The older man was at least being complicit. He let the kid go and took a seat on the curb – not because we told him to, but because he was clearly overheated and needed the break. “He was cutting tires!” the old man puffed. “I saw him cutting tires!” “I’m sorry,” said the officer nearest him. “You caught him slashing your tires?” “No – not mine,” the old man snapped. “I was sitting in traffic and saw him with a blade over in that parking lot there. And I saw him cutting the tires. I got out of my car and went and grabbed him. He dropped the blade over in the gutter there.” Sure enough, I walked over with the other officer and found a very long, sharp knife. It looked almost handmade – simple but hefty. I walked back over to where the other officers had the kid sitting on the curb – against his will. They kept a distance between him and the old man. I looked the kid over. Acne and a wispy mustache - he couldn’t have been sixteen. He looked bothered, but not really worried. I used my hands to ease myself down next to him with an audible groan. “Hey kid,” I said casually, keeping an eye on my car, “it’s too hot to be out here doing all this. What’s with the blade? You make it?” He ignored me and looked the other way. “Not a good idea to be out here copycatting these guys,” I added casually. “You’ll end up being tied in as an accessory. You’re the only one we’ve got our hands on. You wanna get nailed for all of this?” He let out an exasperated huff. “It’s not copycatting,” he said after a while. “They were going to pay me.” “That’s even worse!” I said. “You’re just taking money from some random dudes? Do you know how much damage and liability this has caused?” “It’ll all get covered by insurance anyway,” he sighed. “Is that what they told you!?!” I laughed. “Dude, that’s not even close to true. You’re in serious trouble no matter what. Best you can do is give a description or something.” “I didn’t see their faces,” he said. “But they gave me the blade and said they’d give me $20 per tire.” “How’re you supposed to prove how many you cut?” I asked. “And when would they pay you back?” He looked at me with a puzzled expression that quickly faded to utter disappointment. “I don’t know,” he whined. “Do you remember anything else?” I asked. “What they sounded like – any other directions they gave?” “Yeah – they had weird accents,” he said. “And they said we were clogging up this end of town.” “What kind of accents?” I pressed. “European? Australian?” “I don’t know,” he huffed. “Like both? They were weird.” “What’s your name, kid?” I asked. “Tanner,” he replied. “Tanner, these guys are going to take you in,” I said. “Stop being an idiot.” Two of the officers helped him to his feet so they could cuff him. A third approached me. “We’ve got a couple leads,” he said. “They found some of the uniforms from the videos online.” “You guys talk to Jake yet?” I asked. “He’s the one who told us,” the officer replied. I pulled out my phone and worked my way back to my car. I dialed Jake and waited for Jadey to unlock the doors. “Yeah?” Jake said. “Hey,” I replied. “I heard we got some leads on the parking garage crew?” “Yeah, we found some better security footage – a whole bunch from surrounding businesses – and most of their coveralls and spears have been recovered.” “No one in custody?” I asked. “No,” Jake replied. “The clothes and weapons have been abandoned in all cases. We’ve got one video of one of them dumping the stuff. But almost all of their gear has been accounted for otherwise – just no video.” “Where?” I asked. “In the garage?” “No, that’s the thing,” Jake replied. “They’re spread out away from the garage – east. I mean, pretty far east.” “Maybe picked up some wheels of their own,” I wondered aloud. “You find anything yet?” Jake asked. “Yeah – your garage crew gave this stupid kid a knife and told him to slash up some tires too. Said they pay him $20 a tire.” “How would they even confirm that?” Jake laughed. “That’s what I said,” I replied. “Kids don’t think that far ahead. Hey, do me a favor.” “Yeah?” Jake said. “Shoot me the locations of where they dumped the spears and coveralls, would you?” I asked. “Sure – just a second,” said Jake. “I’ll take a look at them,” I said. “But I have to let you go.” “Yep, alright,” he replied. “Sending them over now.” I opened my driver’s door and settled into the seat while my phone buzzed a half dozen times from Jake’s string of incoming messages. The air conditioning was blasting – a refreshing break from the sweltering pavement. Jadey turned the radio down and handed me my foilwrapped burrito. I opened up the locations of the dumped evidence and started gnawing away on my burrito. By the time I had put a small dent in the burrito and wrapped the remainder back up, I had a clear trajectory for where this crew was heading. Starting from the parking garage, they had dropped their disguises and weapons every four to five blocks as they worked almost due east. I zoomed out on the map. “Hey, there’s the convention center,” Jadey said, leaning across from her seat. My stomach turned. “Hey kiddo,” I said, trying way too hard to maintain my calm. “Tell me a little more about the tournament today.” “Well, it’s not just today,” she replied. “It’s going on all weekend. Women’s college volleyball championship bracket. The governor is even supposed to be there today to kick it off or whatever. What? What is it?” She had read my face too quickly. This tire thing was all a distraction. And if these guys were as coordinated and professional as they seemed, whatever they had planned at the Convention Center was going to be even worse. I was just able to get whipped around in time for the officers directing traffic to let me cut ahead of the congestion. Once cleared, I put my foot to the floor. Matt Hebert is an engineer and self-published author. His dopamine-fueled creative pursuits have spanned from chicken keeping, sand sculpture, acting, and public speaking, but writing is nearest and dearest to his heart. He lives in Bellevue with his wife and two daughters. You can find him on Instagram at @jerkofalltradeshebert or email him at matt.hebert@gmail.com

Opinions expressed by columnists in The Daily Record are not necessarily those of its management or staff, and do not constitute an endorsement or recommendation. Any errors or omissions should be called to our attention so that they may be corrected. Contact us at news@omahadailyrecord.com.