Hunting the Wrecking Crew: An Eric Stone Novel

by Nick Albert

  “Thanks for all the help. You have my promise, at the first sign of trouble we’ll drop off the grid — after phoning you first.”

  Megan shook her head and sighed.

  “Phone afterwards.”

  Linda came over and sat on the edge of Megan’s desk.

  “And what about you, are you safe here?”

  “Don’t worry about me, I’m fine. As far as the world is concerned, a lady called Catherine Dama lives here. Megan Smith is invisible.”

  She waved a hand at her computers.

  “Even with all of this and the work that I do, I’m so well hidden that even I couldn’t find me!”

  Linda smiled and gave Megan a sisterly hug.

  “Good to know.”

  ***

  They parked fifty yards from Second Chances’ office, facing away, and on the opposite side of the road. Using the car’s side-mirrors, for twenty minutes they watched a steady stream of people entering and leaving the office.

  “Well they’re certainly busy doing something out of that office,” Linda said, “Perhaps there are an excessive number of ex-cons living around here.”

  “Hopefully we’re not going to add to that number.”

  Stone checked his watch. It was almost 6pm.

  “Let’s take a casual walk and see if we can spot a better way in, than the door on the street.”

  Hand-in-hand like a couple of newlyweds, they slowly walked two complete circuits of the block. It was growing dark and the streetlights were beginning to come on as they climbed into Linda’s car. The office of Second Chances was in darkness, and outside a large man was in the process of locking the door. They watched from the car as the man casually walked by, taking no notice of them. In the glimpse Stone caught in the mirror, he could see that the man was younger than he had supposed. He was tall and fit looking, with an unruly mop of long blonde hair, and probably in his mid-twenties. Neither Linda nor Stone had ever seen the man before. Linda spoke first.

  “There’s an alleyway at the side of the building that leads to a small garden at the rear. I saw an entrance, an old door — I think that it would be the best way in.”

  “Yeah, I saw that. I think you’re right. I don’t see any sign of an alarm.”

  “We’ll check when we get closer, but I don’t see any outside bell box or anything else to indicate an active system.”

  “Ok, let’s go. Can you stay near the alley entrance and keep a lookout while I work on the lock?”

  “Humph! That’s woman’s work. I’ll be doing the ironing next,” she joked as she climbed out of the car.

  With Linda guarding the entrance to the alleyway, Stone was able to concentrate on opening the back door to Second Chances’ office. Picking locks is almost a lost art form, and one that takes considerable skill and practice to master. Contrary to popular belief, it can take considerable time, and multiple attempts, to pick a lock successfully. Some time ago, Ed Carter had shown him the basics and, more as a hobby than anything else, Stone had practiced at home for a while, but apparently, he hadn’t practiced anywhere near enough.

  Kneeling on a scrap of cardboard rescued from a bin, and holding a penlight in his teeth, Stone inspected the lock and groaned. It was a standard cylinder lock. The generic sort, you would probably get from a discount store. He knew that cheap locks could be more difficult to pick. The mechanism is less precisely manufactured, making it slack and difficult to feel with the lock pick. Nevertheless, he had to try. It was important that the break-in remained secret.

  Stone began by spraying the interior of the mechanism with penetrating oil to free any rust and grime. He attached a twisted elastic band to a thumbtack he had stuck into the door, and looped the other end around the arm of the tension wrench. That way he could maintain an even twisting pressure on the barrel, whilst keeping both hands free. After a glance at Linda to check that the coast was clear, he started to pick the lock.

  Internally every cylinder lock has a number of pins of varying length that have to be pushed upwards until they all match something called the shear line. When the pins are correctly aligned, usually by the little pointed teeth on the key, the lock will turn. The process of picking the lock involves using a tension wrench to apply a slight rotational pressure to the barrel, whilst using a thin pick to ease each of the pins gently upwards. As each pin reaches the shear line, there is a slight click. Once all of the pins are correctly ‘picked’, the lock will open.

