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“Thank you. It means a great dill to me.” At her snicker, I counter with an equally awful pun.
“Well, let’s not dilly-dally.” Grabbing her hand, I start to run.
After we reach our SUV, she wipes raindrops off her long lashes, and uses her phone to find our destination, only a couple miles away. Once we’ve parked, we walk up the drive, and my wife rings the bell.
Soon, a man in a black t-shirt cracks open the door. “Do I know you?”
“Hi. I’m Samantha Sutcliff, and this is my husband, Sebastian. We’d like to talk to your son about a Christmas tree.” Even though she’s smiling, her tone sounds authoritative, something she no doubt learned from her police chief dad.
“Yeah? Waddabouddit?” Frowning, the man backs up and as he crosses his arms, I deepen my accent to sound less threatening.
“Wahl, sir. We found something of value in the item he sold us and we’re jes’ here to give it back.”
The guy’s shoulders drop, he turns and yells up the stairs. “Ronnie. Some people at the door want to talk to you.”
On the floor above, the kid takes one look at us, swivels on his heel, and bolts down the hall.
“Sugar, watch the outside.” Pushing past the father, I race up the steps, follow the young man through his bedroom, and out the fire escape.
Damn, he’s fast.About six feet up, I splash down in a cold puddle, and sprint after him.
Oblivious to the oncoming traffic, he runs across Seventeenth. Having more desire to survive, I slow down. By the time I reach the curb, he’s halfway down the block. When I’m about to call it quits, Sam jumps out from an alley and tackles him to the ground. Yanking his arms behind his back, she zip-ties his hands. While she pulls him between the buildings, I stuff a glove in his mouth.
Panting and out of breath, we wait behind a green dumpster. A few seconds later, the kid’s father appears, baseball bat in hand.
“Ron? You here?” Upon hearing no reply, his dad leaves and I pull the improvised gag from the teen’s mouth.
“Why’d you run. kid?”
The teen’s eyes widen. “Y-you cops?”
“No, private eyes.” My partner reaches into her back pocket and flashes our license in front of his face.
Ronnie finishes reading and smiles broadly. “You shitting me? Like Sherlock Holmes?”
Except for the side of the Atlantic, the century, and the fact he was fictional, we’re a perfect match.“Exactly right.” Pulling a blade from my boot, I slice through his plastic ties. “Sorry about that.”
Brows furrowed, mouth pursed, he first glances at us, then down the street.“Promise you won’t tell my dad?”
“So long as you didn’t cut off somebody’s middle finger, your secrets are safe with us.” My wife throws him a reassuring smile.
Rubbing his wrists, the kid does a double-take. “I’m not a nutcase. Listen, those trees wuz already stolen. The guy stiffed me, so I loaded what was left, took them into the city, and sold them. Fair is fair, right?”
The kid’s dark eyes glance at my spouse for reassurances, and now playing good-cop, she shoots him a toothy grin.” What was this tree-guy’s name, Ron?”
Newly in love, he blushes. “Howie, miss. I never got his last, but he paid me in cash.”
“Did you see his vehicle or notice anything strange about him?” Sam shows him a few images from her phone. “Is he in any of these pictures?”
“Yeah, dats him. The short guy. Looks like Danny DeVito.” He gives me the stink-eye then takes her arm. “How about you and me ditch your partner, and we talk business? Like, I could totally be your eyes and ears on the street.”
Patience at an end, I put my hands on his skinny shoulders, and point him up the block. “Go home, kid, and stay away from stolen trees.”
Back in our SUV, I regard my grinning danger magnet, thumbing her phone. “His name is Howard Mateo. I’ll ask Mia or Rose to pick up Mikey so we can go talk to this guy.”
“Why, on God’s green earth, would we want to do that right now?” Cockblocked, my mouth drops open.
Ignoring other things we could be doing, my partner shrugs. “Simple. Before he bolts, I want our money back.”
