Engagement Rings and Hot-Tub Flings
(July 11, 2016)
9: Search for the Green Machine
Roughly a quarter of an hour after they discovered the theft, Dipper and Wendy sat in the mall security office, staring at a video monitor. Beside them was Officer Donohue, a policeman who responded to Wendy's call.
"There's the car," muttered the mall security man, a huge guy who reminded Dipper a little of Tats, the bouncer at the Skull Fracture over in Gravity Falls. His name was Jackson, according to his name tag. "This is five o'clock. Let's fast-forward."
The image became a time-lapse of fleeting cloud shadows, pedestrians that appeared and vanished, and then, like a magic trick, the Dart was gone. "Whoa," Wendy said. "Back it up."
The time stamp isolated the moment of the theft as 1817—seventeen minutes past six. If Dipper and Wendy had ended their shopping ten minutes earlier than they had, they would have walked up on the thieves.
"Two guys," Jackson said. "Look, they got out of the black Impala. Still a driver in there, so that's three men in all."
The two skinny-looking guys approached the Dart. Both wore black hoodies, pulled tight and concealing most of their faces. One, the shorter one, danced from foot to foot and kept watch as the other used a slim-jim to open the driver's door. Then he leaned in and fiddled.
"Hot-wiring it," Wendy growled.
The man at the wheel beckoned, the other one got into the Dart on the passenger side, and the guy in the Impala flashed his lights. Both vehicles rolled out and turned toward the street exit.
"Why'd they want an antique like mine?" Wendy asked.
"Looked in good shape," Officer Donohue said. "They'll probably chop it for parts, though. Too unique for a re-sale. Get the plate on the Impala?"
Jackson rewound the recording and then leaned close to the screen. "Idaho plate," he said. "Whiskey-one, November-zero-seven-seven-echo-foxtrot." The policeman wrote on a pad "W1 N077EF." Earlier Wendy had given him the plate number for her car, and he had already called that in.
Jackson got busy with the monitor and switched to another vantage point. "Here they go, about half a minute later," he said. "OK, they paid at the machine, and now they're turning south on Ninth. And there they go."
Donohue called that information in and said, "Alert the State guys, too." He turned to Wendy. "That's about all we can do for now, Miss. I'll take you to the station so you can file a formal complaint, and we'll be on the lookout for both vehicles."
"That's all?" Wendy asked.
The policeman shrugged. "Sorry, for right now, that's about as much as we can do."
He drove them to a low one-story red-brick building, and Wendy went into an office to fill out the necessary forms. Dipper waited in the lobby and took out his phone to call Mabel. "Brobro!" she said happily. "Does Wendy have rings on her fingers and bells on her toes? Is that the way it goes? Hey, I rhymed! Soos, Soos, you oughta write this down!"
"Listen!" Dipper said so sharply that she did. He told her what had happened.
"Oh, no!" Mabel said, her voice heartbroken. "Wendy loved her car!"
"Well, we're gonna have to stay over until something breaks," Dipper said.
"We? You, too?"
"Mabel, I can't leave her! Listen, you and Teek drive over here—separately—and leave the Carino with me, OK? We need wheels."
"But what about tomorrow? It's gonna be packed, and Soos can't just close up!"
"You'll go back with Teek. Listen, call—call Gideon! He'll come in and help. And call some of your friends. It's not hard to learn the stuff we do for Soos."
"I'll do that now," Mabel said. "Wait a minute." He heard her talking to someone, and then she said, "Teek says it's fine, he understands. We'll be there in about two hours."
"Be sure to take your Bluetooth so we can talk," Dipper said. "I'll tell you where to meet us when I find out where we're gonna be. Oh, and throw a change of clothes, underwear, socks, shirt, jeans, in a bag for me with my toothbrush. And phone charger. And get Wendy's spare set of clothes from her locker and bring those too."
"Gotcha. I'll dig out one of those toothbrushes Soos's dentist always gives them—there's a drawer with four or five brand-new ones in it—for her. I think I got a spare phone charger for her, too."
"Great. I'll call you back."
After a few moments of hesitation, Dipper also called his Grunkle Ford's number. Ford answered almost right away: "Yes, Mason? Is it important?"
Dipper hurriedly told him what had happened. "Hm. Well, I'm up to my neck in a purported UFO crash, but let me make a quick call. Stand by. Shouldn't take more than a couple of minutes."
