THE BRIDGE TO CARACAS (Volume 1 of The King Trilogy)

CHAPTER 46

Large, wet, fluffy snowflakes fluttered onto the parking lot of the Ontario Provincial Police station on the Queen Elizabeth Highway, two miles west of Fort Erie. Marty Piniero emerged from the warmth of his white Impala into the cold March air. He cupped his hands near his mouth to warm them, then pulled the collar of his jean jacket around his ears and walked slowly toward the station. He opened the side door and proceeded up the short flight of stairs to the main floor. At the door to reception, he stood motionless. He glanced at the counter with a bewildered expression.

Officer Wendal Smith was on duty at the reception counter, no more than thirty feet away. "May I help you, sir?" he bellowed.

Piniero, a diminutive Venezuelan who could easily have passed for a jockey, walked slowly toward Smith and leaned over the counter. Using his right index finger, he beckoned Smith to come closer.

When Smith complied, Piniero whispered, "I need to see the chief."

Smith grinned. "Why do you need to see the chief?" he asked with a whisper.

Piniero glanced around apprehensively. "I got some real important information for him," he whispered.

"What information?" Smith bellowed.

"I got some information about stolen gasoline. Just go and tell the chief that."

"Don't go away," Smith said. He turned and hurried down the hall to his left, returning just seconds later with a tall, square-jawed man with graying blond hair. "This is detective Mitchell Chandler," Smith said. "He's the chief around here today. What did you say your name is?"

"Marty Piniero."

Chandler shook Piniero's hand. "Please come this way, Mr. Piniero."

They entered a small office, and Chandler closed the door behind them. "Come over to my desk and have a seat, Mr. Piniero. We can talk there."

"It's Marty. Call me Marty," Piniero said. He sat on the front edge of a wooden chair in front of Chandler's desk.

Chandler sat on his desk and faced Piniero. "Okay Marty, give me the information you have for the chief."

Piniero fidgeted with the buttons of his jacket before looking up at Chandler. "First I want to make a deal," he insisted.

"What kind of deal?"

"You give me complete immunity from prosecution, and then I give you the information."

Chandler broke a faint smile. "Maybe you could be a little more specific about the information. Maybe it isn't useful enough to prosecute anybody."

"I'm going to tell you who stole the gasoline."

"You're going to tell me who stole what gasoline?"

"I'll tell you who installed the valves at the Golden National refinery, and who used them to steal gasoline."

Chandler salivated, aware that Golden National had reported the theft of huge quantities of gasoline. It was a big case. He stood, walked around his desk, and sat in his chair. After activating a tape-recorder with his right foot, he began to bait Piniero. "Marty, please understand that I'm now taping this conversation. Now how can I be sure the information you propose to give me is the truth?"

"You don't until you check it out," Piniero replied.

"What do you do for a living?"

"I'm a truck driver for Amerada Tank Lines in Fort Erie."

"Have you ever hauled stolen gasoline?"

"Maybe," Piniero replied.

"What do you mean? Either you did or you didn't."