Catch As Cat Can

13

As Tracy forced the young man back toward the house, he took no chances. Holding the kid's left arm up behind him with his other hand on the young man's collar, his grip was tight. Each time the kid tried to shake free, Tracy jerked the bent left arm upward, which evoked a howl. In the cool night air thunder over the mountains presaged an approaching spring storm.

The main attendant had the presence of mind to find Big Mim, who in turn corralled Cynthia Cooper. The two women were waiting with Miranda Hogendobber as Tracy delivered his quarry.

“It's the man Sean described,” Miranda said. What upset her as much as anything was the fact that a young person would steal.

Cynthia stepped forward. “I'm Deputy Cynthia Cooper. Cooperate and maybe we can make this less unpleasant.”

“I didn't steal nothin',” he sullenly defended himself.

“Why don't we start with your name?” Cynthia then turned to Tracy. “You can release him. And thanks.”

The scared youth grumbled, “Fast for an old man.”

Miranda couldn't help but smile. “Son, you've been brought down by one of the best halfbacks this state ever produced.”

The youth warily studied Tracy, who beamed thanks to Miranda's praise.

“What's your name?” Big Mim betrayed irritation.

“Wesley Partlow.”

“Mr. Partlow, your address,” Cooper methodically asked.

“Got none.”

“You must sleep somewhere,” she pressed.

He shrugged. “When I get tired I—”

“Come on. Where do you live? You're clean. You're wearing a white shirt and black pants,” Big Mim said.

“They gave me the shirt.” He nodded to the head attendant. “Company policy. All valet attendants wear a white shirt and black pants. The logo is over the pocket.”

“So it is.” Mim crossed her arms over her chest.

“Let's try this again. Where do you live?” Cooper patiently repeated her question knowing she'd hear more lies. She'd seen this type many times before: young, sullen, rebellious.

“Noplace.”

“You're homeless?”

“Yeah,” he smirked.

“Where's the 1987 GMC truck you drove to O'Bannon's Salvage yard? The one with the Dallas Cowboys jacket in it.”

His eyes opened wider.

“Where is it?” Cooper wished she could slap the smirk right off his white face.

His eyes dropped to the ground.

“Are you hungry?” Miranda, kind even under these circumstances, thought food might help him.

“No, ma'am.”

“I know you didn't mean to upset me but my Falcon means the world to me. If you'd cooperate with us we can settle this . . .” Miranda's voice trailed off.

Tracy put his arm around Miranda's waist. “Honey, don't fret over it.”

“There's a quick way to settle this before I take Mr. Partlow into custody. I'll run him over to Sean O'Bannon's.”

Wesley's eyes darkened, his jaw clamped shut.

Big Mim, not realizing that Cooper was laying a trap, said, “Cynthia, you can't do that. Not tonight. Not now. After all, Roger's not even cold yet. I don't think Sean is in any condition to identify a thief.”

Wesley's head jerked up, senses alert, a flicker of fear in his eyes now. “Who's dead?”

“Roger O'Bannon. Did you know him?” Cooper inquired.

“No,” he unconvincingly answered. He became even more wary.

Cooper sighed. No more dancing for her. “I have the strangest feeling, Mr. Partlow, that you and trouble are well acquainted. Tracy, will you stay with him while I call in for a squad car? I can't trust him to stay in the Jeep. He'd be out at the first stoplight.”