"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 35

Monday, November 29th, 6:10 p.m.

            Pepe Colon slowly closed up his tool box. He went over to the utility sink and washed his hands again. Most of the other mechanics in the service department of Wilkins Ford had already left work for the day. Pepe was often among the first to leave once he finished his final repair project for the day. His co-workers often kidded him about how quickly he could pack away his tools, wash up, and race out the door. But tonight he purposely took his sweet time. Earlier in the day Pepe had met with Det. Mike Cavanaugh at lunch time. The West Hartford cop had slipped another hundred-dollar bill into the mechanic’s hand, with the promise of more if he would perform a simple, but somewhat risky, task.

            A man and a woman stood at the service counter talking with Duane Waller. Duane explained to the couple exactly what repair work had been done on their car. Pepe wandered back to his tool box and fiddled with some of his socket wrenches. He periodically glanced up at Duane. As soon as the couple paid their bill and left, Pepe knew Duane would gather up the day’s work orders and bring the pile of paperwork into the main office. When that happened, Pepe would have only a minute or two to act before Duane returned.

            When Det. Cavanaugh had explained to Pepe at lunchtime what he wanted, Pepe was a bit surprised. If a cop wanted to snoop around inside a building looking for evidence, he could always get a search warrant, Pepe thought. But apparently this cop wanted to look around Duane’s work area unofficially. The cop did not explain exactly why he wanted to search through Duane’s stuff off the record, nor exactly what he was looking for in the service manager’s work area, but Pepe didn’t really care about that. As long as he was receiving Benjamins from the cop, and as long as there was a chance Duane might get in trouble, Pepe was delighted.

            Finally the last two customers seemed satisfied with Duane’s explanation, and the husband handed over his credit card. Duane quickly processed the payment and handed the car keys to the man. The couple exited the building, and Duane gathered up a stack of paperwork about nine inches high. He came around from behind the service counter and walked the short distance to a door that led to the main office area.

            As soon as the door closed behind Duane, Pepe looked around the large room. He was all alone in the service area. He quickly walked to the entry door at the far corner of the room, which was next to the last of four roll up doors. He pressed a couple of buttons on a small panel by the door. A little light on the panel switched from red to green, indicating the alarm system was no longer activated at that particular entry point. Then Pepe rotated a lever on the deadbolt, unlocking the door. He turned and walked back across the room, heading for the same door the final two customers had used to exit the building.

            As he walked Pepe thought of the additional hundred dollars he would receive from the cop for leaving the service department door unlocked. He wasn’t sure when the detective planned to sneak into the building during the night, but he hoped the cop would not leave any indication that there had been an intruder. Pepe also made a mental note to arrive at work earlier than usual the next morning so he could be the first one to “unlock” the already unlocked door, and “disable” the already disabled alarm system. If Duane or one of the other mechanics got there first, there could be trouble.

            Deep in thought, Pepe was startled by a booming voice, “What the hell are you doing?!”

            Pepe stopped in mid step and looked up. A blast of adrenaline and fear surged through his body. Tom Wilkins strode out of the shadows near the doorway that led to the main office. “I said,” the owner yelled even louder, “what the hell are you doing?!”

            “Um, um, what do you mean, boss?” Pepe said nervously.

            “Don’t give me that crap, Colon,” Wilkins said. He was now standing directly in front of Pepe in the middle of the service department. “I saw you unlock that door. What the hell are you planning? You and your punk friends gonna come in and rob the place tonight?!”

            “No no, sir,” Pepe replied. “Nothing like that. You don’t understand.”

            “Yes I do understand, pal,” Wilkins boomed, his face now bright red and veins bulging from his forehead. “I understand perfectly well that you just lost your job, and you’re probably going to jail, too! I’m calling the cops!”

            Wilkins turned toward the service counter and walked toward Duane’s phone.

            “No no, please, Mr. Wilkins,” Pepe pleaded as he followed behind Wilkins. “Yes, I did unlock the door, but I wasn’t going to do anything. I did it because a cop made me do it!”

            Wilkins turned and scowled. “A cop made you do it? Yeah, right.”

            “No, really,” Pepe said. “You know that tall guy, the Irish cop, who comes in here once in a while?”

            “That could be anybody,” Wilkins said.

            “He’s a detective, a lieutenant, I think,” Pepe said. “He suspects Duane is doing something bad—I don’t know what—but he asked me if Duane owns any guns or if Duane ever did anything violent. He wanted to sneak in and look through Duane’s stuff.”

            “Are you telling me the truth, Colon? I’ll find out, you know. I know every cop in this town,” Wilkins said.

            “Yes sir, I swear. He made me do it. Oh please, Mr. Wilkins, don’t fire me. Please. I need this job. I would never do anything to hurt the company. Honest. I was just doing what the cop told me. I have to do what a cop says, don’t I?”

            Wilkins exhaled in frustration. “All right, Colon, get the hell out of here. I’m gonna check this out, and if I find out you’re lying, you are so screwed, pal. We’ll talk about it in the morning.”

            Pepe muttered a grateful, “Thank you, sir,” and practically ran out the customer entrance door.

            Just as Pepe left, Duane walked into the service area from the main offices. “Oh, hi Mr. Wilkins. Can I help you with anything?”

            “No Duane,” Wilkins said. “Are you all set?”

            “Yes sir,” Duane answered. “I just have to grab my coat, turn off the lights, and head home.”

            “OK, see you,” Wilkins said flatly as his mind raced, wondering what to do. “Have a good night.”

            “You too, sir. Good night.”

            After Duane left, Wilkins turned one bank of lights back on and picked up the phone behind the service counter. He dialed Capt. Bradford’s cell number.

            When the call was answered, Wilkins blurted out, “It’s me. We got trouble. I think we’re blown!” He explained to Capt. Bradford what had just happened and what Pepe had said, then added, “One of your detectives is on to something, Ray. I don’t know what, but he was planning on sneaking into my building tonight to look around. This can’t be good.”

            Bradford quietly seethed on the other end of the phone call. Cavanaugh, he thought. It has to be that damned Cavanaugh. “All right, listen,” he said to Wilkins. “Leave the door unlocked. That’s right. Let’s not let him know that we know. And call the other guys and cancel our meeting for tonight. You just go home. Leave the door unlocked and I’ll take care of our nosy friend.”

            Bradford hung up the phone and pounded his fist on his desk. “Dammit!” he muttered. He took a deep breath. OK, he thought, it’s over. We’re blown, but we’re not really blown because he suspects the wrong guy.

            Capt. Bradford begin to formulate a plan. He had mixed emotions. He was genuinely upset that the vigilante group would have to shut down its operations. He knew it was too risky now to continue. He was convinced the group had done society a big favor by eliminating some of the community’s chronic lawbreakers, and he knew they could’ve done so much more if not for his nosy detective.

            But a part of Capt. Bradford was a bit gleeful. He relished the idea of pinning the mystery murders on a man he had grown to detest, a subordinate who had refused to follow orders. Too bad the kid in the service department will have to take the fall, too, Bradford thought, but at least no one will ever find out who really did the shootings, and that damned Cavanaugh will be out of my hair for good.

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