Assuming he started plotting his re-emergence when he heard Jem was moving here approximately three to five months ago, I change the search parameters from then to the present. I plug in every alias and To Kill a Mockingbird reference I can think of and Doris culls through all property sales, rentals, and utilities for those key words. While she does that, I rest my eyes on the couch, waking when Dobbs brings me breakfast six hours later. Yesterday was a hell of a day.
As I eat my cereal, I review her results. Out of a hundred fifty possibles, two look promising. The Scout Group, owned by Lee Jordan, is renting a building by the airport. When I look the company up, I see they're advertising plane parts. The company was incorporated a few months in New Urbana. So far so fishy.
The other is Mockingbird Inc, owned by J.A. Dill, who purchased a warehouse in the Ward two months ago. The company was founded eight months ago, also in New Urbana, and specializes in book distribution. The CCTV near the airport shows the outside of the Scout building but none of the cameras around the warehouse are functional. Good old Ward. People will steal even things that are nailed down. Guess it's up to me.
I grab a few cameras from storage and the instruction manual on how to set them up before going upstairs to shower and change into baggy jeans, a black hoodie, Angel's baseball cap with my hair tucked in, sneakers, and bulletproof trench coat Justice gave me. I don't expect trouble but in case I also bring an untraceable gun from Justin's collection, my Taser, Triumvirate phone, and brass knuckles. Better safe than sorry.
It's a damn good thing I kept my old Acura because an Aston Martin wouldn't last two seconds in the Ward. Since the bridge blew up it takes me thirty minutes longer to get into the city, not that I'm in a rush. Condemned buildings, junkies and pushers on the corners, bars on every window, my old stomping grounds. I certainly have moved up in the world.
The warehouse is surrounded by equally dilapidated, empty buildings with nary an intact window to be found. There are no signs of life inside as I drive past. It's small, only about a thousand square feet with no trucks or workers outside like a normal working warehouse. Either they haven't begun filling the warehouse with books or there's something rotten in the state of Denmark. Since it'd be suspicious for me to climb a telephone pole like a monkey to place a camera there, I park behind the abandoned three-story office building across from the warehouse. I pass fleeing rats as I climb to the second floor. After half an hour of cussing and even throwing the instruction manual against the wall, I think I finally get the damn camera working. It has the perfect vantage of the main warehouse door. I check the feed on the laptop. Camera's operational. Hurray for me.
Just as I'm packing up to move onto the next building, through the window, I notice the warehouse door open and two men step out. I vaguely recognize one of them but can't place him. They light cigarettes and begin chatting. I sit down to move out of their sight. I pull the laptop from it's hiding spot to watch on it as they continue social hour. Come on, brain. How do I know--Matt Lucas. I busted him six years ago for assault. He beat up some college kid who couldn't pay his gambling debts. If memory serves, we later linked him to Ryder's organization.
As they shoot the shit, an SUV turns down the street then pulls up to the warehouse. Lucas runs to open the sliding door for the car to enter. From the glimpse I get, the inside of the warehouse is mostly empty with a table and at least two other cars inside. Lucas closes the door and returns to his buddy. Book warehouse my ass. The door opens again a minute later. Gary Acevedo pokes his head out and gestures the men in. My mouth falls. Holy shit. Not expecting that.
What the hell am I supposed to do now? Call the cops? What if Cain was in that SUV? What if the place is wired to explode? I get my prepaid and dial Brendan. It rings about ten times before I leave a message, giving my location and the situation. He's probably still at practice, and Lexie's across the country. No choice.
"Hello?" Jem asks after the fourth ring.
"I found Acevedo. Possibly all of them. Meet me at 18765 Eisner St, brown brick warehouse, second floor. Get here fast." I hang up. I'd be nervous to see him again after he sort of broke up with me, but I'm too damn excited by this lead. God I've missed this feeling. The thrill of the chase. Almost as good as sex.
Of course on a roller coaster what goes up must come down. Ten minutes pass and all is quiet. No one exits or enters. Just as I start getting bored, I hear a thump inside this building and unholster my gun just to be safe. Fast footsteps moving toward me make me clutch it tighter, unlocking the safety. I relax when I see a flash of purple, then him. Damned if even now the butterflies don't begin. He, on the other hand, seems less than happy to be in my presence.