Holding Out for a Hero (Baytown Heroes #9)

Chapter 18

18

Brad settled into the passenger seat of the sheriff's department SUV, glad to let Mark take the wheel today. Looking down at his tablet, he reviewed the notations he’d made. “This county isn’t that large, so it should be easy to get through most auto shops since we’re splitting them with Hunter and Luanne.”

Mark nodded. “When I was a kid, my granddad used to take me down the street to where someone would fix cars out of their house garage. Other people would use a big shed or even a barn. It was different back then, and hell, I’m not that old!”

“I forgot you grew up here,” Brad said.

Mark nodded. “My dad is still living here. My mom passed a few years ago.”

Brad knew Mark was in his early forties and had a son. He didn’t know much else but figured they would learn about each other naturally over the course of being together as partners.

“There are still only a few national chain auto parts stores in the county, but a bunch of individual businesses that will work on cars have popped up, mostly in the towns or on the main highway,” Mark continued.

Several hours later, they had stopped at five autobody and four auto parts shops. Three were national chains with managers who told them that all of their parts came through their national office and that stolen parts could not come through their shop.

A few others admitted they would surf the internet for parts if needed for a particular model and weren’t picky about where they came from. When pressed, one retorted, “Hell, it’s like buying something from an online auctioneer or selling company. We don’t question where they come from. We just need the part. As long as the price is right, that’s what we go with.”

Scrubbing his hand over his face, he looked down at his list and said, “The last one today is Williams’s Automotive shop.”

“I remember that place,” Mark said. “I haven’t been out that way in a long time. Arthur Williams ran it. He seemed old to us back then, so he’s got to be in his seventies, maybe pushing eighties by now. I can’t imagine him still doing the work, so maybe he sold it to someone else.”

They pulled up outside the weathered shop, and Brad’s gaze swept over the scene before him. The setting exuded an air of neglect. In the distance, a dilapidated barn loomed. It gave the appearance it was barely standing. Down the lane to the left was a small house, also having seen better days, but at least it didn’t appear as though it was ready to be condemned. To the right of the shop was a large shed with a few used cars and trucks sitting in the front with handwritten price stickers on their windshield.

Shifting his gaze back to the two-bay garage, he could see one young man working inside on an old car. A tall chain-link fence was being installed, extending from the sides and beyond the back of the garage. Two men were currently working on that project, the metallic clang of construction echoing through the air as they hammered the posts into the ground.

“Wonder why he’s putting a fence up?” Mark asked.

“Maybe he’s sold the place, and the new owners have plans for it,” Brad surmised.

They exited their vehicle and walked toward the office. When the young man inside the garage looked up, Mark called out, “Is Mr. Williams around?”

The kid jerked his head toward the garage office, and Mark threw up his hand in acknowledgment. Brad opened the door, and the detectives stepped inside.

Brad’s gaze was met with a scene straight out of a bygone era. The space exuded a sense of nostalgia, its worn features a testament to years of use. Old linoleum on the floor, yellowed with age and scuffed with use. Walls that had once been painted tan that now looked drab. A calendar from four years ago hung on the wall. A cluttered counter with piles of paper that might have been in some order years ago but now matched the rest of the room.

Two metal chairs, slightly rusty, sat at the front window, the only evidence of a waiting room besides the old vinyl sofa against the other wall. Like everything else he’d seen so far, the office was a throwback to days when men would hang around the garage while their car was worked on by someone they knew, shootin’ the shit, smoking, and having a soda. Only now, Brad could feel the bones of the building groan with the ache of age.

Behind the counter was a desk with a wooden rolling chair in front of it. To his surprise, there was a computer. Lounging on the sofa was an old man whose tufts of white hair stood on end. The deep creases in his face gave evidence of a long and probably hard life. His head was leaned back, and snores escaped his open mouth.

“Mr. Williams?” Brad asked, in a voice that he hoped wouldn’t startle the man into having a heart attack.

