Elaine Orr - Jolie Gentil 04 - Any Port in a Storm (21 page)

“Sure,” Josh said.

“Except when you left,” Max added.

“We both left,” Josh said, in a gentle tone.

“Later we did. You want some of my hot chocolate?” he asked me.

“No thanks.
I have to get back to work. It was good to see you, Max.” I stood and touched Josh on the arm as I walked past him.

FOR ONCE I WASN’T the one with the reckless idea.

“It just seems to me we should be able to figure out if this Ricardo Bruno guy is supplying pot to people,” George said.

“And we care why?” I asked, adopting his phrase.

“Because it would be a great story to write,” he said.

We were in one of the back tables at Java Jolt enjoying what George termed “the sober person’s cocktail,” and holding hands loosely under the table.

“I just don’t see how to find out,” I said.
“And if he does sell it, I don’t think I want him madder at me than he is now.”

“Just think, Jolie, you saw his house.
Was there a cellar, maybe a place he could use the hydroponic growing stuff? Hayden had to have that with him for a reason.”

“I think there was a basement, but they have kids, and Victoria strikes me as pretty straight-laced.”
I thought about the house. I thought an attic would be way too hot in summer and cold in winter. Unless it was insulated well. “Anyway, we couldn’t get in the house to look. He would have a lot to lose if he got arrested for selling drugs.”

“You’re wimping out on me,” George said.

My fingers were falling asleep.
Is it bad form to be the one to let go?
“You know, you read about police making these big drug seizures worth all kinds of money. If he sells it, he could be getting a quantity from somebody bigger than he is.”

“Yeah, I suppose.
But you know, he wouldn’t have to sell a lot to make a few hundred bucks a month.

“Like how much?” I asked.

He shrugged. “You keep twenty or thirty plants in cultivation, I bet you could do that, easy. Hell, he could have a back room in his dealership for all I know.”

“You want to go look at cars?” I asked, smiling.

“I expect they know your face,” he said. “Besides, too many people around. Maybe he has a storage unit somewhere. Wouldn’t take much, maybe an eight by ten-inch space.”

Suddenly I remembered the small shed that looked like a tiny cottage, at the back of the Bruno’s garden.
“I know a place we could look without getting noticed. After dark, anyway.”

NATURALLY, I WOULDN’T be telling Aunt Madge what George and I were up to. The only person we told was Scoobie, and he was not in our corner. He had joined us at Java Jolt and sat with us, arms crossed, at the small table in the back of the shop.

“Come on, Scoob,” George said.
“If you ride up with us you can watch for anyone coming toward the garden shed.”

“At two in the morning?” Scoobie asked.

“Maybe he’ll be out there checking the plants,” I threw in.

“All the more reason not to go,” Scoobie said.

AT ONE-THIRTY IN THE MORNING George and I parked three blocks from the Bruno home, on a street that already had a lot of cars parked along the sides of the road.
It was unlike the more upscale street the Brunos lived on. All the cars there were in garages or the oversized driveways.

We both had ball caps on, and my hair was tucked into mine.
We weren’t dressed in black from head to toe, but had decided to wear darker clothes. I was nervous. This wasn’t like sitting in the choir loft at church. We could get chased out of their yard, or maybe even arrested.

“Gimme your hand,” George said, after we’d walked a block.

“Why?” I asked.

“I thought you liked me.”

He couldn’t see my eye roll.

“Seriously,” he said, “it’ll look like we’re just a couple of people who couldn’t sleep and went for a walk.”

I put my hand in his and was glad he couldn’t see the pleased expression I wore. “I wish I had paid more attention to whether there was a fence along the back of the yard. All I remember are a bunch of evergreen bushes about my height.”

“Won’t really matter,” George said.
“I can climb a chain-link fence.”

We had gone over this several times.
I knew there was no tall wood privacy fence, and I didn’t think I remembered any other barriers. George was so intent on seeing if there were marijuana plants or some other drug contraband in the shed that it wouldn’t matter if there was a six-foot masonry wall.

We slowed as we drew close to the Bruno’s large Cape Cod and stared at the house and yard as we walked.
No fences of any kind, at least none visible from the street, and even though it was dark I thought I could see all the way to the back of the yard. We kept walking. Our plan was to go around the block and come in from the yard behind the Bruno house.

