Dangerous Friends (A Carlos McCrary novel Book 4)

by Dallas Gorham

  I slipped the phone back in my pocket and swiveled the chair to face Becky. “Can I copy part of the video to my stick drive?”

  “What’s that?”

  I pulled a stick drive from my pocket. “It’s a storage thingy for computer files. I’d like to copy that section of the video to it. It won’t hurt your video.”

  Becky waved a hand. “Knock yourself out.”

  I copied files from each of the dock cameras, thanked her, and patted Tuffy on the head. He licked my wrist so hard he almost pulled my watch off.

  While I waited in the car for Snoop to call, I spread the city map across the steering wheel and planned our next stop. The river forked at what would have been 39th Avenue, if there had been a 39th Avenue. There was a bridge at 37th Avenue, downstream from the fork, and a set of two bridges at 42nd Avenue, one across each fork.

  Snoop called. “Got the boat racing past the dredge company at 3:04 like you said. I copied the video onto a stick drive.”

  “Great. Let’s go to the 42nd Avenue bridges next. You take the north shore. I’ll take the south side.”

  I didn’t mention the blue Ford. They might have been going to the warehouse. As I passed the warehouse entrance, I glanced right. The Ford had parked on the back of the lot, facing the street. Florida requires license plates on the rear bumper only. Maybe it was a coincidence that this car had backed into a spot, hiding the plate from view. Maybe not. When I reached the turn at the top of the street, I looked in the mirror again. The blue sedan bounced out of the lot and turned in my direction.

  Snoop and I each struck out on both 42nd Avenue bridges, even though we scanned video from 3:04 until sunrise. Whiskers never passed under either one. I checked the map and my tablet. “Snoop, is the Hurricane Host Marina on your list?”

  “Yeah. I spotted two cameras there. I can be there in five minutes.”

  “I’ll meet you there in ten. Oh, and a blue Ford sedan is following me. I don’t want them to know we’re together. You go on into the office and wait for me. When we leave, tail them.”

  “Okay. See you there.”

  The marina occupied a prime hunk of waterfront west of the 37th Avenue Bridge on North Riverside Drive. The difference between it and the Prime Marina was like comparing a new Cadillac to a fifteen-year-old rust bucket. Its website said it had 150 wet slips and a shiny white steel building for dry storage. The parking area had been freshly blacktopped and striped. The cast iron fence was sparkling with white enamel paint. The office was spotless.

  Snoop was inside by the door. A female receptionist looked up from her desk as I walked in. “May I help you gentlemen?”

  “May I speak to your head of security?” I handed her a business card. “We’re investigating a stolen boat.”

  She read my card. “We haven’t had a boat stolen in over two years. We have state-of-the-art security here.”

  “Yes, ma’am. The boat wasn’t stolen from here. We think it may show on your security cameras down by the river. May I speak to your head of security?”

  She picked up a walkie-talkie. “Mike, two guys here want to talk to you about a stolen boat.”

  Mike’s voice rasped from the speaker. “Emmy, you know that we ain’t had a boat stolen in maybe two or three years. Must be some other marina.”

  Emmy shrugged. “It weren’t stolen from here, Mike. Can these guys come talk to you? They said it may be on our security video. Where you at?”

  “Dry storage on the river side. Send them this way and I’ll meet them at my office.”

  “Roger.” Emmy set down the walkie-talkie and pointed to a giant aerial photograph of the marina on the wall. “Here’s where we are… Here’s the dry storage where Mike is… And this is his office right here. Walk down the docks here… You’ll see Mike standing in front of his office. He’s the guy with the ponytail.”

  Mike’s faded blue baseball hat had a Hurricane Host Marina logo on the front. “Mike Seville.” We introduced ourselves. His face was lined from years in the sun. “What’s this about a stolen boat?”

  “Saturday before last, in the early morning, a 280 Outrage Boston Whaler was stolen from the Prime Marina downstream. The thief drove it upriver. We spotted him on a security camera around 28th Avenue. We’d like to see if he made it this far upstream. I hoped your security cameras recorded him as he passed. If he passed,” I added.

