Michael McGarity - Serpent Gate

"What a damn shame." Toby shook his head.

"Tell me about your contract with Matador."

"It brings in a good third of my gross annual billings.

I've had the contract for five years."

"Does the contract cover all his properties?"

"Just about. He lives in Rancho Caballo, and the subdivision provides security, so we don't cover his home."

"How many separate buildings do you patrol?"

"Forty-six, but it's more than just patrol work. At the apartment complexes I provide twenty-four-hour security.

And I staff the larger retail outlets with round-the- clock personnel."

"How many properties does Watson own?"

"A bunch of them," Toby said. Tve got two contracts with Watson, one for his Matador Properties and one for his Magia Corporation."

"What do you cover for Magia?"

"Shopping malls, mini-malls, strip malls, discount malls, warehouses, self-storage units-that sort of stuff."

"Is there anything you don't cover'?"

"Well, not really" "Meaning?"

"Bucky owns an art crating business in an old Victorian house. He said it didn't need any security."

"He told you about it?"

"No, I asked him. We patrol a nightclub and restaurant across the street for another company. My night man who works that sector saw Bucky at the house a couple of times and told me about it. I asked Watson if he wanted to add the building to the contract, and he said no. But I have my man keep an eye on the place, anyway."

"Have you gotten any reports of unusual activity at the shop?"

"Nope."

"How long has your man worked for you?"

"Over four years. He's an ex-correctional officer from the state pen."

"Reliable?"

"Absolutely."

"Is he on duty now?"

"He sure is."

"What's his name?"

"MaxOlguin."

"Can you have him meet me outside the nightclub?"

"Can do." Toby wrote down the address and gave it to Rerney.

"I'll have him there in ten minutes." max olguin opened the passenger door to Kerney's unit and got in. The bench seat sagged under his bulk.

An overweight man somewhere in his late thirties, with a chubby face and a crew cut, Olguin shook Kerney's outstretched hand.

"I'm Kevin Kerney."

"I know," Max said.

"I used to see you at the pen when you were still with the city police."

"It wasn't my favorite place to visit."

"Or work at," Max added.

"They ought to send the staff home, seal the perimeter, give each convict a loaded assault rifle, and let them have at it. Those sons of bitches would be killing each other within minutes.

That would solve prison overcrowding, big time."

"Until the courts filled them up again," Kerney noted.

Max grunted in agreement.

"But still, it would give us a break from the scumbags for a while.

Toby said you needed to talk to me."

"I understand you keep an eye on the art crating business."

"Yeah. It's not official or anything. I check it when I patrol the nightclub. Just a visual from my car."^ "Have you noticed anything suspicious or unusual?"

"Not really. A couple of times I got a little concerned."

"About what?"

"Trucks in the alley late at night."

"Was there any activity around the trucks?"

"Yeah. Guys loading and unloading crates. Watson's car was always there, so I figured everything was cool."

"You know Watson's car?"

"Sure do. I give it special attention, so it doesn't get broken into or stolen. The boss says it doesn't hurt to keep the clients happy with a little extra service."

"Describe the trucks to me."

"One time they unloaded a panel truck and a minivan, and another time they were loading a ten-ton Ford."

"Did you ever get a look at the cargo?"

"Nope. I just saw them carrying crates. All different sizes."

"Have you seen Watson at the crating shop recently?"

"Last night I saw his car parked outside on the street."

"Did you see Watson?"

"No, just his car and two other vehicles parked in front of the building. The inside lights were on, so I figured Watson was there and had some of his people working."

"What other kind of vehicles were parked there?"

"A pickup and a subcompact. I've seen both before."

"No large trucks?"

"Nope. But trucks could have come and gone before I came back on my next round."

"Thanks, Max."

"Sure thing," Max said, easing his bulk out of the unit.

Kerney sat in the unit mulling over what Max had told him. He had a strong hunch Bucky wasn't shipping only fine art. He needed to find a way to prove it without conducting an illegal search.

He waited until Olguin drove away, got a flashlight from the glove box, walked across the street, and stood in front of the Victorian house. It had a deep porch supported by white-painted columns with two large windows flanking the front entrance. He walked around the building. A concrete loading dock jutted out from the rear entrance with steps on one side and a ramp on the other. A power line ran from a pole to an electric meter mounted on the corner of the building. The junction box below the meter caught Kerney's attention.

A circuit had been added to the house, and a conduit ran from the box into the ground. Kerney wondered if the building had a basement.

At the front, he inspected the latticework grille that bordered the porch. A side section was hinged to provide access. He crawled under the porch and found a wooden insert covering a hole cut in the rock foundation, wide enough for a man to crawl through.

He pulled the insert loose, set it aside, and swept the darkness with the beam of the flashlight. About a quarter of the crawl space was sectioned off by walls that disappeared below grade. The electrical conduit at the back of the house ran straight into it.

Kerney crawled in for a better look. A three-sided stud-and-plywood enclosure butted up against the foundation.

It was sloppy, substandard construction, and Kerney had no doubt it had been built without a permit.

Outside, Kerney dusted himself off. He wanted to know what was in the basement. If his hunch about the permit was right, it might be possible to find out without risking an illegal break-in.

alex cast illo a customs narcotics agent called up from Albuquerque, held a Vietnamese potbellied pig in his arms and eyed the state cop.

"What's the pig's name?" Kerney asked.

"Mabel."

"Does she have a good sense of smell?"

Castillo grimaced. It was four o'clock in the morning and he wasn't in a mood for pig jokes. Every cop who met Mabel for the first time turned into a stand-up comic.

"If the narcotics are there, Mabel will tell me," Castillo replied. He scratched the pig behind the ears.

Mabel snorted.

"Can she detect drug residue?"

"Mabel has a great nose, Chief. Bury it, bag it, sweep it up-it doesn't matter to Mabel. She'll sniff it out.

Where do you want her?"

"Under the porch in the crawl space to the house."

"Do you have a search warrant?" Castillo asked.

"I have reason to believe there are controlled substances stored inside."

Castillo shook his head in disagreement.

"Anything we find will be considered an illegal search and seizure."

"I plan to find the stash legally," Kerney said.

"How arc you going to do that?"

"Whatever I do won't involve you or Mabel."

"That's what I wanted to hear," Castillo said as he dropped to his knees.

"Give me your flashlight, Chief."

Kerney handed it over, and Castillo tugged gently at Mabel's leash before disappearing under the porch. The pig lowered her snout and waddled willingly along.

Kerney spent an anxious five minutes waiting for Castillo to reappear.

Mabel came out first. She snorted once and gave herself a good shake.

"Bingo," Castillo said as he crawled out. He stood up, reached into a pocket, and fed Mabel a treat.