We were almost to the house behind the Bruno’s, and George swung my hand gently, and said,

Roses may be red

Violets could be green

We watch where we tread

And remain sight unseen

I shook my head and smiled. “Did you work on that all day?”

“It came to me in a vision.”

Without talking about it we dropped hands and quickly walked single file toward the back of the yard. As I remembered, there were evergreen shrubs at the property line. We ducked behind them. I looked around from my crouched position and nodded in front of me. “That’s the back of the little shed.”

“Gee, Jolie, even I could have figured that,” George said.

I started to giggle and put both hands over my mouth.

“What?” George said, in a loud whisper.
“You think this is funny?”

I took one hand away from my mouth.
“It’s his potting shed. Get it? His
potting
…”

“Jesus!
What the hell’s wrong with you?” George hissed. “Somebody’ll hear us.”

I concentrated on controlling myself.
Neither of us spoke for almost a minute as we looked at the shed and the area around it. I listened for any sound that wasn’t part of nature, but all I could hear was a tree frog that had begun croaking as soon as we stooped to the ground.

“It looks bigger close up,” I finally said.

“At least ten by ten. You could get a lot in there,” George said. He nodded to his right. “And there’s the water source.”

“It seems odd to have it all the way back here,” I said, looking at the thin pole with a spigot on the top.

George turned fully to look at me.

“What?” I whispered, irritated at his look of half amusement, half irritation.

“Hydroponics?” He said. “Water.”

“Oh, right.”
Duh, Jolie.
I suddenly realized a slight humming noise had started nearby. “You hear that?”

“Yeah,” George said.
The noise stopped. “I bet it’s the pump that keeps the water around the plants aerated.”

“Makes sense.
Now what?” I asked. “Me, I’d just try the door.”

“Sure, Sherlock.
Why don’t you call out to see if anyone’s home?”

I ignored him, and watched as he pulled something from his pocket.
It glinted in the moonlight.

George dangled a couple of thin pieces of silver, which hung from a chain.
“My lock picks.” He looked very pleased with himself.

“In for the proverbial penny,” I said.
“Where’d you get those, anyway?”

“Louie’s,” he said.
“There’s some stuff he doesn’t keep on the counter.”

“Why am I not surprised?”

We half-stood and walked, bent over, until we got to the side of the shed.

“Stand here for a sec, and watch the back of the house, okay?” he asked.

I didn’t say anything and he stepped onto the tiny piece of concrete that was flush with the door into the shed. Every now and then George would move an inch or two, but mostly he was as still as I was. There was about a quarter of a moon, and without street lights it was hard to see much more than the outlines of houses and trees. I couldn’t even tell the color of the house next to the Bruno’s.

After about two minutes, George said, “Crap.
I can’t get it.”

I walked next to him and peered in the tiny window.
It had black construction paper over each pane. I nodded toward it. “You can tell they don’t want anybody to see what’s in there.”

Suddenly the entire yard was bathed in light and the sliding glass door on the main house slid open.
“Stay right there!” a man yelled.

George ran one way around the little house and I ran the other.
We almost ran into each other behind it and sprinted through the neighbor’s yard, onto the street. As we raced down the street in the direction of his car there was a screech of tires and a porch light came on as we ran by one house.

“Up here!” I said, and ran behind a large honeysuckle bush at the next house.

George crouched beside me.
We were just in time. A small silver car careened around the corner and pulled up to the house whose yard we’d crept through. Ricardo Bruno almost threw himself out of the car and ran into the back yard.

“Come on,” George whispered.

We stayed on the lawns as we passed a couple more houses.
A police siren was getting closer. If we crossed the street, which we needed to do to get to George’s car, we’d be seen for sure.

I was beginning to feel shades of panic wash over me.
What were we thinking?

“Slow down,” George said.
He was breathing hard.

We were almost at a corner and were going to have to cross one street or the other.
The police siren was getting really close.

“Up here,” I panted.
There were two large, black garbage cans at the edge of a garage, and we sank behind them.

The police siren stopped.
I thought they were about at the Brunos’, which made sense. A man’s voice called something, and the police car started up again, moving slowly now.

I stared from side to side.
“The door.” I pointed to the back of the garage.

