Sancho’s had always been a hangout for the high school kids and generations of them had smoked their first cigarette in the parking lot. Little had changed over the decades, but now instead of cigarette butts littering the lot, the kids left their little plastic vape canisters. On any given night a few too many of them loitered in the parking lot facing towards the street, watching their peers cruise the highway listlessly. Rumors might circulate that a few people were headed to Bakersfield, but that generally fell through. A few bucks paid table rent and bought a bottomless cup of burnt coffee that had probably been sitting around all afternoon.
Austin strode confidently through the crowd of high school kids. Having graduated a year before, he maintained an aura of upperclassmen that they still respected. That Jynx was with him served to stifle the commentary on her costume, the handful of boys' raucous conversation falling to quiet murmurs as she approached. Austin just nodded casually and offered them a grunted “Sup,” for a greeting. She was sure the muffled laughter was for her as she followed Austin in the door, and her cheeks flushed. At least in her old clothes nobody noticed her, and she preferred it that way.
Lisa spotted them as they waited at the hostess stand. Working late again, she was at the very least a friendly face. “Oh, Austin and my little indigo child!” She called, waving. “Look at you, honey!” And to Jynx's horror, nearly every restaurant customer turned to look at her.
In addition to the teenagers collected out front and sporadically shifting from table to table snacking on appetizer platters, Sancho’s had a couple of tables of the sort of scary literal men in black and the three cops that had been eyeing them for days. Jynx regretted bringing Austin in for coffee, but she was sure he shouldn't be driving. The men in black didn't bother her much, although she didn't like the way they looked at her, it was the usual pervy old guy thing. The other three, though.
That guy in the surf trunks and flip flops hadn't taken his eyes off her since they walked in and just stared at her as she slid into the booth.
As they were finishing their meal, O’Connor spotted the junkie kids from the tow company walking in through the front door. The boy didn’t look so good, sort of shaky on the throttle, but the girl was all dolled up. He watched as Lisa greeted them and admired the little girl’s outfit, making a big deal about it. The girl had a little plastic grocery bag with her and she kept her eye on him as they took their seat in the booth. O’Connor might not be able to find Vickers’s flying object, but he was still a cop, and he could tell when something wasn’t right. For a couple little kids in a little desert town, those two looked guilty as hell of something.
Catalytic converters fetched a decent price in the city, and there was always a black-market trade just about anywhere that there was meth. Working at an automotive shop was probably the best front for their grift. In a little town like this, it was probably best not to prey on the locals. They preyed on tourists passing through, selling off the mufflers, and giving the scrap yard a cut of the salvage price. The theft of the Yahtzees’ tailpipes was probably just a target of opportunity, a haul of big-ticket parts stolen from a fleet that was probably just passing through. If they managed to pull off that sweep of the Playa Seca Motor Inn parking lot by themselves, he had to applaud their commitment, just so long as they didn’t steal his catalytic converter. Keeping his cruiser stashed down at the tow company would probably be just the thing to prevent a theft. They’d never steal from the garage that they worked out of.
The girl, normally dressed in dirty cutoffs and a t-shirt, was for whatever reason dressed in a cute little sundress with her hair and makeup done. Her junkie boyfriend lolled around in the seat across from her, probably recovering from a meth binge. All dressed up she looked all wrong with him. Obviously strung out, he’d already smoked through the profit from the catalytic converter sale and O’Connor slowly began to understand that the junkie kid was probably putting his girlfriend on the street to turn tricks for passing truckers.
Whether it was his jurisdiction or not, he was still technically a law enforcement officer of some sort, dammit, and what good was a badge and gun if not to enforce the law every once in a while. “Hey, Chief.” O’Connor leaned forward in an attempt at confidentiality which just made him look a little unsteady. “This trip doesn’t have to be a total loss.”
Martinez, surprised to see the sergeant’s mood swing favorably, glanced up from the last few bites of his slightly dry traditional turkey dinner.
The way O’Connor had it figured, the kids would probably end up in some sort of juvenile rehab center and get themselves a second chance before it was too late. “If we follow those kids back to that shop, I’m guessin’ we find ourselves a pile of catalytic converters.” O’Connor nodded slowly, but enthusiastically. “The Yahtzees get their catalytic converters back and we beat them to the only legitimate case this town has to offer right now.” Black ops Martian cops or not, they were at least some sort of law enforcement.
