And before he could share his thoughts, motion caught our eyes. A car was coming toward us, or, rather, a black SUV, similar to Vinny's but not quite. They all looked alike to me. As it passed, I caught a glimpse of the driver.
It was Lin Rodriguez.
We watched as she honked her horn twice and the gate on the other side of the road swung wide to let her in. The SUV turned a corner to the left and disappeared.
''We have to get in there,'' Vinny said.
Damn straight.
I pulled the Taurus up a little farther and parked, rolled up the window, grabbed my bag, and got out of the car. Vinny was two steps ahead of me.
''What're we going to do?'' I asked.
''We can make it up as we go along.''
Sounded like a plan to me.
We walked across the street toward a short, squat, gray building. The New Haven Terminal building was just to our right, and this one, with the gate Lin and Sam had both gone through, was to our left, looking like sort of an afterthought as the United Illuminating terminal hugged its fence a little too closely, like a blind date who wouldn't get a fucking clue. There was no sign on it; it was fairly nondescript, painted gray, with no windows—on our side at least—and a couple of glass doors up a few steps from the street.
I had an idea.
''Do you have your camera with you?'' I asked Vinny.
He frowned. ''How do you know I have a camera?''
''You're a private dick, aren't you?''
He grinned and went back to the SUV. I watched as he pulled a big camera out of the backseat. It was one of those fancy, high-tech digital cameras I've seen at Circuit City. Me, I like to just point and shoot.
While he got the camera, I dug in my bag for my notebook and a pen. When I had them, I went to the Taurus, unlocked it, shoved the bag under the front seat, locked up the car for a second time, and put the keys in my pocket.
''What sort of story are you going to say you're working on?'' he asked as we crossed the street.
I liked it that he was quick—well, as long as it was only in the sense that he could pick up where I was going with this. ''I'm not sure. I'll think of something.''
The closer we got, the clearer I could see small frosted letters on the glass door: EAST SHORE TERMINAL. At least I had a little something to work with.
We climbed the steps and pushed the door open.
I was first surprised that the door actually opened without having to ring a bell; second, the security guard who jumped out in front of us scared the shit out of me.
''What's your business?'' he growled, demanding this of Vinny. Obviously he considered Vinny in charge because he was a man. That pissed me off.
''I need to see whoever's in charge,'' I said loudly, forcing him to take his eyes off Vinny and study me for a second.
''Why?''
The rumor about the scrap metal theft at the port popped into my head. ''I'm Annie Seymour with the Herald. We're doing a story about the missing scrap metal down here at the port. How much has been stolen from East Shore?''
Vinny's eyebrows rose slightly and a smile played at the corners of his lips. I concentrated on the guard, because I couldn't keep looking at Vinny or I'd give us away.
The security guard, whose name tag branded him as SPRINGER, stared me down. ''How do you know about that?''
I actually had a story here. Go figure. Maybe Marty would let me write about it now. ''I can't reveal my source,'' I said conspiratorially. ''But I thought someone here might want to go on the record.''
The guard shifted his gaze from me to Vinny. ''Who's he?''
''My photographer. We hoped we could get some pictures down at the dock, you know, to illustrate the story.'' I was going to hell for all these lies, but then again, I didn't exactly believe in hell, so it shouldn't be a problem.
He bit his lip. ''Not sure about that, but let me see if someone can talk to you.'' He moved away from us, went behind a tall security desk, and picked up a phone. Vinny and I took the opportunity to check out our surroundings.
It was a very small, plain room, about as interesting as the building's exterior, done up in early concrete. A huge bulletin board was stuck to a wall to our left, with all sorts of union and policy memos dangling from thumbtacks. I itched to go over and take a closer look, but Springer's eyes never left us as he spoke softly into the receiver.
A door was behind him, but there was no window so I couldn't tell what was going on in the rest of the building.
Springer put the phone down. ''Mr. Hartley will be here in a moment.'' His face scrunched up like he was pissed that someone would actually deign to speak with us. If he smiled, he might actually be good looking in a Vin Diesel sort of way.
Within seconds, the door swung open, and a short, bald man with a really bad comb-over sped into the room. His eyes were darting all around, resting on me for only about a nanosecond before seeing Vinny, then swinging back over to me. It was a little disconcerting.
''Miss Seymour?'' he asked.
I nodded. ''Mr. Hartley?''
He held out his hand, first to me and then to Vinny. ''Roger Hartley. I'm the manager here. Come back to my office.''
Springer didn't give us another glance as Hartley whisked us out into the hall and into an office that was only slightly more warm than the concrete foyer. Hartley went around behind a metal desk overpowered by an old Compaq computer, file folders, piles of papers, and an overturned pencil holder that bled pens and markers. He indicated we were to sit across from him in two straight-backed chairs. A couple of metal bookshelves completed the decor, spilling over with blueprints and three-ring notebooks stuffed with even more paper.
