Hijack in Abstract (A Cherry Tucker Mystery) (24 page)

Thirty-One

I to
ok Marshall’s advice and shoved through the crowd toward the front door of the Gearjammer. Trucks of all varieties crammed the lot. I had wedged Casey’s Firebird between a Super Duty pickup and a Ram Laramie. A BMW would stick out like a sore thumb. And it did. The small silver car had parked at the edge of the lot behind a gigantic, unhitched Kenworth double sleeper. I slunk into the shadowed corner between the doorway and building.

Streetlights and a full moon brightened the Gearjammer’s parking lot. Curiosity more than fear kept my back glued to the wall and my focus on the Beamer. What was the purpose of watching me? Waiting to find me alone? It found me in odd haunts like here or Max’s, yet I never saw the hatchback around my house. Before the Gearjammer, I had stopped at the farm to snag one of Pearl’s casseroles for Miss Gladys. Had the BMW found me between the farm and the Gearjammer? That was a twenty-five minute drive.

The casserole now rested in a cooler next to the locked box holding my daddy’s old Remington Wingmaster shotgun in the Firebird’s trunk.

Since Miss April’s warning at the Sweetgum Estates, I had taken to carrying the shotgun on my local errands. Forget the diamonds. A firearm is a girl’s best friend. Diamonds won’t do you any good if you can’t defend them from armed robbery.

Unfortunately, a firearm locked in the trunk of Casey’s car didn’t do me any good either.

The door to the Gearjammer banged open, and I jumped. Zach strode out, looking left and right. He pivoted and spotted me.

“I hoped you were already gone,” he said, drawing into my corner. “But I was also afraid they found you.”

“Who found me?” I cleared my throat to take the panic out.

“Couple guys who want to protect their asses,” said Zach, tossing his toothpick to the ground. “They’re waiting behind that big tractor with their tire thumpers.”

“Tire thumpers?”

“Just to scare you, probably.” Zach tipped his hat back. “I overheard some townies talking about it inside. Can’t believe they wouldn’t go out and defend you. What kind of man lets a girl walk into something like that?”

“The kind of men who think I deserve what I get. I don’t want you to get hurt, Zach.”

“Now you’re insulting me.” he yanked on the brim of his hat and grabbed my hand. “Where’s your ride?”

“The Firebird. Second row.”

“Is that the one Cody overhauled? Sweet.”

He guided me toward the rows of trucks. Two men strode out from behind the Kenworth, carrying clubs. The largest man measured his steps by whacking a sawed-off baseball bat into his palm.

“Shit,” said Zach. “They were waiting all right.”

“I’m going to get my gun,” I said. “Will you be okay if I make a run for it?”

“Go.” He waved me behind him.

I darted between the trucks, fumbling with the car key. Squeezing between the Firebird and the huge Laramie pickup, I watched the men approach Zach. My brother’s buddy stood rigidly, his hands held out at his sides.

“Get out of here, rookie,” yelled the large man.

“No, sir,” said Zach.

“We just want to talk to that girl,” said a heavy, older man holding a tire iron. “We want a look at that picture she’s been flashing around.”

“I didn’t recognize the guy in the drawing,” said Zach.

“Why would you, son?” asked the old hand. “Get back to dancing with the ladies. We’ll be just a minute with this one.” He jutted his chin toward me.

I scooted from the narrow alley between the vehicles, rounded the Firebird’s trunk, and jammed the key in the lock. The trunk lid popped open, blocking my view of the men, but I could hear the shuffle of footsteps.

I leaned over, reaching for the gun box. My hands grasped the metal, and I righted myself, hauling the box against the rim of the trunk.

The footsteps moved closer, combining with a scuffle that sounded like shoving. Zach started to argue, and I flinched at the crack of wood on skin. My fingers flew over the tiny combination dials. The box snapped open. My hand grasped polished wood. The gun case fell into the trunk, and I slammed the lid shut. At another crack of smacked wood, I hopped backward, swinging the shotgun onto my shoulder in a practiced arc.

“Hold it right there,” I yelled, squinting through the sight. I trained my eye on the older man who stood before the hood of the Firebird. Behind him, the large man let his baseball bat fall into his palm with a sharp thwack.

The older man bent over, laid his tire iron on the ground, and rose with his hands held in the air. Zach watched him, then lunged to grab the tire iron.

“You want to talk to me?” I said. “Talk. Who was Ernie Pike supposed to meet to hand off his haul? I want the guy’s name in the sketch.”

The old hand shook his head. “Don’t know what you’re talking about, honey.”

“I ain’t your honey,” I said. “I’ve got an elderly woman sucking oxygen through a tube who’s counting on me to find out who murdered her grandson.”

“Her grandson is the one who stood in for Ernie?” asked Old Hand. “Real sorry to hear about him.”

“Doesn’t matter who he was,” I said. “I want the name of the guy who shot him.”

“You tell your old woman that it was a big mistake,” said Baseball Bat. He swung the bat at his side, keeping his eyes on Zach. “The crew was expecting Ernie to stop somewhere else. When they realized it wasn’t Ernie, someone got a little excited.”

“Shut up, idgit,” said Old Hand and spat on the ground.

Baseball Bat swung his club up. “I told you to stop calling me that.”

Old Hand looked over his shoulder at Baseball Bat. At the sight of the raised bat, Old Hand fully turned to face him. “Stop acting like a rookie, and I’ll stop calling you names.”

“Zach,” I called. “Car.”

