Jammed

by Deany Ray

  A look of amusement flashed across his eyes. He stared. “Or you will what?”

  “I’ll expose you. I’ll tell everyone that you’re not here to cook. I’ll tell them what you really are – that you’re an undercover cop.”

  That got his attention away from his damned onion. He looked up, but then his eyes shot across the room.

  Just then I heard a clatter. I turned to see a wide-eyed Marge staring at the two of us with an empty tray. She was too shocked to pay attention to the food and broken grass piled around her feet.

  I guessed somebody would be waiting a little longer for their fried green tomatoes and their meatloaf sandwich with a side of mashed potatoes.

  Chapter Seven

  We froze in place, then it was Marge who finally spoke. “Alex is a cop?” Each word rose in pitch until the last one was a squeak.

  Crap.

  Alex glared at me. I’d really blown it big time. Although it wasn’t all my fault. Like Alex was the only one entitled to know what was going on! But this wouldn’t make the captain very eager to send me out on another case.

  Marge set down her tray and moved toward me. “This is so exciting.” She clasped her hands together as if this were all a treat with nothing at all to do with illegal drugs and bodies. Then she leaned in confidentially. “So. What’s the story here? Undercover? Whoa!”

  She was giggling and he was glaring when Celeste walked in. She looked down at the puddles of food and drink mingling on the floor. “People! What the hell?”

  “I just found out!” Marge squealed. “Alex is a cop!”

  Thank you, Marge, I thought. Scream it as loudly as you can so the dining room can hear.

  Alex closed his eyes and muttered something to himself, then he swept an arm angrily across the counter, sending a pile of utensils clattering into the sink.

  The commotion brought my father. Great. He looked startled to see me there. Then he looked down at the food that had spilled from the tray. “What’s going on?” he asked.

  No one could think of an easy answer. My father looked from one face to another. Alex seethed, Marge beamed, Celeste furrowed her brow in thought, and I tried hard not to cry.

  “Well, I’m sorry to interrupt your little pow wow.” My father sighed. “But the customers are hungry. And it looks like someone needs to grab a mop. And make another meatloaf plate.” He studied the mess on the floor. “At least, that looks like meatloaf. It’s selling well today.” He continued to stare at the globs of food and the colorful streaks of sauce. “Looks like a Jackson Pollock. Ha.” His booming laugh echoed in the room as he grabbed a couple of plates of food to take out to customers.

  After he had left, Celeste grabbed a tray and some napkin-wrapped utensils. Then she gave me a look. “I need to get to work. I need my paycheck bad. But later we need to talk. Because this girl has some questions.” She put some orders on the tray.

  Marge stared at Alex, still in shock.

  “I thought something might be up when I saw you two at the dumpster.” Celeste still held my eye as she backed up toward the exit to the dining room. Holding the loaded tray with both hands, she pushed the door open with her backside.

  “A cop!” Marge squeaked out again, this time even louder like she was some damned town crier with a waitress uniform and a mouse-like voice.

  I put my finger to my mouth. “It’s supposed to be a secret. You know – undercover?” Sheesh. “I’ll talk to you later, okay? I have to run some errands.” Not that I could think of a single errand at the moment, but there were a million places that I’d rather be than right there in that room.

  “I want every single detail.” Marge practically skipped as she moved toward the closet where they kept the brooms and mops. “Later, sugar!” she called out.

  Alex grabbed my arm. “That’s right. Later, sugar.” He shot me a menacing look. “You let this thing go, you hear? You get out of town right now. Or later, sugar, you’ll deal with me.” He turned away to lean against the counter with both hands, letting out a heavy sigh. “Nosy, interfering woman.”

  Nosy interfering woman? What kind of thing was that to say to a fellow cop…or police secretary? Asshole! “Who put you in charge of me?” I asked. “I guess I missed that memo.” I stormed out the door.

