Chapter 3: The Ghost Car

Marcus Thorne's voice crackled through Kaelen's earpiece at exactly 2:47 PM. "It's a go. I've got enforcement teams from three agencies standing by, and the paperwork is airtight. Where are our targets now?"

Kaelen watched the real-time display on his center monitor, where two red dots pulsed steadily in downtown Havenwood. "Parked behind Murphy's Bar on Third Street. They've been there for twenty minutes—probably inside getting drunk on their success."

"Perfect. My boys are two blocks away, and the state motor vehicle enforcement unit is coming in from the north. County health inspector is standing by to condemn the vehicle once we have it secured."

A.R.I.A.'s voice filtered through the room's speakers. "Kaelen, I'm detecting elevated activity on their phones. Multiple calls in the past ten minutes."

"Put it through," Kaelen said, settling back in his chair. This was the moment he'd been waiting for—the first crack in their arrogant confidence.

The audio quality was crystal clear, A.R.I.A.'s digital enhancement making every word audible despite the bar's background noise.

"—telling you, this truck is worth serious money," Cody was saying, his voice slightly slurred. "All original parts, perfect restoration. We could get fifteen grand easy."

"Who's gonna buy it though?" J.J.'s nasal whine was unmistakable. "Can't exactly put it on Craigslist."

"I got a guy in Portland who moves high-end stuff. He don't ask questions if the price is right."

Kaelen smiled grimly. They were already planning to sell his Behemoth, probably to some chop shop that would strip it for parts. The casual way they discussed destroying eighteen months of his work made his hands clench into fists.

"Marcus," he said into his earpiece, "they're making calls about selling the truck. We need to move now before they decide to relocate."

"Copy that. All units, this is Sheriff Thorne. Target is a brown Crown Victoria, no plates, parked behind Murphy's Bar. Subjects are inside the establishment. Move in quiet—I want that car secured before they know what's happening."

On Kaelen's screen, A.R.I.A. switched to a satellite view showing Murphy's Bar from above. The Crown Vic sat in the narrow alley behind the building, hemmed in by dumpsters and loading docks. It was the perfect trap—only one way out, and the enforcement teams were already blocking it.

"Visual confirmation," Marcus's voice reported. "Target vehicle located. Beginning approach."

Kaelen activated his truck's built-in cameras through A.R.I.A.'s interface. Behemoth was parked three blocks away near the courthouse, where Cody and J.J. had apparently felt safe leaving it while they celebrated. The sight of his pristine truck sitting unguarded on a public street made his jaw tighten.

"Kaelen," A.R.I.A. said quietly, "I'm picking up movement inside the bar. The subjects are heading toward the rear exit."

"Marcus, they're coming out the back!"

"Too late," came the sheriff's satisfied reply. "Vehicle is already on the hook. My boys work fast."

Through the satellite feed, Kaelen watched as a heavy-duty tow truck maneuvered in the alley. The Crown Vic was already being winched onto the flatbed with military efficiency. The entire operation had taken less than five minutes.

The bar's rear door slammed open, and two figures stumbled into the alley. Even from satellite altitude, their body language screamed panic and rage.

"What the fuck!" Cody's voice exploded through the audio feed. "Where's my car? Where's my fucking car!"

"It was right here!" J.J. sounded like he was hyperventilating. "It was right fucking here!"

A uniformed officer approached them with professional calm. "Gentlemen, are you claiming ownership of the brown Crown Victoria?"

"Hell yes, that's my car! Some asshole just stole it!"

"Sir, that vehicle was impounded under state regulation 447-B for operating without current registration. It's also been flagged as potentially stolen property based on irregularities in the VIN documentation."

Kaelen leaned forward, savoring every word. The officer was reciting the exact legal framework he and Marcus had constructed, each regulation precisely chosen to create an inescapable web.

"Bullshit!" Cody was screaming now. "You can't just take someone's car!"

