Page 6 of Operation: Reckless Angel

“Okay, we’ll sign off for now. Let’s plan on stopping for lunch and gas around eleven-thirty and we’ll get back on a call after. Until then, study what the Digital Team already dug up on this guy,” Lambchop said.

“Especially you, Roth. You need to find an angle, a point of what can be commonality to foster this new friendship,” Wilson chimed in.

Lambchop ended the call. He momentarily made eye contact with Roth’s eyes in the rearview mirror. “When the Digital Team gets into his credit card bill and bank account, they will give us a good idea of what that commonality can be. Had it not just been a holiday weekend, they would have supplied that data already. They’ll have it for us before we reach Waterloo.”

“The first CIA case I worked,” Mother began, “our target had charge after charge to a golf store. Turns out, it was for simulator time every Thursday evening. It was easy for us to set up on a simulator beside him during his normal time to facilitate a meeting. Nothing like bonding over golf and a beer.”

Roth studied what they already knew about Cameron Woods, anxiously awaiting the complete file to come to his email. He was born and raised in Waterloo. He graduated from Waterloo Christian High School and then attended Hawkeye Community College in Waterloo, where he graduated with his associate degree in computer graphic design. He didn’t continue his education after that.

His job history was spotty. Immediately after graduation, he began working for a graphic design firm in Waterloo. He remained at that job for just two years. His next position wasn’t for three years. That was at a local publishing house that went under just one year after he started. There was another year gap in his employment history before he was employed at a local newspaper. That gig only lasted a year. Two years later, he turned up on the payroll of a local radio station where he was employed for six months. A year later, he returned to a graphic arts firm for a year before he dropped off the traceable income spectrum.

“Looking over this guy’s job history, I don’t know how he’s supporting himself. He’s had to be making money under the table for years,” Roth said.

“Income tax evasion isn’t the charge we’re looking to get him on,” Mother replied.

Lambchop chuckled. “If we find something else and can’t prove it, at least it’s something.”

“At least I see some experience in the fields he markets himself as a freelance specialist at, though no long history to give me any faith that he knows what the hell he’s doing,” Roth said.

“Is that what you’re thinking the angle could be, as a potential client?” Mother asked.

“If nothing else presents itself, maybe,” Roth said.

Charlie

They were an hour out from Waterloo when the two vehicles stopped to get gas and for the men to grab something for lunch. Roth stepped from the Suburban and drew in a deep breath of the fresh, country air. It had reached forty degrees, and it was sunny, true to the forecast.

Beside the gas station was a burger joint. “Get me a cheeseburger and fries, please,” Lambchop said. “We’ll eat on the road.”

While Lambchop and Jimmy refueled the two vehicles, the others walked to the ‘Burger’s and More’ to get lunch and use the facilities. The ‘More’ was limited to French fries, chicken fingers, and hot dogs. The men all ordered on one tab, and then waited for their order. At the vehicles, with the two bags of fried food, they each grabbed their meal and returned to their seats, the cars quickly returning to Highway 20 West.

The file from the Digital Team had arrived and everyone digested the information. They knew their target’s internet provider, bank, what stores, bars, restaurants, and coffee shops he frequented. They also knew that he spent every Friday night at a bowling alley near his home. This suggested that he was in a weekly bowling league. The team sure hoped they’d have the case wrapped up by then.

They met their police contact, the owner of the townhome they’d borrow, at his suggestion in a convenient store parking lot just off the highway when they arrived in Waterloo. Because of the layout of the townhouses, they’d be seen pulling into the driveway in their vehicles if their target looked out a window, so they didn’t meet there. Forty-year-old Sergeant Scott Gibson, a fifteen-year veteran of the Waterloo Police Department, met them in jeans and a hoodie. He was a muscular, fit man who looked younger than his birthdate suggested.

After introductions all around, all formal with titles and last names, they got down to it.

“Thank you for the use of your place,” Lambchop said.

Gibson pulled a pad of paper from his car. “Here’s the layout.” He had a map drawn that showed his building, and which unit was his, the park next to his end unit, and then across the street, the target’s residence, which was in the middle of the six-unit building. “As you can see, you all pulling into my driveway and coming in through the front door would have been too exposed. Now, around the corner here,” he said, pointing out where he meant, “is a guest parking lot. Here’s my garage door opener and the keys to the house and the mailbox.” He handed them over. “There’s a walking path from the parking lot to the park. You can park the Suburban in the parking lot and then walk to the back door of my place, unseen by anyone across the street. The Suburban won’t fit in my garage.”

“Thank you, Sergeant,” Lambchop said.

“It’s Scott,” he said with a smile. “You’ll be staying at my place, sleeping on my sheets, which are clean. I changed them this morning, using my towels, also clean in both bathrooms. We might as well be on a first name basis.”

“I go by Lambchop,” he said. “Mother, Sebastian, Jimmy, Rich, and Tessman,” he added, pointing to each man.

“As I said, I’m not friendly with many of my neighbors, just Mary Alice McCord, next door. But she’s out of town this week, so we won’t need to worry about her. It’s not that I’m an unfriendly prick or anything. It’s that I work the third watch, from nine p.m. to seven a.m. I sleep during the day when everyone else is out and about. I get home around seven-thirty and am up watching television or whatever for a few hours. I generally get up for work around six p.m. and I hit the gym and shower there before reporting for duty. I’ve seen your target coming and going from his place or at the mailboxes, but I’ve never said more than a passing ‘hi, how ya doing’ type of thing.”

Roth could tell he wanted to ask what their investigation was about, but he knew better, and he knew he wouldn’t get any answers. “Understandable,” Roth said. “We get how it is when you work long hours or overnights. I’m going to be passing myself off as your brother who has moved in for a few months if anyone asks. I’ll assume no one knows you well enough to know if you have a brother or not?” It wasn’t a stretch. They both had dark hair.

“No, no one should know. I don’t have one, by the way. Just three older sisters.”

“Good to know,” Roth said.

“Okay, the fridge and pantry are stocked. Help yourself to whatever you want. You have my cell number if you need me. Good luck with your investigation. I’m going to return to the hotel to get some sleep. Thank your office manager for me. The suite she booked is nice with a well-equipped kitchen. I checked in an hour ago. Oh, and the trash pickup is tomorrow morning. Could ya do me a favor and take my cans out? I had fish over the weekend and the carcass in the can in the garage is going to stink if it sits there another week.”

“Sure thing.” Lambchop offered his hand. “Thanks again. We’ll be in touch if we need anything.”

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