My Favorite Suspects: Part 7
Ghost punched Miller in the face again. Miller hung on to Ghost's backpack with one hand and covered up with the other.
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?
A problem with traps is that they're traps. You can't do anything with them once they're set. You certainly can't hang around anywhere near them. I'd taken a risk in checking the cigarette case, making sure the door was still ajar and that the cartons were still there, and afterward I hoped that I hadn't revealed our plan. At that moment, at least, from my vantage point up in the office, it looked like everything was going normally for a Saturday night.
A.J. and Luna had entered the store, along with the others who usually shopped at night, and the night crew. Miller was on the floor, too, getting ready for the next truck to arrive at the dock. Otherwise, I sat in the manager's office on my stool, watching for any movement on the security cameras. Keeping half an eye on the security cameras, really. My brother's case manager had sent me a link to some YouTube videos that were supposed to help me understand his condition, so I had them playing on my phone.
I was cleaning my glasses when I heard raised voices coming from the floor, and then the voices transitioned to shouting. One of the voices was Miller's. Heavy footsteps passed the manager's office. Someone running, followed by another person running. The one-way windows rattled. I tried to put my glasses on quickly and, of course, sent them flying across the office. In the dim light, I'd never see the dark frames on the rug.
Just as well that I'd dropped my glasses. I stayed out of physical conflict as a rule. I couldn't afford to get my glasses repaired. Without them, everything beyond my nose was out of focus.
Then Miller shouted for help.
Squinting, I hustled down the office steps and ran to the entrance. There, I saw two person-shaped blurs.
I recognized Miller by his white shirt and red tie flipped over his shoulder. The other person-shaped blur had to be Ghost.
Miller had grabbed one strap of Ghost's backpack and Ghost held the other strap. They'd both stopped by the line of shopping carts at the main entrance. The backpack hung in the air between them.
They paused, breathing heavily, unsure of what to do.
Ghost threw a fist and snapped Miller's head back. Miller cried out. I thought about A.J. He'd been in the Army. He probably had a good punch. Then I remembered Luna saying she practiced Krav Maga. She'd have a solid punch, too.
Ghost punched Miller in the face again. Miller hung on to Ghost's backpack with one hand and covered up with the other.
I jogged toward them.
Everyone imagines how they'll respond to violence. They imagine they'll see it coming, like they might see a car approaching an intersection. Nobody imagines, for example, a fist suddenly appearing in front of their nose. I certainly didn't.
That's exactly what happened.
I froze. By luck, Ghost's fist missed. I was working on a plan when a person-blur passed on my right. I recognized the dairy clerk's voice and his dark blue apron. The dairy clerk grabbed Ghost's arm before another punch could be thrown.
The action unfroze me. I dove in, making a football tackle, sweeping out Ghost's legs. The muscles felt like taut ropes. We all fell to the floor. I wrapped my arms around the legs and got a nose full of fear sweat. Ghost wriggled and twisted, carrying Miller, the dairy clerk, and me toward the door. Up close, thanks to my nearsightedness, the identity of Ghost appeared in stages:
Running shoes.
Drawstring casual pants.
Hoodie.
Bling watch.
"Why you chasing me?" Ghost said.
I recognized the voice.
It was A.J.
"Why you runnin'?" Miller said, panting from the effort of trying to keep A.J. on the ground.
"I wasn't. I only came in for cigarettes."
"Sure. You just forgot to pay for them, right?"
“You didn’t give me a chance to pay. You ran after me.”
"Shut up," Miller said, and ground A.J.'s face against the floor.
A cop entered the store. I recognized the uniform. I didn't think about it then, but the response time was amazing. He'd have to have been nearby. The cop crouched down, snatched the nearest wrist, and slapped a handcuff on it.
"Not me," Miller said. "The other guy."
The cop swapped out the wrist for another.
A.J. said, "Get off me!"
Success. The cop waved us off and we sprang away as if A.J. were a wounded tiger.
But after we rolled off him, A.J. lay there, groaning, his limbs at odd angles, like a toppled-over statue.
"You didn't give me a chance," he said weakly.
The cop helped him up.
"Tell him, brother," A.J. said to me. "Tell him I didn't steal the cigs."
I didn't respond.
"You're like everyone else," A.J. called back to me as the cop led him out. "You think you're a player but you're gettin' played."
I knelt on the floor in shock, not sure what to do.
Is Miller right? I thought. Is A.J. really Ghost?
Miller tapped my shoulder. "Where are your glasses? Did he break them?"
"No. I dropped them in the office."
He laughed, and, I assumed, smiled. "Nice takedown for a blind guy. I thought you'd be worthless."
I pushed myself to my feet. "I'm not totally blind, I'm—"
"Whatever. Still impressive, though," Miller said, walking away, maybe holding his hand against his face. It was hard to tell.
After I retrieved my glasses, I checked the floor and started picking up the loose packs. I'd expected at least a carton. I only found four packs. They'd been crushed in the fight.
I washed my face in the bathroom and felt scratches on my arms. Even after I washed, I could still smell his sweat on my clothes.
I revisited the fight again in my mind. The fist appearing in front of my face. The rough fabric under my fingers, and beneath that, straining muscles. A.J.'s voice, as plainly as I'd heard it in his mother's garage.
Had A.J. really been Ghost all along?
And if he was Ghost, then why did he only try to steal four packs? Why not four cartons? Or more?
