The Brothers

by Michael Bronte

  Chapter 15… Leaving Slick’s

  Fighting Al parted the smoke-stained curtain, looking to see if the girls were still across the street supposedly checking out the location they had observed in Fish’s ATM surveillance video. “You’ve got quite a woman there, Harry.”

  “I’m a lucky man,” Harry confessed. “Without Denise there is nothing in my life that would have gone as well as it has.”

  Al said, “Good for you, man. And she’s stayed with you all these years. What’s your secret?”

  Harry grinned and said, “It’s my kind and sensitive personality.”

  Al chuckled and said, “Yeah, right. But seriously, how’d you guys meet?”

  “Hutch introduced us. Suzanne and Denise were friends at Mount Holyoke and he fixed me up on a blind date with Denise so he could put the moves on Suzanne.”

  “That explains it,” said Al. “I knew you couldn’t have done it on your own.”

  Harry just kept smiling. “Gee Al; it sounds like you’re a little jealous.”

  “Damned right I am. You really scored, man. Me? I just shit alimony checks.”

  “I owe a lot to Hutch,” said Harry. “That’s why I have to solve this thing.”

  “We have to solve this thing,” Ducky interjected said as he looked Harry in the eye. “I told you I was in all the way.”

  Fish added, “I think we all are, Harry.”

  Harry suddenly changed his demeanor. “You know, I asked Denise to get Monica and Detective Pruitt out of here so they could have some degree of plausible deniability about what’s going on here. There’s no way they can see what’s on that laptop.”

  “Yeah, we’ve covered that six ways from Sunday,” said Ducky, “but my call to the Zen Master might have given us a way around that. Hopefully he got hold of Tushy.”

  “As in Tushy Wilcox?” Al questioned. “What does he have to do with this?”

  “Oh ye of little faith,” Ducky responded, trying to lighten the moment. “Perhaps I should explain whilst we enjoy another frothy beverage. Brother Fiorello, if you would do the honors and obtain another pitcher of said libation, we could acquaint ourselves as to the mysterious ways of the Zen Master.”

  Al said, “No problem. You guys got any money?”

  * * * * *

  Ducky put his cell phone on speaker and put it in the middle of the table. Zen Master picked up on the second ring.

  “Zen Master, this is Ducky. I’m here with Harry, Fighting Al, and Fish.”

  “Hi guys. That whole thing with Hutch sure put a damper on the reunion, didn’t it? Maybe we should take a Mulligan and try it again next year.”

  “Sounds like a great idea to me,” Ducky said as the other brothers nodded.

  “Hey, Ducky, I gotta give you props on the new missus. How did a zero like you manage to reel in a hot number like that?”

  Ducky turned three shades of red but never to be outdone he said, “Obviously she noticed how tall I am when I stand on my wallet. Oh, and by the way Zen Master, she’s standing right here beside me. Also present is Harry’s wife Denise along with Detective Pruitt, who was the investigating officer on the scene the night Hutch died.”

  “Oops,” said the Zen Master. “No offense there, Mrs. Ducky.”

  “Call me Monica,” said Monica. “And no offense taken. I’m just happy you guys can all see clearly in your old age. At least you’ve got one thing that still works.”

  “And ba-boom!” shot the Zen Master. “Got me back but good, all right.” He paused for a moment before getting serious. “I assume you guys are calling me back to see if I scored with Tushy.”

  “We are,” said Ducky. “What’s the scoop?”

  “It took a while,” said the Zen Master, “but I was able to work my magic. Tushy verified that he’s on that subcommittee you told me about, and he’s quite familiar with FinCEN. I told him about your situation and he’s expecting our call. Hold on a second and let me see if I can make this a conference call without cutting you off.”

  Ducky did a thumbs-up and a few seconds later the voice of Senator Rob Wilcox came through the cell phone speaker.

  “Rob Wilcox here.”

  “Tushy, this is the Zen Master. I’ve got Dirty Harry, Fighting Al, and Ducky on the line, along with Ducky’s wife Monica and Harry’s wife Denise, and Detective, uh....”

  “Pruitt,” Pruitt announced.

  “... Detective Pruitt, who was the investigating officer on the scene that night.” Zen Master didn’t waste any time. “Did you get a chance to think about the situation as I described it to you?”

  “I did,” said Tushy. “Let me get right to the point. Harry, it sounds like the surveillance that was used on you is something called a roving wiretap.”

