2019-09-18 - Junkyards and Memories

Tommy Sanders isn't necessarily trouble, but he's got a long reputation for being...trouble adjacent. Never quite doing anything arrest-worthy, but always being on the periphery of what other people have done. He runs a junkyard out on the edge of town, in the industrial district. It's a rundown little place, with high steel fencing and heaps of old cars, boats, industrial machinery and all the random detritus that places like this tend to accumulate. There's a central building that's mostly a welding shop for breaking things apart, with a tiny little office stuck on one side, with heavy blinds over all the windows. Despite the dingy, hand-drawn 'open' sign on the fence facing the road, nothing about Sanders' place suggests that it's looking forward to receiving any sort of visitors at all.

However, the quieter kind of gossip suggests the place was also affiliated with one of Lukas Collins' gambling operations - it was one of the stops on his bareknuckle fighting operation. Which means, welcome or not, Alexander is slouching his way down the road towards the place, the light, drizzling rain flattening his hair to his skull. He's wearing a heavy, green jacket from army surplus over a metal band t-shirt, old jeans, and black workboots. Definitely not any sort official sort of look, and his twitching gaze as he walks is a bit more paranoid than alert.

Parked across the street from the junkyard entrance Vince sits sipping on a coffee and reading some notes he's made while speaking to people about the murder. One of his contacts mentioned this place as one of Lukas Collin's former operations. A fight club of some sort apparently. If his informant is to be believed, which is often a coin toss either way. Taking a final sip of his coffee Vince flips the notebook shut, tucks it into his pocket, and slips out of his car and begins heading across the street into the junkyard to see what there is worth seeing.

Alexander notices the parked car as he approaches the junkyard, and his steps slow as he considers it. He didn't quite get a good enough look to be able to see who's behind the wheel in the misting rain, so he hunches down and tries to slink his way over to the car before he can be seen by its occupant. This...doesn't work at all, and when Vince steps out, it's pretty obvious that Alexander is there, and that he's...well, that he's Alexander. He freezes in place, visibly weighing trying to pretend he WASN'T sneaking up on the car, or just ignoring that any of that ever happened.

Perhaps demonstrating some cat-like tendencies, Alexander goes for the latter option, and continues slouching forward. When he gets within conversational distance, he says, "Detective Bishop. Nice to see you." A flick of his eyes to the building. "Going to talk to Thomas?"

Vince eyes Alexander once he spots the other sneaking up on the car. Once he sees who it is, however, he just smirks and shakes his head. "Alexander," he says in greeting. "And yup, that was the plan. I don't suppose you'd give me an honest answer as to what you're doing here if I were to ask though?" Vince asks with an amused smirk. "I heard you were doing some work for Love," he adds quickly. "Your investigation lead you here too?" Not that he expects a wholly honest answer but the connection seems clear enough.

"Depends," Alexander says, eyeing Vince back a bit warily. "Let me tag along? Have a question or two myself." He stares at the older man with that creepy intensity he's had most of his life. "Seems a shame to bug the guy twice in one day." Which means he could just get the hell out of Dodge, since he's not got any right to be here, but he doesn't offer. Just adds, "Yeah. Collins seems to have been caught up in underground fighting, gambling. Heard Thomas here might know something useful."

"Uh huh," Vince says when Alexander asks if he can tag along. He ponders for a moment but the truth is someone like Sanders is much more likely to open up to someone like Alexander than someone like Vince. "Okay, this is all just friendly chat stuff anyway right? I don't see any reason why we can't have that friendly chat with him together," Vince says before turning and heading once again for the junkyard.

"So, how's your dad? I can't imagine he's still coaching, huh?" Vince asks as the pair walk. He could have brought up most anything from their past but Alexander's dad is the strongest tie they have as far as Vince is concerned. The guy was almost like a father figure to Vince himself for the four years he was in high school after all.

