“I think father went
hunting,” Bryant said as he and Crispin were driving into Minneapolis Saturday
morning. He tapped an article in the newspaper then read it to his brother. It
told about a woman who had been found collapsed over her dressing-table in the
bedroom of her home. For reasons so far unknown every bottle of her expensive
perfumes had been opened and spilled across the table. She was face-down in the
resulting pool of fragrances and speculation was that she had passed out and
then died of asphyxiation.
Crispin chuckled. “That
definitely sounds like his style. I take it there were no signs that anyone
else was there but the woman.”
“Not according to the paper.
Her husband was on a business trip and returned yesterday morning to find
her there. Of course he called 911 but it was much too late to do her any
good.”
“You go, Dad,” Crispin
exclaimed, earning a full out laugh from his brother.
“You’ve been hanging around
that kid…that person too much,” Bryant commented.
Crispin just shrugged then
stepped hard on the brakes and immediately sped up again. Looking out the back
window, Bryant quickly jotted down the license plate number of the
car that had been tailgating them, smiling at the look of shock on the driver’s
face. Then the man pulled into the next lane and passed them, flipping Crispin
off and obviously saying something offensive although they couldn’t hear what.
An hour later the brothers
were getting out of the car in a parking garage not too far from their
destination. They donned the reflective vests and carried the helmets Bryant
had ‘borrowed’ from a construction site the previous day. After a decent walk
they were on I-394 overlooking I-94, standing by a pair of safety cones that
warned drivers about a pile of broken concrete on the shoulder of the bridge.
Down below them the cars and
trucks moved rapidly and for the most part without problem drivers at the
wheel. Then Bryant spotted someone moving from lane to lane in search of the
fastest one. One driver had to swerve to avoid hitting the culprit. Bryant
zoomed in with the camera to get a shot of the rear of the offending car and
the license plate.
It was slow, tedious work
and they moved several times to keep their cover as road workers valid, but by
three that afternoon they decided they had enough photos to warrant ending this
part of the operation for the day.
As they walked back to the
car Bryant said, “Now home and search, Spin. We need names and addresses to
match the plates.”
“Sounds like a good thing to
keep you busy for the evening,” Crispin replied, not looking at his brother.
“You are the expert at
that.”
“Yes, agreed, but you know
how to too and I have other plans.”
“What the hell is more
important than this?” Bryant growled. “And if you say you’re doing something
with that man, I’m saying no way.”
Crispin stopped just as they
reached the entrance to the garage, glaring at his brother. “It’s not as if we
have to do something right this minute. If you’re in that much of a hurry then as I said, you do the research. I may not have much of a life outside of work
and the game but when I do I intend to enjoy it.” He took out his keys,
removing the car key to toss to Bryant. “Take the car. I’ll catch a cab. I can
change at my office before meeting Kent.”
“Spin, come on, don’t be an
ass.”
Raising an eyebrow Crispin
muttered, “I’m not the ass here,” as he walked away.
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