  “What the hell is that?” Harry asked belligerently. “Sorry, that wasn’t aimed at you, Tushy.”

  “It’s quite all right. I’d be pissed off too if I was subjected to one. A roving wiretap follows a target and does away with the need of the law enforcement agency to apply for a new wiretap every time the target changes a phone, or moves location, or does other things to possibly avoid the surveillance. Whoever was tracking you probably had wiretaps on all your lines, home and office both.”

  Harry said, “But why? I’m not a criminal.”

  “I hate to say it, but ever since the Patriot Act was enacted after September 11th, and even in its various reiterations after that—it’s now become the USA Freedom Act, by the way—some of the surveillance being done out there has been pretty loosey-goosey. We’ve had a lot of citizens who’ve been looked at for just rubbing up against terrorists or terrorist related activities without even knowing it. I can understand it in one way, in that we need to find these bastards among us who want to do us harm, but it offends me terribly in another way.”

  Denise popped off out of the blue and said, “So all that stuff about protection was total garbage, Harry. That slimy CIA agent probably thought you and Hutch were working together.”

  Harry looked at her and she had fire in her eyes.

  Tushy asked, “Was that you, Monica? I heard you were a prosecutor up there in Hampshire County.”

  Monica smiled and said, “That was Harry’s wife Denise. She quite passionate about protecting her family, I’m learning. I do have a question, however.”

  “Shoot.”

  “As I recall, beside the roving wiretaps, a couple of the other key provisions of the Patriot Act were enhanced searches of documents, business records, personal items, and communications, especially as it related to the surveillance of individuals.”

  “Those are the lone wolf clauses in the act, and there are several of them,” Tushy responded. “Individual terrorists, or lone wolves, are very hard to find and the government needs every advantage to stop them. The down side, as you might imagine, is that some innocent people get put through some unpleasantness. Uh, was there a question in there somewhere?”

  “My question is this. We know the location of a laptop Hutch used for his work at First International Bank. If we suspect that laptop, which is officially owned by the bank, contains information about terrorist financing, can I, or we, we being the local district attorney’s office, examine that laptop without a search warrant by invoking the provisions of the Patriot Act?”

  “That’s a very specific situation,” said Tushy.

  “And I’m looking for a specific answer,” Monica responded. She looked around and noted that everyone seemed to be holding their breath.

  “Well, it’s hard to answer. Are you investigating a possible terrorist financing situation, or are you investigating Hutch’s death as a possible murder? I might be able to help you with one situation, but not the other. If you’re conducting a routine murder investigation, the Patriot Act might not come into play and you’d need to establish probable cause through your normal procedures.”

  Pruitt said, “May I?” and Monica waved her on.
“Senator, this is Detective Pruitt. We can’t officially be investigating Mister Hutchinson’s death as a murder because the medical examiner has ruled his death as due to natural causes and there was no evidence of suspicious activity at the scene. However, while Mrs. Hutchinson was in possession of the laptop in question there were two attempts to acquire it under false pretenses, one of them being a break-in of her own home. Furthermore, I believe she herself was under surveillance by parties unknown who were waiting for yet another opportunity to steal that laptop from her.”

  “So there’s something on that laptop that someone wants desperately, and you’re hoping it will provide a motive strong enough to open an investigation into Hutch’s death despite the ME’s findings,” Tushy concluded.

  “The man is sharp as a tack,” Zen Master chimed in.

  “You said you believe she was under surveillance,” Tushy went on. “Do you have proof of that?”

  Pruitt said, “Senator, I’ve been a detective for seventeen years and a police officer for twenty-seven. My intuition is my proof. There’s something on that laptop that a lot of people are after and I’m not naive enough to think that Mister Hutchinson’s death isn’t connected to it.”

  Tushy paused dramatically. “I believe you,” he said after some moments. “If only you had something more concrete, names, account numbers, something we could latch onto. If you did, I know enough people where we could cook something up to do a little peek-and-see into First International’s books.”

  “We do,” Harry said suddenly. He held up the envelope Pruitt had given him earlier in the evening. “It makes perfect sense. That’s why Hutch wanted to meet with me in New York City. He knew he was in jeopardy and he wanted someone else to have this information in case things went south.”

  “Who’s talking, and what information do you have?” Tushy asked.

