A profound, heavy betrayal settled in my chest. Toby had sold me out to save his own skin over a few stolen scrap parts.
Evans turned toward the office door. I had less than ten seconds before he walked out into the bay and saw me. I couldn't physically fight an armed, thirty-year-old deputy. My ribs were shattered, and I didn't carry a firearm. I had to use the one advantage I had: I knew this building better than I knew my own house.
I stepped quickly to the master electrical panel bolted to the concrete wall just inside the utility door. I grabbed the heavy main breaker lever and yanked it downward.
The entire shop plunged into absolute, pitch-black darkness. The hum of the air compressors died instantly.
"Hey!" Evans shouted from the office, his voice echoing in the cavernous space. "Toby, what did you do?"
"I didn't touch anything!" Toby screamed back.
I heard the heavy thud of the office door opening. A narrow beam from a tactical flashlight pierced the darkness, sweeping erratically across the hydraulic lifts and towering tool chests. Evans was stepping into the main bay.
I moved silently along the wall, grabbing a heavy steel crowbar from the alignment rack. I didn't step toward the deputy. Instead, I hurled the crowbar with all my remaining strength across the room, aiming directly for the glass partition of the office.
The solid steel shattered the safety glass with an explosive, deafening crash.
Evans panicked. He spun toward the noise and blindly fired a single round from his service weapon. The gunshot was deafening inside the metal building. The bullet tore through the ceiling insulation, showering the floor with fine fiberglass dust.
"Drop the weapon, Evans!" I bellowed from the opposite side of the garage, letting my voice bounce off the corrugated walls to mask my exact location. "State investigators are pulling into the front lot right now. You really want to catch a federal charge for Hollister?"
It was a bluff, but the deputy was young, terrified, and operating in the dark. I heard a heavy metallic clatter. In his panic to ready his weapon with both hands, Evans had dropped the gray firebox onto the concrete floor.
"Screw this," Evans muttered. His flashlight beam swung wildly toward the front bay doors. He wasn't going to stick around to face the state police. He sprinted for the front exit, hitting the manual override chain and scrambling out under the partially open door.
I didn't wait. I turned my phone flashlight on, shielding the bulb with my palm to keep the light dim. I rushed to the center of the bay. The gray firebox was lying open on its side, the thick stacks of yellow and pink carbon-copy work orders spilling out onto the grease-stained floor.
Toby was cowering under the front desk, sobbing into his hands.
"Walter, I'm sorry," he wept as I knelt and frantically shoved the papers back into the box. "He threatened to lock me up. I was terrified."
"You better run, Toby," I said coldly, snapping the metal latch shut. "Because when the state gets here, Hollister is going to need a scapegoat, and he sure as hell won't use me."
I grabbed the handle of the heavy box and bolted for the utility door. My ribs screamed in protest with every step, but I didn't slow down. I threw the box onto the passenger seat of my Ford, climbed in, and slammed the door.
As I reversed down the alley, the shattered screen of my phone buzzed again. Another automated transcription appeared, a second voicemail from Investigator Miller.
I glanced at it as I threw the truck into drive. The words on the screen made my blood run cold.
Walter, bad news. The local county judge just issued an emergency injunction on our search warrants. Hollister got to him. I am parked at the county line on Route 9. My team cannot legally cross into Hollister's jurisdiction to extract you unless we have the physical ledger in state territory to establish immediate probable cause. I cannot protect you inside that town.
I hit the brakes, idling in the alleyway. The dust settled around the hood of my truck.