Chapter 16
My phone ringing wakes me up from a deep sleep. I passed out around twelve a.m. after getting home from Donovan’s place. We didn’t talk any more about the case. Instead, we just shot the shit and drank another glass or two of bourbon.
I blink several times to focus my eyes so I can see who the hell is calling me.
Fuck. It’s Frankie. Everyone exchanged numbers before leaving the warehouse. I gave them the burner phone number I have for this case. Why is he calling me at two in the morning?
I let it go to voicemail, but the ringing only stops for a second before it starts again. The shrill ring echoes in my otherwise silent apartment, and I groan.
“Yeah?” I answer in a brisk tone. I don’t know why the hell he’s calling, but I know it’s for nothing good.
“Jax, it’s Frankie. Vinny needs a car picked up. You ready?”
I damn near swallow my tongue. What the fuck is he talking about?
“Yeah,” the word leaves my lips without a second thought.
Donovan said no hesitation. I don’t have the option to say no. That would blow this whole plan to pieces, and my gut tells me we’re on to something big here. Before I can come up with a plan to stall, he speaks.
“Meet me at the warehouse ASAP. We need to get this done before daybreak.” He ends the call with nothing else and without a response.
Fuck. I say as I slam my palm down on the bed. I immediately call Donovan as I rise out of bed and make my way to the dresser across the room to get some clothes. It rings repeatedly with no answer.
I need Donovan’s help to figure out how to stall Frankie. We need more time so I don’t go in alone. I call again. No answer. I leave a voicemail, hang up, and call again. No answer.
Dammit!
Donovan warned me not to meet up with these guys without him, but what choice do I have? If I don’t show up, I’m out, and he won’t fucking answer his phone. It takes no time at all for me to realize I have to do this alone.
Once I have jeans, a belt and a t-shirt on, I pull on my boots and put my holstered handgun on my belt. I pull a bulky jacket from the closet to conceal the gun. I take another look in the mirror to make sure I can pass for a common criminal. It’s as good as it’s going to fucking get.
I check the time on my phone. I’ve burned up twenty minutes trying to reach Donovan and getting dressed. It’s a thirty-minute drive to the warehouse.
I try to call Donovan one more time, but again, he doesn’t answer. I’d go over there and pound on his door till he answers but there’s no time for that now. Frankie is already on his way. I decide to send him a text. I type it out and hover my finger over the send arrow, unsure if this is the best thing to send in a text message.
Me: F called. Needed your help, but I couldn’t reach you. I’ll call when I get back.
Fuck it. It’s vague, and I didn’t use any actual names, but I also didn’t give him much info to go on if something happens. I run my hand over my face, trying to shake the nerves. They won’t do me any fucking good, and I decide it’s safer for the text to be vague. Donovan will be able to figure out enough from what I sent.
I put my phone in my pocket and grab my keys and pocketknife from the dresser as I head out. When I get to the car, I grab a few pairs of nitrile gloves from the first aid kit in my car and shove them in my coat pocket. My prints are on record thanks to being a PI. I’m not getting busted for this shit. My heart rate is up. The unknown has me on edge. I fucking hate the unknown.
The drive takes almost no time at all. That’s a good thing since I blew so much time trying to contact Donovan and getting dressed. Also, I didn’t have time to stew on all the shitty scenarios I’m about to walk into. It’s also a bad thing since I didn’t have time to really plan anything out.
Frankie is outside propped against his truck like he doesn’t have a care in the world when I pull up to the warehouse. What interests me most, however, is he isn’t alone. Dino and Carlo walk out of the warehouse as my car pulls to a stop.
I take a deep, steadying breath as I put the car in park. Get in and get out, Colin. Whatever they want so I can get this the fuck over with.
My expression is one of indifference as I exit my car, taking my time as I walk up to them. I discreetly take in my surroundings, noting there are few streetlights and we’re the only ones around at this time of night.
“What’s with the late-night impromptu call?” I ask, letting my annoyance show. These guys are hard asses. They don’t beat around the bush, and they don’t play nice. If I acted calm and patient about being pulled out of bed at two a.m. like I would with a client, it would be a red flag.
“You say you’re the car guy; it’s time to show us,” Frankie says as he straightens from his position leaning against the truck.
Carlo comes closer and pulls his phone from his pocket. “Vinny wants this car delivered to him here. Before daybreak.” He shows me a picture of a 1970 Chavelle SS. Shiny red with a rag top. It’s a nice car, and one that would take me time to get a hold of.