  In the calm of the parking lot, I started up my engine and pondered my next move. But I’d figured one thing out at least. As soon as Alex ordered me to leave town, I decided I would stay. But what to tell the captain? He was expecting me today. I picked up my cell.

  Of course, even if I followed orders and went back to Boston now, the captain was about to be super pissed at his newest spy. Alex would report me to the chief in Springston as soon as he could. And then word would spread to my boss…

  I put down my cell. I couldn’t call him now. I didn’t want to hear his voice, all friendly and protective, while knowing my stupid temper had thrown a huge wrench in the case. I checked my glove compartment. Where was a cookie when you needed one?

  I turned my mind to the case. When I did speak with the captain, it would really help if I had somehow managed to unearth some amazing clue. So sorry for the screw up, but look! I found a lead!

  My mind turned to Hector Elkins. Perhaps he was my key. If it was just a minor charge, he might be out on bail. And even a minor charge could be linked to an operation like the cocaine deal. Or could it? I pushed my glasses off my nose. What the hell did I know about the business of cocaine? All I wanted was a cookie. And maybe a movie too. (Romance! No guns!) And a tub of buttered popcorn. But I had work to do.

  I called information and – Voilà! They had a Hector Elkins listed here in Springston. The woman gave me an address, not far from the skating ring where I once had a birthday party. I’d heard it was no longer the best and safest part of town, but maybe it was the place that held a key to getting this case solved.

  And that key would be unearthed by me, one Charlie Cooper, sleuth extraordinaire in her debut case.

  ***

  The apartment building was unkempt, all peeling paint and ancient bricks. There was litter everywhere, and weeds choked the small attempt to add a few flowers, a little bit of color to the landscape. But who was I to judge? I pretty much had signed a lease on the cheapest place that I could find.

  I made my way up the narrow staircase to search for apartment number seven. It was only then that I wondered if it was wiser to knock or to run the hell away. As my mother used to say when she gave me the dating talk, this Hector was probably not exactly the “fine, upstanding man from a lovely family” that I wanted to add to my circle of friends. Of course, my mother would add a “nice ass” to the checklist – just before I fled the room in horror.

  Now I pictured myself as the star of the kind of reality TV show I sometimes watched at night. A grainy picture of my face flashed across the screen while the announcer told my story in an eerie tone. “Someone said they spotted her at the Mansour Road Apartments on the other side of town. But what business would she have there? Will we ever know how Charlie Cooper met her end? Where did she meet her killer on that sunny day in July?”

  Then I pictured myself stuck forever in another kind of horror show: living the rest of my days in an apartment very much like this, the same sucky life day after day unless there was something great on at the movies or maybe a two-for-one sale in the bakery aisle.

  I knocked on the door. Soon I heard footsteps, then the sound of a series of locks being opened one by one. Finally, a door creaked open very slowly. Sometimes when I get really scared, my first reaction is to throw up. Which is really not the best trait for a detective assigned to major crimes.

  But it wasn’t Hector’s door. An old woman peeked warily out of the apartment next to his. “Can I help you?” she asked me.

  “I’m looking for Hector,” I told her when I could finally breathe.

  “Oh, he must be at work. He got that new job, don’t you know? Once they let him out, he found work pretty quickly.” She
shut the door a little more and talked to me through a tiny crack. I guess she thought that any friend of Hector might be up to trouble.

  “I’d love to talk to him,” I said quickly before she could shut the door right in my face. “Do you know where he works?”

  “I think he must be over at the food plant; he got a job loading those big trucks. And, just so you know, I don’t keep a lot of money. There’s nothing here worth robbing.” I could hear the fear in her voice. Imagine that: scared of Charlie Cooper. Then she turned the locks.

  ***

  I knew where Hudson’s Foods was, just outside of town. It was a grocery distribution center. I’d often see their big trucks on the interstates and imagine the bread and cakes and ice cream that were packed tightly inside the trailers, heading off to stores.

