you the trip.”

On the way home they stopped for lunch at a deserted Subway. They sat at a corner table, eating their subs with the wax paper as makeshift plates. James bought them chocolate chip cookies for dessert.

“The chocolate chips are always melty,” he said. “I don’t know how they do that.”

After their sandwiches and cookies, James made a phone call with his burner phone.

“North Schuylkill Township Police nonemergency line,” a female said.

“Hi, my name is Ray Miller,” James said. “Could I speak to Dale Strickland, please?”

“I’m sorry, sir, but he’s not in at the moment.”

“Do you know what time he’ll be in?”

“He’ll be here tonight from four to twelve. Would you like to leave him a message?”

“No, thank you. I’ll call back.”

James put the phone in his pocket. “I figured it was four to twelve. I’d like to see what he does, where he goes.”

“Aren’t we supposed to keep up appearances? Aren’t you gonna teach tonight?”

“My class is six to nine. I’ll tail him for an hour and a half and then go to class. I’ll drop you off at work a little early in the truck, if that’s okay. I don’t want anyone at the diner to see the Hyundai.”

“We still have a lot to do,” she said.

“We do, but we need more information. We get one shot. I don’t want there to be any doubt.”

“We need more time then.”

“I figured we would. I’ll send the text in the morning, before they get worried.”

* * *

James dropped off Brittany at the diner an hour early for her shift. He drove to the storage center and parked in the lot. The chain-link gate was open. He hopped into the Hyundai and drove to the police station. He parked on a neighborhood street across from the one-story brick building. James sat and watched, his camera in the seat next to him.

Officer Dale Strickland pulled up to the station in a black Yukon Denali. Dale entered the station wearing his uniform. Fifteen minutes later he departed in his cruiser. The officer sped down the road. James kept a safe distance behind. They drove on a two-lane road that was wooded on either side. Officer Strickland pulled off at a small clearing. James drove past, shielding his face with his arm.
Shit
.

He’s probably setting up a speed trap
. James pulled off the road six hundred yards away. The ground was frozen and dry. The last snowstorm of a few weeks ago had melted in a short stretch of above-freezing weather. He parked the car tight to the woods, out of plain view. He took out his camera and exited the Hyundai. With the zoom cranked up, he could see Dale with his radar gun. James watched Dale for an hour. The officer flagged down cars without moving from his spot. He nabbed four cars for speeding.

After the fourth car drove away slowly, Dale drove in the opposite direction. James ran to his Hyundai and spun the front wheel as he gunned it back on the road. He pressed the accelerator to the floor, trying to gain ground. He saw the cruiser turn off the two-lane road into a rural trailer park.

James followed. Most of the trailers were well cared for, with small leafless trees and empty flowerpots.
Maybe he’s here for the money. No, they said Kurt picks up the money
. The cruiser stopped in front of a single-wide trailer with white vinyl siding. A young woman ran from the trailer to the cruiser and hopped in the front passenger seat. Dale made a three-point turn.
Shit, he’s coming back this way
. James backed into an empty driveway and ducked his head. He listened as the V-8 rumbled past. James lifted his head to see the cruiser driving back toward the main road. He followed.

They drove farther away from town, fifteen miles maybe. The cruiser turned down an asphalt road into a wooded housing development. The community was sparsely populated with cabins and single-family homes. James allowed a healthy distance between him and Dale. The police car pulled into a gravel driveway of a small stone house. The front yard was mostly dormant grass. James edged a little closer to get a better angle on the cruiser. He rolled down the passenger window and turned on his camera.

With the zoom, he had an excellent view of the back of the police car. The exhaust was still spewing smoke.
They’re still in the car
. He pointed the camera at the back window. He snapped photographs of Officer Dale Strickland kissing and groping the young lady. The officer cut the engine, and the couple exited the vehicle. The woman ran around the car and jumped on Dale. She straddled him. They kissed. James continued to snap photographs as she unclenched her thighs and let her feet drop to the ground. He snapped a nice shot of her face as Dale smacked her on the ass.
I guess there really is no honor among thieves.

* * *

James and Brittany entered the cabin, looking like death. Brittany had dark circles under her eyes, and James didn’t look much better. They were running on fumes after two nights of little-to-no sleep.

“You gonna show me the pictures now?” she asked.

They sat at the kitchen table. James scrolled through the camera screen, showing Brittany the pictures he had taken.

“Who’s the girlfriend?” Brittany asked.

“It’s Heather Davenport,” he said, flipping to the shot with a good view of her face.

Brittany leaned into the picture. “She looks familiar.”

“It’s Kurt Strickland’s girlfriend.”

She cackled.

James nodded with a grin.

* * *

The phone rang. His eyes fluttered. He smelled bacon and eggs. He blinked in rapid-fire fashion. The cabin came into focus. He rolled out of the bottom bunk, stood, and stretched his arms high over his head. He grabbed his phone from the dresser and cut the alarm. Brittany glanced back from the stove. Her blue eyes were bright, the dark rings faint. She wore black sweats.

“Breakfast is almost ready,” she said.

“Smells really good,” he replied. “I should send that text real quick.”

He grabbed a pair of latex gloves from the box and slipped them on. He pulled Harold’s phone from the plastic bag. He checked text messages and missed calls.

“Nothing since those two calls from yesterday,” he said to Brittany.

“But you said those were telemarketers,” she replied.

“I’m pretty sure they were. One was from Minneapolis and the other Los Angeles. I have telemarketers calling me from Minneapolis all the time. And I doubt Harold knew anyone from L.A.”

He double-checked the text he had prepared. He had researched Harold’s past text messages to make this one seem authentic. He showed the text to Brittany.

I got the flu bad must be the wether. I wont be at the firehouse today or Friday.

James pressed Send. “There it goes,” he said. “That should give us some breathing room.”

“So what’s next?” she asked.

“They said Kurt does the pickups on Wednesday. I want to see for myself and get some pictures.”

“Where are you gonna follow him from?”

“He takes a night class. I’ve seen him leaving campus in his jacked-up truck.”

“How do you know he doesn’t do the pickups in the mornin’s? They didn’t say when exactly. They just said
Wednesday
.”

“He doesn’t seem like a morning person. Besides, if he’s doing something shady, like I suspect, I think he would be more likely to do it at night.”

“What else?”

“I need to learn how to mix videos and set up a blog. There’s an Internet café type place about half an hour from here. I don’t want this stuff to point to my IP address. I was thinking I should also wear a disguise, just in case they have cameras there. Maybe at least a hat pulled low.”

“What do you need me to do?”

James grinned. “You could start putting those labels on the envelopes.”

She groaned. “There’s five thousand of ’em.”

“Don’t touch anything without gloves.”

Chapter 15: If You Ain't First, You're Last

Chapter 15

If You Ain’t First, You’re Last

“That’s it for class tonight,” James said.

The students packed their bags and started for the door. James put on his jacket, knit cap, and gloves. He slung his laptop bag over his shoulder. Leon and Jessica approached. Leon wanted to debate; Jessica wanted to talk about her project.

“Next class, guys,” James said. “I have to go.”

James hurried his students out the door. He locked the classroom and jogged to the parking lot, his computer bag bouncing on his shoulder. The lot was well lit by the street lamps. He spotted Kurt and Heather climbing into a red lifted Dodge pickup with vertical exhaust pipes. James broke into a sprint toward the back of the lot, where the Hyundai was stowed.