  Picking a lock is skilful, difficult work — not like the movies at all. A bent hairgrip won’t do the job, and a lock cannot be picked in just a few seconds with a casual jiggle of the wrist, whilst looking over your shoulder to check that no one is watching. Sometimes, despite his very best efforts, it can’t be picked in twenty minutes of persistent effort.

  Stone groaned as he stood up. His back ached, his fingers were cramped, and his knees were shaking.

  “I can’t get it!” he whispered irately, rubbing his hands to try to restore some circulation.

  “I need to walk around for a moment.”

  “Can I have a go?” Linda asked.

  “Be my guest,” Stone waved a hand at the unyielding lock. “Don’t tell me you know how to pick locks.”

  Linda tipped her head and winked.

  “Absolutely; I saw it on a cop show once — you stick the gismo into the thingamabob and wiggle it around and the door opens!”

  Stone gave a grunt of disapproval.

  “I’ll keep an eye out until my circulation returns.”

  He hobbled to the entrance of the alleyway and bent forward to massage his aching calves. Less than a minute passed before he heard Linda whispering his name.

  “What?”

  “Come here…I don’t think you’re going to like this.”

  Stone walked back down the alleyway to find Linda pointing to the open door. She gave him a triumphant smile edged with embarrassment. He stared open-mouthed in disbelief.

  “How the hell…did you pick the lock?”

  “Actually, the door was already unlocked — that’s why you couldn’t pick it. It was just a bit sticky and there were some empty boxes in the way. It opened as soon as I gave it a hard shove.”

  Stone slapped his forehead.

  “Idiot! That’s a classic rookie mistake. I never even thought to check the door to see if it was already unlocked.”

  Linda smiled sweetly.

  “Shall we go in?”

  The office was quite small, just fifteen by thirty feet. At the front, facing the street, there was the main door and a large window, probably from when it was used as a shop. The first ten feet was a waiting area. There were several hard chairs along the wall and a low coffee table in the centre, piled high with old newspapers and magazines. The area behind the counter that bisected the room was clearly used as the office. There was a desk, three filing cabinets, a small kitchenette, and a second door that led to a toilet. Stone pointed Linda towards the desk, and without further comment, they began searching the office.

  They both used penlights. To avoid being accidentally seen by some passing pedestrian, they kept the lens’ partially shielded with their fingers. Stone checked the filing cabinets, while Linda went through the desk. The search yielded little of any interest. The filing cabinets housed what seemed to be genuine client files. Some were for ex-convicts and a few were for willing employers. In total, there were almost one-hundred files. Stone flicked through twenty that he selected randomly, he found nothing to suggest a link with the Wrecking Crew.

  In the end, Linda found the only items of any potential significance. Inside a file crudely marked ‘expenses’, she found a small envelope containing around twenty identical USB sticks. Linda took two. In a second envelope, neatly clipped together, were five paid parking receipts for a shopping centre in Aylesbury, and two unpaid parking tickets for a street in the same town. She showed them to Stone and pointed to her pocket, he nodded in agreement. As she slipped them into her back pocket and
switched off her penlight, there was the instantly recognisable sound of a gun being cocked. A harsh voice spoke from the doorway.

  “Put your hands up, or I’ll shoot.”

  Stone reacted instantly. He spun around and pointed his torch directly at the assailant. Then he stepped to his left, while holding the torch at arm’s length to his right. At the same time he used his left arm to push Linda downward, into what he hoped was a position of comparative safety. The gunman, instantly blinded by the torch, naturally assumed that Stone would be standing directly behind the light — which is where he was aiming when he fired.

  The bullet passed just below Stone’s arm and buried itself harmlessly in the opposite wall. Before the man could fire again, Stone delivered a sidekick to his elbow, snapping the joint and spinning the gun safely to the floor. The man groaned in pain and staggered backwards. Stone could see now that it was the same young man they had seen locking the office a little earlier. As Stone prepared to deliver a second attack, the man stepped backwards into the alley, holding his useless elbow with his left hand.