An IBM Selectric typewriter rested on a side table next to Hartley's desk, possibly a backup to the ancient computer. It was worse than at the Herald, if that was possible.
''Mr. Hartley,'' I began, ''you wouldn't by chance be willing to show us around the dock, would you? I've heard about the scrap metal thefts here, and I'd like to be able to get a real picture of what it's like out there and how someone could get in.''
Hartley shook his head back and forth so fast he looked like a bobblehead doll. ''I'm sorry, my dear'' —I cringed, but said nothing—''but the police are aware of the situation, and we shouldn't put anything in the paper that could encourage any more problems.''
He had a point, but that wasn't what I was here for, although this could be a good story, too.
''We thought we saw the acting police chief drive
in just before us,'' Vinny said. I shot him a look, but he ignored me. ''Is he investigating?''
Hartley gripped a pencil and, even though his expression stayed neutral, I could see his knuckles grow white. He was going to lie. Big-time.
''Yes, he's investigating,'' he said. ''That's right.''
''What about the bees?'' I asked. ''Are they using your dock to test the bees?''
His face turned white now. Another thing I wasn't supposed to know. ''I—I don't know what you mean,'' he stammered.
I nodded conspiratorially. ''Oh, Mr. Hartley, we know about the bomb-sniffing bees. We're doing a separate story about that next week. I just thought I would ask about that while I was here.''
''A story?'' He didn't like that idea at all.
''Oh, yes.'' I paused. ''You know, Mr. Hartley, if we could go out there and see how it works, that would be great for the story.''
''But, well, you need to talk to—''
''The police chief?'' Vinny interrupted. ''Yes, and since he's here, maybe you can just ask—''
''I can't do that,'' Hartley said, jumping up. ''Listen, I don't know what you're looking for, but I can't give it to you.'' Beads of sweat had formed on his forehead and were threatening to drip down into his eyebrows. ''I have to ask you to leave. Now.''
Vinny stood up, and I followed suit. Something was making this little guy nervous, and I had a feeling it was more than the bees, or even the scrap metal theft.
''How much scrap me
tal has disappeared?'' I asked.
He licked his lips and ran a hand over his head, disturbing the wisps of sparse hair. ''I can't talk about it.'' Hartley stared at me, and for a second I thought he was going to say something else, but finally he said, ''You have to leave.''
I nodded. I'd tried. ''Okay, Mr. Hartley.''
There was no way we could see out to the dock—
there were no windows—so Vinny and I allowed Hartley and then Springer to see us to the front steps. The rain dripped down on us, not unlike Hartley's sweat.
''He's scared about something,'' I said.
''Yeah, but what?'' Vinny asked. He grinned. ''You were good in there.''
''It's a gift,'' I said.
We went down the stairs, but as we were about halfway across the road, we heard a creaking and a whirring behind us. The gate was opening, and the green Honda was barreling right toward us.
Chapter 34
Vinny grabbed me around the waist, dropping the camera, and pulled me out of the path of the car. We landed on the sandy ground with a thud as the car careened past, me on top of Vinny. I heard him grunt.
''I don't weigh that much,'' I muttered.
''It's my back,'' he groaned, then saw the smashed camera. ''Goddamn.''
I pulled myself up, noticing that Springer was watching us through the door.
''What the fuck's his problem?'' I asked. ''Didn't he see that?''
Vinny was sitting, assessing the damage to the camera. ''Why the hell would Sam O'Neill try to run us down?'' he asked.
''How do we know it was Sam?'' I asked. ''Marisol could be driving. Or Hector. Sam could still be back there, with Lin.''
I eyed the gate, which was still open. Springer was no longer standing sentry at the door. I glanced at Vinny as the gate started to slowly close. He was watching it, too.
''How fast are you?'' he asked, the camera forgotten, as we both got up at the same time and ran toward the gate.
Vinny got there first, so he had more room. I felt the gate start to press on my shoulder as I squeezed through, gasping for breath.
''There are probably cameras here,'' I whispered.
Vinny nodded, leading me to the edge of the building. We hugged it as we crept along it, going toward the back, toward the dock.
As we reached the corner, we surveyed the landscape. Wide, white fuel-storage tanks, six or seven stories high at least, were to our right. Because of their girth, I couldn't see how many there were, but I counted three right in front of us. It looked like there were several more behind them. To our left, beyond a small driveway, piles of scrap metal rose above us, and a crane hovered overhead, a long piece of metal dangling in its hook. The driveway seemed to lead down to the dock, where a freighter sat silently, its black hull a sharp contrast to the white tanks nearby.
