The Second Girl(29)

He examines the paperwork more closely, as if he wants to double-check the amount.

“Yes, that is correct, but there is also a penalty charge to pay off the vehicle early.”

“It doesn’t state that anywhere in the paperwork.”

“It’s a part of the agreement, as spoken to Mr. Clapoh. You can call him to verify if you wish.”

“No, I don’t need to call him. If it’s not written down, then it doesn’t mean shit.”

“There’s no need to be foul, sir.”

“I haven’t begun.”

“Sir, the balance to pay in order for me to release the title will be…” He taps some numbers on a calculator beside the computer keyboard. “That will come to an additional three thousand two hundred ninety-two dollars, making it eleven thousand five hundred twenty-three dollars and forty cents.”

“What?” Theresa bursts out.

I smile calmly and turn to her.

“Why don’t you take a look at some of the cars out there, Mrs. Claypole?”

She looks at me briefly, then shoots the Ethiopian a hard glare and walks out.

I stand up and pull the wad of money out of my briefcase and drop it on his desk. I take my wallet from my back pants pocket, open it in a way that reveals a portion of my badge. I make sure he can see it. I take out some more money and count an additional two hundred forty dollars and place that next to the eight grand.

“That’s eight thousand two hundred forty dollars. Don’t worry about the change. Look at it, then look at me. Do I look like someone you’re gonna f*ck with?”

“This is a business, sir.”

“You the owner?”

“Yes. You also never gave me your name, sir.”

“What you are trying to pull is illegal in this f*cking country. You’d be wise to take the true amount owed, ’cause if the next thing outta your mouth isn’t ‘Let me get the title,’ then I’m gonna make one call to a good friend of mine who’ll show up with a police team to check every f*cking VIN, hidden VIN, and even engine-part number of every f*cking car on this lot. After that, they’ll come in here and go through all your paperwork and you’d better pray everything’s in order, which I seriously doubt, ’cause when they get done, it won’t be a matter of paying off a few fines. You will be looking at jail time.”

“I am too much an American citizen! I have rights.”

“You got rights, but the police don’t need a search warrant to do a spot check on a dealership, especially after I get done telling my friend the kinda loan scam you’re trying to pull on me, and more than likely have gotten away with on other occasions.”

“You cannot threaten me like this, sir. I’m going to call the police.”

“What are you, a f*cking dope? What do you think I’m about to do? You go on, call them. I can use the uniforms that arrive to secure the premises before the detective I’m gonna call gets here. Save me a lot of time, you shady little motherf*cker. You think I’m playing? I’m about to f*ck your life up.”

I pull out my phone to make a call.

He stands straight out of his chair, as if he’s ready to salute me.

“Sir, please, I think we can arrange something.”





Twenty-three



I got lucky with the Ethiopian. He’s dirty, but if he had only worked shady loan deals he’d have called me on it. I wasn’t bluffing, though. I do have a friend who works with an auto-theft task force and deals with these fly-by-night dealerships. These places get into everything from re-VINing stolen cars to selling thirty-day-temp tags to drug boys. The tags alone are big business. So, yeah, he was into something, but I still took a chance, ’cause the last thing I would’ve wanted was my guy coming down there on a favor and then me having to explain why I’m paying off an eight-thousand-dollar loan for a felon, and all of it in cash. That would’ve been a good story.

When I drop Theresa off at her home, I tell her that I’ll be holding on to the title until Lenny gets out of jail. That it’s a procedural thing. Truth is, I want to make sure the truck is still around when he gets out of jail. She seems nice enough and supportive. Maybe she’ll wait for him, but then maybe she won’t. The truck’s an easy couple thousand if she decides not to.

On the way back to DC, I give Davidson a call.

He picks up after the fourth ring. “What’s up, Frankie?”

“Wanted to give you a heads-up about a meeting I’m heading to at Costello’s office.”

“Don’t tell me another teenage girl’s there?”

“Nothing like that. Just meeting with the family of another one that’s missing.”

“What does Costello have to do with that? And you, for that matter?”

“Mother and father of another missing teenager, I think from the same school, reached out to the family of the little girl I got outta the house on Kenyon. They gave them Costello’s number and called her for help, specifically my help. Costello said when they called she gave them your number. You ever get a call?”

“As a matter of fact, yes. I took all their information, including the name of the detectives they were working with in Fairfax County. Best we can do is put her on our radar, but I didn’t tell them that. I feel bad for them.”