  “You’re dead you two, you’re fucking dead! You’ve no idea what you’re into.”

  He backed three steps away from the doorway, turned and ran. Stone made no effort to give chase.

  “Are you ok?” he asked Linda.

  “Yeah, I’m fine,” she replied, her voice shaking.

  “We’d better go, someone may have heard that shot and called the police.”

  Be bent down and picked up the gun.

  “This may come in handy later.”

  “You could be right,” Linda said as she walked through the door, “in the meantime, please try not to shoot me in the arse.”

  THIRTEEN

  Early the next morning Eric and Linda headed back towards Megan’s place. They wanted to meet with Ed Carter to discuss what they had recovered at Second Chances. Linda had already checked all of the USB sticks and found them to be blank, but Megan still wanted to have them in case they contained deleted files that she could recover. When Stone told him about the weapon, Ed immediately insisted that he hand it over. Eric tried to argue, but Ed pointed out that carrying an unregistered firearm in the British Isles was a very serious offence, and one that they did not have the time to deal with. Stone had agreed reluctantly. One of Ed’s old police buddies at the firearms unit was going to check to see if it was a registered handgun, or if it had ever been used to commit a crime. Either way, the information could prove useful and perhaps provide some compensation for the loss of the weapon.

  They spotted the tail as soon as they turned off the M11 towards Harlow. It was the same blue Ford they had seen before. They recognised it because of a distinctive dent in the front wing. This time it had a different driver. They drove randomly for ten minutes, following the ring road. Soon they spotted a second car, and then a third.

  “That’s it then,” Stone said with grim finality, “we have to drop off the grid. It’s a bit sooner than I’d hoped.”

  “We need to leave my car somewhere and change our clothes,” Linda said. “The second-hand suits that we bought are on the back seat, they’ll do until we can find another charity shop.”

  “We’re going to need some transport, and a cheap hotel to operate from,” Stone said, “somewhere that’s happy to take cash.”

  “Hang on a second,” Linda said firmly. “Let’s think this through carefully. We don’t want to screw this up by rushing things.”

  She counted off the actions on her fingers.

  “We need to find somewhere to park, somewhere that isn’t going to make them suspicious. Perhaps we can make it look like we’re going shopping or something. We have to leave all of our credit cards locked in the glove compartment, and we have to change our clothes. Then we can take the bag of cash and walk away.”

  Stone nodded.

  “But first we need to shake off anyone who’s following on foot.”

  He thought for a minute, mulling over the options in his mind. Suddenly he snapped his fingers.

  “Car-wash, and then the cinema!”

  “Wow! You really know how to show a girl a good time.”

  “There’s an automatic car-wash on a garage forecourt about a mile from here, it’s one of those ones where you drive in one end and then wait, while the big orange brushes do their job. After it’s finished, you drive out the other end. The full cycle with hot wax and a blow dry takes about ten minutes. That’s plenty of time for us to change our clothes. Then we park at the big drive-in centre, I think it’s called ‘Cineworld’ — all we have to do is buy tickets and popcorn, go in one door and run out the back. It’s bound to work.”

  Linda patted his knee.

  “And if we can get to the train station unseen, then it’s just two stops to Sawbridgeworth. I know a place there where we can buy a cheap second-hand car — from someone that we can trust.”

  “Ok. Let’s do this.”

  Changing their clothes in the narrow confines of the sports car, while it was going through the car wash, was rather more of a struggle than Stone had anticipated. Particularly as, despite the imminent danger, they found considerable humour in the situation, and ended up crying tears of laughter. Nevertheless, by the time the car-wash cycle was finished, they were respectably dressed and their pockets were stuffed with all of the drug dealer’s cash. They both had sweaters, which appeared to be free of any tags, so they put them back on and carried their jackets. That way, to the casual observer, they would still appear to be wearing their original clothes.

