Bingo Barge Murder (16 page)

Three semis were lined up, two weighed down with containers, and one empty truck. I shone my light on the first container and stifled an oath when the number didn’t match. I sighed and walked to the second truck. About three feet separated the vehicles, making it difficult to see the numbers high above my head, and I had to lean backward to make them out. AFIF4101376. It was a match.

“Coop!” I yelled, frustration forgotten. “Coop, I found it!”

Coop came at a
run, the beam from his flashlight swinging wildly. He skidded to a stop beside me. “It’s on the truck?”

“Yeah!”

Coop’s light caught the now familiar numbers painted on the container. “Sweet,” he said, excitement bubbling from him like a volcano preparing to blow. “Now what?”

“We take the truck.”

“Yeah, right.” When I didn’t say anything he looked at me. His eyebrows popped up. “Whoa. Wait a minute. I was thinking more along the lines of calling the Bumbling Brothers right now, not embarking on grand theft auto.” He eyed the big tractor-trailer. “I mean, grand theft semi.”

“We can’t do the deal from here, Coop. Dock workers start their days early, like six in the morning early. It’s already—” I lit up my watch. “It’s 3:14 am. As in Saturday morning. If we don’t do something now, the nuts will be floating down the Mississippi, and Eddy will be sunfish niblets.”

Coop didn’t respond. He closed his eyes and sighed.

“Can you drive this thing?” I asked.

Without opening his eyes, Coop said, “Yeah. I can probably figure it out.” He scrambled up and into the cab to check for keys while I headed for a three-by-three foot electrical panel on the wall. We had to get the huge door open so Coop could rumble out with the about-to-be-three-times-stolen cargo.

As I scanned the switches, Coop hollered, “Shay! Keys are here. Where are we going with this monster?”

I rubbed my temples at the ache behind my eyes. “God,” I muttered, my mind galloping in circles. “Uh, let’s head for the cabin.”

“Roger,” Coop said. “I’ll fire this thing up, and once we’re running, you open the door.”

“You drive straight out of here and keep on going. You remember where the cabin is, right?”

“Yeah. Can’t forget one of the worst hangovers in my life, not to mention that near-drowning.”

A little giddy over our sudden progress, I bantered back. “That was your own fault. I told you to stay off the water when you’re thirty-three sheets to the wind and it’s pitch black out. Start the rig already.”

After a long moment of silence, the big vehicle rumbled to life. Coop let it idle for a minute and then gave me the high sign to open the door. I pushed the button, and prayed.

The garage door rumbled up, inch by agonizing inch, coming to a shuddering halt to reveal the opening leading into the cool night. The racket from the door’s motor faded, taken over by the low roar of the semi’s engine.

Coop eased the monster into the parking lot. He hadn’t turned the lights on, and the truck was outlined in black and silver shadow. I ran out, hopped onto the driver’s side running board, and stuck my head into the open window.

“You head straight up to the cabin. Don’t stop for anything, and for Pete’s sake, don’t speed.”

“I never speed. That’s you, honey.”

“Be careful. I’m going to close up and head out after you. I shouldn’t be more than a few minutes behind.”

“Have you got your cell phone?”

I felt for it in my pocket and nodded.

“Call me when you’re on the road.” Coop reached out and ruffled my hair.

I hopped off the cab, and Coop rolled up the slight incline to the road, paused, and slowly pulled out. The headlights popped on as the truck passed the stand of trees between Grizzly and the abandoned gas station. I watched until the vehicle disappeared out of sight.

My heart was pounding, half in excitement and half in terror of discovery. I couldn’t believe we’d pulled it off. We had the nuts, and now all we needed to do was keep them hidden until the meeting with Vincent and Pudge, and then Eddy would be back with us, safe and sound.

I shut the garage door and backtracked, carefully locking up after myself. I left the keys in a mailbox mounted to the building beside the door. Poor George. He’d feel better if he knew he was saving a life.

The oppressive darkness settled around me as I trekked across the lot to my pickup. Even the birds and squirrels must have fallen asleep—no rustling night sounds came from the trees next to the truck. Dawg grinned at me as I got in and gave my cheek a slurp. I scratched the side of his furry face and told him, “It’s you and me for a while, pal.”

I pulled out of the lot and onto the road, turning on the radio for background distraction. I caught the last bit of Sammy Hagar’s distinctive voice as he belted out the final lines of “I Can’t Drive 55.” I headed north, one hand on the wheel, and the other draped across Dawg’s chest as he lay stretched across the seat with his head in my lap.

_____

The miles disappeared under my humming wheels as Dawg snoozed and I tried hard not to. I called Coop, and he’d seen two police cars lying in wait on exit ramps, watching for speeders and drunks.

At this late—or was it early?—hour, traffic was light. As I wound my way through the heart of Minneapolis, I was careful to mind my driving manners. The cops were itching for something to do, and I didn’t want to provide the something they were doing.

I cleared the city and was soon cruising north on 35W, tapping my fingers against the steering wheel in time to a Nickelback song. I’d felt wide awake when we’d left Grizzly, but as we made it safely through the city, exhaustion tugged at every muscle in my body. My eyelids felt like they weighed ten pounds apiece, and I struggled to keep them open. I resorted to vigorous head shaking, which helped a little, but did nothing to alleviate my headache.

Dawg grunted softly in the grip of some dream, and I rounded the big curve that merged 35W and 35E a few miles south of Forest Lake. Few cars were on the road this far north, and as I came out of the curve, my eyelids inadvertently slid shut again. The wheels hit the warning grooves in the shoulder, sending a loud, thrumming jolt of adrenaline through me, and scaring the bejesus out of Dawg. I swerved in automatic reaction, nearly hitting a car that was passing me on the left. The car stepped on it and squirted past us like a greased piglet.

