$200 and a Cadillac

XXXII



Mickey hardly noticed the Camaro as he blew past it on his way to Monarch. He recognized the car as Justin Banner’s. But where was it going? Why? None of these questions occurred to him at the time because he was focused on getting to Monarch and watching Ron Grimaldi.

At a hundred ten miles per hour, the desert adjacent to the road blurred together in a wash of browns and deep, dry greens. It was still early. There was no need to rush. Ron would be at work for at least another hour. But Mickey couldn’t help himself. The call could come over the radio any second, and when it did, he wanted to be ready to act if action was required.

But that was the big question. Would Dr. Kramer find anything? Would the radio call come? Mickey felt certain he was right, but knew it was all based on a hunch. Why would a killer put the murder weapon back in his car and drive around with it? Why would a guy who appeared to be completely normal do something like that? There was no real reason to suspect Ron Grimaldi of anything. The entire suspicion was based on a mistaken 911 call. He would have to wait for Dr. Kramer to find something. He would have to wait for Jimmy to call him on the radio. And until then, he would have to bite his tongue and do nothing.

Mickey thought it through for the hundredth time since he’d awoken and felt his certainty give way to doubt. He watched the Monarch facility loom up out of the desert like an apparition. Its giant white tank; its acres of parking lot, most of it unused these days; its tangle of massive pipes and fittings and stacks and towers stark against the blue sky like a gnarled, post-industrial sculpture marking the fall of a doomed society.

“Here he comes again.” Tom pointed at the Suburban coming up the road from town.

Victor looked up and watched Mickey turn into the lot. “Maybe he’ll make an arrest this time, now that we’ve practically handed the guy to him.”

They watched the Suburban go up and down the lanes of parked cars, much as it had earlier in the day. But this time it didn’t stop at the pick up truck. Instead, it came up near them and backed into a spot behind a large metal dumpster that would shield it from view.

It was only after he parked that Mickey noticed the two of them sitting there, already staked out in the only part of the lot that would not draw attention from the departing workers.

“He sees us.” Victor smiled, and then spoke through his grin. “Looks like once again, the FBI has beat the local boys to the punch.” He turned to Tom and nudged him with his elbow. “Must be shitty, always being second fiddle.”

Mickey looked around the lot, trying to avoid looking directly at them. Hoping to avoid having to interact with them. Something about the FBI guy rubbed him the wrong way, in every way, and it would be best to keep him at a distance. Mickey could see Agent A*shole grinning over at him. What a prick.

Mickey studied the dash and the seat around him. Trying to keep busy. Then he sat still for a few minutes before checking his watch. Unless Ron left early, it was going to be a long wait. He could feel the eyes on him. Both of them were looking at him now, and he knew he would have to get out and talk to them, at least inquire as to their investigation. There was no way he could avoid it for the whole time he was likely to have to wait.

Mickey left the Suburban running with its air conditioner cranking out semi-cool air in a futile battle with the high desert sun. He opened the door and walked across the parking lot, watching the two of them through the window. They watched him approach with expressionless faces. When he got there, Mickey leaned in and spoke as Agent A*shole rolled down the window.

“You boys find your oil thief yet?”

“We believe we have, Sheriff. It looks like a pretty big job. Several players involved.”

“Is that so? Well, it looks like all those years in the Bureau paid off. You boys work fast.”

Victor shifted in his seat, but kept his grin steady. “You know how it is, Sheriff. There’s always a little luck involved. You just gotta keep your ear to the ground and your eyes open, and sometimes they practically come to you.”

Mickey nodded and peered across the seat at Tom, who smiled back, looking thoroughly out of place in his obviously expensive silk shirt. “Well,” he said, “like I told you last night, our resources are pretty thin up here now, what with your employer practically shutting things down, so I can’t offer much in the way of help. In fact, things are heating up on our murder case.”

“You don’t say.” Victor feigned surprised. “Things falling in place for you, are they?”

“We’ve had some breaks. That’s why we really can’t spare anything to help you boys out until you’ve pretty much got your thing put to bed.”

“Well, we’re not too worried about that, Sheriff. It’s good to see things coming together.” Victor nodded. “Hell, we used to have a saying back in the Bureau about crime. We used to joke that it was all one case. You know, just one big crime out there, all interconnected.”

“Sounds a little paranoid,” Mickey chuckled. “Truth be told, I think it gives the criminals too much credit. Most of them I’ve ever met couldn’t find their pecker if it had a bell on it.”

Victor laughed and slapped at Tom with a light backhand. “You hear that, Tom? That’s a good one. I’ll have to remember that one.”

Mickey watched the performance and wanted to reach in and smack the pompous bastard. But instead, he let out a mild chuckle and tried to think of a way to end the conversation as soon as possible. “Well, anyway,” he leaned down and said, “we’ll be happy to make an arrest when you think you’ve got the proof you need.”

“We may have it sooner than you think.” Victor grinned. “Who knows, maybe the crimes are connected. Maybe our cases will finally prove that it’s all one big crime, in a cosmic sense, I mean.”

Mickey shook his head and kept smiling. “I’m not sure we could handle something like that around here.” Then he rapped on the top of the car a couple of times and said, “Well, keep me posted boys.”

Mickey turned and walked back to the idling Suburban. He slid into the air-conditioned interior and checked his watch again. Then he snatched the radio from the dash and hollered into the mouthpiece.

“Jimmy. You there?”

After a few seconds Jimmy answered. “Right here, Chief.”

“Anything from Kramer yet?”

“You’ll be the first to know, Chief.” Then there was a brief pause. “Hell, it ain’t been that long, Chief. You just left here an hour ago.”

Mickey checked his watch again. “I know. I just want to make sure you’re still there. I don’t want any delay when Kramer calls. I’ll be following Grimaldi around until I hear something from you. The sooner I hear, the better.”

“I know, Chief. Just relax. You’ll know something as soon as I do.”