Mr. Paulson liked the idea for reasons of his own and chuckled his agreement.
If there had ever been a more awkward or prolonged staring contest in the history of Sancho’s Silver Spoon, nobody bothered to record it. Unfortunately, Jynx and O’Connor locked eyes for such a long time that a few of the patrons and even Lisa herself began to wonder why. Being friendly with both of them, Lisa didn’t want to get involved but began to wonder if they might actually be related somehow.
“I showed her how to change a tire!” Austin announced for the fourth or fifth time.
Austin had picked the worst of all possible days to kindle a romance with his high school crush. A few beers sloppy was bad enough but gushing a bunch of trite romantic drivel on an endless loop was intolerable. The saucer was floating, the men in black were closing in, and all Austin could talk about was freakin’ Becca again. She wanted to reach across the table and slap him, but she really didn't want to chip a nail. “What’s the big deal with changing tires all of a sudden?” She swirled the straw around in her lemonade five times and took a sip.
“I showed her how!” He was really excited about it for some reason.
That guy in the flip flops just stared straight at her. Maybe Austin didn’t care, but Jynx knew that Dr. Vickers’s buddies were probably looking for the saucer. It couldn’t be a coincidence that the surfer and his associates rolled into town the day they dug it from the wash. A day or two later, the rest of the army men showed up. Jynx had bigger problems than just fixing a flat tire. “What are you doing tomorrow, Austin?” She smirked subtly at the surfer as she asked.
The surfer glared stoically back.
“We’re going to coffee!” he repeated, crushing too hard to care about much of anything else.
O’Connor made Martinez and Mr. Paulson wait until Lisa had stopped coming around to refill their coffee, and then he made them wait some more. With nothing else to do with the evening, he was perfectly content to occupy the window seat for the rest of the night, watching the teenagers try to be secretive about nickel bags of weed and probably some meth as well. A few of the loitering kids had stopped by the table to talk to the two junkie kids, but O’Connor never saw anything switch hands.
Mr. Paulson had his cobbled laptop open on the table, presumably filing his final report. He tended towards a flurry of typing, a brief pause to read a page, and then another flurry of typing. With little else to do besides wait, the chief had taken to casually scrolling through his news feed, hoping that it might make him look busy.
The last of the Yahtzees finished their meals and paid their bills, muttering in the Tiggers’ direction as they left, but only ceremonially. O’Connor was overly cordial with the departing Smiths and Johnsons, hoping to avoid any scene that might spook his suspects.
Hunched over his keyboard, Mr. Paulson chuckled to himself.
“What’s so funny?” Martinez asked, accustomed to sitting with his daughter as she scrolled through her accounts. Occasionally, she showed him a funny picture of something. He generally didn’t get it, but he tried.
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
Mr. Paulson shrugged. “Elizabeth.” He shrugged again. “I just wouldn’t expect it, you know?”
Chief Martinez nodded appreciatively but he had no idea what the auditor was talking about.
“Elizabeth?” O’Connor suddenly snapped out of his creepy stare across the dining area. “What about Elizabeth? What the hell are you looking at?”
Mr. Paulson pulled his laptop slowly from the table as if anticipating the sergeant’s reaction. “She just doesn’t look like an Elizabeth, that’s all.”
O’Connor lunged across the table, reaching for the laptop assembly. Martinez stood to stop him, nearly knocking the table over in the process. The clatter and attempts to catch empty mugs, saucers, and spoons brought the attention of anyone sitting in the restaurant. Martinez nodded, embarrassed. “Are we all paid up then, Lisa?” He knew the answer, but at least it was some sort of segue to an exit. Chief Martinez pushed O’Connor ahead of him, making himself a barrier between the two as they made their way out onto the front sidewalk.
Although most teenagers might not know a plainclothes cop when they see one, they know enough to avoid any confrontation with somebody who looks like a cop, and the town has been lousy with them lately. When the Tiggers came out the front door in a bit of a tussle, it spooked most of the kids in the lot, who scattered away from the commotion while still trying to look as casual as possible.