This is obviously a test. If I fail, at best, I’m out of the group. At worst, I’m dead.
“What do you have in mind?” I ask because I’m pretty sure they don’t mean for me to go find this car in a car lot and buy it outright. Especially at what recently ticked over into three a.m.
While I studied old cars, I watched a few videos on how to hotwire a classic car since Donovan gave me a heads up it may go that way. I sure as fuck hope I remember the steps correctly.
Frankie doesn’t elaborate outside of, “We’re gonna take you to it.”
Doing my best to hide my nervousness, I shrug with a curt nod. “Alright. Let’s do it.”
Frankie laughs first, followed by Dino, but Carlo’s eyes study me. They narrow before scanning my body language. They linger briefly on my belt. The gun is still tucked safely under the back of my jacket. My fingers itch to reach for it, and I almost tense when Carol takes a step forward.
Don’t give them a reason to pat you down. If you play this right, you’ll be back in your bed before the sun rises.
Frankie slaps Carlo on the shoulder. “See, Carlo? I told you this guy’s alright.”
Carlo glances at Frankie, then back at me. “We’re about to find out.” There’s no confidence in his tone or expression, but the slap from Frankie seems to snap him out of whatever he was about to do.
Everything about this situation goes against all my training. I’m outnumbered and getting into a vehicle with criminals I don’t know without knowing the destination. My ace in the hole is having my gun. I have nine rounds, there are three of them, and I’m a damn good shot.
We load up with me in the front passenger seat. Dino is in the back seat behind Frankie, and Carlo is behind me. Yay. I feel the tension radiating from Carlo. I’d be impressed by his ability to sniff out bullshit if it weren’t for the fact that the bullshit in this case is me.
Frankie doesn’t waste any time getting on the road. The ride is mostly quiet except for two voices in my head. The first is me reciting step by step how to hotwire a car from memories of the videos I watched. The second is my rational side screaming, “What the fuck are you doing?”
I try to quiet the second voice even though I know he’s right.
I think I have the steps down for hotwiring the car. I focus on the turns we take as well as the landmarks so I’m able to get back with the stolen car or run if I need to.
“Psyching yourself up?” Dino asks with a chuckle as he leans forward a bit.
Fuck yes.I’m a PI, not a damn car thief. I can’t actually say that, though. And why the fuck hasn’t Donovan called me back? Not that it matters since I can’t exactly answer it right now. My mind is reeling, but on the outside, I’m calm.
I smirk. “Fuck yes I am,” I say nonchalantly, giving myself an excuse for my jitteriness while sounding like I know what the hell I’m talking about. “If you don’t go in with your mind focused and your adrenaline high enough to keep you alert, you run the risk of fucking up and getting yourself killed. I plan to do neither tonight.”
The truck slows, and Frankie turns the headlights off. I look around at my surroundings, but I don’t recognize it. We’re in a residential neighborhood just outside the city. It seems like a quiet, working-class neighborhood with modest houses dotting the street.
Frankie turns to me. “You’ll get out here. Walk to the fourth driveway on the right. Head down the left side of the house into the backyard. The car in the picture on Carlo’s butts up to that backyard. The car is on the left side of the house.”
I pause for a few seconds to take in his instructions. A seasoned criminal would be concerned about any issues he might run into. He wants to go in fully prepared.
I nod once. “Got it. Any security I should know about? Dogs, fence, motion sensor lights, Ring camera, nosy old ladies?” I throw in the last one as a joke, and I get an honest smile in return. I’m glad my sarcasm comes in handy. Both for calming my anxiety and also for making me look like I know what the fuck I’m doing.
He chuckles. “Nothing. Just a quiet family home in a quiet family neighborhood. You’re golden.”
I nod again. “Good to know.” I open the truck door and place one foot out onto the pavement before Frankie grabs my left arm.
I try not to recoil when the scumbag touches me. I stop and turn back to look at him, keeping my expression neutral.
“Don’t fuck this up, Jax.”
I shrug and force a smirk, using my quick wit once again. “It might be a quiet family neighborhood, but I’m gonna act like I’m boosting this old girl from police impound. I got it, Frankie.”
He pulls his hand back, his serious look turning amused as his posture relaxes. He almost looks… impressed? Proud? Amused? It’s hard to tell with him.
