Nikki knew she should lie. But Jackson was staring at her with those blue eyes that knew right where all the skeletons were buried and where all the pigs had been set free and suddenly it was like she’d forgotten how.
“I’m going to go check out the body shop.”
“Check it out for what? What are you going to do, break in? That’s ridiculous.”
There was a thump as Captain Beaumont jumped up into the tailgate-less truck bed.
“It’s not ridiculous and get your dog out of my truck or he’s coming with me,” said Nikki, starting the truck.
“Nikki, you’re being crazy!”
“Say goodbye, Captain,” said Nikki, rolling the truck past Jackson. She expected him to yell, but instead there was a second thump as Jackson jumped up into the truck bed too. Seconds later, he was wiggling through the back window.
“This is crazy,” he said, when he’d righted himself in the seat. He was wearing a zip-up hoodie over cut-off sweat pants and sneakers.
“Hey, I’m not the one out for a run in the middle of the night.”
“Captain Beaumont is a black dog.”
“What does that mean?”
“He gets too hot during the day, but he likes to run. Plus, I’m training for American Ninja Warrior.”
“You’re making this up.”
“I’m not making this up. And you’re the one stealing a truck!”
“It’s not stealing if you return it.”
There was a scrabbling as Captain Beaumont tried to climb in the window too. He stopped half-way through, either high-centered on the seat back or content to only mostly be with his person.
“What is your dog doing?” demanded Nikki as Captain Beaumont began to lick her ear.
“He was trained to be a police dog and this is how he indicates when he smells someone batshit crazy.”
“I am not crazy.”
“You’re stealing a truck with the intention of breaking into a building.”
“I told you—I’m not stealing the truck. I’m borrowing it quietly.”
The argument continued as Nikki drove down into town. The Columbia River reflected the moonlight like a ribbon of polished steel and the lights of the houses glowed softly from behind closed curtains as they drove toward Main Street.
“I don’t know why you think the auto body shop is going to have anything to look at,” complained Jackson. “Even if, and I say if, you really saw that Milt guy go in there, what’s that got to do with anything?”
“I did see him. Please stop second-guessing me. And it might seem like nothing, but you’ve got to follow your gut in these situations,” said Nikki, checking the review mirror and pulling into a parking spot well away from the light of a street lamp. “You have to look for loose threads and then you pull them.”
“And how often have you been in ‘these situations’?” demanded Jackson, making air quotes.
“Oh, you know,” said Nikki, cutting the motor and fishing in her bag for some binoculars.
“No,” said Jackson, eyeing the binoculars. “I don’t know.”
“Tell your dog to move his butt.” She pulled Captain Beaumont all the way into the cab, so she could look through the back window of the cab and scrutinize the body shop through the binoculars. The evening wind had cleared some of the smoke haze from the sky and she had no trouble peering through the windows of the body shop. It was a cement block building of an odd height, not quite two stories. One corner was a glass enclosed little lobby with uncomfortable looking chairs and a tall desk. The rest of the front was covered by two roll-up garage doors. The office was dark and a closed sign hung at a careless angle on the door, but a tiny ribbon of light could be seen around the edge of one of the garage doors.
“You can’t just yadda yadda sex,” said Jackson.
“What?”
“That episode of Seinfeld? ‘And yadda yadda, one thing led to another…’ You can’t just wave your hands over the important parts and expect me to not question it.”
“I don’t have time for this,” said Nikki. “Nobody invited you to this party, so stop being such a Debbie Downer.”
“You were stealing my dog. And besides someone has to keep you out of trouble.”
“Jackson.” She stopped, trying to think of the right thing to say. This was ending up like every argument she’d ever had with Z’ev. “I don’t need to be kept out of trouble.”
Jackson stared at her, his forehead wrinkled, eyebrows pinched together in skepticism. “Are you sure?”
“Do you need to be kept from throwing yourself in front of giant cows?”
“Bulls. And no, because I’m good at it and I know what I’m doing.”