The man’s mouth clapped shut, and his eyes opened, squinting behind eyeglasses as he stared up at them. “That’s me.” His voice was rusty from sleep, and he coughed a couple of times before saying, “You need something done with your vehicle?”

He and Mark pulled out their identification, but he felt sure Mr. Williams’s eyesight wasn’t accurate enough to see it from a distance. Holding it closer to the older man, he said, “I’m Detective Brad Stowe, and this is my partner, Detective Mark Robbins.”

“Call me Artie unless you’re here to arrest me for somethin’.”

“We’d just like to ask you a few questions about your business.”

“I reckon you can ask what you want. If I’ve gotten an answer, I’ll give it to you.”

Brad pocketed his ID, and not wanting to loom over the older man, he grabbed one of the metal chairs and moved it closer to the sofa before sitting down. Mark followed suit.

“Thanks,” Artie said. “Gives me a crick in the neck to have to look up too far.” He zeroed his attention on Mark, then said, “Robbins. I knew a Gerald Robbins. You look like him.”

“Gerald was my grandfather. My father is Richard Robbins.”

Artie squinted again, then lifted a thin, wrinkled hand to rub his forehead. “Gerald died, I think.”

“Yes, sir. He died about fifteen years ago.”

“Fifteen? Has it been that long?” The air rattled out of his chest as he turned his head toward the window. “Sometimes I think I done lived too long. Everyone I knew is gone.”

Brad and Mark shared a look, and Brad gave a minuscule shake of his head. It was his experience that some people needed time to gather themselves before talking, whether they were being questioned or not.

After a moment, Artie turned his head back and slapped his palms on his knees. “Well, I don’t suppose you detectives came all the way out here to sit around with me, so what can I do you for?”

“We’re investigating vehicle thefts in the county, Artie. We know that it’s very easy to steal cars, and it doesn’t take much to chop them up. We know that car theft gangs can then try to sell the parts. We’re checking with all the locally owned auto parts and auto mechanic shops to see if they’ve noticed any unusual activity.”

“That’s why I’m putting that dang fence up around the property,” Artie said, his lips curving into a frown. “Never thought I’d live to see the day I’d have to put a fence up to keep somebody from stealing something from me. The county has changed, and it ain’t a change for the good. Had this shop for almost sixty years and never had no one steal anything from me, other than a couple a kids over the years. But each of those times, their daddies caught them and hauled them to return what they’d taken, then made them work a few days washing cars for no pay as punishment.” He shook his head, his shoulders drooping as though his words had stolen his little energy.

They were silent for another moment. Artie lifted his hand to rub his whiskers, the creases in his face deepening. “Well, that’s not quite true. Back in the late 70s, I had a motorcycle gang come rolling up. One of them needed some work on his bike and didn’t take too kindly to me telling him I didn’t have the parts. Damn gang stole some of my tools and trashed one of my bays out there just for the hell of it. I would’ve taken them on, too, if there hadn’t been so many of ’em.”

Mark leaned forward and nodded. “Can you think of anything a little bit more recently, Artie?”

He grew silent again. “No. Nothing comes to mind.”

“I see you have a young man working for you in the garage,” Brad pointed out.

“Yes, sir!” Artie agreed, perking up as he nodded, making the white hair on top wave with each movement. “I’m too old to do anything now and couldn’t find anyone who wanted to buy me out. But I have a couple of young men doing the work, handling everything I’m too old to handle, and they said they’d like to buy the business from me when they can. Hell, at my age, I’ll probably kick the bucket before that happens.” He leaned forward and whispered, conspiratorially, “Ain’t gonna let ’em know this, but I’ll probably just leave it to ’em. I don’t want them to know… hate to think somebody would bump me off just to get my garage. I seen that kind of thing on TV.”

He chuckled, then leaned back and sighed. “Things around here just haven’t been the same since my Dorothy died. But I ain’t got nothing else to do, so I come over here from the house every day. Honestly, I just sit here and read the paper, listen to some music, and manage to get a little paperwork done. The boys I got coming in, they treat me right and do good business. I’m not so old that I can’t check my bank balance and see that money is coming in.”

