Amateur Hour

A Scheme and a Spanish Lesson

Steph

Upon their return from Atlanta, Steph’s first act was to call Trudy. She was prepared to throw herself on the other woman’s mercy, in exchange for an overnight stay for Galen, but it hadn’t been necessary. Galen was still there, playing basketball in the driveway with Gerri and some of the other kids from the neighborhood. As luck would have it, there were murmurings about a slumber party, in the rec room basement of Trudy’s house.

“I know they’re only ten and eleven year-olds, but… A coed sleepover?”

“Not to worry. They’ll play music, pig out on junk, and conk out, by eleven, at the latest. Supervised, to the hilt, I promise. It’s only seven kids.”

“Enough for an orgy,” Steph deadpanned, then cringed at her own words. Guy would find that amusing, but she had no idea how Trudy would take it.

But, the other woman laughed. “They won’t have time for more than a covert and constantly interrupted game of Spin the Bottle,” she said, still chuckling. “And, I always bed down on the sofa, once they show signs of fading, for the night. It’ll be fine.”

“I’m sure it will. I’m sorry I said that —”

“Honey, it was priceless. Don’t worry about it. And, don’t worry about Galen, either.”

***

Steph discovered that Kayla’s camera roll was wall-to-wall photos of Stanley doing typical dog things. He was a cute pup — happy and energetic. Kayla stopped short of dressing him up, but he appeared to have at least thirty bandannas, ceramic dishes, with his name on them, an overstuffed dog bed, and an insane number of toys.

“Does he play with all of those?” Steph laughed.

“If you play with him,” Kayla shrugged. “He has his favorites, for playing alone. That’s what was in half of my boxes, that I brought here. I figured I’d get an apartment, eventually, and Stan could have them out, again.”

“Did Julio already have you packed up, when you left the school?”

The other woman nodded. “My car was packed, and loaded. This is the first picture Julio sent.” She pulled up a photo of Stanley, on someone’s kitchen floor, eating kibble from a stainless steel mixing bowl. “I would never feed him that crap,” Kayla huffed. “That one was taken, the night I arrived, with a text that said: ‘Call me, tomorrow.’”

“Those look like Julio’s shoes, so it’s probably his kitchen.”

“Here’s the next one.”

This time, Stan was hiding under a coffee table, peering out. He didn’t look happy.

“What the hell is that around his neck, anyway?” Kayla demanded. “It looks like a pink cervical collar!”

“That, could be a clue. It’s a geofencing collar. It could mean that Julio lives in a home without a physical fence. Might be easier for us to get onto the property.”

“How does that work? It’s a shock collar, isn’t it?”

“Don’t get upset, Kayla. It stings, but it doesn’t do any real damage, to the dog. First thing we’re going to do, is cut it off, anyway. Those things usually have trackers, too.”

“He knows where we are, already.”

“Yeah. But a tracker on a dog kind of reinforces the idea that whoever put it there, is the rightful owner.”

“Stanley’s chipped, and the chip is registered to me.”

“Perfect. That was going to be my next question.”

The final picture was Stan, on a man’s lap (Julio’s judging from the overpriced sneakers). The man’s hand held a folded newspaper, verifying the date.

“What did that text say?”

“It said: ‘Stanley misses you. Don’t forget to call us.’”

“Nothing jumps out at me, as to a location, though…” Steph mused. “You’d better make that call, before he gets suspicious.”

“Yeah, it’s about that time. I generally try to time it, when I think you’re going to be in your office, or somewhere, on the line, with Ramirez.”

“He’s late, this evening. Maybe I’ll give him a ring.”

Steph rose and collected her own phone, to give Kayla some privacy, crossing her fingers that she wouldn’t get too fancy, with her tales. She smirked. It was something Guy was prone to do. Occasionally, he went a little overboard, with his embellishments. At least Kayla had had enough sense to keep her trap shut, this morning, with Starkey.