There's a blink, like Alexander's surprised that worked. It doesn't stop him from taking advantage, so he lengthens his stride to catch up to the cop, walking just a little behind him and to the left. "Thanks," he mutters. The mention of his father gets a brief noise - not surprised, really, since Alexander remembers the elder Clayton's relationship with Vince. His expression remains somewhat blank as he says, "He retired about seven years ago. They pretty much had to kick him out; he loves coaching. Still works with some of the church pick-up teams and things. He and Ma are in Seattle, right now. Staying with cousins. Because of the Ghoul." A pause. "I'll let him know you asked about him, when he gets back. He'll be happy."

The junkyard office door is cracked just a little; there's no sound of AC in there, so it must be sweltering. Nonetheless, the sound of music can be heard, and when the door is opened, it reveals a small room that seems more of an extension of the junkyard than an office. There's a half-built engine propped up on a door that's propped up on some concrete blocks. Another door-and-block arrangement makes for 'desk' that has a computer from the DOS era perched on it. Behind the desk, half-asleep, is Tommy Sanders himself. Despite the antiquarian nature of the office, Tommy is in the same age range of Vince and Alexander, 41 or so, although he dropped out early to take over the junkyard from his dad. He's thin and untidy, with a stained denim work shirt and sandy blond hair that could use a good wash. His broad features twist in a grimace as he recognizes Vince first. "Shit. I ain't done nothing." His eyes narrow a little as he spots Alexander behind the detective. "I ain't done nothing," he repeats, immediately and firmly.

"Seattle? No shit. It's good to get away from the city every now and then though," Vince says wishing he could take his own advice in that area. "Your dad got me through a lot of hard times back in the day. I'm glad to hear he's doing well." Vince shakes his head when he thinks about how long ago high school was and the fact that he's probably the same age now that Alexander's dad was then. "Time flies," he says out loud in response to the thoughts in his head.

His reaction to the state of the office is immediate. "Jesus Christ," he mutters as they enter the sauna of a room. "It's hotter in here than it is outside." He eyes the junk and notes that just about everything in here could be used as a weapon if shit goes south. As such he tries to keep himself between Alexander and Tommy.

"No one says you have, Tommy. So let's all just stay calm, hmmm? And maybe crack a window? How are you able to sleep in this heat?" Vince asks as he undoes the top button of his shirt. "I assume you know why we're here though. I mean, you had to know one or both of us were gonna come knocking sooner or later, huh?" Vince prods hoping to maybe get Tommy off kilter just a little.

Alexander says, "Yeah." There's a faint snort of amusement. "When I tell him you asked, he'll probably try to call you when he gets back and invite you over to dinner. Just so you're warned." He falls quiet when they enter the office, looking around at the junk with interest before his eyes settle on Tommy, like he could dissect the man with his eyes. He doesn't object to Vince putting himself between the two men, seeming content to lurk. And stare. Like a creeper.

Tommy, for his part, reaches for a paper towel from a roll on the wall and wipes his face of its collection of sweat. "You don't like it, Vince, you can leave. Unless you got a warrant?" Despite the harsh words, Tommy's tone is more bark than bite and he heaves a sigh as he slowly gets to his feet. It's clear that Vince is right, and he expected SOMEONE to come along with questions, eventually. He doesn't have to like it, but he feels obligated to ask, "Either of you want a cup of goddamned coffee? It's shit, and it's black."

"I'll take some," Alexander says. "Thanks." There's nothing sardonic in the acceptance of the 'shit' coffee.

"I'm good, Tommy. Thanks though. And there's no warrant, man. We're not here for you we're here because someone killed your boss. I'm assuming your friend? We thought you might want to help us out in finding out who may have wanted to do him harm," Vince says as he watches Tommy pour the dual cops of coffee. The big man tries to find a spot to rest against and decides against it entirely opting to stand on one of the few clear spots on the floor crossing his arms over his chest.

"I'm sure the list is as long as my arm but I was hoping you could narrow it down a little? Assuming we're all on the same page here?" Which also means that Vince's contacts would have had to be on the same page as well about this place being linked to Collins via some fight club.