“Were these guys local?” Mark asked, jerking his thumb toward the garage.

“The boy in charge of the others came from the shore, up over the border in Maryland. Smart young man, came down here for the same reason men have been doing things for a million years. Met some girl and moved down here to be with her. Anyway, he’s good with the cars. He also handles the sales for me. We don’t make a lot of money, but my house is paid for, I don’t eat a lot, and he’s helping out with things like that. He’s hired the others, so together, we keep the shop open.”

“The one you’ve got in the garage working on that old Ford looks kind of young,” Brad commented.

“Jaybird? He’s only sixteen or seventeen. I can’t remember, but he dropped out of school and got his GED. Told me he’d worked with cars most of his life up in Maryland. He does a lot of the work most days—oil changes, tire rotating, that kind of thing. Flip has him do some bodywork if it ain’t too challenging.”

“Jaybird?” Mark asked, glancing at Brad.

Artie hooted, then fell into a coughing fit. When he regained control, he nodded. “These days, kids use a bunch of names. It’s the only thing I know him by. Flip probably knows more.”

“You have employee records on them?”

Artie’s face scrunched into a million wrinkles, and he rubbed at his unshaven chin. “Well, now, Detectives, I pay my taxes like anyone else, but I don’t keep up with my paperwork so well.”

“I assume that means your employee paperwork.”

“The arrangement I got is that I pay Flip, and he takes care of the others.”

“You pay them in cash?” Mark asked.

“Yep. All cash. Makes it easy for me.”

Changing tactics before Artie became spooked and shut down, Brad asked, “Do you get many vehicles in to sell?”

“It comes and goes. Sometimes a person around here will need cash and want to dump an old car. Flip buys ’em and fixes them if needed. Then he always manages to find someone who wants to buy one on the cheap.” He chuckled. “I told Flip that I was looking for a van. Got a sweet woman who needs one.” He leaned forward and loudly whispered, “She brings me treats.”

Brad’s attention had been on the shop door where he could see Jaybird moving around as he worked on a car, but at the words van , sweet woman , and treats , his head swung back to Artie. Sucking in a quick breath through his nose, he said, “Bess.”

“That’s her, Bess Crowder. I know her daddy. He always came in with his daddy back in the day. I remember those two red-headed girls who looked like twins. They’d talk to my wife, and I’d give them candy from the jar Dorothy always kept on the counter.”

While Brad tried unsuccessfully to keep his racing thoughts under control at the idea of Bess around Jaybird and any of the other suspicious characters he’d seen in the back, Mark took over.

“And the idea for the fences to provide security?”

“Hell, Detective, you came in to ask me about some of the robberies in the area. You know as good as I do that somethin’s going on. Since we’ve started having a few cars that people want to trade in or sell me so I can have a few parts to use, I don’t want nobody stealing nothing. It’s hard enough to make a living around here doing honest work without someone stealing me blind.”

“How much land do you have around here, Artie? I assume that house is yours?” Brad prodded.

“My granddaddy had a big old farm out here in the county. That’s where I learned my trade. I was helping him fix up the farm trucks, tractors, plows. You name it, and if it had an engine, I could work on it. My dad took up farming, too, but I just found that working on engines and cars gave me a lot steady work. Farming is hard, Detectives, no mistake about that. You gotta hope that it rains, then you gotta hope it doesn’t rain too much. You gotta hope the economy is going your way and that the crops you plant are the ones that will bring in a good price that year. Lord, I remember nights and weeks and what seemed like months growing up with my mama on her knees praying just like my grandma had. My dad died early, like his dad before him. It was me that put food on the table and a roof over our heads by doing car work and not farming.”

Brad settled in, realizing Artie probably didn’t get many visitors, and it looked like he was gearing up for a tale.