“Yeah, exactly.”
“Oh.” He paused, the effort of shifting mental gears showing on his face. “OK.”
“Now you can stay in the truck if you want. I’m going to go for a closer look. I’m just going to take a little poke around. I’ll be back in about twenty minutes.”
“I’m not staying in the truck. And –” He broke off and then pointed out the window at the body shop. Nikki ducked and then peeked over the edge of the seat with her binoculars. Milt and another man walked around the corner of the building. Milt was waving his arms and even most of a block away Nikki could hear his voice, if not the actual words. He sounded angry and defensive.
“Who’s that with Milt?” she asked, passing the binoculars to Jackson.
“That’s Bill Pims,” said Jackson, without taking the binoculars. “He always wears that ratty, red ball cap.”
“There must be a back door then,” said Nikki, training the binoculars back at the building as Milt and Bill climbed into the body shop tow truck and pulled away.
“I don’t know,” said Jackson. “I take my car to Josie’s.”
“Well, they probably didn’t climb out through a window, so I’m going to try behind the building first.” Nikki picked up her bag, a brown leather messenger style bag that looked ordinary enough.
“How do you know there’s no one else in there?” asked Jackson. Nikki swung the truck door open and hopped out.
“I don’t,” she said, shutting the door quietly.
She hadn’t gone ten steps before she heard Jackson’s door shut and the sound of his feet on the pavement behind her.
“Is the Captain going to be OK by himself?”
“Yeah, I left the window open. He’ll be fine.” He looked around, craning his neck to see if they had been spotted.
“Jackson, stop twisting your head like an owl. It makes you look guilty.”
“But we are guilty,” he hissed.
“Speak for yourself,” said Nikki. “I don’t feel any guilt.”
The back door was locked, but it was a simple deadbolt that Nikki picked in under thirty seconds.
“You carry a set of lock-picks around with you?” he asked as she tucked them back in her bag.
Nikki shrugged. “They come in handy. I’m going to go in first. Give me a second to get my bearings and then come in after me.”
Nikki stepped into the garage and looked around. In terms of secret lairs, it was a severe disappointment. It was just a garage. A moment later Jackson stepped through the door; he looked around and gave a low whistle.
“Would you look at this equipment? Who knew Bill had the budget for this? I always got the impression he was barely making it.”
“This stuff is expensive?” asked Nikki, waving at the collection of grease covered machines.
“Yeah! He could practically machine his own car with this setup. That, over there, is a-”
“I don’t want to know,” said Nikki, cutting him off. “That information is only going to fill up valuable hard drive space in my head. But would you say that the equipment is unusual for a body shop?”
“A little bit,” said Jackson walking further into the garage. “I mean, for a shop this small.”
There was a sharp bark and a scrabble of nails against the door that ma
de them both jump. Nikki opened the door and Captain Beaumont leapt in, tail wagging.
“Left the window open, you said?”
Jackson sighed and hung his head. “I’ll take him back to the truck.”
“No, the last thing we need is for someone to spot us traipsing back and forth. Let’s just finish searching this place and get out of here.”
“But I don’t know what I’m looking for.”
“Anything unusual,” said Nikki. Jackson grunted in dissatisfaction at her answer, but began to prowl around the machines.
The garage had space for two cars, which were currently occupied, one by a truck with the hood up and the other by a Honda four-door. The front driver’s side area was primer gray and the trunk area had been stripped down to the metal frame. The garage was quite tall, probably designed to accommodate semi’s and RV’s, and at the back of the room a set of stairs led up to a small office perched improbably on stilts above everything. Nikki jogged up the stairs and opened the door. The floor was a grease stained industrial carpet, the file cabinets were that peculiar puke beige that never matched any office anywhere, and the desk was a particle board 1970s job laden with a greasy fingerprint-covered computer, a half-eaten burger, and three months worth of paperwork. Nikki began going through the filing cabinets. She wasn’t expecting to find much. Bill might have kept incriminating paperwork around, but then again, he’d also kept a receipt from a 1991 trip to the gas station and a 1995 nudie calendar and a 2001 petrified cheese sandwich jammed between a parts catalog and a folder full of sales receipts.
