This was supposed to be a calm night. Simple smash and grabs. Easy money.
So why the hell do I feel like Hell is about to be brought down on us?
Chapter Nine – You’ve Got To Be
Shittin’ Me!
Carly
There’s something in the unwritten Mother’s Handbook that says Monday mornings are going to suck, no matter what. It’s virtually impossible to get out the door on time on Monday mornings. Why? If I knew, I wouldn’t be late anymore on Mondays!
“Sorry, I’m late. Traffic was horrible at the school,” Mom says as she takes my daughter from my outstretched arms.
“She still needs to eat breakfast,” I say as I slip on my lightweight navy blue trench coat. My heel already caught the shin of my pantyhose so after a quick change¸ I’m finally dressed and ready to head out the door.
“Usual time?” Mom asks as she sticks Natalia in her highchair.
“Yep,” I holler before throwing a quick kiss on Natalia’s chubby cheek before racing out the door.
The elevator must know I’m late because it practically crawls up to the top floor and then back down to the lobby. I throw polite smiles at my neighbors as I pass them, trying to hurry out to my car without actually running. I’m not exactly the most graceful person on the planet so the last thing I need is to try to run, trip, and fall flat on my face. Besides, I’m wearing my last pair of pantyhose.
When I get outside, I’m stopped dead in my tracks as I realize I’m about to open the driver’s door of a gray Lincoln. Where’s my car? I quickly look around the other cars in the parking lot, thinking I must have been a little more tired than I originally thought last night when I came home from the grocery store. But, I couldn’t have been that tired. To forget where I parked my car? No. I remember it perfectly. I was lucky to grab this spot close to the front door to unload the groceries with a baby in tow.
Scanning the parking lot, panic starts to settle in. It doesn’t take me long to realize that my car isn’t in the parking lot at all. I scan up and down the street, both sides, looking for any sign of my Jaguar. This neighborhood is fairly safe. I’ve never heard neighbors complaining about missing items, especially something as big as a car. Realizing that it’s not here, I lethargically takeoff back up the stairs towards my apartment.
When I reach my door, I don’t even use the key that is still in my hand. I knock. I have no idea why, but my brain is completely gone right now. Mom opens the door with a questioning look on her face, but she doesn’t say anything. I walk right over to the cordless phone on the wall and dial the number next to the phone.
“Las Vegas Police Department. How can I direct your call?”
“Yeah, my car has been stolen.”
* * *
“And you’re sure you parked your car in this parking spot?” the young female officer asks as her partner checks out the security feeds for the lot and building.
“Yes, I’m sure,” I confirm. Reality has finally set in and I’m now squatting on the front steps of my apartment building in my business dress, trying not to hyperventilate. Mom and Nat are sitting next to me, Mom trying to keep me calm while Nat tries to pull my hair.
“The cameras in the lot were turned off during a fifteen minute window late last night,” the male officer says as he rejoins us.
“Turned off?” Mom asks, seeking confirmation.
“Sounds like someone knew exactly what they were doing,” the female says casually as she writes notes in her little leather notebook.
“Third one reported this morning,” the male cop says before returning his attention to me. “We’ll write up a complete report and will have it filed by the end of the day. You can stop by the precinct and grab a copy for your insurance. We’ll put out an APB on the missing vehicle, but with an eight-hour head start, the chances of finding your vehicle are slim.”
“The third one today?” Mom mimics the officer’s statement. The stunned look on her face is almost comical.
“Great,” I mumble not even caring that I sound a little on the whiny side. The last thing I want to deal with is more insurance forms. Hell, I’ve barely had possession of the car for forty-eight hours since the last insurance claim I filed. I’m sure this will do wonders for my premium.
The officers take all my necessary information before turning and leaving me alone with my thoughts, which in turn are about the fact that I no longer have a vehicle. Apparently, there was a small string of robberies last night, right? Other vehicles were stolen here in Vegas. It could be the work of petty thieves, not necessarily pros, but that would mean my car probably didn’t fair too well. Petty thieves usually don’t steal with the finesse and expertise that those pros do. At least that’s the way it looks on the cop shows on television.