  Once I got to Hudson’s, I drove around to the back where I could see big trucks lined up to get their loads. That must be where Hector was. I made a mental note to tell my brother that he should look here for a job. When my mother had tried to rouse him from his television stupor just the day before, he’d gone into his litany of whines: no one in town was hiring, people were too picky, it was just so hard.

  How picky could these people be? If Hector could get hired fresh out of jail, I thought my brother might have a chance to put down his remote control and get the heck to work.

  A sign in the loading area warned ‘Truck Parking Only. Others Will Be Towed.’ So I turned around. The main parking lot was full. This was quite the busy place. I had to park two blocks away in an abandoned shopping center.

  Ten minutes later, I’d made it back to the loading dock where I noticed a small office located to the side. Maybe someone there could point me to my subject. Might as well start talking like I was a real police cop. A woman behind the desk typed something onto a computer as she took a long drag on a cigarette. She took her sweet time with her typing before finally looking up. “Hey, hon. What do you need?”

  “I’d like to talk to Hector Elkins.” And what exactly would I ask him? I made a mental note to plan a little ahead next time.

  “They can’t talk, hon, while they’re working. You’re gonna have to wait until he takes a break.” She gave me a weary look. “We’ve told them that’s the rule. And to let their girlfriends know.”

  “Oh. He’s not my…” Just then the door swung open. Several men walked in and headed toward the drink machine.

  The woman watched them enter. “Well, it’s your lucky day, I guess. Your sweetie’s on his break.”

  “Great.” Then I leaned down and whispered, “Could you please point him out?”

  “You’re kidding, right? You don’t know which one is yours? How long have you been dating him? You, young girls, keep changing boyfriends now like I change my socks.”

  “He’s not my boyfriend. Eww!” Which didn’t sound super professional like I was going for, so I tried again. “Hector and I have never met. I just need to speak with him a moment.”

  “Alrighty, then.” She shrugged. “He’s the tall one in the middle. With the slicked back hair.”

  Hector was already heading out the door. I had to think of something quick. Who would he want to talk to? Maybe someone who was involved in a little business that had nothing to do with groceries or loading up a truck?

  “Hey Hector,” I called out. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

  Startled, he turned around. Then he looked suspicious. Suspicion quickly turned to anger. “Who the hell are you?” he yelled.

  Well. Wasn’t he a charmer?

  I lowered my voice and moved in a little closer. “I was sent by them.”

  He stared at me, confused.

  I gave him a look that I hoped was filled with meaning. Kind of like they sometimes did in movies. “The organization,” I told him, pronouncing the last word very, very slowly. “They sent me with a message.”

  He looked around to see who might be listening, but nobody seemed to be paying attention to us. For the second time that day, a man looked at me like he would love nothing more than to break my neck. “I don’t talk to nobody but Mickey,” he said, getting right up in my face. “Why are they sending some amateur chick to tell me what to do? I don’t play that way.”

  Amateur chick? What the heck? I’d add that to the list of insults I’d been racking up. The really creepy bad guy didn’t have any more faith in me than the stuck up cop who was supposed to be on my side.

  As I walked back to my car, I mulled over how I might change my game: develop a little more gravitas, command some more respect, approach people in such a way that they’d spill out all the information I could ever want to know. Next time I’d channel Celeste who would stick her painted nails up into the jerk’s face and demand to get an answer.

  I knew where Elkins worked now. And the good news was that he was still dealing drugs – with some dude named Mickey. I had a brand new name! And maybe he and Mickey were part of the cocaine deal. I bet Alex didn’t know that. Ha. So I had made progress. I just needed a new approach to make Elkins want to talk some more.

  As I got close to my Corolla, something just seemed…off. Why was it low to the ground like that? What was going on?

  And that’s when I realized with a chill that someone had been watching. And that all four tires were slashed.

  Chapter Eight

  I tried hard not to panic, but swear words I didn’t think I knew burst like fireworks through my brain.

