Road Rules Online

Estevez hated the smell of grease.  He hated getting it on his shoes.  He hated how it hung in the air when it burned on the surface of hot metal.

In fact, Estevez hated the very thing that made Cleveland Cleveland, heavy industry.  Unfortunately, Major Crimes often sent him into the factories and warehouses and foundries that still made up much of the city’s economy.  Why he didn’t take that job in Houston ten years ago, he’d never know.  Houston had warmer weather, more white collar crime.

Oh, yeah.  He remembered why.  Houston had two big strikes against it:  Smog and hurricanes.  Say what you would about Cleveland’s blizzards and the odd tornado, the city knew how to handle them.

All that brought little comfort as Estevez stood in the middle of Allied Staging and Storage.  A black man in a suit that cost more than Estevez’s big-screen TV walked up to him after chatting with a couple of hard hats.  “Not a damn thing, Loot.  Half of them act like they never knew it was here.”

“Probably a smart move,” said Estevez, running a hand through his hair.  “Tell the employees the Crown Jewels of London are here, everyone and their cousin will be trying to take a peak, not to mention the inevitable sticky fingers.”  He yawned.  “How long we been here, Simmons?”

“We’ve had people here since right after we learned the Chest was gone, mostly uniforms.”

“And the CSI techs?”

“Got them forty-five minutes ago, fresh off a homicide out on Lorain Avenue.”

“And they’re wasting time on this shit?”

Simmons grinned.  “Well, sir, the mayor could have demanded Homicide work it.”

“They can have it.  It ain’t worth the collar.”  He started toward an office that sat on a raised platform some fifteen feet above the warehouse floor.  Simmons fell in step behind him.

The smell of burned grease gave Estevez a headache.  He felt as though he’d been sprayed down with WD-40.  Looking at Simmons, he wondered how the kid could always look like he’d just stepped out of the shower.

They took the stairs, steep, almost ladder-like, to the general manager’s office up on the platform.  The greasy smell became worse the higher they climbed.  Up on the platform, Estevez felt as though it had coated his hair.

He barged into the office unannounced, Simmons stopping to wait by the door.

“Cleveland Police,” he said.  “Which one of you is the GM?”

Two men stood at a large table, both staring blankly.  One of them, a pudgy man with thinning hair, raised his hand and said, “I am.”

“And you are?” asked Estevez.

“Gordon Reik,” he said.

“Who owns this place?”

“What do you mean?”

Estevez grumbled to himself.  “It’s a simple question, Mr. Reik.  Who writes your paychecks?”

“Allied Staging,” he said.

“And they, in turn, are owned by…?”

Gordon looked at his coworker, who had been studying his fingernails.  The other guy finally looked at Estevez and said, “Some outfit called Cossack Holdings.  Why?”

“And who handled the security for that crate kept here for the bishop?”

Reik blow out his breath slowly.  “Well, some armored car company brought it in from the airport.”

“Go on.”

“Jordan & Associates handled the move from here to St. Jakob’s.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.  I know that.  But all St. Jakob’s got was a packing crate with lead weights in the bottom.  I want to know who managed security here.  Who was in charge of that thing while you guys had possession of it?”

Reik and his coworker looked at each other.

“Well?” said Estevez.

“I think it best if you talk to our lawyer,” said Reik.  “I can’t answer anymore questions.”

Estevez put his hands on his hips and nodded, looking at the floor.  “Uh-huh.”  He turned and headed back out onto the platform, Simmons following closely.  “Simmons, find out everything you can on Cossack Holdings.  In fact, call any friends we have in the feds.  FBI, IRS, EPA if you have to.  Hell, call the White House gardener.  I want to know who Cossack Holdings is.”

“It’s a dummy corporation, sir,” said Simmons.

Estevez had started back down the stairs and stopped.  “No.   Really?  Good job, Simmons.  You’ll make captain by Christmas.”  He started his decent again.  “Let’s get out of here.  This place is making me sick.”

“I got a call from someone named Mason from the insurance company.  He says he’s on his way here.”

“Fine.  Let’s get a late lunch while we wait.  If I stay in this mess any longer, I’m gonna be sick.”