Page 39 of Over the Edge

“I owe you.”

“I’ll collect.”

“I have no doubt of that.”

Jack ended the call and took off for the parking lot at a trot as he put in a call to one of his counterparts in the city who could get an officer there fast.

Once behind the wheel, he pushed the pedal as close to the floor as he dared without flicking on lights and siren and raced east.

Not one but two cruisers were parked in front of the shop as he pulled up fifteen minutes later.

Wearing a disgruntled look, Dirk met him at the front door and motioned to the vehicles. “Major overkill. Cop cars in front of my shop are bad for business.”

“Sorry about that. Must have been a slow day. I’ll take care of it. Where’s the guy?”

Dirk tipped his head toward the back of the shop. “They escorted him to the office and gave him coffee. My coffee.”

“Watch for a Starbucks card in the mail.”

A smile creased the man’s face. “I do like me those fancy drinks.” He led the way to the counter and picked up a diamond-encrusted bracelet. “Here’s what he brought.”

Jack pulled out a clear evidence envelope and opened the top. “Drop it in here.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know the routine.” Dirk deposited it. “Now get rid of the cops.”

Pocketing the envelope, Jack continued to the rear of the store, where he found one of the officers checking his phone while the other kept tabs on the guy who’d brought in the stolen bracelet.

A guy who didn’t come anywhere close to fitting the stereotype of a thief who targeted high-end houses in ritzy areas of town.

The officer with the phone stood. “You want us to hang around?”

“No, I’ve got it. Thanks for the assist.”

“Not a problem.” He hooked a thumb toward the man. “He doesn’t have any ID, and we could only get a first name. Goes by Pop.”

As the two officers filed out, Jack positioned the extra chair in the office in front of the grizzled, gray-haired man with weathered, wrinkled skin and faded blue eyes, whose mishmash attire screamed street person.

Hard to estimate ages for people who’d lived a hard life, but this guy had to be at least seventy.

Jack introduced himself. “Is there more to your name than Pop?”

“Long ago. In a different life. I’m Pop now.”

Rather than push for an ID, Jack pulled out the envelope and held it up. “I understand you were trying to sell this.”

“Yep.” The man picked up the ceramic mug beside him, wrapped his fingers around it, and blew on the dark brew.

“Where did you get it?”

“From a friend.” He took a sip.

“This friend have a name?”

“Uh-huh.”

“What is it?”

The man squinted at him. “I don’t cause trouble for my friends.”

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