All day long Brock’s bear ran and rested. It dug countless holes. It pushed over a few trees. When it was tired it slept, and when it was hungry it searched for berries or honey or caught fish.
Night fell, and still Brock’s animal had no desire to leave. It resisted Brock’s human urge to turn, and had no care for whatever was happening out there in the human world. It belonged to the land of the beasts and wasn’t ready to leave it any time soon. Finding shelter under a rock formation near the edge of the woods, Brock’s bear slept.
At daybreak Brock’s consciousness finally pushed through, forcing his bear down enough to shift back. There was no more wiggle room. His shift at the fire station would begin in a couple of hours. He also had extra work to do. Coming across Rhys Dillon’s business card began to look fortuitous now that he could think clearly again. He should have been thanking Sky right about now. Well, maybe not. Definitely not for going on a date with that shady guy, anyway.
On the way home to shower and dress for his shift at the fire hall, Brock called Zeke. If anyone could help draw a connection between the meth labs and this guy, it was the gorilla shifting computer hacker. By the time Brock showed up for work, Zeke sat in the main lounge of the firehouse, typing away on his computer. His long dark hair covered the sides of his face, and his green eyes stared intently at the screen.
“Rhys Dillon, huh?” he asked by way of greeting.
Brock crossed his arms. Just the name made him angry. “The cops think he’s connected to the string of meth labs popping up around here, but they haven’t been able to pin anything on him yet.”
“Is this the guy?”
Zeke turned the laptop around to show a picture of a man in his late twenties. He couldn’t be over thirty. Smiling at the camera, he looked innocent enough. Brock saw through the slick, well-dressed, well-groomed facade. His knuckles practically popped at the thought of the conniving, lawless man’s hands on Sky.
“Probably. I’ve never seen him before.”
Zeke turned the computer back to face him. “What’s your plan?”
“Find out what he owns. Maybe he’s connected to more meth labs. We can check them out.”
“Right… and your cop buddies won’t be pissed you’re crowding their territory?”
“It can’t hurt. We can pass on the information.”
“And the Chief?”
“Let’s make sure he doesn’t find out.”
“Fine with me. It won’t take me long.”
“Good.”
The front door banged open. Toby and Jax walked in, nodding uneasily at Brock.
“Zeke’s looking for tips on Dillon,” Brock said, cutting right to the chase.
Toby glanced at Zeke. “The meth guy?”
Zeke typed away. “Apparently.”
Jax’s eyes searched Brock’s face. “What are we going to do with these tips?”
“Check it out. Get the info to the cops. They can do the rest.”
“Sounds fair.”
“If Zeke gets a hit I’ll go with him. You can cover for me, Toby. Jax, Nash and the rest of the crew will take your lead, just in case anything comes up before I get back.”
“Wow. I just found something,” Zeke announced, marveling at the screen. He reached above his head and cracked his knuckles, obviously pleased with himself.
“No way,” Toby muttered.
Zeke grinned. “Sorry. I am that fast.”
Brock sat in the chair next to Zeke. “What it is?”
“Two properties that could be meth labs.”
“How can you tell?”
“The same way you can tell a meth lab fire from a regular one before you even step inside. I searched for any titles in Dillon’s name, or in any companies where he’s listed as an officer. Next, I checked on local social media complaints to the power company about neighbors stealing power or to the city about sweet or ether-like odors. I can’t access filed complaints on this computer…and I’m not supposed to be able to, so don’t ask. Anyhow, social media is the way to go. You’d be surprised how many frustrated homeowners get online and rant about shit like this.”
“Good.”
“There are a whack of other little signs. Frequent visitors at all times of the day or night; the people living there seeming to be unemployed, yet they have plenty of money and want to pay everything they can with cash; unfriendly or paranoid behavior; way more security at the house than the house looks like it’s worth; their usual ‘Beware of Dog’ signs; blacked out curtains in the windows, leeching power from neighbors; electrified fences; people putting their garbage in their neighbors’ yards; red stained coffee filters or sheets; the usual burn pits outside with no one ever seeing a campfire before it shows up. Shit like that.”
Brock nodded. “Okay. Nice approach. So two of Dillon’s places fit the bill?”
“Yes. One is only a couple of miles from here. I’ll write down the addresses.”
“Brock,” Toby said. “Are you sure about this?” Brock cut his eyes up at Toby, waiting for him to go on. “This is police business,” he continued.