Guy’s phone rang several times, then went to voicemail, and Steph frowned accusingly at her own device, as if it were malfunctioning. She redialed, with the same result. That was weird. With a shrug, she killed her own ringer, and retraced her steps quietly to the kitchen, just in case Kayla was still talking to Julio.

She was, with the volume on her end turned low. Steph could only make out Kayla’s end of the conversation, clearly. Julio was merely a tinny buzz, from her distance.

“…upstairs, packing her kid’s things for a weekend with his grandma… No, the other grandma, I think — no way she’s going near Atlanta again.” Kayla’s eyes flicked in her direction, and Steph gave her a thumbs up. “…I don’t know, and I don’t care. Not Atlanta, though. Somewhere down around Bainbridge, I think…. Shut the hell up, Julio, and let me see my dog.”

Steph smiled a little. She’d been wrong. Kayla wasn’t completely without acting talent.

“…No, Julio,” she said, as if she were speaking to an imbecile, “I thought I heard the cat! She kicked him out of the apartment, after Ramirez stormed out. They’re both persona non grata, right now… No. Not until I’ve seen Stan.”

There was a pause in the conversation, then Kayla began to coo at the dog, when he came into view. It was short lived, and Julio had evidently shut off his camera. Kayla brought the phone to her ear. She listened; rolled her eyes.

“He gave the kid a knife, and she got pissed. Said he was too young for one, and that she’d already said ‘no’. It blew up from there, after I put in my two cents’ worth. …Of course, it’s stupid. It was a perfectly safe, two-inch, locking blade. …Yes, I am. I said I would, didn’t I? …Yeah, all right. …Uh-huh. …Screw you, Julio.”

Kayla hung up the phone, and double checked that the connection had been broken, then let out a whoosh of breath.

“Not bad!” Steph praised her.

“The last part was heartfelt, believe me. What, now?”

“Now, you get on your laptop, and start looking at his licenses. Driver’s, PI, business.”

“Like I didn’t think of that, already,” Kayla scowled.

“Did you think to look for any name other than ‘Julio’? Guy has three names, before his surname, and hint — none of them are ‘Guy’. It’s short for Guillermo. As far as I know, ‘Julio’ is a stand-alone name, but it could be tucked in with several others.”

“Shit. No, I didn’t think of that.” Now her scowl was turned upon herself. “Pfft… Some researcher, I am.”

“Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just run it, again. I’ll be in the storage room, scaring up some gear.”

“What kind of gear?”

“Whatever jumps out, at me.”

***

What jumped out at her were a few matching sets of ‘costume’ items that she and Guy had acquired and stored, from past jobs. There were the work pants and shirts they’d worn, when they were fading into the scene, as electricians; a pair of nondescript ‘security’ uniforms, from when they’d played mall cops, for a whole day; a couple of fishing vests, complete with bucket hats and lures.

None of these would work. For one thing, Guy’s trousers would be too big for either her, or Kayla, and the fishing outfits wouldn’t fly anywhere but near a lake. At last she found one delivery driver vest, then the other. Why couldn’t Guy manage to hang matching things together?

His vest would be a tiny bit large, on one of them, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. If they used Steph’s car, they’d look like a transportation company team doing a delivery side-gig.

On her way back to the kitchen, Steph gathered every empty office supply box in her direct path. Stacked in the back seat, they might pass muster, if the lighting wasn’t too bright.

“I found him,” Kayla announced, at the sound of Steph’s footsteps. “He — What the hell, Steph? That’s your idea of ‘gear’?”

“And costumes,” Steph smiled tossing her Guy’s vest. “You take that one. You have the bigger rack.”

“It smells like a gigolo in a disco, where they allow smoking,” Kayla wrinkled her nose.

“Suck it up. I like Guy’s cologne.”

“His sweat, too? No, don’t answer that.”

“Give it to me, then. Such a baby,” she muttered, as they switched vests. “What were you going to say, about Julio?”