I step the rest of the way out of the truck and walk up the street without looking back. I stay close to the tree line for coverage in case some of these houses have cameras. These days, everyone has a damn camera on their house.
The tires on Frankie’s truck crunch on the pavement as he backs back down the road. I need to get this car and get back to the warehouse. Fast.
There are still a few hours before daylight, so the darkness is an advantage. I pass the first two driveways. The closer I get to the third, the harder my heart pounds in my chest. My hands are clammy, and my breaths are short and quick thanks to the adrenaline coursing through my veins.
Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit. What the fuck am I doing? I’m a private investigator, not a fucking criminal. Never have I allowed a case to push me this far.
Just as I approach the fourth driveway, a dog barks loudly, and I force myself to quiet a grumble.
No fucking dogs, huh?
That alone makes me wonder if this is more than a simple in and out test and possibly a setup. Not to get me caught, but them knowing the conditions are worse and setting me up to test how quickly I think on my feet. After all, a slow thinking criminal is a dead or caught criminal. They won’t want dead weight.
I slow my movements, careful to make as little noise as possible. I can’t see the dog, but he’s close, and he knows I’m out here.
I pause and scan the road and yard I’m about to walk into. There isn’t a fence which surprises me after Frankie misinformed me about the dog. The yard is flat and open. Even with the darkness, I can make out that much of the landscape.
I take another deep breath and make my way down the left side of the fourth house. I see a fence dividing the yard I’m in with the yard I need to be in, and I smirk.
Ah… there it is. Asshole.
This is definitely a battle of wits and skill. It would be amusing if I had any fucking skill in boosting cars. This test is exactly kind of thing that weeds out dumbasses like me who sign up for this shit, go in alone, with no backup, and with only YouTube as past experience.
Nice job, Colin. Really. Great work.
I quiet my racing mind and focus on the obstacles at hand. At this point, for all I know, the fucking dog I heard is in the very yard I need to be in. I approach the chain-link fence and peer through. I don’t see a dog, but that doesn’t mean anything in the dark. With as forthcoming as Frankie was, I wouldn’t doubt Bruno the Rottweiler is back here waiting to materialize out of the shadows to rip my fucking face off.
Looking down, I find a small stick. Its small enough that a dog a few houses away won’t notice anything out of the ordinary, but a dog in that back yard would. I toss it over and wait to hear death run out of the shadows, but there’s nothing.
I pull a pair of gloves from my jacket and put them on. Once they’re fitted, I place my hand on the cylindrical railing on top and hop over, careful not to rattle it. My boots land on the patchy grass and dirt with a slight thud. I step fully onto a patch of grass and rake my boot over the prints to destroy them. When the cops investigate this, I don’t want them to tie it to me.
When I look up, I find the car sitting uncovered in a carport. I scan the yard again for any signs of life. There are none, so I stay low and proceed. There isn’t a single outside light on, and the streetlights don’t reach this far back. I stay on the perimeter of the yard with my head angled down in case there are cameras.
I’d like to avoid risking my face ending up on the evening news.
When I finally get to the car, I reach for the handle but stop myself. I check for anything out of the ordinary, not that I’d know exactly what to look for. To my surprise, the door isn’t locked and opens right up.
I pull the pocketknife from my jacket and kneel, leaning in under the driving column and get to work. There are four different color wires, and I strip them before twisting two together matching the colors from the video I watched. Then I twist the other two together.
I climb into the driver’s seat, shove the clutch in, put the gearshift in neutral, and press the gas pedal a couple of times to give it a little gas before engaging the brake. I press the two sets of twisted wires together, and the engine roars to life.
Hot damn, I fucking did it!my brain shouts in celebration. I’m both shocked and filled with relief that it worked.
That mental celebration dies when the carport lights turn on, and I find a man standing with a shotgun pointed at me through the windshield. It takes me a moment to realize who I’m looking at, but as soon as I do, I see a familiar face is behind the gun.
Vinny.
I fucking knew it!
“Ha! I told you this guy is legit!” I hear Frankie’s voice before I see him. He walks out of the house and past Vinny as another familiar face flanks him.
Elliott Moore.
Vinny lowers the gun, and I kill the engine before putting the car back in gear so it won’t roll away. I slowly step out, close the heavy car door, and cautiously make my way around.
Vinny holds his hand out for me to shake. “Vincent Maggio. The guys call me Vinny.” He puffs his chest as he says his last name, clearly proud of who he is.
I extend my hand. “Jax.”
