Chapter Nine Spock
The strip mall looks like it gave up years ago.
Rush and I roll in side by side, our motorcycles rumbling through a parking lot riddled with faded lines and cracked asphalt. When we kill the engines, the sudden silence settles like a blanket.
I study the row of storefronts and see very little of interest. What used to be a liquor store has plywood covering its windows and a lock on the door.
The nail salon boasts a sun-bleached FOR LEASE sign hanging crooked inside the glass.
I think one of the other spots used to be a tax office, but I can’t quite tell.
The only place showing any sign of life is the laundromat at the far end.
Through the windows, I can see dryers turning lazily while an older woman folds towels at a plastic table.
The parking lot is empty, except for two cars in front of the laundromat and a third parked in front of the unit, with RED ROCK CONSTRUCTION written in red on the sign above the door.
Rush removes his sunglasses and scans the building.
"Is this the place?"
I glance at the address Spark texted me earlier.
"This is the address Spark sent."
"This doesn't exactly scream successful construction company," Rush mutters.
"No." I know Chloe doesn’t have a dedicated office space, unless you count the portable units that she sets up at the construction sites.
She told me once that she has a home office and hires a service to take calls.
Red Rock Construction came across as a major player, but this place says differently.
I study the closed blinds as I dismount. We can’t see inside, so there is no way of knowing if anyone is inside. When I push against the door, it doesn’t budge. Rush raps his knuckles against the glass.
"Anybody home?"
Silence.
He knocks again, louder this time.
Still nothing.
Most people would assume the place is empty, but I hear movement inside.
Rush glances at me.
"What?"
I raise one finger and nod for Rush to follow me. We move toward our bikes, and I turn toward him, keeping one eye on the storefront.
“I heard movement inside,” I tell him. Rush nods. My brothers gave me the road name "Spock" because not only am I logical and a huge fan of Star Trek, but I also have exceptional hearing. Rush believes me when I tell him someone is inside.
“What do you want to do?” he asks softly.
“Let’s see who leaves,” I tell him as I climb onto my bike.
As I put on my helmet, I act like I’m not watching the window, but I am.
Sure enough, the blind twitches, telling me whoever is inside is watching us.
I pull out of the parking lot with Rush following my lead.
He knows me well enough to know I have a plan.
We pull out of the strip mall, ride around the block, then duck into the parking lot of a medical office a couple hundred yards away. A sprawling mesquite tree casts enough shade to conceal both bikes, while still giving us a clear view of the door.
I pull out my phone and text the license plate number of the car parked out front to Spark along with instructions on identifying the owner. He responds quickly to let me know he’s on it.
Rush leans against his handlebars.
"You really think somebody's holed up in there?"
"I know somebody's in there."
He chuckles.
"I keep forgetting you have those freakish Vulcan ears."
"My hearing isn't freakish."
"Says the guy named Spock."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah.”
We settle into silence, watching.
Minutes crawl by.
The occasional customer enters the laundromat, but nobody goes near Red Rock's office.
At twelve-thirty on the dot, the door finally opens and an attractive young woman steps outside. She looks to be in her early twenties. She’s dressed casually in jeans and a T-shirt. Her brown hair is pulled back into a ponytail.
She locks the office behind her, then pauses. She searches right, then left before moving to her car. She’s probably checking to see if she’s being watched. She is; she just doesn’t see us. Satisfied, she hurries to the silver sedan, climbs inside, and pulls away from the curb.
My phone vibrates almost immediately with a message from Spark.
Diedre McMillon. Twenty-two. UNLV student. Night classes. Employed by Red Rock Construction for six months. No criminal history. Clean financials. Lives in an apartment east of campus.
I show Rush the screen.
“We could tail her and see where she goes,” he suggests.
I watch the sedan disappear into traffic before slipping my phone back into my pocket. “No need. We have her address if we want to talk to her away from here. Besides, I’m more interested in what’s inside that space.”
Rush grins. “Let’s go.”
Rush and I leave the bikes beneath the mesquite tree and jog across the parking lot, keeping low until we reach the side of the strip mall. The laundromat appears empty. We round the corner and disappear behind the building.
The rear service corridor has no traffic with a wall blocking us from the nearby street.
There’s a single dumpster near the faded delivery door for the laundromat.
A few electrical panels hang sporadically between back doors and rear windows.
Moving to the windows that should belong to Red Rock Construction, I study the frame and check for an alarm.
"Looks clear,” I murmur.
Rush nods.
I crouch beside the window and pull a small pouch from inside my cut.
Months ago, Abra had spent an afternoon with several of us giving us instructions on how to break into places.
As a former magician, the current Sergeant of Arms for the New Orleans Chapter has access to a few skills that have come in handy.
"Locks only keep honest people out," he'd said with that maddening grin. "Everything else is just understanding how the mechanism works."
I'd assumed he was exaggerating, but he wasn’t. I don’t think there is a lock made that he can’t pick.
Working together, Rush and I slide a thin shim beneath the aging latch. After giving it a gentle twist, we hear a satisfying click.
Rush smiles.
"I'll never get tired of that."
"You just like breaking the rules."
"I like breaking other people's rules."
I ease the window open gently and hold my breath. There’s no alarm. If the alarm was silent, we might hear sirens approaching, but for now, we’re good to go.
I crawl in first with Rush right behind me. The room we find ourselves in is a surprise. Based on the outside, I'd expected stained carpet and secondhand furniture. Instead, I'm standing inside an office that looks like it belongs in a corporate high-rise.
The floor has a thick dark blue carpet. A light oak bookcase spans the entire wall. It’s filled with neatly arranged binders. A matching oak desk sits perfectly in the center of the room with an expensive leather chair behind it. A sleek office phone sits alone on the desktop.
Rush moves to the desk, while I jerk my thumb toward the door.
"I'll check out there,” I say, unlocking and opening the door carefully.
The second office is considerably less impressive.
There’s a cheap metal desk and a worn desk chair.
Next to the desk, a printer sits on top of a banged-up file cabinet.
The monitor is dark, but I jiggle the mouse and am relieved to see I won’t need a password.
A spreadsheet with columns of data fills the screen.
I see names, numbers, and addresses. Rather than scroll through everything, I send the spreadsheet to the printer.
The machine whirs to life. Every second feels louder than the last as page after page slides into the output tray.
While the document prints, I search through the desk and the filing cabinet.
I find nothing but office supplies. When the printer falls silent, I gather the stack and set it aside, then I click through the folders on the computer to see if I can find anything else useful.
The only useful item is the spreadsheet, so I open it and leave it as I found it.
Then I collect the printouts and head back into the back office.
Rush slips a small notebook inside the center drawer before closing it. He pats his kutte.
"I took pictures of every page," he says quietly.
"Good."
I hold up the stack of paper.
"I printed what I think is their client list."
Rush raises an eyebrow.
“You didn’t need a password?”
I shrug. “She probably just went to lunch and didn’t think anyone would get in.”
"That's sloppy."
“But good for us.”
He grins.
We make one final sweep with our eyes, ensuring every drawer, chair, and paper is exactly where we found it. Then we retrace our steps to the rear window. Rush slips outside first. I hand him the printouts before climbing through after him.
The window settles shut with a soft click behind us.