Free Cold City (Repairman Jack - the Early Years Trilogy) by F. Paul Wilson

thousand packs.”
    “Can I see?”
    He tried to sound innocently curious, but he wanted to make sure he’d be hauling what they said he’d be hauling. 
    “Yeah,” Bertel said.  “I wanted to show you how it’s laid out.”
    He led Jack around the back where he keyed open a padlock.
    “We could have fit a few more cases,” he said as he pulled open the doors.  “But we need a certain amount of camouflage.”
    Jack caught a short surfboard as it fell through one of the swinging doors.
    “Whoa!”
    “Good catch,” Tony said.  “That’s one of the props.”
    Jack saw a disassembled bike, hanging clothes, a couple of floor lamps, and other odds and ends packed just inside the doors.  Behind them, boxy shapes were piled to the roof and draped with moving pads. 
    Jack lifted the flap of one of the pads and saw a shrink-wrapped cardboard box labeled “Marlboro.”
    “Checking up on us?” Bertel said.  He looked more amused than annoyed.
    Jack gave only a shrug as a reply.  Seeing a cigarette brand name on the boxes didn’t guarantee they weren’t filled with ganja, which would put him on a whole other level of legal trouble if he got caught.  But Abe had said Bertel was a straight shooter.  He’d have to go with that.
    Bertel added, “I’d think less of you if you hadn’t.”
    Tony repositioned the surfboard, then Bertel reclosed the doors and locked up.
    “I’ll keep this,” he said, holding up the key.
    Jack wasn’t so sure he liked that.  “What if I’m stopped for some reason and the cop wants to see inside?”
    “First off, he needs probable cause.  And he’s not going to have that, is he?”
    “Not if I can help it.”
    “You didn’t do anything stupid like sneak your Ruger along, did you?”
    “Would have liked to, but…”  He shook his head.
    As much as it would have made him feel safe, getting caught smuggling unstamped cigarettes would be bad enough, but adding an unregistered weapon to the charges – uh-uh.
    “Smart.”  He handed Jack a sheet from a yellow legal pad.  “Here’s your route north.”
    “Same as down, right?”
    “Right.  Be faster on the freeways, but this way is safer.  We always check the truck six ways from Sunday before we let it go.  All the lights and signals work.  All the rental papers are in the glove compartment.  But if you are stopped, just turn off the engine and keep your hands on the steering wheel.  Be ready to show that new license and the rental papers.”
    “What if he asks–?”
    “You don’t have the key.”
    “Won’t that make him suspicious?”
    “Explain that you’re helping your girlfriend move.  Her father rented the truck – his name’s Robert McAllister, right there on the rental agreement – and locked it up after you helped pack it.  You’d be glad to let him look, but–”  He gave a helpless shrug.  “What this does is deflect the cop’s annoyance from you to the father.  Now he’s got to have real probable cause.  He’s got to see contraband in the truck cab or he’s got to have a drug-sniffing dog raise a ruckus before he can do anything.”
    “But we’ve got no drugs, right?”
    “Just nicotine, and they aren’t trained to sniff for that. If he really wants a look, he’s going to have to impound the truck to get a warrant to open it.  Does he want to go through all that for what’s most likely nothing, and leave himself looking like a dummy?”
    Jack had to smile.  “Sounds like you’ve really thought this thing through.”
    “Yeah, well, I’ve been doing it awhile.” 
    “But if it’s locked and can’t be opened, why the bike and the surfboard and stuff?”
    Bertel glanced at Tony.  “Told you he was sharp.”  Back to Jack: “Because on one of the rare times one of our guys was stopped – this was on a Detroit run – the cop used a crow bar to pry open a corner of one of the doors and flashed his light inside.  Luckily all he saw was one of the moving pads that