Dad fast-forwarded ahead.“Hold up.”
The headlights appeared first, wide, bright, and cut across the edge of the frame.Then the truck rolled into view.
My spine locked.
“That’s it,” I said.
The pickup moved slow.Big.Lifted.The kind of truck men drove when they wanted to feel untouchable.
Dad paused it too late.The image blurred, the plate smeared beyond recognition.
“Fuck,” Mason muttered.
Dad backed it up, frame by frame this time.The truck crept across the screen, tires rolling past the dumpster, suspension dipping slightly before the turn.
“Pause,” I said.
The image froze.Rear quarter panel.Tail light.Plate angled just enough to taunt us.
I leaned in and squinted at the screen.
The numbers were useless, but the color of the plate wasn’t.
Blue.White.
“That’s not Wisconsin,” I said.
Dad nodded.“Minnesota.”
“So they’re not local,” Mason said.“Or they are and don’t want to be.”
“Out-of-state plates buy them time,” Wrecker growled.“They probably think we won’t be able to find them.”
“They’re wrong,” Pipe said from behind us.
Dad ran through the footage again, slower.
“Try to get it so we can see the plate,” Mason grunted.
“I’m goddamn trying to,” Dad growled.“This isn’t exactly high-quality footage.”
“Maybe we should have someone whose birth year doesn’t start with a one,” I suggested.
Dad lowered the remote and flipped me off.
“Pipe, reach out to your Minnesota contacts.See if they have any info about four assholes in a black truck” Wrecker ordered.
Pipe nodded.“I’ll start with Duluth and St.Paul.See if anything shakes loose, but Minnesota is a big fucking state.”
“Basil,” Wrecker said, “get him this footage.See if he can clean it up.”
Dad nodded.“I’ll see if he can make it clearer or whatever else.”
Wrecker’s gaze cut to me.“You.”
I met his eyes.“Yeah.”
“You stay close to Star.”