He studies me for a moment, not releasing my hand. “You got a last name, Jax?”
“Just Jax,” I challenge him. It isn’t unusual for criminals to want a little anonymity, though I don’t doubt Vinny isn’t one to appreciate that.
After squeezing my hand, he lets it go. “Alright, Jax. I’m sure you’re a smart man. I assume by now you figured out this was a test. I gotta say… I’m impressed you passed as easily as you did. Frankie said you asked about security measures, and he lied out his ass. Even the barking dog didn’t deter you.” He adds the last bit with a chuckle.
Moore hasn’t spoken a word since he walked out with Frankie. He hasn’t reacted like he recognizes me either, and another wave of relief comes.
Dino and Carlo finally walk out. Dino has a big smile on his face, but Carlo looks pissed.
I can’t help myself because I’m a cocky bastard, and I want to lighten his mood. Maybe it’ll throw him off me. “What’s wrong, man? Didn’t think I could hack it?” I chuckle.
Carlo doesn’t speak. He spits on the ground only mere feet in front of me and turns his back to walk inside.
Before I realize it, my joking expression falls, and obvious irritation replaces it, my nostrils flaring. I was joking, and everyone here knows it if their laughter is any indication. Carlo outright being a disrespectful little shit sets my already frayed nerves on edge.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Vinny says, clearly taking notice of my mood change. “I’ll handle Carlo.” He turns to walk inside after Carlo, and Moore follows closely behind him.
Frankie comes up and throws his arm around my neck before dragging me toward the house. I guess we’re going in. My anxiety ramps up the closer we get to the door.
I don’t know what the hell is in that house except Vinny, who has a shotgun, and Carlo, who seems to hate me. Not a good fucking combo.
“Relax, man. Vinny wants to talk to you about the car. Since you passed the test, it looks like you got the job,” Frankie says, as he releases me. He swings open the door and heads inside without hesitation.
I take a second to release the tension in my shoulders as I follow. Dino comes in right behind me. Instead of following Frankie to the living room, he veers off into the kitchen and pokes his head into the refrigerator for a beer.
He calls out over his shoulder, “Want one?”
Frankie answers first, “Yeah, man. Bring me the one we were drinking last night.”
I stay quiet as I follow Frankie into the relatively open but small living room. Vinny, Carlo, and Moore are nowhere to be seen.
“You want a beer, kid?” Frankie asks when I don’t answer Dino.
“No, I’m good.” It would sure as hell help settle my nerves, but I need to stay clear headed for this.
“Suit yourself,” Dino says as he enters the small space and heads to an open seat on a couch that’s seen better days. He tosses Frankie the beer he asked for as he props his legs up on the coffee table.
“Make yourself at home, Jax. The boss will be right back,” Frankie says as he leans against the trim in the opening between the living room and the entryway.
Soft voices come from the room across from the entryway and the living room, but I can’t make out anything that’s being said. That must be where Vinny and Carlo are. I’m unsure if Moore is with them or somewhere else in the house. I lost eyes on them as soon as they entered the residence.
If I had to guess, Carlo and Dino are just the muscle or enforcers, and Frankie is Vinny’s right-hand man. Frankie seems to be more vigilant than the other two and ran the show both times I’ve interacted with him. I haven’t figured out if Moore is anything more than a way for them to launder the money.
Standing here makes me look like I’m on guard, so I take a seat on a couch that’s opposite Dino and Frankie.
Dino reaches over and turns on the TV, flipping until he finds the channel with the latest football game on it. Unfortunately, it effectively cuts out the soft murmurs I heard from the other room. I pretend to watch the game as Dino hollers at the players like they can fucking hear him, and Frankie continues to stand guard.
Maybe five minutes pass before Vinny enters the room. “Turn that fucking thing off, Dino.” There’s no sign of Carlo or Moore.
“Yes, sir.” Dino scrambles to find the remote he managed to lose in all of five minutes and turns it off.
“Now, Frankie tells me you have a knack for finding rare cars. Is that correct, Jax?” Vinny asks.
I lean back on the sofa and prop my arm on the arm of the couch to make myself seem comfortable. “I might have a knack for that, yeah.” I try to sound aloof so I don’t raise any red flags by overselling myself or sounding overeager.
Vinny smiles, and he claps his hands together. “Perfect. I’ve been looking for just the right guy to find a very special classic car.”