“Find anything?” asked Jackson, poking his head through the door.
Nikki let a stack of paperwork drop in disgust. “It would take a forensic accountant and a maid a month to find anything in this mess. Did you find anything?”
“He’s got some strange machines for a small town auto shop, but there’s no law against having a machinists shop worth of stuff in your tiny business.”
Nikki nodded and glanced out the window to the garage floor. “What’s your dog doing?” Captain Beaumont was sitting perfectly still next to the Honda’s primered fender, staring intently at it.
“Oh, crap,” said Jackson. “Uh, I need a toy. I’m supposed to play with him when he does that.” He began to look around for a toy, as if one would magically appear.
“What are you talking about?”
“I told you, he was trained as a police dog.” Jackson was jogging back down the stairs and Nikki trailed after him. “That’s his signal.”
“I thought you were joking about that.”
“No, he flunked out because he didn’t like loud noises. Who’s a good dog? You’re the good dog!” Captain Beaumont looked thrilled to have his goodness recognized and leapt up to wrestle with his human.
“So what’s that a signal for?” asked Nikki, bending over to inspect the Honda’s side.
“Drugs!” said Jackson, still using his happy, good dog voice and leaping around the car with the Captain.
“I think,” Nikki began, but was cut off as the far garage door began to rumble upwards. She looked toward the back entrance, directly visible from the slowly rising garage door and then back at Jackson, frozen in place with his arms full of dog. “Under the Honda,” she commanded, and slid into the pit space beneath the car. Jackson shoved the surprised Captain Beaumont in next and then wriggled in after her.
“I asked you to do one thing,” grumbled Bill stomping into the garage.
“I was distracted,” complained Milt. “I just got my ass handed to me by the boss.”
“And that prevented you from picking up the damn Slim Jim?” demanded Bill, collecting the thin piece of metal from a workbench and waving it at Milt. “I’m starting to think that redhead beat what was left of your brain into a pulp.”
“She got a lucky shot in,” whined Milt.
“Yeah, well maybe if you didn’t smoke so much of your own product, she wouldn’t have gotten so lucky.”
“Like you don’t smoke,” said Milt.
“Not when I have a job to do,” said Bill. “You know that’s why Ylina got stopped, right? It was probably you sitting in the car that left all kinds of scent all over the place. I can smell you from here.”
“Ylina got stopped because she’s a dumb whore. This is not my fault. And if you tell the boss that, I will beat your head in.”
“I’m not telling nothing to the boss,” said Bill. “But you should stop crying to me about how it’s not your fault and get Ylina and the car back before he decides to beat your head in.”
The garage door rumbled closed and Captain Beaumont let out a soft woof.
“Not exactly the drugs I had pictured when the dog sat down,” said Nikki, holding up a hand rolled spliff from where it had been carefully perched next to an array of tools.
“No, but check this out,” said Jackson, pointing to the inside of the fender. Above the wheel, space had been hollowed out and a compartment welded in with a latching door. “There’s one on each side. How much do you think would fit in there? Ten pounds per wheel?”
“Probably, and I’m sorry, what was that you were saying about me being crazy?”
“You are crazy. Apparently, you’re also right. But it’s still ridiculous to go around breaking into places like the Hardy Boys.”
“You’re a Hardy Boy. I’m clearly Nancy Drew.”
“Whatever. Can we go now? I want to get out of here before the drug smugglers come back.”
Nikki nodded and helped lead Captain Beaumont out from under the car. Only when they were safely back in the truck and heading for home, did conversation resume.
“So what do we do now? Call the sheriff?”
Nikki hesitated, and then shook her head. “Even if he believed us which, considering he let Milt go the first time, seems unlikely, he’s going to have a problem with how we found out.”