“Stay here,” George said, and crouched as he ran.
“Damn!” He pulled something from his pocket, dropped it, and picked it up again. I assumed the lock pick.

Headlights turned the corner at the far end of the street, from the direction we’d just come.

“Jolie,” George said, in a loud whisper. He was opening the side door. I ran to him and he almost shoved me inside. The headlights of the police car were only a house away when George shut the door.

We sat on the floor, breathing hard.
I was afraid I’d throw up, and took deep breaths, willing myself not to vomit. The police siren had awakened other households and I could hear voices, none of them distinct.

After a minute, a man’s voice called, “What is it?”
It sounded as if he was on the street very near us. Someone answered, but I couldn’t hear the words.

My eyes were getting accustomed to the deep darkness in the garage, and saw that in addition to the two cars there were several bicycles, a refrigerator or freezer, and a lawnmower.
No wonder the smell of gasoline was so strong.

I was suddenly very aware of how close I was to George, and turned my head.
He did the same. I couldn’t see him well, but then he smiled, and his teeth were visible for a second. “First time those lock picks have worked that fast.”

I hit him on the shoulder.

George put a hand on my shoulder and pulled me to him. It was a soft kiss and I turned into him more. We leaned against the side of the garage and then slid slowly until we were lying prone, facing each other. Our lips stayed together and I put my tongue just into his mouth. It was suddenly a lot hotter in the garage.

When George pulled me closer, I couldn’t help it.
I started to giggle.

“What?” he asked, his voice husky.

“I’m sorry, I just…”

“You look up there!
They have to be there, I didn’t hear any car start.” It was Ricardo Bruno.

George scrambled to a crawl and turned the handle lock on the door.
I ran between the two cars, and he followed me.

“Check the garage,” a man’s voice said.

I sensed rather than saw a flashlight beam, and George yanked me toward him just as it shone in the window pane and a hand jiggled the door knob. “Locked,” a man’s voice said, quietly. He moved the light around the garage walls, and then left, brushing against the side of the garage as he walked away.

“Why did you grab me?” I asked, as I flexed my shoulder.

“To get you behind the tire,” George said.

I was impressed.
“You do this a lot?”

“Not since Scoobie and I…never mind.”

I didn’t say anything. I still haven’t figured out exactly how well they knew each other through the years, but every now and then one of them says something that lets me know they didn’t spend every Friday night playing Pinochle.

After about ten minutes any sounds of voices and cars died away.
I waited another five minutes and said, “You think we can go now?”

“This Ricardo guy’s pretty smart.
We better sit here for awhile longer,” George said.

I moved from a half squat to sitting cross-legged, and George leaned against the car and put his legs in front of him.
Half of me wished he’d lean over and kiss me, the other half asked why I didn’t just kiss him.

I was about to do just that when the deep silence was broken by footsteps on the concrete driveway.
I glanced at George, fearful. He put a finger to his lips and I edged closer to him, so we were both again behind a car tire.

Again a flashlight beamed through the panes of glass in the door.
This time the light moved slowly around the entire garage. My sense was that this was Ricardo Bruno, not whichever neighbor or police officer had done the previous check. He rattled the door knob. After almost a full minute, the light moved away.

We didn’t say anything for a couple of minutes, during which time I realized how badly I had to pee.
I tightened my pelvic muscles and closed my eyes.

“Tired?” George whispered.

I shook my head. “Trying not to pee my pants.”

He gave a quiet grunt.
“If you have to, do it before we get in my car.”

I suppressed another giggle, and we were quiet and still for almost ten minutes.
I kept going over the last two weeks. Why did Hayden come to Ocean Alley? Where did he first meet Alicia? I didn’t know that, and it could tell me a lot. Maybe it really was all a coincidence. Maybe Mary Jo Pedone whatever-her-name-is-now doesn’t even know I knew her brother. Maybe I’ll go broke before Harry has a lot of work for me again.

I thought maybe George had gone to sleep until he said, “You think now?”

“I’ll look out the window,” I said and stood to a crouch and moved to the door.

It was darker outside than before, and I figured the moon was behind a cloud.
I guessed it to be about two-thirty or three, and it didn’t look as if anyone was out and about. “It looks okay,” I said, whispering.