  “Prime Marina,” Mike repeated. He scowled. “Their security ain’t worth the match to burn it with. No wonder they lost a boat. Guys like that give the industry a bad name. Our security is top-notch. If the thief drove the Outrage past here, you can bet the ranch we got it on video. Come on into my office. I’ll set you up at the monitor.” As he turned, I noticed that his ponytail stuck through the gap in the rear of the hat.

  Mike settled us at his desk and briefed us on how to access the six security cameras that covered the river. “If you need me, I’ll be outside grabbing a smoke.”

  “Snoop, start at 3:04 and play it in real time from the camera furthest downstream.”

  Snoop tapped the keyboard. “That would be camera one.”

  We watched the silent river, deserted at that hour. Streetlights on the 37th Avenue Bridge reflected in the water, its surface rippling in the light breeze. Underneath the bridge the camera covered the river for a quarter-mile to where it made a slight turn on its journey to Seeti Bay. Two minutes passed.

  “Here it comes,” Snoop said. “Still up on plane.”

  “Freeze that, Snoop.” He did. “Zoom in… He’s taken off his baseball cap and the wind has flipped his hood back. Move ahead a few frames until he gets closer to the camera… That’s perfect. Get a screen grab and let’s blow up his head shot.”

  I snatched the photo from the printer. “Great job, Snoop. It’s definitely James Ponder.” I held the photo where Snoop could see. “We’ve got you, Whiskers. Proof positive that you’re the boat-napper.” I clapped Snoop on the back. “Forget cameras two to five. Switch to six. Let’s watch him pass the marina and see where he goes.”

  The picture switched to a northwest view. In the background, the Lower Seeti split off three hundred yards upstream. The Outrage appeared on the screen still on plane. It slowed and yawed as its own wake caught up when it came off plane.

  “He must be about to dock somewhere near here,” said Snoop.

  “Or he’s planning to turn on the Lower Seeti.” The stolen boat moved up the river and turned left into the Lower Seeti at 3:08 a.m. “Let’s go grab the guys tailing me.”

  “Then can we grab lunch?”

  “One grab at a time.”

  Chapter 26

  There’s one spot on South River Drive where the two-lane street has no crossroads for four hundred yards. The river side of the street is lined with marinas and the dry side with apartments. All have gated entrances. The Seeti River may be gentrifying, but it’s an iffy neighborhood for burglaries and car thefts.

  I turned from the bridge onto South River Drive and slowed to twenty-five miles per hour. The Ford sedan followed me across the bridge. I stopped twice like I was looking for an address then idled down the long block. Snoop followed the Ford across the bridge.

  My phone rang. “Yeah, Snoop.”

  “There’s three guys in the Ford.”

  “We have them surrounded.”

  The sedan pulled to the side of the road two hundred yards behind me.

  “Okay, Snoop. Block the road. I’ll reason with them.”

  Snoop turned his car sideways across both lanes behind the Ford with the driver side window facing the Ford. The effect was psychological. The men following could pull onto the grass beside the road and get around his car if they tried. I figured they would be so intent on me that they wouldn’t notice Snoop come up behind until it was too late.

  I made a U-turn and headed back up the street toward the Ford. When I got close enough, I crossed the double yellow line and nosed my car up to the Ford’s front bumper. I prayed they wouldn’t d
o anything rash to my precious Avanti. I’d had bullet holes in it before and my classic car guy was already miffed at me.

  I popped the door and walked around behind my car. I wasn’t about to walk between my bumper and the Ford even if I’d left enough room, which I hadn’t. The driver could crush my legs if he put it in gear. As I passed behind the Avanti, I pulled my Glock and held it beside my right leg where it wasn’t visible from the Ford.

  The driver’s eyes cut to his rearview mirror. Snoop had his window down and was pointing his pistol at the Ford.