Coffee is poured, and a styrofoam cup is shoves at Alexander, who takes it gingerly, without allowing his fingers to brush the other man's. Tommy grunts, then shuffles himself back behind his desk, while Alexander slouches against the door frame. Hey, he gets what little breeze there is over there.

Tommy eyes them both. "Collins, right? Fuck." He sits down heavily enough that the ancient office chair squeals threateningly. "I was afraid of that, after..."

Alexander takes the smallest sip of the coffee. From the face he makes, Tommy was not lying about the quality of the brew. "After?" he prompts, his voice soft, but still carrying in the still office.

Tommy flaps his hands. "Look. If he was doing anything illegal, I sure as shit didn't know about it, are we clear?" His eyes on Vince, now, because Alexander definitely can't arrest him.

Vince nods and says, "I'm looking for a murderer, Tommy. I'm not looking to smalltime anyone even on something like a fight club or whatever it is you guys have going on here. So if you've got something that can help lead to the arrest of the man who killed your friend I'd be very grateful." Vince shuffles a bit to the side as he's pretty sure something large and warm just crawled across his shoe. He keeps his eyes on Tommy though. He's not sure if the other has anything of use to offer but Vince is hoping he offers it anyway. "As I said, this is all just a friendly chat is all." He says again hoping to drive the point home.

Tommy looks away. "Well. I don't know nothing about any kind of 'fight club' shit," he says, not even bothering to sell the lie. Maybe he believes Vince, maybe he doesn't, but some level of plausible deniability has to be maintained. He scratches at his day old scruff. "But, I guess I can tell you that once every few months or so, I'd open up the yard for Lukas and a few friends. I dunno what he did in there," he's quick to add, "but it was just a favor for a friend."

"How much did you get paid for that favor," Alexander wonders, a bit dryly.

Tommy glares back at him. "There ain't no law against taking in a little extra cash on my own property, Clayton. Like I said, as far as I knew, nobody ever did nothing wrong." It has that 'my story and I'm sticking to it' cadence to it. "This month was supposed to be a, uh, meeting. But it got cancelled."

Vince is resisting the urge to pull out his pen and pad and write stuff down. He doesn't want to come off too much like a cop here after all. Even so, it's killing him. "A meeting, huh? Any idea with who? Or what it was about?" Vince eyes Alexander briefly to see if he can gauge how the other is taking in this information as well but keeps most of his focus on Tommy and determining how much, if any, of his story is bullshit.

"Nope," Tommy says, promptly. "Don't know nothing, didn't see nothing. I'd leave the key under the false rock, Lukas'd put it back when he was done, and we never said another word about it."

Alexander meets Vince's look and tilts his head fractionally to one side, like it's nothing more than he expected. He refocuses on Tommy. "When was Lukas' meeting supposed to take place, and when was it cancelled?" A pause, before he adds, "And who canceled it?"

Vince licks his lips. "Uh. It was supposed to be the 7th. I think." His hands fidget with the paper towel, tearing pieces off to flutter unheeded to the floor. "Got a voicemail on the 5th saying not to bother leaving the key out. That's all."

"Still got that voicemail?" Vince asks. "Mind playing it for us? Can you recall anything else out of the ordinary around that time? Anyone skulking around the junkyard? Any weird or unusual customers?" He asks the question even as he realizes that probably almost all of the customers who frequent this place are likely weird and/or unusual. Vince figures Tommy is leaving something out, something important, but he still wants to see if he can coax it out subtly before asking any more direct questions about it.

To perhaps no one's surprise, Tommy says, promptly, "Deleted it. Sorry." He doesn't look sorry. To the rest, he frowns. "Nah, don't remember anything like that. Not out of the ordinary - we get a lot of unique customers hereabouts, but it was just the usual sorts of unique. Look," he spreads his hands, "wish I could help you gents out more, I really do. Lukas was an asshole, sometimes, but I ain't glad to hear he's gone. Just one of those things, you know? Good luck with finding who did it, Detective." A side-eye to Clayton, "And whatever the fuck it is you do, these days."

