We pulled up to the cargo company’s hangar as the sun threatened to dip into the bay. Not quite twilight, it was close enough given the shade the hangar provided. Nikki and I got out of her car and strolled up to the building. They weren’t closed, yet, but looked to be going that route. One man marked our approach, tucked his tablet computer against his leg and walked to meet us while sizing us up.
I was in my normal clothes. Shirt and tie and leather jacket. Some—Nikki—might criticize the look, but the leather jacket repelled the ample rain Belport was known for, so I didn’t care. Nikki was in a pinstripe skirt suit, looking like she should be an executive in a Midtown Manhattan high rise. Her confident stride in those heels ate up the tarmac as she closed the distance.
“Can I help you?” the man asked. He wore a red polo with the company name on it. A little grey in his dark hair and full beard put him in his 40s, and in decent shape for his age.
Nikki came inside the man’s personal space. She showed him a picture on her phone, captured from the night vision camera showing the truck delivering to the Fairhaven Club. “I’m an official person. It’s in your best interest to cooperate with my request. You make deliveries to the Fairhaven Club. I want to know how often and what’s in them.”
For a moment the man frowned and his brow furrowed, looking like he was about to tell Nikki to go away, but then his expression softened. “Right now? Sure, I guess. Wish you people would call ahead for this stuff, maybe come earlier when we’re not closing up?” He turned away, beckoning us to follow. “Oh well, come on.”
“Much easier and faster than your approach,” Nikki whispered to me.
I rolled my eyes. I guess I would have to use my inspector ID another time.
“Show-off,” I whispered.