I remembered A.J. sitting on the motorcycle in the garage and lighting up a cigarette. I remembered him saying, "Everyone's hiding something."
The store's public address system crackled and Miller's voice summoned me to the office—right now.
Inside the office, Miller sat at the desk, cradling the left side of his face with a bag of ice. He pecked at his computer keyboard with the index finger of his free hand.
"Cops want our statements," Miller said. "We should probably make sure we agree on details."
I pulled my stool over and sat down. My heart skipped a beat. I didn't want to confront him. I was so close to being on day shift. All I had to do was go along with whatever story he had.
But I couldn't.
"I've got a question," I said.
Miller adjusted the ice and I glimpsed the purple swelling around his eye. I didn't see it earlier, without my glasses. "What?"
"Why did A.J. say he was going to pay for the cigarettes and you'd stopped him?"
Miller waved it away. "He was trying to distract the cops and make it look like we're the ones who jumped him."
"We did jump him."
"You know what I mean," he said tersely. "Look. I saw you hesitate, right before A.J. got in that…" he pointed to his bruised eye. "Got in that lucky shot. Next time, don't hesitate, yeah? Jump right in." He turned back to the computer and returned to his more normal, breezy tone. "It's all good, bro. Good to know you've got my back."
We traded silences. I had the feeling that he wanted me to leave. However, I had one more question.
"Something doesn't add up," I said at the end of a long exhale. "Let's say, for the sake of argument, that Ghost is A.J."
"He is," Miller said, now slowly poking the backspace key with one finger: Delete. Delete. Delete.
"He had four packs on him tonight. Packs, not cartons. How does that add up to the amount of cigarettes we see in the loss prevention reports?"
"Not my problem."
"Here's something else to think about." I placed one of the crushed cigarette packs that I'd recovered after the fight onto Miller's desk. "He didn't have Luxury Kings." I turned the pack over with a flourish, like a fortune teller revealing the face of a Tarot card. "He had Tenets."
Miller didn't look at it. "What's your point?"
"I'm getting to that. We've got two suspects: Luna and A.J. Luna uses cigarettes for part of her business. A.J. smokes but he's trying to quit. But nicotine is addictive, and he needed a fix."
"Still not following you."
"I'm getting there. We barely move any Tenets compared to Luxury Kings, right? So here's what I've been thinking: Ghost needs to move a big inventory each month. He can't be caught with the stuff on hand. If I were going to move a large amount of stolen cigarettes every month, I would take the Luxury Kings because I could sell them fast. I wouldn't have to hang on to them for long. Hell, I could probably move them right off the truck in the loading dock. With Tenets, I'd have to stash them somewhere, and risk them being discovered."
"Still waiting for your point."
"My point is," I said, tapping the pack, "A.J. took four packs of Tenets from an unlocked case. If he was Ghost, and he had access to the entire case, why didn't he take four cartons of Luxury Kings?"
Nothing from Miller.
"Why didn't he take all the cartons?"
"Because he's an idiot?"
"No. Because he's not Ghost."
"Fine," Miller said without enthusiasm. "Why don't you tell me who you think is Ghost."
"There's only one person who's got unrestricted access to all areas of the store, including the loading dock. There's only one person who's got authority to change locks and cameras. That's you." I took a breath. "Why aren't there any cameras covering the dock?"
"You ruled everyone out except the regulars, remember? Besides," he said, checking his watch, "what possible motive could I have?"
Checking his expensive watch.
"I ruled out employees," I said. "I didn't look at managers."
"Did you investigate yourself?" He shoved the keyboard across the desk. "Who's to say that you aren't Ghost?"
"Because I don't have a motive. I want to get on days, remember? You said it yourself: catch Ghost and I'll put you on days. If I'm Ghost, how's that gonna happen?"
Miller's tie slowly dropped from his shoulder. He tried to flip it back, but it wouldn't stay in place. Defeated, he let it hang loose.
"Let's hear your idea," he said, almost a growl. "Bro."
"How frequently do you go to Sabres games?"
"Not as often as I'd like."
"Where'd you get that watch? I'll bet it's not from Target."
"You're getting close to insubordination," Miller said, pulling the cuff of his sleeve over the watch's thick stainless steel body. He looked worried and weary, far more than I'd expect from the simple stress of the fight with A.J. He looked like something had been weighing on him for a long time.
Then, to my surprise, he slowly sat up, and flipped his tie back over his shoulder. This time it stayed in place.
"I understand, bro." He sounded brighter. "Don't worry. I still think of you as a friend. And guess what? I got a text a little while ago." He put down the ice pack and held up his phone. "It's Corporate. They're happy I caught the shoplifter."
"They're wrong. A.J.'s not Ghost. He doesn't check all the boxes."
"You're not getting it. I caught someone. See? That's all that matters to Corporate. Doesn't matter who I catch. I only need to catch a person. And whatever you're thinking, it doesn't matter. Everything points to A.J."
I spun the pack around with the tip of my finger, trying to find a way out of his argument.
I couldn't.
Miller was right.
I also understood what Luna had said, earlier: I was naive. I'd accused Miller of a crime without any evidence. What did I expect? That he'd confess and turn himself in?
A lopsided smile spread on the unbruised half of his face. "Don't take this the wrong way, bro," he said, "but I gotta let you go. Empty out your locker. HR will contact you on Monday."
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