  “This is Harry, and what I have is a list that Hutch wanted to give me, which I now think might be a list of account numbers. There’s just one little problem.”

  “Which is?”

  “They’re in code.”

  “It’s probably much more complicated than that,” said Tushy. “If it were me, I would also assume that whatever is on that computer is probably encrypted as well.”

  “Is being encrypted the same using a code?”

  “At the end of the day, yes,” Tushy replied. “But information and financial records from banks like First International use encryption algorithms which require specific encryption and decryption keys.”

  “Which we don’t know,” Harry added.

  “Which you might know,” Tushy countered. “Otherwise, you would never be able to untangle the information. It would defeat the purpose of Hutch giving you the information in the first place. The key has to be something you know.”

  “But how do we figure it out?” Harry asked.

  Fighting Al said, “Sounds like we’re back to nowhere.”

  “Not quite,” said Fish. “Did any of you guys get a chance to talk with Billy Apple at the reunion?”

  “Billy Apple—as in Bapple? Talk?” said Al. “The guy went a whole month without talking during his junior year just to win ten bucks.”

  “Yeah, and he still got more dates than you did,” said Ducky. “What about him, Fish?”

  “Well, he must have done some talking along the way,” Fish concluded, “because Bapple is now Professor William Apple and he’s head of the computer sciences department at Purdue.”

  “Hell, I could have told you that,” said Ducky. “He’s been at Purdue over twenty years.”

  “Well,” said Fish, “if there’s anyone who could help us with this encryption thing, I’ll betcha it’s him.”

  “Then I have a suggestion,” said Tushy. “Why don’t you guys contact Bapple. Maybe he can give you some idea of what it would take to see what’s on that laptop. Then, if you come across anything that’s as damning as you think it is, call me back and I’ll reach out to some people I know at the Treasury Department who would be only too happy to charge in waving the Freedom Act flag. They love stuff like that.”

  Monica jumped in and said, “Senator, this is Monica again. What if the people from First International Bank want the laptop back?”

  Tushy replied, “Didn’t I hear the detective say that some bad actors had broken into Hutch’s wife’s home to try and steal it?”

  Pruitt nodded and Monica said, “Yes, that’s correct.”

  “And where is Hutch’s wife now?”

  “She’s spending some time with her son in Chicago,” Pruitt replied.

  “And where is the laptop?”

  “She gave it to me voluntarily for safekeeping,” Pruitt replied again.

  “And have either you or Monica seen what’s on that laptop?” Tushy asked.

  “No,” Monica and Pruitt both replied at the same time.

  “Do the people at the bank know you have it?”

  “We don’t really know,” Pruitt replied. “I tend to doubt it.”

  “Then I don’t see how you have anything to worry about. If anything, you’re doing them a favor by taking temporary possession of it from Hutch’s wife while she’s away, and you’re protecting it from people who’ve already broken into her home to get it. Doesn’t sound to me like there’s anything nefarious going on there.”

  It was all smiles around the table and Ducky said, “Zen Master, Tushy, we gotta thank you for your help on this.”

  Fighting Al jumped in and said, “Tushy, I just gotta ask. How’d you get the name Tushy, anyway?”

  “I’m not sure I want to get into that.”

  “C’mon, Tushy. We’re all friends here.”

  “Well, if you gotta know, evidently I drank too much bubble gum punch at a rush party my freshman year and somehow a photo of me hanging a moon at the John Adams statue made its way onto the message board at the dorm the next day.”

  “Typical,” said Monica.

  “I still don’t think it was my ass in the picture,” Tushy went on. “You gotta promise me that nickname will never be heard again if I decide to run for president.”

  Chuckling, Tushy and Zen Master signed off and Harry asked, “So, who’s got Bapple’s number?”

  * * * * *

  With everyone else gone Harry put the tables back to their original position and brought the empty pitchers back to the bar. Thanking Indigo, he let her know that he appreciated her diligence in giving them their privacy, and he dropped another twenty on the bar but she handed it back. “You don’t need to do that. I could tell that finding out how your friend died was important to you. And besides,” she added, “it weren’t no problem. We only got a few of the regulars in and they were hoping you guys were able to make some progress on the case.” Harry took a step back. “It’s a small place and it’s not hard to hear,” she said, seeing his concern. “But don’t worry, I set them straight and told them to keep their mouth shut and to talk to me if they came up with anything. You got eyes and ears on the ground now.”