  Linda parked her gleamingly clean car as close to the entrance of the cinema as she could. Once inside, they made a big play of selecting the film they were going to watch, and buying drinks, popcorn and candy bars. Stone paid with cash and made an effort to act like a normal customer, fumbling with the change and almost forgetting one of the drinks. Because of the crush at the counter, Linda waited a few yards away where she was apparently watching a large flat screen that was showing trailers for upcoming movies. As Stone handed over her drink, Linda smiled and mouthed a silent ‘thank you’. She pointed to the big screen, as if they were discussing a movie.

  “The tall guy in the brown leather jacket and blue trainers, he’s one of them. He jogged in as if he was late for a movie, but then he waited for us to choose, before he bought his ticket. I don’t see any others.”

  Stone led the way up the stairs towards where their film was showing.

  “The others are probably waiting outside, taking the opportunity to have a bit of a break.”

  “So what do we do now?” Linda asked.

  “Our film is showing on screen four. The seats I picked are on the right, in the very back. We’re next to the upper exit. We’ll wait for the main feature to start and let it run for a little bit. When I give you the signal, I want you to leave. Just walk out calmly as if you’re going to the toilet. Wait here by the stairs — I’ll be right behind you.”

  Linda nodded.

  “Promise me we can get a hotel with pay-per-view. I really wanted to see this film.”

  Stone smiled at Linda’s ability to make light of a serious situation.

  “We’ll come back when this is over — deal?”

  She pulled a frumpy face.

  “Deal…”

  They had to wait almost twenty minutes for the lights to go down, and another twenty for the adverts and trailers to finish. It was an hour after they had arrived, when Stone gave Linda the signal. She leaned over as if to whisper that she was going to the rest room, then she stood and walked towards the exit. She paused for a moment as people are inclined to do, as if to catch some important bit of dialog, then she went through the door. Stone thought it was a nice touch.

  He had seen the guy in the brown leather jacket come in. He was seated on the isle about halfway along. Once the lights went down, Stone saw the man move to an empty seat that was one from the back row, and nearer to the centre. In his peripheral vision, Stone had managed to see the
guy glancing their way every few minutes. Now he was watching quiet openly. Stone slowly counted to ninety, then he stood up and walked directly out of the door. He didn’t pause and he didn’t look back.

  The upper corridor was empty, except for Linda, who was leaning against the wall at the top of the stairs. Stone walked forward ten steps, stopped, turned, and waited. Twelve seconds later the door swung open and the guy in the leather jacket stepped through, blinking at the daylight. Stone immediately strode forward, as if he were returning to his seat. Finding his quarry unexpectedly coming towards him, the man slowed indecisively. Stone continued forward, smiling confidently. As the gap closed, he lifted his hands to shoulder height, and said three words.

  “Something’s on you.”

  As he spoke, Stone’s left hand went towards the man’s right shoulder, as if to brush away some dirt. The misdirection worked. His hand passed over the shoulder, and then whipped back in an arc. Stone struck the back of the man’s neck with a horizontal ridge-hand strike, and simultaneously slapped the centre of the man’s forehead with his right palm. The whiplash effect of the two opposing strikes instantly knocked the man unconscious. Stone caught the lifeless form and carefully rolled him into a recovery position, so that he wouldn’t choke. He jogged across to Linda and pointed to the stairs.

  “Jesus, Stone. Is he dead?” she asked as they sprinted down the stairs.

  “He’s unconscious. He’ll probably be out for a few minutes or so.”

  Before leaving their seats, they had both swapped their sweaters for jackets, in the hope that they would be less recognisable to the watchers. However, they still needed to get out of the building unobserved. As they reached the bottom of the staircase, Linda headed towards the exit, but Stone gently pulled on her arm.

  “Wait.”

  “But we need to go — he could wake up at any moment!”

  “Wait…” Stone said calmly.