“He has four — count ‘em — four names and a surname. You were right. ‘Julio’ is the third one. Anyway, he lives in a gated community, so I guess the delivery driver ruse is a good one. That’s the play we’re going for, right?” She eyed the empty boxes.

“We’ll tape these up, along with a few others, slap labels on them, grab a clipboard, with a list of names and addresses, and shoot our shot. If you have pepper spray, you might want to tuck it into one of your pockets. Run upstairs, and change into something casual. Go for something dark, and cover your hair – it’s light enough to clock, even in the dark. I’ll print up some bogus labels and an address sheet.”

“What? Now?”

“No time like the present.”

“It’s 5:30 p.m. It’ll be eight, at the earliest, before we get there.”

“Nine. There’s an hour’s difference. Hopefully, we’ll be in time to catch Stanley on a last potty trip, before Julio turns in, for the night. If not, we wait, until he lets him out, in the morning. If we’re lucky, Julio’s an early riser, and it’ll still be dark-ish.”

Kayla opened her mouth, as if to say something, more. She thought better of it. Instead, she turned and bolted upstairs.

“Scissors,” Steph muttered, to herself, donning Guy’s vest, Kayla already dismissed from her mind. “Do not forget the scissors…”

By the time Kayla returned, she was already affixing bogus labels to the empty, taped boxes. The large kitchen shears lay atop the single sheet of paper attached to the clipboard. She thrust the sheet of labels at Kayla.

“Finish this, would you?”

“Sure. Ramirez hasn’t called, yet?”

Steph shook her head, and carried her phone back to her office. There was still no answer, on Guy’s end, though she tried four times.

“No luck?” Kayla asked, when she reentered the kitchen.

“No. But, maybe he’s tied up with Ted,” she added, the thought just occurring to her. “He was supposed to fly out, today. Let’s saddle up,” she said, grabbing four empty boxes. Kayla followed suit, and they left.

“You’re holding the fort,” Steph remarked to Mango, in passing. “Try not to burn it down.”

*******

Guy

Guy had been in a state of near panic, since he had arrived this morning, only to see Dr. Hermann, strolling the halls, decked out in her black pantsuit, and red-striped tie. Her movements were deceptively casual, her demeanor chillingly affable, because it clashed so strongly with her usual mien.

Some of the newer arrivals returned her smiles, but others were wary, uneasy, in her wake. For his part, Guy flashed her his most winning grin, before making a beeline, for his classroom, coffee in hand.

What to do? His first thought, of course, was to call Ted, but he’d gotten no answer. Not surprising — the man’s phone was often tied up, in the morning, even with the time difference. Ted was an early riser and shaker.

Not surprising, but it added a layer of frustration to Guy’s anxiety. He thought about phoning Steph, but resisted the urge. She could do nothing, for him, and she would only worry. Guy was on his own, for the time being.

He drew a deep breath, releasing it, slowly. Nothing was going to happen, before Ted got off the phone. Meanwhile… He rose, and wrote a phrase, on the blackboard, trying to keep it simple.

“Ningún niño, con una corbata verde camina solo, hoy.”

No kid in a green tie walks alone, today. He’d drum it into them. He considered the phrase, reached for his eraser, rubbed out “verde”, and rewrote it, with his green chalk, and nodded. It would latch onto enough of them, for it to spread. “Niño” was a noun they’d already had. “Solo” was one was a word everyone knew. He’d teach the rest.

It was a Hail Mary, but better than nothing. He could hardly tackle the Dean, truss her up, and throw her into a closet. Besides, these kids were very familiar with, and fans of, the buddy system.

By 10 a.m., he’d taught three classes the phrase on the board, and it had clicked right away, with some of them, if their sober looks were any gauge. He was breathing bit easier, when his phone rang, and it was Ted on the other end, announcing his plan to fly out. He’d be there, before the school day ended.

Guy considered informing him of the Dean’s attire, but reconsidered. There was nothing the man could do, other than what he was doing. Guy only had to hold the fort, trust his troops, and keep an eye on Dr. Hermann, whenever possible.