"Purge the Evil" - a novel

by Bill Dunn

(Note: this is a work-in-progress attempt at writing a novel. Feedback, critiques, plot suggestions are more than welcomed.)
 

CHAPTER 33

Saturday, November 27th, 12:05 p.m.

            Pepe Colon finished putting his tools into a large, rolling toolbox. His four-hour Saturday shift in the Service Department of Wilkins Ford was over, and he wanted to get home and take a nap. As he usually did on Friday nights, Pepe had stayed out a little too late the previous evening partying with his friends. The pounding headache and droopy eyelids always made the half-day of work on Saturday seem more arduous than a typical eight or nine hour shift on the weekdays, but Pepe didn’t really mind. He enjoyed drinking with his friends, and he could always catch up on sleep in the afternoon, which would recharge his batteries enough so he was fresh to go out partying again on Saturday night.

            As Pepe washed up in the large utility sink against a wall in the service area, he heard a sharp whistle. He looked up and saw Det. Mike Cavanaugh standing just outside the customer entrance door, out of the service manager’s line of sight. Mike waved for Pepe to come outside. The mechanic finished drying his hands and walked outside.

            “Hey boss,” he said with a smile. “What’s up?”

            “Pepe, how you doing?” Mike replied. “Let’s take a walk over toward my car.” The detective did not want the service manager, Duane Waller, to see him speaking with one of his mechanics.

            “So, my friend,” Mike began, “did you find out anything about that dealer plate?”

            “Well boss, I thought you said you were gonna make it worth my while?”

            “That depends, mi amigo,” Mike said. “Only if you have some helpful information.”

            “I do, I do, boss,” Pepe said. “Info that’s worth a lot, I’m sure!” He paused and smiled again at Mike, clearly indicating that he was not about to open his mouth anymore until there was some cash in his hand.

            Mike smiled and shook his head. “OK, pal, this better be good.” He reached into the pocket of his trousers and pulled out a folded $100 bill, and casually slipped the bill to Pepe.

            “Oh yeah, show me the Benjamins,” Pepe beamed. His Saturday night drinking excursion just got a whole lot more fun, he thought to himself. “OK, here you go boss. I saw that plate you were looking for. The one with the numbers one it.”

            “Yeah, what were the numbers?” Mike asked.

            “Oh, I don’t know the exact number right now. You wrote it down for me, remember? The piece of paper’s in my toolbox somewhere. It was five numbers, three-one…something or other. But I definitely saw it!”

            “You saw that exact license plate, here, in this building?” Mike asked.

            “Yep,” Pepe said.

            It had occurred about a week earlier. Pepe and a couple of the other mechanics were helping to move some new file cabinets into the office area of the dealership. As the workers scurried about, wheeling the old cabinets out on hand trucks and bringing the new ones in, Pepe found himself inside Tom Wilkins’ office. He and another mechanic were about to wheel out an old, heavy file cabinet. But before they started to move the cabinet, the other mechanic excused himself to use the men’s room. Pepe realized he was all alone inside the owner’s private office. He glanced outside the door and saw no one in the hallway. Then he slowly pushed the door about three-quarters shut, so that it would be difficult for anyone to see directly into the office, although Pepe could still hear someone coming. He walked over to the large desk and gently pulled on each drawer. Most were locked, and the few that opened contained nothing interesting, pen and pencils, Post-It notes, rubber bands, etc.

            Then Pepe went over to a credenza along the side wall and began to check its drawers. When he slid open the drawer on the lower left side of the unit, he saw a small stack of license plates. He quickly reached into his pocket and pulled out the slip of paper Det. Cavanaugh had given him. He bent over and flipped through the plates. The very last one had the numbers: “3-1-3-5-7.” Pepe looked that the paper. Then he looked at the license plate again. “There it is,” he whispered. He quickly closed the drawer with his foot and shoved the paper back into his pocket. A large gap-toothed smile spread across his face as he speculated on how much money he would receive from the cop for this juicy bit of information.

            “You definitely saw that exact license plate here?” Mike repeated. Pepe nodded. “Where was it?” the cop asked.

Pepe did a quick calculation in his head. The cop only seemed to care whether or not the license plate was on the premises. Exactly where it was located was probably not as important. Maybe he could give the cop the information he needed and at the same time get his goody two-shoes nemesis in a little hot water.

            “It was in Duane’s desk, behind the service counter,” Pepe lied. “Bottom drawer.”

            “Really?” Mike said. Then he gave a low whistle. “Very interesting.” The cop nodded his head slowly and gazed off into the distance trying to figure out what he should do next.

            Pepe noticed right away that Mike considered the information very important. “So boss,” he said, “that’s some pretty good detective work on my part, huh? Should be worth a couple more Benjamins, don’t you think?”

            “Sorry, my friend,” Mike replied. “I’d love to, but, you know, budget cuts and everything. I just don’t have the money right now.”

            “Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Pepe said with a scowl.

            “But I’ll tell you what,” Mike said, “I’m still going to need your help. I’m not exactly sure how at the moment, but we’ll keep in touch, OK? I’ll definitely make it worth your while.”

            “You always say that,” Pepe replied, somewhat annoyed.

            Mike squinted and scowled at the mechanic, giving a look which seemed to say, You have more cash in your pocket right now than I do, so don’t push it, pal, OK?

            Pepe got the message and broke into a big smile. “No problem, boss. I appreciate your generosity. If you need any more help, just ask. You know you can always find me here.”

            Mike smiled and said, “Thanks. I’ll get in touch.” He patted the mechanic on the upper arm, gave him a wink and a nod, and turned to get into his Crown Victoria. Pepe gave a little wave, then turned to walk back into the Service Dept. He right hand slid into his pants pocket and his fingers caressed the $100 bill as he walked.

            Mike drove away from the dealership deep in thought. So, Mr. Doo-wayne-nee Waller, he thought to himself, I’m starting to think that you just might be a self-righteous, Bible-thumping, cold blooded murderer. But the cop wasn’t sure exactly what he should do with this new blockbuster piece of information. The previous afternoon Mike had a brief conversation with Capt. Bradford. He had finally decided he should tell his boss that the name Wilkins Ford had popped up twice, completely independent of each other, during the murder investigations. Since Capt. Bradford seemed more agreeable about at least acknowledging the vigilante angle to the puzzling cases, Mike was certain he would be interested in this information.

            The detective couldn’t have been more wrong. As soon as he mentioned the word “Wilkins,” the captain gave him a hard menacing squint. Mike was in the middle of explaining about the Comcast van when Capt. Bradford exploded in rage. “Stop wasting the department’s time on this nonsense!” he had thundered.

            Mike didn’t even get a chance to mention the suspicious dealer plate. Bradford practically threw the detective out of his office.

            Now, as Mike drove toward police headquarters after his meeting with Pepe Colon, he did not know what his next move would be. But the one thing he did know was that he would be working alone, off the record, and he would not say a word about it to anyone, especially Capt. Bradford.

            Another thing Mike did not know was that right after his conversation with Bradford the previous afternoon, his boss, the hot-tempered police captain, had begun to contemplate the feasibility of adding a law enforcement officer, specifically one particular nosy detective, to the vigilante group’s list of possible targets.

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