“Probably heard the sayin’... land rich and cash poor. That’s what my family was. Before my daddy died, he sold off some acres and gave me the money to open my shop. I built it here on this edge of our land, and me and Dorothy built a house next to it. After he died, I sold off some more acres, putting that money into the business and built the garage we’re sitting in now. It was a much steadier life, doing something I enjoyed doing. Dorothy would often walk over here and work in the office, and I’d be out there working on cars. We’d quit at lunchtime and go have lunch together at home, and then walk back and do it again. I might not have made a lot of money, but in my mind, it was exactly the life I wanted.”

“It sounds like a good life, Artie,” Brad said. “I’d like to ask where you usually get your parts when someone brings a vehicle to be worked on.”

“There’s a big old junkyard up in Maryland. Thought about having one here, but Dorothy didn’t want to. Said it was unsightly, and the possibility of oil or gas leakage wasn’t good for nature. Couldn’t argue with that, and it wasn’t a pain to have to travel up to Maryland. Me and Dorothy would make a day of it. They got me most any part I need and used ’em for about thirty years.”

Artie fell into a round of coughing. “Now, these young men who work with me use the Internet. They can search online and have a part delivered here within a day or so.” He sighed heavily again. “In some way, things are easier nowadays. In other ways, it seems less personal. I knew the man who owned the junkyard. Got to know his wife and kids. When Dorothy and I’d go up, we’d sit and visit for a while. Can’t do that when you buy something off that Internet.”

“No, sir, you’re right,” Mark agreed.

“We’d like to be able to talk to the main man who’s working for you now. Is he around?”

“Flip? Not today. He should be back tomorrow. We had a call that someone wanted to sell an old car, and he was gonna go look to see if it could be fixed up so we could resell it.”

Having gained as much information as they could for the moment, the two detectives shared a look, then nodded and stood. “We appreciate your time, Artie,” Brad said.

The old man pushed himself to a stand before thrusting his bony hand toward Brad. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Detectives.” He turned and shook Mark’s hand. “Always liked your granddad. He was a good man.”

“Thank you, sir. That’s nice of you to say.”

“If you happen to hear of anyone who’s moving auto parts through channels that don’t feel like it’s legal, then give us a call,” Brad added, handing Artie his business card.

The two detectives walked out and climbed into their vehicle. They sat there for a moment as Brad’s gaze continued to look around.

“What are you thinking?” Mark asked.

Brad shook his head. “Nothing in particular. Just sort of taking it in. That old barn in the back looks as though it’s about ready to fall over with a stiff breeze. The shed near the house isn’t big enough to hold one car, much less anything else. It makes me a little concerned that he’s putting all his trust in someone he hasn’t known for very long. But he seems happy, and maybe they’re keeping him alive just by keeping his shop running.”

Mark pulled back out onto the lane and asked, “Back to the station, or do you have somewhere else you want to check out?”

Glancing at the time, Brad said, “Let’s head back. Most shops are about to close for the day, and I’d like to get this report entered before I leave.”

“Sounds like you have a hot date.”

“Don’t tell me you’re fishing for gossip.”

“No way. Being partners means I have your back, and I can do that best if I have all the info.”

Brad barked out a laugh. “No date for tonight. But this weekend… yeah. I figure it’ll get out anyway. I’m taking Bess out to dinner. Since she’s probably told her sister, who’s probably told Aaron, who’s probably told Sam, so I’m fucked if I try to keep it a secret.”

Mark nodded but said nothing until they parked at the station. “I hope you have a good time. You deserve it, and, from what I’ve heard, she does, too.”

He briefly held his new partner’s gaze and offered a chin lift. “Appreciate it, man.”

With that, they headed inside the station, where he was immediately greeted by Aaron and Sam attempting to hide their grins.

“Looks like you were right. Hard to keep a secret,” Mark said, laughing while clapping Brad on the shoulder.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, but knowing these men had his back in all things, he simply shook his head and hid his own smile.