Killing the Blues - Michael Brandman [16]
Jesse got out of the Explorer. He strapped on his service belt and proceeded on foot toward the pathway.
16
Jesse stayed close to the shrubbery growing on both sides of the rutted driveway. He moved cautiously, stopping frequently to listen. From a distance he could discern the high-pitched whine of heavy equipment.
He had traveled about a hundred yards when the driveway widened into an open field. Jesse inched closer to the brush and edged his way along the perimeter of the field.
Ten yards ahead, he spotted an unpainted barnlike structure with a corrugated metal roof and heavy-duty double doors at each end. The BMW was parked in front.
Inside the structure stood a hydraulic lift, the kind usually found in a mechanic’s garage. The Civic sat atop the lift. Fluid was being funneled from the car into a giant drum. The seats lay on the ground, having been separated from the body of the car.
From his concealed vantage point Jesse could see that there was no one in the barn. The only sound was that of the fluids as they flowed from the Civic. He worked his way closer.
From a door located on the far wall of the barn, the wiry man suddenly emerged and headed for the lift. He checked the progress of the fluid drip, then turned his attention to the seats. He covered his eyes with goggles and switched on an electric saw. He began to remove the seats from their frame.
Jesse watched for several minutes. The noise of the saw was deafening. He decided to use it as cover.
He removed the truncheon from his service belt. When he was certain that he wasn’t in the wiry man’s line of sight, he crawled from the bushes and sprinted toward him.
In a sudden explosion of force, Jesse hammered the truncheon into the back of the wiry man’s head. He dropped the saw and pitched forward.
Jesse carefully kicked the saw away. He returned the truncheon to his belt. He grabbed the fallen man and dragged him outside.
He gathered the man’s arms behind him and wrapped them together with a length of plastic wire. He did the same with the man’s legs. He pulled a red-and-white kerchief from his pocket, crushed it into a ball, and stuffed it into the man’s mouth. After making certain the man could breathe, Jesse pulled him into the bushes.
Jesse returned to the door and stood behind it, hidden, truncheon in hand. He waited. The deafening noise from the saw continued unabated. It finally caught the attention of the man inside.
The door opened, and the BMW driver stepped through. He noticed the saw on the ground. As he started toward it, Jesse stepped from behind the door and smashed the truncheon into the driver’s neck. He fell, facedown.
Jesse walked to the electric saw and yanked its plug from the wall socket. He was hoping that at some point his hearing would return.
He took his cell phone from his pocket, opened it, and hit the speed dial. Peter Perkins answered on the first ring.
“We’re a go,” Jesse said.
He knelt down beside the driver and checked his condition. Satisfied, he removed the handcuffs from his service belt and used them to clamp the man’s wrists together behind him.
He took a blindfold from his pocket and tied it over the man’s eyes.
He searched the driver’s pockets and found his wallet.
It identified him as Robert Lopresti, with an address in Fall River, Massachusetts.
A car approached, wheels crunching the driveway. Perkins and Suitcase pulled up in front of the barn. They got out of the Chevy and looked around.
“Chop shop, huh, Jesse,” Suitcase said.
“Looks like it,” Jesse said.
“Well hidden,” Perkins said.
“This one’s name is Robert Lopresti,” Jesse said. “He’s ready to go. You take the BMW, Suit. Keys are in it. I’ll look after the other one. Pete, you notify the crew that it’s okay to break this place down. See if they can restore the Honda. Let’s move.”
Perkins and Suitcase picked up Lopresti and placed him in the backseat of the Chevy. Perkins used his handcuffs to bind Lopresti’s feet together.
Suitcase got into the BMW. He lowered the passenger-side window and called to Jesse.
“There