“That’s because breaking and entering is bad,” said Jackson.
“I’ll keep that in mind. Anyway, we don’t have any proof. So I think the next step is to talk to Donny. Donny already thinks something weird is going down. He said so at the grocery store. He’ll probably be able to use what we found out to bring in state police or something.”
“OK, we’ll talk to Donny on Friday night at the Fernandez shindig,” said Jackson nodding. “But Nikki?”
“Yeah?”
“Can you warn me next time we’re going to engage in illegal activity?”
“Well, there wasn’t supposed to be a ‘we’ this time. You weren’t invited, remember?”
“Yeah, who does usually get invited to these parties? That ‘not boring’ boyfriend of yours?”
“Oh, God no. He disapproves of my adventures even more than you do.” She slowed down to make the turn onto Peg’s property.
“Isn’t that a little bit of a problem in your relationship?”
Nikki squinted out the cracked windshield. “A little bit,” she admitted. “Get out and open the shed door for me, will you?”
Jackson flipped on the light in the shed and held the door while Nikki backed the truck in. She cut the motor and hopped out with Captain Beaumont close on her heels.
“This brings back memories,” said Jackson hoisting one of the inner tubes. “How many hours did we waste floating in the pond?”
“They weren’t wasted,” said Nikki. “They were enjoyed and savored.”
Nikki flipped off the light and stood waiting for her eyes to get accustomed to the moonlight. Jackson helped her wrestle the lock back in place and stood looking down at the peach orchard.
“Race you down to the pond,” he said, looking over his shoulder at her. It was too dark to see his eyes, but she caught the grin.
“I don’t know,” she said, but he was already running, Captain Beaumont at his heels.
Nikki sprinted to catch up. Ahead of her Jackson slithered to a stop on the tiny dock, kicking off his shoes and pulling off his sweatshirt.
“That’s not fair
!” Nikki yelled, as he cannonballed off the end of the dock. “You have less clothes on than I do. And a head start.” She yanked off her shirt and used the seconds Jackson was underwater to unclip her gun and hide it under her jeans.
“You’re just mad because you’re slow,” he said, resurfacing.
Nikki stood on the dock in her underwear, one hand on her hip. “I am not slow. I will beat you to the tree.” She pointed to overhanging oak on the far side of the pond.
“Not a chance,” said Jackson, and dove underwater, starting to swim.
Nikki waited the fraction of a second until he was underwater and then sprinted along the water’s edge. She arrived, gasping for air, but ahead of Jackson.
“Now, who’s cheating?” demanded Jackson.
“I didn’t say I would swim,” said Nikki. “I said I would win. And I did. Although I paid a heavy price. I think I stepped on either a frog or a cow pie back there. I didn’t stop to investigate.”
“Some thing’s are better left a mystery,” agreed Jackson. “You coming in or not?”
In answer, Nikki dove off the bank in a shallow arc. The water was a cool shock and she popped back up with a gasp. There was a splash next to her and Captain Beaumont paddled by with a long stick.
“Never mind the Captain,” said Jackson, swimming closer in a strong butterfly stroke. “He doesn’t really understand that no one wants a giant slimy oak branch.” He pushed against Captain Beaumont, who remained unconvinced and swung his head around, batting at Nikki with the stick.
“Hey,” said Nikki, pushing back, but the branch pushed her against Jackson. The contact of their skin was electric and Nikki found herself staring into his eyes and remembering what it had been like to be in love with him. It had been easy. It seemed like everything had been easier then.
“Hey, yourself,” murmured Jackson.
Nikki knew she shouldn’t. She knew she was probably going to regret it. And she knew she wanted to anyway.
Their lips met and for a moment there was the familiar spark. His hands slid from her waist up her rib cage and for a moment she forgot to kick. The cold water splashed over head and Captain Beaumont jabbed her with his stick.
Jackson pushed Beaumont away, laughing. “We’re not buoyant enough for this. We should head for shore.”
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