Grand Larceny

Picault, along with his fellow constables and Detective Staff Sergeant, worked through the night to piece together the scene of the latest crime. As frustrating as Mr. Peterson could be, he was the only reason they even knew what these criminals were driving. That’s not much to go on, but it’s more than they had before. Eyewitness accounts are notoriously unreliable, especially under duress, so having Justin confirm some of their earlier reports gave them a confidence boost. The man may not be smart, but he didn’t seem to be rattled by much.

The crooks had been deemed “The Magic Men” by the Ontario Police because they had worked their way through several locations, never having been caught. They hadn’t left a trace of evidence and never hit the same target twice. They had made a mockery of the police departments across the province, and Picault was determined to make sure his didn’t suffer the same fate.

Once the sun rose, other businesses started opening. The immediate area surrounding the jewellery store was cordoned off, which drew the attention of early commuters and business owners.

Picault and his partner, a man by the name of Billings, took a tour of the street, asking all open businesses for their security footage from the night prior. Thankfully, everyone was eager to stop the criminals who had been terrorizing their town, so they handed over their footage without issue. Not having to stop to get warrants or subpoenas saved a lot of time and hassle.

The second last building on the street was the first of them all to have a hard-wired system, not operating on wireless internet. The Magic Men must have some sort of jamming device, which interfered with or stopped the wi-fi signal from functioning because every other business had grainy black and white static on their screen during the time of the robbery. This could be another break.

Picault and Billings watched the security tape thoroughly, analyzing the time, the direction The Magic Men were headed, and their vehicle. They learned nothing new from the information, but it corroborated Mr. Peterson’s eyewitness account yet again.

After thanking the business owner, Picault and Billings returned to the scene of the crime with the one usable video feed, feeling defeated. They were hopeful that his co-workers had turned over something new in the past few hours.

As they neared the police tape marking off the back of the parking lot, a glint of something caught Picault’s eye. He squatted down to look and found a glimmer of hope. A cell phone.

Picault snapped on a new glove and reached down to retrieve the device, but after repeatedly pressing buttons, the phone’s screen remained black.

If they could retrieve any information from the phone, and assuming it belonged to one of the criminals and not a random patron walking through the alley, it could be a gold mine of information that could lead to the capture and arrests of The Magic Men.

The thought gave Picault a surge of adrenaline that a triple-shot espresso couldn’t rival.

In order to ensure the chain of custody on the first real evidence the police had found, Picault spent hours taking photos, filing paperwork, and triple checking that every T was crossed. The phone got into the right hands that would have it examined in a tech lab within a few hours, though the results could take days to get back. Regardless, this could be a huge break in the case.

Nelson couldn’t sleep the entire night. Gord’s reaction to losing a third of their bounty meant they all had to suffer his incessant whining for hours upon returning home. One rhetorical question after the next, until his post-heist high wore off, and he fell asleep on the sofa.

The air mattress in the smallest of the three bedrooms had a slow leak, but being the third guy in the crew, Nelson always ended up with the worst accommodations. If Gord found out about his latest blunder, he knew he could be sleeping with the fishes, so a leaky air mattress still beat that.

It was also a better choice than a prison cot.

After a few hours of planning, Nelson came up with a solution, so Gord never had to know about his misstep. This was all that damn dog’s fault. If she hadn’t shown up, he would have been in the van, cruising for home with his loot and his cell phone.

First thing in the morning, Nelson left a note on the kitchen table saying he was going out for some supplies and would be back in a few hours. He just hoped Gord or Earle wouldn’t be suspicious of him leaving a note rather than sending them a text.

He snuck out the front door, closing it quietly behind him so he wouldn’t wake the oversized greying toddler on the sofa.

With the van headed due south, Nelson was convinced he could make this right and get back into Gord’s good graces. Even if it came at great personal cost.

Rodney’s Auto Shop was his first stop, so when Nelson parked, he stepped out to greet his old friend. They ran together in a street crew back as teenagers, and neither of them had cleaned up their act ever since. Nor did they intend to. Crime pays.

“Rodney, my man. How are ya?”