"You think we could take a look around the yard? Maybe the site of one of these meetings?" Alexander asks. If he's offended by the aspiration on his profession...whatever the hell that happens to be, it doesn't show.

"Uh." Tommy stares at them for a long moment. Then grunts. "Whatever. I don't care. They met back in the back of the yard. There's a cleared space. You can find it. Just don't try to sneak out any parts under your coat, Clayton."

"I won't," Alexander says, perfectly serious. He glances at Vince, to see if the detective has any other questions.

Reaching into his pocket Vince pulls out a business card with his name and number on it along with the Gray Harbor PD seal. "Just in case anything else comes to you later," he says as he hands the card over to Tommy. "Thanks for all your help," he adds before turning and heading for the door with Alexander. Before the pair vanish entirely outside, however, he turns around and asks quickly, "That voicemail, was it on a machine here in the office or on your cell phone?" Once Tommy answers Vince thanks him again and continues on his way. If it was on a machine it's probably lost though he may still be able to get a warrant for said machine just in case. If it was on his cell phone he may be able to get a warrant to see if the carrier can retrieve it from a system backup or something.

"What do you think?" Vince asks as they head deeper into the junkyard. Whatever it is Alexander does for his money Vince doesn't seem to care. And while they may have to butt heads later over this or something else entirely he doesn't see the need to get territorial here. It's not like they've discovered anything groundbreaking in the case anyway.

Tommy waves a hand at an ancient looking answering machine over in the corner. Damned thing probably still uses actual tapes. "It was there. Cell phones give you brain cancer. Try not to use them."

Alexander pauses just before they leave. "Do you remember if it was Lukas who cancelled? Or someone else?"

Tommy swallows hard. "Uh. Someone else, I think," he admits. "And no, I don't remember who it was, didn't recognize the voice. They didn't leave a callback number, either, so I didn't ask questions." His eyes go hard. "You guys have a fun walk in the yard." And then he does his best to ignore them.

Alexander nods, once, briefly, and follows Vince out. Once they're safely out of hearing, and the canyons of dead metal have closed in around them, he says, "Not very useful. But considering who Collins was probably running book for, it's no wonder nobody wants to say anything. Talked to Kelly," he means Joey, not the nice one, "and it's the same story. See no evil, hear no evil, care about no evil." His eyes scan the narrow pathway through the junk. "Adds one piece to the timeline, though - whatever happened to him, it happened around the 5th. Then the body turned up on the 13th. So...considering it was frozen, let's say likely death somewhere between the 5th and the 10th?"

Vince listens and nods as Alexander lays out his thoughts. "Makes sense," he says. "Whoever it was knew about the fights, knew where they were going to happen, and knew how to call to cancel them. All of which I find pretty peculiar. Why cancel the fight? Or the meeting as it were on this particular occasion? I mean, let it all play out naturally and you add a few days of obscurity to your story. Now we have a pretty good idea that whatever happened to him probably happened on or around the 5th. Two days before the fight club and eight days before the body was actually found." Vince shrugs and sighs.

"I'll put in for a trace on that phone call though. See who called into the office line on the 5th. Maybe we'll get lucky. I tell you what, if I find out anything interesting that won't put the case entirely at jeopardy and I'll share. Same for you?" He asks quirking an eyebrow at his old acquaintance as they move into the fight yard proper.

The clearing is about what you'd expect of a 'meeting' place: it's large, with bare dirt ground that's been kept pretty even so that the fighters - sorry, 'meeting attendants' don't trip or break an ankle accidentally (instead of someone breaking it for them), and enough room to house a fair number of spectators as long as they were standing. The makeshift walls are high enough that if sound carries, it probably doesn't carry far. Some lights have been wired up to a small generator, but otherwise, it could just be a plain dirt circle.

"Maybe someone didn't like how he was running things," Alexander says, looking around. "Wanted to go in a different direction." He nods to the other - it all seems reasonable to him. "Yeah. I'll share. I can't arrest anyone, after all." A flicker of a smile. "Nice to talk to you, Detective."