“Holy shit,” I mumbled under my breath and realigned the pickup on the road. Just another thirty minutes and I could collapse for a few hours. I needed to keep it together a little bit longer. Dawg sat stiffly with his front legs splayed wide on the seat. He stared warily at me, his eyes shiny, and one of his eyebrows appeared higher than the other, as if he were questioning my driving abilities. “Gimme a break,” I told him. “You try driving a straight line after going through all this crap.” He just blinked.

A couple more miles skimmed past. Both sides of the road were now aglow with billboards. As we approached the Forest Lake exit, the Famous Dave’s sign shone neon red, and car dealerships lit the night sky. One of the automotive dealers had a gigantic scrolling sign that made me feel like I was in Las Vegas every time I passed it.

A few hundred feet past the exit we plunged back into darkness as street lamps thinned out. I yawned and noticed the flickering of the car lot sign still reflecting red and blue in the cab of the pickup. Odd … I could still see the strobing lights. I checked the rear-view mirror. My stomach fell to the soles of my feet when I realized that the flashing wasn’t coming from one of the signs, but from a police car riding my bumper.

My legs went weak. I had to make a concerted effort to ease onto the brake pedal instead of jamming down on it. Dawg’s head whipped toward me when my foot first touched the brake, and he gave me a questioning woof.

“Easy, boy,” I muttered, putting a hand on his neck. Here we go, I thought, about to lie to the cops. Again. My track record for honesty in the last twenty-four hours was at an all-time low.

I stopped on the shoulder of the freeway, shifted into park, and groped for the button to roll the window down. The cruiser’s bright spotlight reflected off the truck’s mirror, effectively blinding me. The seconds stretched painfully as I waited for the police officer to approach my open window. Under my hand Dawg’s body started to quiver as he sensed my agitation. The last thing I needed was for him to decide to assert his male dominance and go after the cop. I gripped his collar tight in my fist, the tell-tale tag emblazoned with Buzz’s name jingling softly. Thoughts zipped crazily around my head. Did they know about the break-in at the Lazar warehouse? Had they found Luther’s body? Had we left some clue as to our identities and they were going to arrest me for murder? Maybe Buzz reported our trespassing on his property and the kidnapping of his dog. Most likely I was about to be arrested for making off with a truckload of stolen nuts.

Just as I was sure I was going to pass out, a flashlight beam shone through the open window into the cab. I attempted to twist around to see the owner of the deep voice that said, “Ma’am, can I see your driver’s license and proof of insurance?”

I could barely get turned enough to catch a glimpse of the officer standing behind me as he shone the flashlight directly into my face. He swept it around the interior of the pickup. I blinked against the glare and fumbled in my pocket for the items he requested, which was awkward because I was holding onto Dawg for dear life with my right hand. Dawg bristled but remained still, his ears as far up as they could go. He stared out the window at the cop.

“That’s a mighty big dog,” the man said as I worked to dig my wallet from my pants.

“Yeah, he is.” I managed to wiggle the wallet out of my pocket. I was going to have to let go of that “mighty big dog” to retrieve the identification the officer wanted.

I told Dawg to stay and prayed for the best as I released his collar. With shaking hands I drew out my license and the insurance card.

“Do you know why I pulled you over tonight?”

“Ah—no, sir. Was I speeding?” If only it were that simple. I handed him the items he wanted as white noise roared in my ears.

He was silent a moment as he studied first one piece of identification and then the other, flashlight tucked into one armpit. “No, you weren’t speeding. Have you had anything to drink tonight, Ms. O’Hanlon?”

Anything to drink? Oh good god, the man thinks I’m drunk. I struggled to hold back hysterical laughter that threatened to spew forth. At least I wasn’t on
America’s Most Wanted
yet.

“No, sir, not a drop.”

Still studying my identification, he said, “You were swerving all over the road for the last few miles.”

“I was? I’m sorry. I guess I’m more tired than I thought.”

“Then you won’t mind stepping out of the car for a minute, would you?”

Oh Christ. “Yes. I mean no, that’s fine. I—”

“Get out of the car.”

The officer backed away as I opened the door, keeping tight against the side of my pickup and away from the white line. I climbed out, worried Dawg might try to make a break for it, but he stood on the seat quivering, his eyes tracking my every move.

I followed the cop, who turned out to be a state trooper, to the space between our two vehicles. If a sobriety test was the order of the night, that was great. Then I remembered the cocktail I had at the Leprechaun. But that had been hours ago. It had to have burned out of my system by now. I mentally walloped myself for saying “not a drop.”

For the next few minutes, the officer had me watching his finger, walking a line, and balancing on one foot. I was surprised the thumping of my heart didn’t knock me off kilter, but somehow I managed to pass all the tests.

“If you’ll have a seat in the back, I’ll run your license and you can be on your way.” The trooper quickly frisked me and deposited me in the back seat of his squad. He settled himself in the front and began to type one-handed on a computer mounted in front of the dash. A digital display in the dashboard read 4:10 am.

The back seat of the cruiser had leg room fit for a midget, and I had to sit sideways. Dim light glowed from the monitor in the front, and the trooper had a reading light attached to it that he held my license under. He slowly entered my information into his computer. I silently chanted come on, come on, come on, as he pecked away at the keyboard, thinking that every minute I was in the officer’s presence was another moment he might figure out he had a hot commodity on his hands.

After what felt like hours, he caught my gaze in the rear-view mirror. “You’re good to go, Miss O’Hanlon. Next time you’re feeling sleepy, do us all a favor and pull over and take a nap.”

My ID returned, I was sprung from the back seat. My legs were weak as I crawled into the pickup beside Dawg, and I breathed a thank-you to the heavens and pulled back onto the road. The lights from the squad slowly faded away. What next? I was beginning to think this night would never end.