"Actually, sir, we can. The vehicle is now evidence in an ongoing investigation. If you have documentation proving legal ownership, you can file a claim with—"

"Documentation? It's my fucking car!"

A.R.I.A. chimed in privately through Kaelen's earpiece. "Heart rate and vocal stress patterns indicate extreme agitation. Subject Marsh is approaching what psychologists term 'breakdown threshold.'"

On the audio feed, J.J. was pleading with the officer. "Look, man, we need that car. How are we supposed to get around? How are we supposed to get home?"

"That's not really my problem, sir. I'd suggest calling someone for a ride."

Kaelen watched the tow truck pull away with the Crown Vic secured on its bed. Phase One was complete—the thieves were now stranded, their mobility destroyed. But the real masterpiece was yet to come.

"Marcus," he said into his earpiece, "where are you taking it?"

"County impound lot first, for processing. Then..." There was satisfaction in the sheriff's voice. "Well, let's just say that vehicle is going to fail its safety inspection in spectacular fashion."

Twenty minutes later, Kaelen stood in the shadows outside the county impound facility, watching through night-vision binoculars as the Crown Vic was unloaded. Marcus had positioned him perfectly—close enough to observe but far enough to avoid any legal complications.

The county health inspector, a middle-aged woman with a clipboard and a no-nonsense attitude, was already waiting. She began her examination immediately, documenting every irregularity A.R.I.A. had identified in her preliminary research.

"VIN tampering, check," she announced to the recording officer. "Non-compliant emissions equipment, check. Structural modifications inconsistent with safety standards, check."

"Sufficient for condemnation?" Marcus asked.

"More than sufficient. This vehicle poses multiple safety and environmental hazards. I'm classifying it as condemned property under county health code 15-7. Recommend immediate disposal through approved salvage channels."

Kaelen felt a surge of savage satisfaction. The Crown Vic wasn't just impounded—it was sentenced to death. Instead of being auctioned off where Cody and J.J. might eventually reclaim it, the car would go straight to the crusher.

His earpiece crackled with A.R.I.A.'s voice. "Intercept from subject communications. They're attempting to contact legal aid services."

"Put it through."

J.J.'s panicked voice filled his ear. "Yeah, hi, we need a lawyer. The cops just stole our car and they're saying it's condemned or some shit. Can you help us?"

A tired-sounding woman responded. "Sir, if the vehicle was legally impounded under state regulations, there's very little we can do without proper documentation of ownership. Do you have the title, registration, and proof of insurance?"

A long pause. "We... it's complicated."

"I see. Without documentation, I'm afraid there's no legal recourse. The impound process is designed to—"

The line went dead. J.J. had hung up.

"Status report, A.R.I.A.," Kaelen said quietly.

"Subjects are currently stranded at Murphy's Bar. Multiple attempts to contact associates have failed—apparently their social network is limited to other petty criminals who don't answer phones from unknown numbers. Transportation options appear to be walking or public transit, neither of which serves their current location effectively."

Kaelen smiled in the darkness. Cody and J.J. had awakened this morning as predators with mobility, independence, and his truck. Now they were stranded prey, watching their own vehicle disappear into the legal machinery they'd never bothered to understand.

"Phase One complete," he said softly. "Begin monitoring for Phase Two triggers."

"Already initiated. I'm tracking all communications and movement patterns. When they make their next move, we'll be ready."

As Kaelen walked back to his own vehicle—a nondescript rental he'd acquired for surveillance purposes—he reflected on the elegant precision of what they'd accomplished. No violence, no illegal activity, just the law applied with surgical precision to people who'd never faced real consequences.

But this was only the beginning. The Crown Vic was gone, but Behemoth was still in their possession. And that meant Cody Marsh and J.J. Price still had something to lose.

Soon, they'd discover that some people don't just call the police when they're robbed.

Some people become the storm that destroys everything you hold dear.

The ghost car was gone, vanished into the legal machinery as if it had never existed. Now it was time to reclaim what was his—and ensure these two parasites never forgot the lesson they were about to learn.