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The female clerk sized Shane up. This handsome young man was clearly much calmer and much easier on the eyes than the loud, panicked heavy-set guy next to him.
She tilted her chin toward a smaller window to the left of the main entrance. "Go ask over there. The lot management handles the yard."
Her eyes lingered on Shane's face for a second longer before she offered a piece of helpful advice. "I suggest you pay the fines and process the paperwork today. Tomorrow morning, any vehicle that has been impounded for 48 hours with unpaid fines will undergo a detailed internal inventory. Even if you come back tomorrow to pay, the items inside will still be registered... If the fees remain unpaid past the deadline, the vehicle enters the auction process, and things will get much more complicated for you."
"Understood. Thank you."
Shane picked up the stack of citations and pulled a still-agitated Kevin toward the side window.
A middle-aged man sat inside. Hearing footsteps, he lazily raised his eyelids, wearing the exact same "you're bothering me" expression as the female clerk.
Shane got straight to the point. "We'd like to visually confirm an impounded vehicle."
"No. Non-personnel cannot enter the impound yard without paying the fines first," the man rejected them instantly without a second thought. "It's a liability issue."
"Of course, we understand," Shane quickly added. "We absolutely won't touch anything. Just a visual confirmation. Since our van was stolen, we just need to verify it's actually ours."
The middle-aged man sized the two of them up.
Shane looked calm and reasonable, while Kevin wore a stubborn look that clearly said, If you don't let me see it, I'm not leaving. He had seen this combo plenty of times: one trying to talk sense, the other losing his mind. The latter usually caused trouble because they were prone to snapping and making a scene, which he would then have to clean up.
The corner of his mouth twitched. "Fine. But you stay right with me. Visual inspection only. No opening doors. You get five minutes."
The man stood up sluggishly, grabbed a ring of keys off the wall, and pushed open a small side door. "Head outside and follow me."
Shane and Kevin walked out of the office lobby and through a heavy iron gate. Before them stretched a massive dirt lot enclosed by chain-link fences.
The ground was unpaved, hard-packed dirt full of potholes, littered with gravel and oil stains.
The top of the fence was lined with razor wire, though some sections had already sagged or fallen loose.
Every ten meters or so, a wooden pole stood in the lot, topped with a dome-style security camera. Most of the camera domes were coated in a thick layer of dust.
Shane even noticed one pole where the camera wires were completely severed; the insulation had peeled away, leaving bare copper wire swaying in the wind.
"If someone actually broke in here to steal a car in the middle of the night," Shane muttered to Kevin, "what are those cameras going to do? They couldn't even take a souvenir photo for the thief."
Kevin, also taking in the state of the impound lot, was about to reply when his attention was drawn elsewhere.
Deeper into the lot was a separate, sectioned-off area. The fencing there was much newer and the chain-link mesh was tighter.
The camera poles were sturdy metal, and not only were there more cameras, but two of them were rotating PTZ (pan-tilt-zoom) models.
The cars parked inside that section were entirely different from the junkers surrounding them. There were SUVs, Toyota Corollas, Camrys, and even a BMW 3 Series. While they weren't brand new models, they stood out like a sore thumb amidst the sea of beaters.
Kevin let out a scoff and jutted his chin toward the enclosure. "See that? Even when rich people get their cars impounded, they get treated differently. Even a fucking impound lot has a class system."
The middle-aged man walking ahead of them grunted. It was hard to tell if he was agreeing or mocking them.
Before long, the guide stopped in a corner of the lot. "Should be this one."
Kevin's beat-up van was parked near the edge of the lot, barely a dozen meters from the perimeter fence.
White city impound seals were slapped across the driver's door, passenger door, and the rear cargo doors.
Kevin looked disgusted. "Fuck, they even put seals on my van? It's a piece of shit."
Shane just hummed in response. He only had one actual reason for wanting to see the van: to check if Fiona and Lip had left anything behind that they shouldn't have.
He coughed softly, then turned to the middle-aged man. "Could we open the driver's side and the back just to take a quick look? Just look, not touch. We just want to confirm if any of our personal items are still inside. You know how it is—some things might not be worth much money, but they have sentimental value."
The man's brow furrowed immediately, his face full of irritation. "No. Rules are rules. You can only look from the outside."
But before he could finish his sentence, Shane's hand seemingly accidentally brushed against his, and a folded green bill slipped smoothly into his palm.
The man paused. He glanced down. It was a $20 bill.
Cough, cough. He coughed a few times, acting like the wind was a bit chilly, and very naturally slipped his hand into his jacket pocket.
"The main issue is—" His tone softened, but he was still hesitating.
Shane's hand "accidentally" brushed against his pocket again. This time, it was two bills.
The man pinched the two bills through the fabric of his jacket and quickly scanned the area.
They were in an isolated corner. The nearest camera was over 20 meters away, and God only knew if it even worked.
The only sound in the entire lot was the faint murmur of people waiting in line at the office far away.
"You guys wait here," he suddenly said, his voice low.
"Look from the outside only. Do not touch anything. I think I just saw someone acting suspiciously over there, I need to go check it out. I'll be back in two minutes."
He stepped toward the van, faking a sneeze, and his hand casually braced against the driver's side door.
His fingernail expertly slid under the edge of the seal. The sticker lifted halfway off without tearing, leaving enough adhesive to stick it right back down later. The entire movement took less than two seconds.
He then walked around to the back of the van, "tripped" slightly, and instinctively caught himself against the rear doors. That seal, too, was partially lifted.
Having done his part, he walked briskly toward a pile of scrapped cars without looking back, disappearing around the corner.
Kevin's eyes went wide. He lowered his voice. "Holy shit. With moves like that, if he didn't spend half his life hustling in the South Side, I wouldn't believe it."
Shane didn't have time to marvel. He pulled open the driver's side door.
Usually, valuable items were kept in the front. He did a rapid sweep. No ledgers, no cash, no metal cash box. Good.
He shut the door, hurried to the back of the van, and climbed inside.
Shane did a quick scan. The back was a mess. Warming boxes were tipped over, the power strip they had rigged up lay sideways on the floor, and an old jacket he usually used as a seat cushion was tossed near an oven.
Doesn't look like anything was left behind.
But Shane still felt a gnawing unease. He pulled out his phone and dialed Fiona's number.
It rang a few times before being picked up. The background was quiet; she was probably still at home.
"Fiona, listen carefully. I'm inside the van right now. Think hard: is there anything else you guys forgot to grab from the van? If there is, tell me right now so I can take it."