Mr. Sullivan finally interrupts Williams’s questioning. “You should know all of this. The police sent you here so you could wait and watch to see if the perpetrator would try to retrieve that device.” It’s been about thirty minutes since he first caught me and the members still present are circling closer; it’s clear he wants me gone from this room before they butt in. “We want to press charges and I’d like her removed from the property immediately.”
“Excuse me, someone left their stuff under the table.” One of the guys on the cleanup crew is standing not far away, holding a rolled-up tablecloth in one hand and pointing to the floor with the other.
My equipment has been discovered. The laptop is password protected so they won’t be able to get in, but if they take it from me, I lose everything.
The woman in charge walks closer to look at it, then turns toward the cops. “It’s not ours.”
Ford moves toward the table, and using napkins so he doesn’t touch it directly, he picks up both the computer and modem. He looks at me and asks, “I’m guessing this is yours?”
I ignore him. He puts both into a box one of the organizers provided. They take my backpack, retrieved from the breakroom, too.
“Get her out of here,” Mr. Sullivan says, his voice full of disgust.
Williams pulls me up from the chair then turns me to face the room. “Give me your hands.”
He cuffs me while reading me my rights. My head hangs as Williams ushers me out and Ford follows behind us carrying all my gear. I’m so mad at myself. Mad for getting caught. Mad for not listening when my gut was trying to tell me something felt off.
We’re out in the parking lot next to the cop car, and Ford puts the box down on the ground so he can dig out his keys. As soon as the car is unlocked, Williams opens the back door and motions me forward.
“I guess you have to take me in,” I say, not really a question.
At least he looks less than enthusiastic when he replies, “Yeah, I do. But if this is your first offense, there’s a good chance they’ll be easy on you.”
Ford moves to put the box of my stuff in the trunk just as an older man in slacks and a cheap brown jacket approaches us.
“Williams,” he calls out, and the officer turns in his direction just before he can stuff me inside the car.
“Detective Sanders,” Officer Williams says in a surprised voice. “Did they call you in for this?”
The detective looks me over then turns his attention to Williams. “Yeah, some bigwig in there is worried about his credit card information blah, blah, blah and called the captain. Told me to hustle on down here and handle it so we don’t hear shit later.”
His arms are stretched out and he clearly wants Ford to hand him the box with my laptop, modem, and backpack, which he does with little resistance.
Officer Williams nods at me. “Want me to take her in or is she with you?”
“With me,” he says. “Uncuff her. I’ll secure her with my set.”
Within seconds I’m free, only to be handed over to the new guy.
He towers over me. “Can you walk with me to my car without causing a problem or do I need to put the cuffs back on you right now?”
“I’ll cooperate,” I say.
The officers get back in the patrol car and drive away just as we approach his unmarked vehicle. He puts the box in his back seat then turns to me, a small phone in one hand and my backpack in the other. “Call the number in that phone and do what he says, and you’ll get your stuff back.”
When I don’t take either immediately, he shakes the phone around in the air in front of me. “I wouldn’t pass this offer up. You won’t be getting another one.”
I snatch both and stare at him. “You’re letting me go?”
He moves to the driver’s door without a word. I stand frozen in place until his taillights fade away in the darkness.
Noise from the front door of the club spurs me into action; the crowd is dissipating now that the excitement is over. I run for my car and pull my keys from my bag. The phone is on the passenger seat, but I don’t touch it until I’m pulling up at the garage apartment I’ve been living in.
Racing inside, I throw my backpack on the small kitchen table then take the phone to my bed. There is one contact listed: Mr. Smith.
I press the contact name and hit send. “I was told to call this number,” I say as soon as it connects.
“We’ve been watching you.” The mechanical voice catches me off guard and I almost drop the phone. He’s using one of those voice changer devices. “First in Greensboro, now in Raleigh. Sorry to hear about your mother’s passing.”