Read Online The Chop Shop by Christopher Heffernan - Free Book Online Page B

chemicals crept up his
nostrils.
    “Do you live
above here?” he said, gesturing to a staircase partially hidden behind the door
and its pane of frosted glass.
    She nodded.
    “I noticed you
had a security camera back there. Does it work? I'd like to get a copy of its
storage drive, if that's okay with you.”
    The girl
hesitated for a moment, before producing a set of keys from her pocket to
unlock the door. They went up the stairs, and Michael felt the wood creaking
under his feet. She unlocked a second door at the top of the staircase. It was
dark and murky inside the flat, lit only by a few traces of light poking
through holes in the curtains.
    She tugged on a
piece of string. A neon tube bathed the room in cold, blue light. Michael saw a
sofa made up as a bed and cardboard boxes filled with old possessions. The
kitchen was just another corner of the lounge with cooking appliances and a
fridge.
    A laptop rested
on the table beside him, lights flashing with hard drive activity. An
assortment of cables ran from several sockets and into a hole in the wall. The
girl traced a finger over the track pad.
    “Can you go back
to yesterday?”
    She sat down at
the table, shadows beginning to envelope her as she moved away from the blue
light. She opened a fresh window and began to rewind the images. It sped up,
faster and faster, seconds passing on the time stamp, minutes and then finally
hours. “Who are you after? It's somebody in particular, isn't it?”
    “I don't have a
lot to go on. I know they bought a tuna and mayonnaise sandwich from here
yesterday, but beyond that, nothing.”
    She paused the
video for a moment. “We get enough customers to keep us afloat, but not much
more than that. I know the man you want. He bought half our stock in one go,
and I've never seen that happen before. My dad won't like me giving this to
you, though; he thinks it'll bring trouble down on our heads.”
    “You're already
getting money extorted from you by policemen. I can't make promises or
guarantees, but we'll look into it for you and see what we can do. You're
practically on the bread line already, and it wouldn't take much more to tip
you over the edge.”
    The girl
hesitated.
    “This guy we're
after, we think he was operating in conjunction with the man who staged the hit
up on the plate. Did you hear about it on the radio or television?”
    She rewound the
pictures until early morning the previous day, just after seven o'clock. The
images were fuzzy, but clear enough that he could see the man wearing glasses
and a blue, plastic rain jacket. He leaned in closer to look over the girl's
shoulder, squinting as he tried to make out the facial features. They were a
blur of pixels.
    “Sorry, the
camera isn't very good. My dad got it ages ago. The policemen don't even care;
they know it can't provide enough evidence against them. “
    Michael pulled a
memory stick from his jacket pocket and plugged it into the laptop. “Can you
dump that footage on there, please? Put the police unit on there as well.
There's enough space on the stick for all of it.”
    She copied the
files. “If the police team find out somebody is investigating them, they'll
come back for us. That's what they told my dad. They said we'll wish we never
said a word, because paying them was better than what would happen if we
didn't.”
    The girl spoke
the words in a droll monotone, as though she had emotionally detached herself
from it all. Perhaps it was for the best.
    “I understand.
I'll see what I can do, and I'll make sure it doesn't come back and bite you.
People like them will just keep on pushing you for a bigger cut whenever they
can. You know how they operate.”
    She nodded.
“Thanks.”
    They went back
downstairs. Richard was still talking to the baker.
    “Get what you
needed?” Michael said.
    Richard nodded.
They bought lunch from the shop and returned to the car.
    “I didn't get
what I needed,” he said when they were seated. “I know they're