We didn't see any people.
''Why isn't anyone here?'' I whispered. ''Isn't today a workday?''
''Maybe Hartley gave everyone the day off.''
Right. For the bees. Because why the hell else would Lin Rodriguez be here? And God knew the bees were a fucking secret. Until David Welden's story. Or mine.
I saw movement farther down, between the piles of scrap metal. How the hell did Hartley know any was missing? Seemed like there was plenty. I started toward one of the piles, but Vinny pulled me back.
He pointed up. On the back of the building, a camera was focused on the area I was headed for. I nodded. ''Okay, but how do we get over there?''
As I spoke, a back door swung open and Hartley ran down a few steps and disappeared behind one of the piles.
But instead of heading toward the dock, we saw him go past the scrap metal and toward the crane. We held our breath, wondering what we should do next, and as we waited, a roar filled our ears.
''Fuck,'' Vinny muttered. ''He's started the crane.''
He grabbed my arm. ''Come on,'' he shouted and we ran down between the scrap metal and the fuel tanks, not caring about the camera anymore as the hook reached closer.
I heard a crash and stopped, staring. The huge piece of metal was hanging precariously over our heads.
''Run, Annie!'' Vinny shouted, and he didn't have to tell me again.
We raced toward the freighter as the metal slammed onto the ground where we'd just stood.
Lin Rodriguez's SUV was parked just at the beginning of the dock. A couple of boxes were toppled on the ground next to it, and even from where we were I could see the swarms of bees hovering.
But stopping wasn't an option. The crane was coming toward us, a larger piece of metal in its claw now. What the hell had possessed us to do this?
We veered around the side of the SUV where the bees hadn't congregated and found ourselves on the dock next to the freighter. Suddenly the whine of the crane ceased, and we stopped, watching the metal swing back and forth like a pendulum over Lin's SUV.
''What's going on?'' I whispered between deep breaths.
Vinny shook his head. But before he could say anything, Lourdes stepped out in front of us.
She had a gun in her hand.
Chapter 35
Vinny was in front of me, facing me, as we lay on the ground, our hands bound together with duct tape.
''If we weren't in trouble, this might be fun,'' he quipped.
''Fuck you,'' I mumbled, but my heart wasn't in it. We were seriously screwed.
Lourdes was Lucille. The crewman who provided the duct tape called her Lucille before she slapped him upside the head with the gun. Without a word, she had herded us toward the freighter, up the gangplank, and along the walkway to the back of the ship.
I don't know much about ships or freighters, but she seemed to know her way around. Enough to grab two crewmen who didn't even blink as she asked them to take us ''to the room'' as she continued to hold the gun on us.
The ''room,'' such as it was, was little more than a deep closet with piles of blankets inside.
At least we weren't on bare floor.
All Lourdes said before she left us there was, ''This should teach you that you shouldn't ask questions.''
Hell, it was my fucking job to ask questions. She'd been cleaning my mother's house long enough to know who I was and what my job was about.
She'd shut the door after her, bathing us in darkness. I could see a little crack of light under the door, but that was it. All I could hear was that crane. I was trying to come to grips with the fact that my mother's cleaning lady was the mastermind behind the counterfeit green card operation. Jesus, what a great cover.
But what did she need to clean houses for if she was making a mint off the illegal immigrants?
I felt Vinny's breath on my cheek.
''You didn't think to bring your gun?'' I asked.
''Lapse in judgment. What can you do?''
Crying over the proverbial spilled milk wouldn't do much good now.
''What do you think they're going to do with us?'' I asked.
He didn't say anything, but I could feel his hands moving beneath the tape, pulling on my wrist.
''It's tight,'' I said.
''No shit,'' he muttered, but his heart wasn't in it, either.
Our hands and feet were tied together. To each other.
''You don't think they're going to dump us in the harbor?'' I asked, thinking about the floater last week, the guy who'd started all this. While I wanted to spend more time with Vinny, I hadn't made up my mind that I wanted to spend eternity with him yet.
I felt his legs moving against mine.
''Jesus, Annie, can you help?'' he barked.
''Shut up,'' I whispered as I started moving my hands and feet against his.
The tape was fucking tight. I knew without looking that my stitches had come out, but there was so much of me in pain right then that I couldn't pinpoint exact spots.
All of a sudden, my hands were very close to Vinny's crotch.
''What are you doing?'' I hissed. ''This isn't the time.''
He chuckled. Actually
chuckled. ''Dammit, Annie, I've got my keys in my front pocket. If we can get them out, maybe we can use one of them to rip the tape.''
He was goddamn MacGyver.
Carefully we made our way to Vinny's pocket. My fingers touched the front.
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