  I strolled near the driver’s window. The smile on my face was bright enough to melt the glass if I had stood closer. I pointed the Glock at the driver’s head. I side-stepped until I lined up my pistol with the front passenger’s head too. If I shot the driver, there was a good chance I’d hit the passenger with the same bullet. I stood four feet from his window, smiling, waiting. Mr. Nice Guy, but with a gun.

  The driver grasped the steering wheel with both hands in sight; he’d been stopped by cops before. He turned his head for a hurried conversation with the man in the front passenger seat. The front passenger stretched his hands to the dashboard. The rear seat passenger grabbed the back of the driver’s seat with both hands. The driver shouted through the window. “I’m going to use my left hand to lower the window, okay?”

  “Everybody keep your hands where I can see them,” I said. “Anybody’s hands move but the driver’s, you’re all dead.”

  He raised his left hand from the wheel and moved it toward the door. He paused with his index finger extended where I could see it. I nodded, and he moved his finger down below the window. The window purred open. He put his left hand back on the wheel.

  We stared at each other for a moment. It was hard for him to turn his head that far with both hands grasping the steering wheel.

  “If anyone in the car moves, you and the guy beside you get the first bullet. You’ve noticed that I have both your heads lined up. My colleague behind the car will shoot the man in the rear seat with the second bullet. The whole thing will take less than one second. Are you clear on that?”

  The driver swallowed hard. “Yeah.”

  “Remove the keys and drop them through the window.” He did. “Tell me who you are and why you’re following me.”

  “I’m not following you.”

  I shot out the front tire and re-aimed the Glock at the driver before he could react. “Try that answer again.”

  “Whaddya want from me?”

  “Who are you and why are you following me?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  I didn’t dare move my Glock a second time. I raised my voice. “Snoop, shoot out the back tire.” He did.

  I asked again. “Who are you and why are you following me?”

  The driver’s sunglasses pointed in my direction. “Look, McCrary, let’s get real. You’re a law-abiding PI. You ain’t gonna shoot nobody. This here’s a public street in broad daylight. There’s gotta be surveillance cameras recording us right now.”

  One car and a truck had pulled up behind Snoop. Another car was approaching from the other direction. Someone would call the cops soon if they hadn’t already. “Lower all the windows.” He did. I stuck the Glock in his ear and reached into his jacket. I pulled out a Browning .380 pistol and stuck it in my pocket. I reached back into the jacket, found his wallet, and pocketed it. “Left hand, give me your cellphone.”

  He handed me a flip phone. “Now you in the front passenger seat, slowly, using your left hand, drop your piece out the window.” He did and I heard the clunk on the asphalt. “Now toss your wallet and cellphone onto the grass.” I didn’t want the cellphone to break when it hit the pavement. I stepped to the back door and stuck my pistol in the rear passenger’s ear. He wasn’t wearing a jacket. “Where’s your piece?”

  “Belt on the left side, butt forward.”

  I reached inside the window, removed his gun, and dropped it onto the street. “Now hand me your cellphone and drop your wallet out the window. Left hand, slow.” He handed me another flip phone and dropped his wallet on the pavement.

  I stepped back. “Snoop, you got their plate number?”

  “Do the swallows return to Capistrano?”

  I pulled the driver’s Browning from my pocket with my left hand. I pointed both guns into the car. “Snoop, pick up their guns, wallets, and phones, then move your car.”

  I kept the three men covered while Snoop collected our trophies. “Don’t anyone get out of the car until we leave.”

  Snoop backed onto the shoulder. The backed-up traffic cleared. The Ford wasn’t going anywhere.

  Snoop leaned out his window. “Now can we please have lunch?”

  Chapter 27

  I pushed my lunch dishes aside and spread the city map on the table. “Right there would be a perfect spot for a camera to pick up Whiskers as he made the turn. What cameras did we find near there?”

  Snoop flipped pages. “Several. Best view would be from the River View Terrace on the south side.” He pointed to the map. “Right there.”

  I punched up Google Earth on my tablet for an overhead look at the River View Terrace. “Looks like they have a perfect view of where he turned.” I switched to Street View for a quick familiarization of the area. The apartments were fifteen stories tall. They looked to have a dozen or more units on each floor—plenty large enough to have security cameras, probably in good working order. “You’re right, Snoop. You wanna ride with me?”