As despondent as the sergeant was, he might just be looking for a reason to get himself fired ahead of the layoff, or he might just be bored, and looking to blow off a little steam after the unsettled business with the Yahtzees. “What the hell was that all about, Sergeant?” the chief demanded, attempting to sound as professional as he could.
“It’s Mary’s first name. That bastard was looking at her files or something.”
Mr. Paulson chuckled and shrugged, still not denying it. “You wanted to know if she was alright,” he said, matter of fact.
“Did you Google his wife, Mr. Paulson?” Martinez asked, humorlessly.
“You don’t come up with her birth name by Googling her!” O’Connor yelled. Realizing how right he was, he swelled again, getting angrier. “What in the hell do you even do?!”
Martinez managed to stay between them, but O'Connor's indignation was getting a little animated. “Let's just take it easy, Sergeant.”
The promise of a possible fight kept the high school kids hanging nearby, hoping to see a punch thrown. The crowd hovered near their cars and leaned against the restaurant. Accidentally creating his own diversion, O'Connor and his partners entirely missed the junky kids’ escape as they slipped out the side door. A few minutes later they were speed walking up the side of the highway as fast as she could get her pimp to move.
Sheriff Etherton had cultivated the occasional habit of slipping out to pick up an impromptu pint of sorbet or gelato just a few minutes before someone should start getting Baby Jayley ready for bed. While he thought he was being very clever and spontaneous, his wife knew exactly what he was up to, and was not quite as impressed. He did manage to return with dessert just about the time that she was ready to put her feet up, so it was a forgivable ruse, at least.
Taking the cruiser out on unofficial business and dressed in his civvies also happened to give Etherton a bit of a thrill. A few years into the job and he still felt like an imposter in the game of cops and robbers. Easing down the hill with the music up, he left the windows down to clear the warm afternoon air out of the interior. He took the scenic route, skirting the south streets to sneak into town from behind the park. Turning onto the highway, he was pleased to see the traffic was light and the town was quiet. The Playa Seca Motor Inn’s parking lot was full of Escalades, and most of the relations chose to hang around the pool with beers. Sheriff Etherton quietly hoped that they were celebrating their last night in town. More than likely there just wasn’t enough room for them all down at the Starlight Lounge, and not enough single women in town to keep them occupied for very long anywhere else. Having the lot of them all in one place probably eased the locals’ minds some, they hadn’t seen this many men packing pistols since the last big summer blockbuster movie, and they didn’t enjoy it nearly as much in person.
The Sancho’s lot was loaded with the usual collection of high school kids, and a few motorists stopped for a late meal. The kids weren’t doing anything wrong besides loitering, and George would run them off if they got out of hand. A big class A motorcoach, one of the million-dollar luxury types, was pulled off the highway awkwardly, with the tow vehicle hanging out a little wide, but the sheriff didn’t figure they were bothering anyone.
A few blocks north of Sancho’s an unmarked black Chevy Tahoe sat parked against the curb. Not as fancy as the Escalades favored by the Smiths and Johnsons, the sheriff slowed to check on the occupants, the trio that he’d seen around town with Dr. Vickers a few times. The middle-aged Latino man in the driver’s seat gave him a familiar courtesy nod. They were some sort of law enforcement as well, the sheriff assumed, even if they weren’t with the family reunion. Etherton cordially nodded back.
A block up there was a couple walking alone and the sheriff thought it a strange time for a date. He contemplated skipping the Lucky Mart entrance to roll past and check them out, but finally recognized the pair of kids, walking down to the shop. He’d never seen Jynx in a dress and wondered if they were finally a couple. Their hotrod-painted hunk of scrap metal aside, if those two kids were starting a summer fling, it might explain the newfound furtiveness, and it was about damn time.