It took less. Dipper's phone rang, and he answered. A familiar voice said, "Mr. Pines. I understand you need some legal help. One moment, please." A strange buzzing sound came on the line for five seconds, and then the voice said, "This is Deputy Superintendent Powers. We're on a scrambling program, so tell me what you need."*
Powers, Powers—Agent Powers! The guy who the zombies dragged away! Hoping Powers wouldn't remember him from that experience, Dipper gave him all the information he had, including a description and the plate numbers of both cars. He added the GPS location from which the car had been stolen and told Powers the time and added that the theft had been caught on the mall security video. The former agent said, "I'll get to work on this. You might need a pen and paper when I call back."
Dipper had his pocket notebook. He took out a pen and clicked it anxiously for five minutes. And then his phone rang.
Powers said, "The Idaho plate doesn't belong on that vehicle. It was stolen a few days ago in Pocatello. Take down this number and have the authorities there call the Pocatello police." He read off a telephone number. "Got that?"
"Got it," Dipper said, reading it back to be sure.
"I tapped into the mall security video and copied the theft portion. I'm working with satellite imagery and the traffic cams in Portland now. The computer's searching for the plate numbers and vehicle desc—wait! Got them here—they were caught on traffic cam on Oregon highway 224, eastbound, the Impala in the lead. Just . . . thirty minutes ago, West Coast time. I'll give you the position." He read out longitude and latitude, and Dipper wrote that down.
Wendy came out of the office together with a woman police officer. Dipper hurried over. "The Idaho plate was stolen," Dipper told the policewoman. "Right now both cars are on Highway 224 heading east, just a minute ago at this location." He gave them the coordinates and the Idaho number so they could check with the police there.
"How'd you know that?" the officer asked suspiciously.
"I have a relative in Federal law enforcement," Dipper began. His phone rang. "Yes?"
Powers again. "I have an update from a satcam."
"Just a second. Could you tell Officer, uh—" Dipper read the officer's nameplate—"Frrederics? She's right here."
"Tell her I'm FBI."
"OK. This is an FBI agent, Officer." Dipper handed his phone over.
"Sergeant Frederics," the policewoman corrected. "Uh-huh. Right. I'll have to get the State Police on that." She went to a desk and bent over a pad, pen poised. "OK, give it to me now. . . got it. You sure? Big multi-state car-theft ring? Yeah, we've had a lot of trouble. Yes, sir, thank you for your help!"
She handed the phone back to Dipper and then called out, "Hey, Charlie! We have advice from the Federal Bureau of Investigation that this woman's stolen Dodge may've been taken by that gang that's given us so much trouble. Get this intel to the State Police and sent out an APB with what we have here."
After a quick flurry of activity, the police told Wendy all she could do was wait. Dipper privately informed her that Mabel and Teek were coming over and that he and Wendy would have Helen Wheels to do their own investigating. Wendy sighed and asked the receptionist, "Is there a motel somewhere close that's not too expensive? Looks like we're gonna have to spend the night."
There was one, a mis-named Urbanite Lodge, a mile south of the station, on Caruthers, just off Interstate 405. A pair of patrolmen volunteered to drop them off.
"One room or two?" Dipper asked.
"Let's see how much they'll charge us," Wendy told him. "They might refuse us a double. You still look kinda young for me, and we have no luggage—they might peg me as a hooker."
"I'll break their arms," Dipper said. That at least brought a fleeting smile to Wendy's lips.
It wasn't an encouraging place—stucco walls in bad repair, the underlying cinder blocks showing through in spots, with rust stains streaking from the room air conditioners that protruded over the walk. The lobby smelled unpleasantly of disinfectant cleaner and the windows were dingy. However, the price of a room was only seventy dollars.
"You have two adjoining rooms?" Wendy asked.
The clerk checked. Yes, 112 and 114 were vacant and were both singles. Dipper paid in advance—since they had no credit card, that was kind of a necessity. They got two electronic key cards and went back to find the rooms.
They were basic: Toilet with a shower but no tub, narrow single bed, no closet, but an alcove with a bar for hanging clothes, a small flat-screen TV, one straight chair to each room, one desk to each room, one drawer to each desk. Frayed gray carpeting that looked mostly clean except for a few unidentifiable stains. Dipper thought that it looked like a room a small-time thief on the run might rent.
Beside the head of the bed, a connecting door led from Dipper's room, 114, to Wendy's. He knocked and she opened it, looking grim. "I am gonna go nuts unless we can find my car," she said.