  Let’s review the situation: I’d just pissed off a druggie thug. I was stuck, without a working car, in a dilapidated part of town with no one else in sight (You know, in case someone tried to kill me). And I wasn’t fooling myself that the deflated tires were just a random crime. This was a message meant for me. This was another warning. What might be coming next?

  In my head, I heard the captain’s voice. See, Charlie? Told you so. You need to come on home. That made me even madder. But how stupid was that, really? To get all worked up over something you imagine someone saying? The real captain would be nicer. But also pretty pissed if I was a no-show in the morning.

  I stared down at my tires. If I ran home scared like a little girl, that means the jerks would win. But whether to stay or go was not the question of the moment. The first thing to decide was how to get myself out of that scary parking lot. Was the vandal still close by? Did he have a gun? I felt like throwing up. Who knew a sleuth would need a barf bag? Or some Tums at least. My heart was in my chest, which I was pretty sure was something a detective was not supposed to feel.

  But there was more. By closer inspection, I noticed a piece of paper folded neatly and tucked behind the windshield wipers. I was almost scared to read it, but I opened it and looked. The message was scrawled in messy cursive.

  Go Away! Or you’ll be sorry. The next warning won’t be pretty.

  “Deep breath, Charlie,” I told myself. “Take a deep breath and think. Just get yourself to somewhere safe.”

  I couldn’t call my family. They would absolutely flip. What was I supposed to say? Someone slashed my tires. And I’m really scared. Because it’s probably the same person who shot a guy in the head not too long ago.

  I got into my front seat and scrolled through my cell phone contacts. Then I found one that surprised me. Marge. When had she put her information in my cell? It had probably happened on the glorious night I became a limbo queen. The way I was throwing drinks down, she probably thought that I was someone who might have an occasion to call for help one day while I was in town.

  And she would be right.

  She answered right away. “Hey, hon.”

  “Any chance you could come and get me? I’m having a…” How could I explain? “There’s a little trouble with my car.”

  “Sure, let me close my last few tables out, then I can probably leave. My shift ends in twenty minutes, but we’re kind of slow. So I might head out sooner.” She laughed. “If I’m rescuing Jack’s daughter, he’d be hard pressed to complain. Where do I need to co
me?”

  I wanted to tell her to hurry. But that would require more explanation than I was prepared to give. “Oh, and don’t mention this to Dad if you wouldn’t mind. He’s always telling me to take better care of my car.”

  “Got you, sugar. I understand.”

  I gave her directions and told her I’d see her in a bit.

  While I waited, I tried to distract myself by playing games on my cell phone. But my thoughts wandered to the bad guys who might be lurking at that moment, watching my every move.

  And what on earth had happened to my hometown? I’d seen several smashed-out windows in the abandoned stores nearby. And on my walk to the loading dock, I’d passed one sign after another admonishing people not to leave valuables in the car. Signs on the store windows in this part of town warned that the insides were monitored by security cameras. Not that the signs were needed now. The store owners, it seemed, had all packed up and fled.

  I guess we’d always had our bad guys, but I couldn’t remember hearing about a single crime when I was growing up. Well, maybe the occasional shoplifting at the grocery store. Of course, there was the time that my great aunt Betty reported the theft of her brand new Impala. But it turned out that she was wrong. She’d forgotten all about leaving her car parked at church when she went to lunch with friends after the Sunday service.

  My friends and I acted as if everyone in Springston could be trusted absolutely. We’d run into a store and leave our purses in the car. There they’d be as plain as day with the windows opened wide to catch the breeze. Which I guess was kind of stupid. Although we never had a problem. Springston was a town where everyone behaved.

  It seemed like things had really changed, and that was scary.

  An hour later, Marge pulled up beside my car with Celeste staring at me, curious, from the passenger seat. Marge was sweating as she got out. “Sorry, hon. So sorry! The traffic was a bear.” Then she noticed the four slashed tires. “What on earth?”