  Harry reached across the bar and pressed the twenty into her hand. “His name was Hutch,” he said to her. “He was a great guy, with a great family, and he would have liked you.”

  Indigo wiped away a stray tear, smearing her black mascara. “Aw, don’t go getting me all mushy now. I have a reputation to maintain with these fluffernutters.” She indicated the three remaining customers slumped over their drafts and watching the last inning of the Red Sox game at the far end of the bar.

  Harry checked the time, noting that it was after ten o’clock. He pulled up a stool and thought about what their next move would be. Ducky had volunteered to contact Bapple, but it was a foregone conclusion that Bapple would help if indeed he was the right person to do it. If that conversation went as planned, Harry had already determined that he and Denise would drive that laptop out to Indiana if need be. In the meantime, the laptop had to remain in his or Pruitt’s possession, h
e’d determined further, and given the fact that he’d been the center of attention of both the CIA and assailants unknown—both of whom would also be interested in the laptop’s whereabouts, he assumed—it was probably best left with her.

  He ordered Dewar’s neat and sat there gazing absently into his glass as he waited for Denise to come out of the rest room. She came out a minute later and perched on the stool next to him. “What are you doing?” she asked as she put her handbag down on the bar with a distinct clunk.

  He eyed the handbag, reassured by the fact that he knew what was in it and that she was carrying it. “Drinkin’” he answered.

  “What are you drinkin’” she continued.

  “Scotch. You want one?”

  “Sure,” she said.

  She normally didn’t drink scotch, and it surprised him. He wagged a finger at Indigo and the drink came a moment later.

  “Are you still scared?” she asked.

  “Only when I think about what we’re doing.”

  “Want to back out?”

  He looked at her. “I don’t think I can.”

  She took a tiny sip of her drink. “Hutch wasn’t family, you know.”

  Harry shot her a look. “Not in the official sense. But I just want to remind you that it’s because of him that we’re together.”

  “And I guess you’re going to say that ultimately it’s because of him that we had a family.”

  “Well, it is, if you follow the logic to its ultimate conclusion.”

  “Uh-huh. So you’re going to see this through to the end.”

  “Do you want me to back out?”

  “You mean, do you want us to back out? Where you go, I go, remember?”

  Harry downed half his scotch. “I only want whoever killed Hutch to be brought to justice. How that is accomplished, I really don’t care.”

  “Do you want justice, or vengeance?”

  “Back to that again. What if it was me who died the way Hutch did? Wouldn’t you want someone to make sure vengeance was done?”

  “If it came to you or my family, I would,” said Denise. “But I’m not sure your other fraternity brothers feel the same way. I think they stop a little short of the vengeance line.”

  “I can understand that. It’s not as personal to them as it is to me.”

  Denise took a final sip of her scotch and slid the glass over to Harry. “So you’re okay with simple justice if that’s all you could get?”

  Harry poured her drink into his. “I guess I’d have to live with it.” He swung over and gave Denise a kiss on the lips. “I sure am glad you’re on my side.”

  From the end of bar Indigo said, “Aw, you two are so cute.”

  * * * * *

  Harry finished his drink and picked up the manila envelope containing Hutch’s cell phone records as Denise slung her handbag over her shoulder. Surprisingly, his cell phone rang—the brand new cell phone he’d obtained that very afternoon that only a handful of people in the entire world knew about. He looked at Denise whose eyes were already locked onto his. His contacts had been transferred from his regular cell phone so Pruitt’s name appeared on the screen. “It’s Pruitt,” he said. “Hello?”

  “It’s Detective Pruitt,” she said directly.

  “Yes, I know. What’s up?”

  “Listen carefully,” she said ominously. “I’m assuming you’re still inside the bar seeing as there’s a car with Jersey plates still parked outside.”

  “That’s correct.”

  “I want you to ask the bartender if there is a back exit. There should be; I see a narrow alley that goes around back behind the building.”

  “Detective, what’s going on?”

  “I’ll explain later. Just do as I say, and be sure to stay hidden so that no one can see you from the street. Once you get outside, let me know what you see.”

  “So you don’t want me to hang up.”

  “That’s correct.”

  Harry held the phone to his chest and said, “Something’s up.” Denise didn’t ask any questions, but she unzipped the main compartment of her handbag and left it that way. Harry called Indigo over and whispered into her ear.