The Lucky Mart lot was empty. Etherton pulled up to the front curb and left the engine running like the cops in the city did. The kid behind the counter was either Jeff or Justin, it was always one of the two, and either way, he was dramatically stoned and therefore paranoid. Even if weed was a sort of legal gray area these days, Etherton did love the aura of authority that the cruiser cast. Jeff or Justin stood rigidly still behind the counter, watching the sheriff’s every move through the store. He took a little longer than he needed in picking out a pint of raspberry sorbet but enjoyed watching Jeff or Justin in the corner security mirror, nervously eyeing the cruiser with the parking lights on and the radio squawking unintelligible chatter. The patter at this time of night was mostly gossip or local shift changes. Nobody outside of an experienced radio operator could understand much more than a word or two of it, but Jeff or Justin wouldn’t know that. They might be calling in the swat team already. Etherton lingered in front of the Frito Lay display, reveling in the awkward silence as he perused the chip selection. Moving as slowly as he possibly could he picked up a bag of chips and considered the bag seriously. “You ever been to the Frito Lay factory up there in Buttonwillow?”
The clerk stared at the sheriff. “What?”
“My wife and I took a tour of the factory. I’ll tell you what, you have not lived until you have tasted a freshly fried Frito straight from the factory.”
Jeff or Justin nodded, uncertain if it was a code or some sort of test that he was already failing. Etherton put the bag back on the shelf and perused the breath mint selection. Standing next to the counter he caught a whiff of the distinctly skunky scent of high-quality marijuana and was briefly reminded of his undergrad dorm room. Admiring the aroma, the sheriff sniffed once or twice and leaned in towards Jeff or Justin, watching as his face flushed and a fresh sweat broke across his brow. “Are you wearing a new cologne or something?”
The petrified clerk slowly shook his head and shrugged, reaching for the pint of sorbet, afraid to acknowledge smelling anything.
“Hmm,” Etherton responded, staring directly into the depths of Jeff or Justin’s panicked paranoia, trying not to smirk.
Getting back into the cruiser he glanced up at the rear view as he was about to put it into reverse and recognized the black Tahoe parked a few blocks down. For whatever reason, they had moved north about a quarter mile. Curious, but not terribly suspicious, Etherton brought the car around to the side exit and pulled up to the edge of the highway, deciding which route he would take. Waiting just a moment too long, he let the next few cars pass by and watched as the black SUV slowly crept forward and parked against the curb again. It was such a subtle shift that the sheriff nearly missed it as it moved north. With the headlights off, the truck was less obviously creeping up the street behind the kids, but the brake lights were an obnoxious alarm to anyone watching three adult men in a dark SUV stalking a pair of kids along the interstate.
Seeing as how the highway was empty anyway, Etherton flipped off the parking lights and eased the cruiser into the center lane creeping slowly along behind the Tahoe as it stalked the kids. Tucked into the wide swath of blind spot, he idled up the turning lane impressed with his own lurking skills. If he flashed the light bar or squawked the P/A a few times he could chat them up for a minute, but his pint of sorbet wouldn't survive a casual interrogation. The sheriff squeezed the frosty plastic tub to judge his time. At the very least, it was frozen solid, so he had a moment. He could watch the kids back to the shop or more likely, Austin's little red truck, parked in the front lot. Once the kids were safely underway Etherton could slip around the north end without filing a report and arrive home with a perfectly softened pint of sorbet.
But the Tahoe flipped on its lights as the kids approached the pickup truck, suddenly gunning the engine and flashing grill mounted red and blue as it bounced into the parking lot. Etherton glanced down at the pint of sorbet wishing he'd just put Jayley to bed. He toggled the lights and hit the squelch a few times as he followed them onto the lot.
The middle-aged Latino man stepped from the driver's side door with his hands just slightly raised, as if the sheriff might be carrying a firearm somewhere in his casual attire. The big surfer guy, now wearing a gun belt over his board shorts, was already out the passenger side door, calling across the lot to the kids. “Now you kids just hold it right there.”
Austin fumbled with the keys, but finally unlocked the front door, stumbling into the darkness of the front cashier's office. Jynx, however, defiant as a fashion plate, stood ready to defend the Desert Sands with a grocery bag of laundry. The guy in the board shorts with the cop belt was given a moment to question his life choices as the little girl in floral print prepared to pluck his eyes out with those safety green claws of hers. A noodly arm materialized from behind her, wrapping around her and yanking her backwards into the darkness. Stunned by her disappearance the surfer glanced back at the others, shrugged off the warrant issue, and charged in right after her.