"I've got Grunkle Ford helping us," Dipper told her, and he explained about Agent—now Deputy Superintendent—Powers.
"The boys in black, huh?" Wendy said, rolling her eyes. They'd had run-ins with the Agency now and then, and though Wendy admitted their efficiency, she believed their social skills left a lot to be desired.
Dipper called Mabel—she and Teek were already on the way, in separate cars, as agreed—and gave her the address of the motel. "We're in rooms 112 and 114," he told her.
"Broseph!" she said. "Separate rooms, seriously? Come on, Wendy's gonna need a shoulder to cry on—"
"The rooms connect."
Mabel paused for two seconds. "Well, stick your shoulder through to her side! Get off the phone, call Teek—he's on Bluetooth too—and we'll both put the address in our GPS. GP-esses? That sounds weird. Anyway, give us about an hour and a half, two hours."
"Thanks, Sis."
"I'm doing it for Wendy," she said.
"That'll do."
Quietly, softly, Mabel added, "And for you, too, Dip. I'm awfully sorry."
With some time to kill, Dipper and Wendy walked around the block looking for somewhere to eat, though neither had much of an appetite. They spotted a dicey-looking little delicatessen-grocery, but Wendy said her stomach wouldn't tolerate a meaty sandwich just then. In the same building as the motel, but in back, stood Sazzy's Bar and Grill, which didn't appear promising either, but they tried it out.
It turned out to be a popular local place, with groups of twenty-somethings drinking beers, chowing down on bar food, and laughing. The two of them managed to get a tiny table in the back, and from the limited bar menu Dipper picked chicken fingers and fries, while Wendy went for a Korean bowl, vegetarian rice. Dipper drank water. Wendy asked the waiter, "If I want a glass of wine, you gonna card me?"
"Have to," the young man said apologetically.
Wendy sighed. "OK, then, club soda, extra lime."
They shared the food. The vegetarian bowl included mushrooms, broccoli, carrots, and onions and was interesting, the chicken fingers standard fried-chicken fare, the fries at least crisp and hot.
They took over an hour, lingering over the meal, before they walked back to the depressing motel. For over half an hour, Wendy paced, working off nervous energy. Around eight, someone tapped on the door—Mabel and Teek, Mabel with a big plastic shopping bag, the kind with handles. "Brought your emergency supplies," she said.
"Clothes and toothbrushes. Teethbrush. Man, I'm overthinking plurals! Wendy, I'm so sorry."
"Not as sorry as those three guys are gonna be when I get hold of them!" Wendy promised. Mabel hugged her anyway.
Teek and Mabel couldn't stay—they had to work the next day—but Mabel told Dipper that she had rounded up a little help. Both Mabel and Teek wished them luck, and—last thing—Mabel told Dipper where she'd parked Helen Wheels. "You got your key, right?" she asked.
Dipper took out his keyring. It held a key for the Shack, a key for their house in Piedmont, and a car key. "Right here."
After they left, Wendy and Dipper sat on his bed, holding each other. "I wish we had some news!" Wendy muttered after fifteen solid minutes of silence.
Dipper's phone rang.
"Powers here," the voice said. "I have some news. Pines, I'm pretty sure we have a location for the car. We have a satcam image, but it's at a poor angle. It looks like the Dart, though, and we believe it's going to be inside a barn on an apparently abandoned farm fifty miles to the east of Portland, on a back-country road called Hablent. The Impala is parked in front of the barn. We don't think it would be visible from the road, but I've got the GPS coordinates. I'd advise speed in getting there if you want to keep it from being chopped."
Dipper told Wendy. She said, "Give us a head start and have him call the cops."
"Uh, a head—"
Wendy was already out the door, and he jumped up to join her, reaching in his pocket for his keys. "A head start, dude! 'Cause we gotta look for a place that's open and has a hardware department!"
"Give us twenty minutes," Dipper told Powers. "Then call your Portland police contact with the, uh, the intel."
Powers must have been under orders from Ford, who now was his chief. He didn't' ask questions, but said, "Twenty minutes from . . . now. Got it."
So they set off for the coordinates Powers had given Dipper, Wendy driving Helen Wheels and Dipper looking out for somewhere that would sell axes.
*The Agency's scrambling program is unique. What anyone eavesdropping on the call would have heard was, "This is the Federal Bureau of Investigation. We are tracking a multi-state robbery ring, and we need your help." The rest of the conversation was similarly encoded, though to Dipper everything came through in plain English.