Zach took a running three steps and slid behind Old Hand and over the hood of the Firebird. He landed in the tight passageway next to the Super Duty truck and held up his free hand.

“Keys,” he said.

I tossed the keys underhand. Zach caught them, still grasping the tire iron. He unlocked the driver’s door, slid inside, and revved the engine. With the gun still mounted on my shoulder, I slipped in the narrow alley between the Super Duty and the Firebird.

Old Hand glanced behind him. “This isn’t over, girl.”

Baseball Bat dropped his club to his side. “Your grandma isn’t getting anything from Ernie or anybody else. Ernie’s not squealing, no matter what. The cops got nothing and so do you.”

“How about Max Avtaikin?” I said. “What’s he got?”

“Who in the hell is Max Avtaikin?” said Baseball Bat.

Old Hand waved to shut him up. “If you’re talking about the Atlanta crew, they won’t be as nice as us. They won’t care about that shotgun either. Think about what happened to that driver, girl. That crew doesn’t ask questions, they shoot first.”

Beside me, the Firebird rolled backward. “Who’s the Atlanta crew?” I said. “Ernie’s with the Atlanta crew? Max Avtaikin, too?”

“Pow pow.” Baseball Bat shot me with his fingers. “Keep your mouth shut and forget about this.”

I stepped away and the Firebird jerked back. The driver door swung open.

“Get in,” said Zach.

I lowered the Remington and dove across his lap. The door hung open as Zach spun the wheel to the left and popped the clutch into first gear. I scrambled off his lap to the passenger seat. Zach floored the accelerator and we jerked forward with the door swinging.

“Grab the wheel,” he said and leaned out to snag the open door’s arm rest.

The door swung shut and he tore through the parking lot. We passed the gigantic Kenworth, bumped out the entrance, and onto the street.

The BMW had taken off during our tussle with the truckers.

After
refusing his plea for a post-scuffle make out session, I dropped Zach at his house and headed northeast, toward Halo, on zigzagging country roads. Now I had Ernie Pike’s attention. I didn’t think a trucker would drive a BMW, but I didn’t want to take chances.

On Max Avtaikin’s street, Luke’s truck remained on stakeout duty. I didn’t wave or stop to talk. He had abandoned Jerell to the system before I could work out a better solution. Instead, I flipped Luke the bird to express my feelings over his disloyalty.

Maybe I should have taken up Zach’s offer, just to tick Luke off.

I whipped the Firebird into the drive before Max’s closed gate and honked. The gate didn’t move. I stomped from the Firebird to the intercom and pressed the talk button.

“Bear,” I said to the intercom. “You’ve got to talk to me. I can tell something’s coming down on you.”

He didn’t respond, but I could feel him listening.

“Do you know Ernie Pike? How about an Atlanta crew who jacks trucks?”

Nothing.

“Know a Sweetgum hustler named Regis Sharp?” I waited. “No? Thought that was a stretch. What about the fact that your SipNZip is stocked from the back of a U-Haul? But Little Anatoly and Sam don’t know you from Adam. I thought that very strange since you’re their employer.”

I swore a growl emanated from the small black box.

I had written the name from Max’s file on the composite sketch. I pulled the drawing from my pocket and checked my scribble. “Do you know an M. Hawkins? You should. They had something to do with your immigration. By the way, I didn’t know you went to Emory. I love the Michael C. Carlos Museum and the Visual Arts Gallery.”

The intercom refused to comment.

“I’m trying to help you. Do you understand? I won’t stop until I know the why and how of your involvement.” I kicked the intercom stand. “Dammit, I don’t like this. I know you didn’t hijack a truck. The blond dude did. I know you didn’t kill Tyrone. What would be the point? You didn’t even know about the hijacking.”

I paused on that thought. “They can’t charge you as an accessory if you didn’t know about the hijacking or the murder. I can attest to that. But according to Luke this is bigger than the hijacking. This has to do with you owning the SipNZip, doesn’t it?”

No reply from the squawk box.

“So maybe you’re organizing hijackings to fill the SipNZip. Maybe you’re a big time crook and just when I started to trust you, your true colors are showing.” I centered my serious expression in the tiny camera. “That goes against my instincts. And instincts are about all I’ve got left.”

Walking away from the camera, I leaned against the gate and stared at the silent box. “I know you think you’re protecting me. I’m so far beyond that. I’m wading through a very dangerous swamp full of trucker gators and tweaker piranhas.”

The rumble of a car motor drew my attention away from the icy reception blowing out of the intercom. Shawna’s Mustang pulled around the Firebird and shone a light on my lean against the gates. She stuck her head out the car window.

“Trolling for handouts?” she said. “Mr. Max doesn’t want any more to do with you than anyone else in this town.”

I pushed off the gate and strolled to her car. “I don’t have your photos.”

“Of course you have them. You think I’d just wait around while you decided what to do with them?”

“If I had the pictures, don’t you think I would have given them to you by now? Or have already used them against you? I’m appealing to your sense of logic here, Shawna.”

“One of you Tuckers will use them,” she sneered. “There’s no doubt in my mind. Maybe you don’t have them, but I’m positive one of you does. And I know you’re the only Tucker who would stop your siblings.”

She tapped her horn three times and the gate swung open. “You bring me those photos and I will stem this tide of hatred against you. I can turn it around.”

“No you can’t. It’s gotten out of hand, and you know it,” I said. “You’ve got all these women riled up with your own dirty mind.”