The few windows on the warehouse were boarded up, providing no view into the interior, but the tall sliding doors on the front of the warehouse could easily accommodate a city bus. I stopped next to the oversize door, crouching behind a stand of scraggly boxwood shrubs in desperate need of pruning. The foliage wouldn’t provide much, if any, protection, but if the bank robbers decided to come out shooting, the bushes might shield me from view long enough to take them out. Mackey bent down behind the bushes on the other side of the door.
After visually verifying that we street officers had the building surrounded, Detective Jackson grabbed the mic for my squad car’s P.A. system. “This is Fort Worth PD,” her voice blared through the speakers. “The building is surrounded. We know you have the city bus inside. Put your weapons down and come out with your hands in the air.”
Gun at the ready, I waited, my thigh muscles burning with the crouched stance. On high alert, I was aware of every blink of my eyes, every beat of my heart, every breath of air entering and leaving my lungs. Come out, I willed the men. Now!
Ten seconds passed with no response, no sound from within the warehouse.
Jackson put the mic to her mouth and repeated the order. “Come out with your hands up. Now!”
Still no response.
Dammit! The last thing I wanted to do was rush into the building, into the unknown. It was like heading down an unmapped river in a canoe, not knowing whether a deadly waterfall lay just around the bend.
When thirty seconds had passed, Jackson motioned with her hand. My eyes met Mackey’s across the span. Unlike me, he wasn’t quaking in his loafers trying not to wet himself. Rather, he looked like he was having the time of his life, like he couldn’t wait to kick some bank robber/bus-jacker ass. Blurgh. What I wouldn’t have given for some extra testosterone right then. Too bad you couldn’t rent testicles on an hourly basis. Nuts-R-Us. There’s an untapped market.
Mackey and I bolted out from behind our respective bushes at the same time, though his longer legs got him to the warehouse door two steps ahead of me. He grabbed the handle and slid the large door open, the sunshine now forming a bright square on the floor of the dim warehouse. Gun raised in both hands, Derek darted inside. Brigit and I followed immediately behind him.
It took a second or two for my eyes to adjust fully to the relatively dark interior, which was lit only by what meager light could stream through the dusty windows situated high on the walls and the open door. When my eyes finally adjusted, they took in an ancient, dilapidated forklift missing at least two tires, a series of rusty pulleys hanging from the ceiling, and row after row of rolled-up carpet stacked ten to twelve feet high. There was no bus in sight, but with the piles of carpeting impeding our view we couldn’t see more than a few feet in any direction. The bus could easily be hidden among the towering rolls.
At first, the dimly lit warehouse appeared empty, but then we heard the soft sound of footsteps. Mackey gestured to get my attention then cocked his head, indicating he’d approach from the far end of the warehouse and that Brigit and I should proceed along the narrow pathway flanking the front wall.
After nodding in acknowledgment, I gave my four-legged partner the signal to follow me and crept as quietly as I could down the space, stopping at the edge of each stack of carpet to peek around it. I only hoped I wouldn’t peer around a pile to find myself staring down the barrel of a rifle.
Nobody was between the first and second stacks. Nobody between the second and third ones, either. But when I peeked around the third stack, my eyes spotted a large black man in jeans, sweater, and pocketed canvas work apron wrestling with a roll of carpet.
I was about to yell “Hands up!” but Mackey beat me to the punch. He angled his gun around the end of the row and yelled, “Fort Worth Police! Put your hands up!”
The man didn’t put his hands up, though. He didn’t look Derek’s way, either. Instead, he continued to look up at the roll he’d been wrangling and slid a hand into a large pocket on the front of his apron.
Oh, Lord! Was he going for a gun?
My eyes met Derek’s across the space. What should we do now?
As much as I didn’t want to give Brigit the order to take the man down, I knew this situation was precisely what we’d trained for. I issued the order and said a quick prayer for her safety as she bolted down the row, leapt into the air, and latched onto the back of the man’s sweater. She took him to the ground before he could even turn his head. Unfortunately, he’d still had one forearm wrapped around the roll of carpet. The roll fell to the ground with him, instigating an instant avalanche. Thomp-thomp-thomp! Roll after roll cascaded over the man and my partner. Berbers. Friezes. Saxony. My shaggy dog narrowly missed being buried by shag carpeting.
The man writhed on the floor under his weighty load. “What the hell!?!”
Mackey ran up from his end while I ran up from mine. We reached the man simultaneously and pointed our guns at him. I rounded up Brigit while Mackey used his foot to force the rolls aside. When the man was unearthed, he lay on his back and raised his hands over his head, eyes wide and mouth gaping in surprise. It was then I noticed the black wire coming from his ear buds and heard the faint sounds of Maxwell’s Grammy Award–winning R&B song Pretty Wings. No wonder the guy hadn’t heard us tell him to put his hands up. He had his music turned up to full volume.
Mackey reached down and yanked the main wire, the buds springing from the man’s ears. “What are you doing here?”
“I work here!” the man cried looking from Derek to me. “I’m pulling out carpet for the installers. They’re on their way to pick it up.”
“Don’t move,” Mackey ordered. He bent down and patted the man’s pockets, pulling out a retractable blade. He held it up. “What’s this for?”
“Cutting the carpet!” the guy cried. “It’s my job.”
“Where’s the bus?” Mackey demanded.
“Bus?” The man’s brow furrowed. “I don’t know anything about a bus.”
Clearly we’d gotten the wrong man here. I reached a hand down and helped him to his feet. “So sorry, sir. We owe you a big apology.”
I explained the situation and the man was gracious enough to cut us some slack.
“I haven’t seen or heard a bus,” he said, brushing carpet lint off his sleeves. “Of course I didn’t hear y’all, either. My boss always texts me when he needs something. I keep my phone on vibrate.”
I supposed it was possible one of the bank robbers had pocketed the cell phone we’d traced. If so, he could be hiding in the warehouse without this man’s knowledge. I suggested as much to Mackey.
He gestured to Brigit. “Send the dog out. If someone’s here, she’ll find ’em.”
Mackey and I decided to wait with the man. If the bank robbers were in the building, his life could be in danger, too. I sent Brigit on a hunting expedition, ordering her to search the building for anyone who might be hiding among the rows.
Fear wrapped its cold fingers around my throat while my furry partner scuttled around the space, sniffing here and there for criminals playing hide-and-seek. Though building searches were Brigit’s job, it made me sick to send her out on such missions, knowing a person desperate to escape apprehension could be capable of hurting her … or worse. Her padding footsteps could be heard as she made her way around the space, but other than that the warehouse was silent.
Relief buoyed me when she returned to my side without alerting.
But what does this mean? Had the bus been here at the warehouse momentarily and then moved on? Could the bus be in one of the other nearby warehouses?
The triangulation technology was good but not perfect. Signals could bounce off objects nearby and create what was known as multipath error. Still, we had to be close.
Mackey let out a long, loud breath. “This was damn disappointing.”