“Well, if it isn’t Smelly Nelly. What did I do to deserve your face showing up here?”

Nelson never liked that nickname. Especially coming from a man who wore the same navy-blue coveralls day in, day out, and hadn’t brushed his teeth since before The Rolling Stones were able to collect a pension. His teeth were set so far apart, it looked like his tongue was in jail, and you could probably weaponize his stank breath. Even so, the man was the connection they needed, so Nelson played nice. “I need a new car, Rod. This one’s been spotted, and we can’t risk being seen in it again. You got anything that can fit a fifteen-foot-tall, miserable bastard?”

Rodney chuckled, throwing an oil-stained rag over his shoulder and wafting his halitosis toward Nelson. “I’m not sure. I’ve got a crew-cab pickup truck that might work. Everything else right now is small SUVs and compacts.”

In the parking lot sat a black pickup truck that looked like it was in decent shape. Gord wouldn’t be thrilled, but it would have to do.

“The good thing about this one is that it’s the number one selling pickup in North America, and this is the most common colour. So if you want to blend in, it’s as good as anything.”

Music to Nelson’s ears. “Sure. I’ll take it. Just get it sorted for me and I’ll be back in an hour or two with payment.”

“You got it.”

The next stop on Nelson’s journey was the mobile phone store to replace what he lost. He hadn’t quite worked out how to explain to Gord why he needed a new number, but he’d think of something. With a fake ID he’d used for the past few months, Nelson purchased a new phone, identical to the one he lost. After playing with it for a bit, he added any contacts he could remember—using his same code method, adding one to the last digit—downloaded a few apps he used previously, and customized the ringtone. He could finally breathe again.

Upon returning to Rodney’s shop, the truck was ready to go with a clean VIN, fake insurance papers, and a phony plate. The van was nearly an even trade, so the new vehicle didn’t end up costing as much as Nelson expected. Even better.

By noon, Nelson pulled back into the driveway of their secluded rental in their new truck. It might not take anyone off the line, but it had decent gas mileage, was roomy inside, and, like Rodney said, it blended in.

Gord was sitting having a late coffee after sleeping in. He was still furious over how last night went and made a personal vow to track down the small guy with the dog.

Once Nelson realized he lost his share of their score, Gord u-turned and headed back to the downtown core, parking in behind the businesses opposite the jewellery store. While standing in an alleyway far enough away where no one could see him, he spotted the offending dog. She sat beside a small man, looking proud of herself. When Gord watched the man hand Nelson’s duffel bag over to the police officer, his temper almost got the better of him. It was enough of a risk going back to the scene just to find out about the dog. He knew going Hulk on everyone wouldn’t solve any of their problems.

So, as he sat at the table the following day, flipping mindlessly through the newspaper, he was determined to track down that dog’s owner and make him regret sticking his nose in their business. No one messed with Gordon Wright.

While blinded by rage, imagining himself dishing out revenge on the offending man and his dog, Gord neglected to read his text messages, so when a strange truck came tearing up the gravel driveway to their rental property, he went into commando-mode. He grabbed his gun from the kitchen counter and bolted out onto the rickety old porch in a t-shirt and his boxer shorts—thankfully not commando. If he were in Texas, the person would have been dead already, but Gord wasn’t willing to risk anyone hearing a gunshot without just cause for shooting someone. They were secluded, but not far enough away from neighbours to have a shootout in peace.

As the truck approached, he saw a familiar face in the driver’s seat and relaxed.

“Were you planning on shootin’ me, Gordo?” Nelson climbed out of the driver’s seat once he had the new vehicle parked.

“If you call me that again, I just might.” The man’s mood was clearly reflected in his facial expression. “What is this?”

“It’s a truck.” Nelson’s smirk was not helping to keep Gord’s volcanic temper from erupting.

“I can see that. Where’s the van?”

“Well, I figured since we were already spotted, and then after last night, it was safer to ditch it. I went to Rodney’s to get this. There’s plenty of room for you.”

Gord considered Nelson’s decision for a moment before nodding and going back inside. Maybe that van was the source of their bad luck and without it, they could get back to what they did best. After they saw a man about a dog.