Cliffhanger Theater!

“B, is this car going to make it?”

“Just you relax Phillip.  The Pacer hasn’t let me down yet.”

Bob pulled out his phone.  “I’d better call and tell the guys I won’t be at poker later.”  The car came to a screeching halt.

“I thought you two were through being idiots.  Turn that damn thing off.”

“Excuse me?”

“Haven’t you ever seen a movie after you quit watching cartoons?  They can track you with those damn things.”

“Really” Bob said, one number away from placing a call.  “Maybe you’ve seen too many Oliver Stone films, or maybe a bit much Bond.”

“Fine, call, see if I care.  If you want to risk it, go crazy.  Just let me know where to drop you off.  On second thought, you can get out right here.”  Bob rolled his eyes and powered down his phone.  He put it back in his jacket. 

“Are you happy now?”

The car lurched forward.  “Yep.  Anything to keep you two amateurs out of trouble.”

Phil didn’t like the tension, so he decided to speak up.  “So…where are we going?”

***

Will Hetfield and Tina Vig looked at each other in the parking lot.

“Do you see that?  The shotgun is missing.”  Will said, as he looked inside Stevens’s car.

“That can’t be good.  Do you think we’re looking at a potential shooting spree?”

“Let’s hope for the best, but prepare for the worst.  Is that warrant in for the Pryblinski apartment?”

“It should be in soon.”  Tina noticed that Will’s attention was diverted to the driveway of the apartment complex.  A tall, slender, Native American man in a suit was walking into the lot.  His longish hair was in a small pony tail, and his suit jacket was unbuttoned but wrinkle free.  His hands were at his hips as he paused, then he started walking again, towards apartment five.  His demeanor didn’t look the greatest.  Will jogged around the car to cut him off. 

“Whoa, whoa.  Sir, you can’t be here.  This is an ongoing investigation.”  The man lifted his hand, and his ID badge flipped open.  He handed it to Will.  Before Will read any farther, he read the top outloud for all the officers near him to hear.  “F.B.I.”  Will looked at the man’s face closely.  “Agent Clayton Iron-Horse, welcome to Sioux Falls.”

“It looks like I came for nothing.  Is my man dead inside?”

“Depends who your man was.”

“I don’t follow, Detective…”

“Hetfield, Detective William Hetfield, but you can call me Will.  Everyone does.  We’ve got an officer down in apartment five, and no apartment manager.  As far as we know, the guy renting the apartment is dead.  A Gerrard…er…Tina!  What was that guy’s name?”

“Dinkley”

“Gerrard Dinkley.  Is he your man?”

Clayton exhaled through his nose slowly, then reached into his suit jacket’s inner pocket.  He flipped open a small notepad.  “Gerrard Dinkley, Gerrard Montana, Gerrard Parker, Gerrard Brown, Gerrard Arbuckle…I can go on for a few pages.  Our burreau in Minneapolis sent me to bring him in.  We think he’s a major player in identity theft.  Heck, we’ve tagged him with at least twenty different names in the last ten years alone.  Could I see Gerrard’s body?”

“Sure, but you won’t find it here.  He died this afternoon.”

“Are you sure?”

“What do you mean?”

“Call the morgue.”  Clayton crossed his arms and cocked one eyebrow up.  Will pulled out his cell phone and punched in the number.

“Yeah, this is Detective Hetfield.  Good good.  Say, can you verify a body you’re holding.  A Gerrard Dinkley.  Excuse me?  What do you mean you don’t have anyone by that name?  Do you have any Gerrards?  Any 25 to 35 year old males from this afternoon?”