  “We’ll need two cars if the trail forks again and we have to split up. Plus, we haven’t seen the last of those three guys. Two cars seems like a good idea.”

  A contractor was building a concrete block wall along the sidewalk at the River View Terrace. The new wall had already replaced half the old wrought-iron fence I’d seen in Google Street View. A large plastic banner hung on the completed end of the new wall announced Under New Management. The new management had added an attended guardhouse and a sliding security gate at the entrance. I glanced in the rearview mirror and called Snoop. “New wall, new gate. The place looks a little small to afford a full time guarded entrance. They must have security problems.”

  “Let’s hope so, Chuck. That should mean their security cameras are the latest model.”

  The entrance pylon at the gate was brand new and painted in the rainbow colors of a gay pride flag. It read River Oaks Apartments. Another neat sign announced the new management. I stopped at the guardhouse where a uniformed, armed guard stepped out and waited while I lowered the window.

  “How can I help you, sir?”

  “I’d like to speak to your manager. And the man in the car behind is with me.”

  The guard smiled. “You looking to rent an apartment?”

  “No.”

  The guard’s smile faded a little.

  “We’d like to look at some of your security videos from two Saturdays ago.”

  “May I inquire what this is in regards to, sir?”

  “We’re tracking a stolen boat that passed behind your apartments early two Saturday mornings ago. We hope your security cameras got a picture of the driver.”

  “May I make a copy of your driver’s license, please?”

  I handed it to him. “Have you had security issues here? I notice the new guardhouse and the new wall.”

  The guard smiled again. “No, sir. The new management is renovating and upgrading the place for our new clientele.”

  A dozen live oak trees were newly planted and braced with two-by-fours on the edges of the parking lot. The new management was adding the trees to go with the new name. A landscaping crew was planting another.

  I waited beside my car while Snoop had his driver’s license copied and then parked beside me in the visitors lot. Two well-dressed men walked through the lot and got into a red Corvette.

  Snoop locked his car. “Maybe you and I should hold hands when we walk into the office. We might fit in better.”


  “For crissakes, Snoop, don’t piss anybody off. We have a job to do. Would you rather wait out here?”

  “I don’t know. I swear that guard leered at me when I came in.”

  “You’re ugly as a muddy mole and you’re old enough to be that’s guy’s father.”

  “What’s that got to do with anything?” He clapped me on the shoulder and laughed. “Don’t worry, Chuck. I was only pulling your chain. I won’t embarrass you.”

  I opened the office door and led the way inside. The name plate on the desk said Kevin. He looked like a Kevin. A twenty-something man wearing a pink Polo shirt and white pants. Of course, if the name plate had said Stanley, I would have thought he looked like a Stanley. Kevin’s bleached hair was gelled and spiked in a way that some folks would consider fashionable. The faint aroma of a men’s fragrance (isn’t that what they call it when a man wears perfume?) filled the room. I knew it wasn’t after-shave because the guy had a week’s growth of beard, also considered fashionable by some people.

  I handed him a business card that he placed on the desk without reading. “We’re tracking a stolen boat that passed on the river behind the River Oaks Apartments between three and four a.m. two Saturdays ago. We’d like to review your dockside security videos for that time, if we may.”

  Kevin eyed my jacket where the Glock made the bulge. He jumped up and stalked around his desk. He stood between me and the rear door that led to the rest of the office. He crossed his arms and stuck his chin out. “You’re wasting your time, detective. Our security videos are confidential unless you have a warrant.” His attitude was so assertive that a person less polite than I might have called it aggressive. He hadn’t even said “I’m sorry” before telling me to take a hike.

  I had to admire his courage, standing up to two armed strangers. “Look, Kevin, I don’t need to see any interior videos, not even the ones around the pool. I only want to check the dock and river from 3:10 a.m. to 4:00 a.m. two Saturdays ago. And the dock area was probably deserted at that time of night.”