Trixsters Anonymous

I want to tell him he’s right; he’s no threat, because one wrong look at her and I’ll pummel his ass.

I love you sounds in my ears, and the tension eases. Then I chuckle to myself. The image of her dancing around in a bikini fills my head, and I think about my own fantasies when it comes to Emi.

“I’ll give you this, Collins, any teenage fantasy you had is nothing compared to reality. But, clear warning, don’t want to hear about it again.”

“Where are you?” I bark into the phone.

“Are you just getting home?” Emi’s unusually alert for this time of morning.

“Yes, I walked in to find an empty bed and an equally empty house, so I’ll ask again, where are you at six in the morning?”

“I’m at my place. After we hung up last night, I decided to do a little work. There was an email about a mandatory meeting in the office today, so I came home.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Dammit, Emi, I’m running on five hours of sleep in the last two days. My patience is thin. Why aren’t you at my house? At the very least, why didn’t you call or text me?”

“I didn’t want to bother you, I left a note on the counter. Listen, you’re obviously grouchy so go to bed. We’ll talk tonight.”

There’s an attitude in her tone, the usually cheerful demeanor gone. She was quiet last night, but I didn’t have the privacy to ask her about it. Now, hearing her unease sets my instincts on alert.

What the hell could have happened between the time I left her parents’ house and now?

“I’m coming over,” I say without hesitation, yanking my keys off my dresser.

“Not now, Walker, I have to be at the office by seven-thirty.”

“Talk to me, Emi. What’s on your mind?”

“Nothing,” she lies quietly.

I stop dead in my tracks, cursing under my breath. She’s hurt. That’s sadness in her voice, and for some reason, she’s avoiding me.

“What’s going on?” I ask softer, hoping she’ll open up.

“Nothing,” she repeats. “But I do need to finish getting ready.”

“What time will you be home tonight?”

“I don’t know.”

I close my eyes and mentally count to five. “You call me on your way and I’ll meet you at your place.”

“Don’t you have to work?”

“Not tonight.”

“Did you catch them?” For the first time since she answered, there’s a warmth to her tone.

“Yeah, baby, we caught them. Two low level punks hawking cars for money.” I leave out the part they were also stupid punks, having no clue of the bigger picture. After three hours of interrogating them, we found out they had no idea who they worked for. They were receiving payments through cash envelopes left in their fucking mailboxes.

The MO was a simple operation. These brothers would get a non-descript note in the mail, usually with a make and model needed. They’d steal the vehicle, scrape the VIN, and remove the license plates. Then they’d leave it in an abandoned area. The next day, they’d get a large payment.

The only solid lead we had was that we now had something to report back to the other cities experiencing the same auto crime.

Kelly and I knew these cars were being used to transport drugs. It was a common tactic. Steal cars and strip them, repaint them to lessen your chances of being caught, then transport the drugs and ditch the car. Low overhead, and yet still get the job done.