Planting a Tracker on a Load

California’s gorgeous evening sun was hanging low on the sky, bathing the bustling city in its warm light as Nancy steered the Dodge Hellcat slowly into the street that Syd had named. Routinely surveilling her surroundings as she drove, she felt that low rush of the thrill in the pit of her stomach that came from knowing that she had momentarily escaped her soul-crushing paperwork in favor of some more exciting policework.

Through the darkened shades of her sunglasses, she watched as a formerly nice neighborhood slid by. Large, two-story houses on each side of the street, with spacious porches up front and large lawns all around told a story of a comfortable wealth that had been prevalent around this part of the city. However, flaking paint jobs, broken fences and a frankly unsettling amount of trash were easy indicators that told of the downturn in this neighborhood’s story. The money had gone, whoever still had some was long gone as well and what was left were the sad ruins of a once picturesque suburb. It was quite perfect for someone like Stephane Yussuff.

Spotting Syd’s car parked curbside a little bit down the street, Nancy swiftly pulled into the empty parking spot behind her. As she exited the Hellcat, she briefly pondered the smartness of leaving a gleaming, prime-condition car like this in this neighborhood, but quickly banished those vain thoughts. Technically, it was the city’s car, she was here to serve the city. Plus, she didn’t plan to take her eyes of the gorgeous machine for too long, anyway.

Casually observing the surroundings as she made her way to her partner’s car, the Latina pulled the door open and slid into the passenger’s seat. “Howdy, partner!” she quipped in her best cowgirl drawl.

Syd was currently taking a sip from the straw of some To-Go-cup, rolling her eyes at her partner’s lame sense of humor. “What took you so long, McKenna? Got held up in traffic?”

Now it was Nancy’s turn to pull a face. “Bitch, I’m a better driver than you! Besides,” she continued, casually helping herself to a handful of skittles from the open bag that was sitting on the console between them, “it’s not like we have an emergency here... Maybe I took the scenic route!”

“Very professional!”

“At least I don’t cheat at pool!”

“Whatever, McKenna, you got beaten fair and square!” Syd shook her head, smirking slightly at her partner’s disgruntled mumble. “Anyway, time to put on your big girl pants and get that sweet booty back to work, ‘cause we need to pay old Stephane over there a visit.” She nodded towards one of the houses about a hundred meters down the street.

Following her direction, Nancy squinted a little to take in the old, white building. It fit perfectly into the surrounding neighborhood. Two stories, all but dead lawn, a rickety fence surrounding it and the light pink paint-job was falling off if you looked too hard at it. The only people living in a place like this were the people who had nowhere else to go. Or the people that wanted to stay away from any prying eyes. “Charming,” she muttered, popping a skittle into her mouth.

“I talked to Jackson!” Syd explained, her brow furrowing slightly as she was reminded of the chatty contact man. An annoying prick, but he usually supplied reliable information. “He says, Steph has a meeting set with Carillo’s guys, supposedly gonna be handing over a payload of some prime Colombian merch that he and his guys can spread across the streets.”

“Perfect,” Nancy replied, savoring the sweet, artificially fruity taste of the treat she was chewing, “So where’s the meeting? I doubt Steph got stupid enough to conduct the big deals at his own crib?!”

Syd nodded. “That’s the issue. Jackson didn’t know. What he did know was that our man over there already has the coke at his place. The meeting is supposedly gonna take place soon, Carillo’s boys are going to grab it and take it to their warehouses….”

“We follow the merch, we find the warehouse, we land a big catch!” Nancy finished her partner’s thought, nodding in approval. “I like it. So, we shadow Steph for the next few days or what?”

“Smoother!” Syd smiled proudly as she fished a small chip, little larger than the nail of Nancy’s thumb, from the inner pocket of her jacket. “Little present from Fletch. Merch is in the house. We plant this tracker on the merch, sit back and track its location from the comfort of our own homes. Bad-guy-hunting has never been so cozy.”

“Nice,” Nancy joined her partner’s grin. “Got a plan?”