My Favorite Suspects: Part 12
A woman’s voice called out, “Oh! You scared me. I didn’t think anyone would be back here.”
I want to express my appreciation to everyone for being patient while I’ve had to put MFS on the back burner. Aside from the family emergency, in general, I haven’t felt much like writing, in the existential sense that I haven’t seen much point in continuing writing. But, while I was editing this chapter, I went through the previous chapters, and saw the likes and comments. Thanks, everyone, for the support.
In this cozy noir, amateur sleuth Terry Perez revisits his first case in which he investigates a series of crimes at his supermarket. Can he solve the mystery before he loses his job at the store? Who in his circle will turn out to be the criminal?
Use the Previous and Next buttons at the end of each post to navigate through all posts on My Favorite Suspects, or use the Story Guide for an overview of this book and list of all chapters.
I was driving a borrowed-stolen van, wearing borrowed-stolen coveralls, following the flow of traffic on 390 into the suburb of Greece and trying not to break any traffic laws. I never imagined that performing criminal acts required so much adherence to law. Makes sense if you think about it: no point in being caught before you commit the crime you've planned to commit.
I gave myself fourteen minutes until I had to be on the road and headed back to the church parking lot, where I had to return the van to where Luna had dropped me off. That would give me no margin for traffic or any other problem. I had an old Casio watch that I’d found outside the supermarket a few years earlier. The plastic strap was broken but the watch still worked. I used it for an egg timer. I’d brought it with me, since Luna forbade me from taking my personal phone, set a timer on the watch, and slipped it into my pocket.
I made it to the supermarket on schedule. I parked in the lot behind one of the cart corrals, shielding me from direct view by anyone in the store, and opened the paper bag Luna had given me. I kept the air conditioner running. It didn't help much. I felt sweat trickle down my back.
The bag didn't contain the GoPro camera I'd found at Luna's apartment. Instead, it held a round, white plastic device, about ten inches in diameter, that had several slots cut at regular intervals around the outer casing and some official-looking buttons and LED lights on the outside. It looked for all the world like an industrial smoke detector, down to the yellowing of the plastic from age.
I held up the device and carefully peered inside the slots. If I moved it back and forth, I could barely see the outline of a lens behind one of the slots. A camera lens. Then I noticed that the red LED on the front of the device blinked occasionally. It was on.
Twelve minutes.
The doors to the loading dock were closed. I had to go in the front entrance. I moved the van to the no-parking zone, because that’s where all these guys seem to park, opened the doors to the back, and pulled out the stepladder. I found a tool belt next to the ladder and put that on. It had an empty leather pouch large enough for the smoke alarm-camera.
I held the ladder up on my left side as I walked in the main entrance. That would hide my face from the front desk. I couldn’t help myself though. I glanced over at the front desk and made eye contact with the associate behind the desk. She looked to be about forty, judging by the way she carried herself and the crow’s feet, and had black hair in a pixie cut. Had to be the assistant day manager. At our store, that role usually covered the desk. She stood at the Lotto machine with that watching-paint-dry expression of service workers everywhere. There were six customers waiting. An old man, at the head of the line, carefully doled out change from a small purse onto the counter before the pixie-cut woman. He appeared to be paying for the Lotto tickets with pennies. When we made eye contact, I waved casually to the front desk associate and she waved back.
I didn’t recognize her and she didn’t recognize me. So far, so good.
Ten minutes.
I took a shortcut to the loading dock through the Produce section. The dock, as expected for the late afternoon, was empty. I eyeballed where the other smoke detectors were mounted and chose a location that gave a good view of the dock and looked like a logical position for a smoke detector. The detector housing had sticky pads on the back.
Turns out that I didn’t need the ladder after all. Maintenance kept a ladder back there propped up near a stack of pallets.
I clambered up the ladder and stuck the camera/fake detector to the bottom of a steel beam. And hoped for the best. I hopped off the last two steps, folded the ladder, and wiped sweat from my forehead with the back of my sleeve.