I start to sweat a little. The car needs to be something I can get my hands on. At the very least, it needs to be something I can make them believe I can get my hands on.
“I’m intrigued. What are we looking for?” I pray it’s something in the realm of possible.
Vinny smiles, and his eyes light up with excitement. “I’m looking for a 1966 Chevy Impala.”
I laugh a little as relief flows through my chest. He’s looking for an Impala? Sure, a 1966 model isn’t the easiest to come by, but it shouldn’t be that fucking hard to find one.
Frankie tsks at me.“ Jax, my boy, don’t think the boss would call an outsider in to find something he could easily find himself.”
My laughter dies, and I try to rein in my newfound rising anxiety while attempting to look intrigued.
Vinny’s eyes narrow. “Like I was saying, I’m not looking for any old Impala. I’m looking for a very special, very specific impala.”
I lean forward and clasp my hands, my brows furrowed. “Interesting. What’s so special about it?”
He grins. “I’m looking for the Impala my father owned and drove in the sixties and early seventies. The car hasn’t been seen since my father’s untimely death in 1975. Let’s just say some unsavory folks got a hold of it. I need you to find it and get it back for me.”
Vinny drops the bomb and walks over to stand in front of me, crossing his arms in obvious challenge.
I stay seated, leaning back again to mull over the task at hand. I don’t have a choice. I have to take the job. I’m just trying to figure out how to buy myself some time because this will take a lot of time and resources. Resources that Dunn Security doesn’t have to give right now.
I remain outwardly relaxed, though I’m anything but. “When do you need it?”
“My birthday.” The answer is swift and curt.
“When would that be?” I question.
“February twenty-seventh,” Frankie answers.
Fuck. That’s only a few weeks away. They’re basically asking me to do the impossible, and they know it.
“That’s a tough one. I don’t know if it’s enough—” Before I can finish the sentence, Vinny is in my face, pulling me up from the couch by my jacket.
His tone is dangerous and eerily calm despite the position we find ourselves in. “Don’t fucking tell me it isn’t enough time. You are supposed to be the best. Donovan vouched for you. Are you telling me he’s a liar? Are you saying I can’t trust his judgment?”
I don’t know how, but—minus my momentary lapse when my eyes widened as he initially grabbed me—I manage to keep my face neutral and impassive. Almost like I’m bored or used to this kind of show of force.
“I’m just trying to be straight with you. I can find it. I can get it. But I’ll need time to track it down. If they’re the kind of guys I think they are, there will be a lot more to worry about than a noisy fence and the hellhound down the street. I need to make sure I have the proper tools to take care of anything I come across, if you get my drift,” I say, holding my voice steady, hoping he bought my tough guy act.
I can’t show an ounce of weakness with these fuckers, or I’m dead.
He smirks, but it’s brief as Frankie cuts in. “February twenty-seventh is the fucking deadline. You better make it happen, or you’ll have one very pissed off boss on your hands.”
Vinny finally releases the collar of my jacket, pushing me back against the couch.
I smooth the lapels down, straightening them. “And if I can’t?” I ask, gauging their reaction.
Vinny reaches up and pats me roughly on my cheek. “We won’t have to worry about that, will we?”
I blink once, twice, and on the third, I reply, “Absolutely not.”
“Good. Good. That’s what I like to hear, my boy. Frankie will give you all the information we have. Keep him in the loop on your progress.” Vinny turns toward Frankie and jerks his head in my direction. “You take care of this. I need to deal with the fuck up in the other room. Make sure our friend here gets back home safe and sound.”
Vinny leaves the living room and heads for the back of the house.
I have two guesses on who the fuck up is. One being Carlo and the other being Moore.
My bet is on Moore.
Frankie heads towards me. “Time to go. I’ll give you a ride back, and we can talk about the car.”
I want to stay so I can find out more about why the hell Moore is here, but it looks like tonight’s a bust for that. I second guess our plan. So far, I’ve had little interaction where Moore is concerned, and I’m worried finding this car won’t help. I seem to be getting deeper into this without getting anything I actually need.
It feels like cleaning for hours on end, and when you quit for the day, you realize you pulled everything out, cleaned under and behind it, washed the curtains, and organized the cabinets… But when you look around, the trash is still full, dishes are undone, laundry is still piled up, and there are still messes scattered all over like you didn’t do a damn thing all day.
There’s no backing out now. I just have to hope that I can find reasons for my path to cross Moore’s.
It’s my only chance at breaking this case wide open.