Five minutes.
A woman’s voice called out, “Oh! You scared me. I didn’t think anyone would be back here.”
My heart rate shot up.
“Sorry about that," I said. "In a rush today.”
“Hot day for working, huh?”
I took a moment to breathe. “It’s a bad one,” I said, and thankfully my voice didn’t shake. I turned around.
The pixie-cut woman stood there, wearing a short-sleeve blue uniform top and black pants. She’d crossed her arms loosely in front of her in the way that women do, not angrily, but feeling a little guarded. She stood with the air of authority like she owned the place. Reminding me of someone’s mom having caught her kids doing something naughty like finding birthday presents. Heavy set. But with good balance like she played a sport. Maybe college softball. A girl’s softball coach, possibly. She held a fist-sized set of keys on a long lanyard like a medieval mace. The lanyard was camouflage-colored and had a US Army tag on it. If she’d done a hitch it wouldn’t be out of the ordinary. A lot of people in our situation did a hitch. Something to get out of town for a while and see the world and make some money. She had the look of some Army women I knew, and it made sense then: Not a coach, but standing with authority; someone who had done soldiering in the near past. Like AJ. And like AJ, she smoked. She held an unlit cigarette between the first and second fingers of her left hand.
“Especially with those coveralls you’ve got on,” she said.
“We have to wear them. Policy.”
“I hear that. I hate wearing these uniforms. They’re as flattering as a paper bag.” She jangled the keys on the lanyard and said the dreaded words: “Do I know you?”
I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know who she was. Was she management? Was she going to mention this to someone in a report? Would she call the cops?
“I don’t think so,” I said. “I’d remember.” Instantly regretted saying that, because her next words were…
“Where’s our usual guy? Mack. Where’s he?”
“I don’t know anybody named Mack.”
“Seems like you should. I mean, you guys work for the same company.”
“I’m new. I go where I’m told. Still learning the route.”
"It’s just that Mack was here yesterday and he checked all the detectors already. So I’m not sure why you’re here.”
“I go where I’m told,” I said, helplessly, with the feeling of watching a house of cards collapsing.
"Mind hanging out for a few minutes while I call your office?"
"Why do you need to do that?"
"Maybe you're at the wrong store. Just trying to help."
"I'm on a really tight schedule."
"Should only take a jiff.” She started for a phone mounted on the wall by the door.
I froze. It was the first time in my life that I’d contemplated punching a woman. It didn’t seem right. And not only that: I felt like I had to make a career decision about punching my way out of every tight situation or trying to find some other way out that didn’t involve racking up assault charges. As a practical matter, the ladder would slow me down. If I dropped it and ran, I might escape. But then all of this would be lost. And Luna was adamant that I bring back the van with all the pieces. If I ran, Miller would be tipped off, too.
An announcement came over the PA system for the assistant manager. The woman stopped to listen, puzzled. She picked up the receiver from the wall phone and tapped one of the flashing buttons, picking up an outside line.
"This is Dee," she said. Pause. “Yes." She faced me. "He's right here." She held out the receiver for me. "It's your boss," she said, and mouthed the words: she's pissed.
I set the ladder against the wall and took the receiver. All I got out was "Hello?"
And I heard Luna yelling. I had to hold the phone away from my ear because her voice was so loud. Pixie-cut woman winced sympathetically. Luna gave me a full minute of drill-sergeant level ass-chewing. Then she hung up.
I put the receiver back on the wall.
"She like that all the time?" Pixie-cut said.
"She has her moments."
I picked up the ladder and walked quickly through the supermarket, out to the parking lot, to the van.
Nobody followed me but I felt eyes watching me all the way.
Please like this post if you enjoyed reading it. I’d love to hear your comments, too!
Use the Previous and Next buttons at the end of each post to navigate through all posts on My Favorite Suspects, or use the Story Guide for an overview of this book and list of all chapters.
Stay tuned for the next chapter!