  “Through there,” she said, pointing to a swinging door.

  “What’s back there?”

  “Just a food prep counter and a walk-in fridge where we keep the kegs cold. There’s a back door in the corner where we take in supplies and take out the trash.”

  “Can it be seen from the street?”

  Indigo said, “Hold on a second,” and she stepped to a cabinet beneath the register, shielding its contents from the guys still watching the game. She came back with her handbag and pulled some keys from inside. “I use the back door when I lock up at night and I park my car right outside for safety reasons. Here, take it.” She pushed the keys toward him. “And take this too,” she added. “Just in case.” She put a huge, ancient-looking Colt .45 automatic on the bar. “It doesn’t look like much, but if you hit something with this cannon chances are it’s going down.” Seeing his hesitation she added, “If someone comes in here they won’t be after us, Harry.”

  “Take it,” Denise said curtly. She looked at Indigo and said, “We must have met in a previous life, sister.”

  Harry said, “What about you? How will you get home?”

  “Here’s a card. Just call me later. If I don’t hear from you, I’ll ask one of the fluffernutters to stay with me and give me a ride.”

  Harry said into the phone, “Did you hear all that?”

  “Yeah,” said Pruitt. “Take your time, I got all night.”

  “Sarcasm? Really? That’s not like you, Detective.”

  “I have my moments. Go already.”

  Harry gave a nod to Denise and they were at the back door. Opening it slowly and stepping into the night he said to Pruitt, “Okay, we’re outside... getting in the car... starting the car... now what?”

  Pruitt said, “Take a right when you reach the end of the alley. Just drive away from the bar for a couple of minutes so that you’re a good distance away and park, okay? I’ll be along shortly.”

  “What’s this all about?”

  “You’ll find out,” Pruitt replied. “Just stay down low inside that car, okay?”

  Denise slouched down below the window line. “It smells like wet dog in here.”

  “Deal with it,” Harry shot back as he slouched down as well. Taking a right onto Newberry Street just as Pruitt had instructed, he drove Indigo’s tiny Toyota about a mile and pulled into the parking lot of a Stop & Shop supermarket.

  “Detective, are you still there?” he asked into the phone. Pruitt answered by pulling up next to him in her unmarked state police car, and he could feel her eyes on him right through the layers of glass between them.

  “Stay where you are,” Pruitt commanded. “We’ll use that car.”

  Moments later she was squeezing her bulky body into the back seat. Harry turned back toward her, noticing that her eyes were on the .45 sitting on the console next to him, which couldn’t have been more obvious. “It belongs to the bartender,” he said. “She insisted that I take it, just in case.”

  “Can you find your way back to the bar but come at from the other direction?” Pruitt asked, not saying anything further about the gun.

  “Sure,” said Harry, “but are you going to tell us why?”

  “You’ll find out in a minute. Go, now, before it’s too late.”

  “Too late for what?” Harry asked as he drove back onto Newberry Street.

  “When I arrived at the bar this evening, I got there early and I thought I’d go back to the spot where Mister Hutchinson’s car was parked on the night of his death and take a look around again. You know, just to check out the scene and satisfy my old cop curiosity that I hadn’t missed anything.”

  “And you noticed something,” Harry concluded as he took a right onto Ferry Street.

  “
Just your wife watching everyone as they arrived.” Denise turned and gave her a look. “It’s all right, Mrs. Curlander. It pays to be cautious, especially in this situation.”

  “Which is what?” Denise asked brusquely.

  “I’m about to show you,” Pruitt replied. “If we ever get there.”

  “Just one more block, okay?” Harry rounded the final corner on Clinton Street and was approaching Newberry Street again, about four blocks below Slick’s.

  “It smells like wet dog back here,” Pruitt complained as they passed the shoddy duplexes of the old neighborhood. “Pull over,” she ordered. In the distance they could see the flashing blue and green beer sign hanging in one of the bar’s front windows. “Now turn your lights off and go up one more block, and try to park behind another car.”

  Harry did just as she instructed.

  “Mrs. Curlander, when we were watching that ATM footage earlier this evening, you insisted that ADA Brimton and I leave the room to examine the area where presumably Mister Hutchinson was observed speaking on his cell phone before rushing back to his car. It was an excuse to get us out of the room, of course, but it was effective. Do you remember those moments, Mrs. Curlander?”

  Denise looked at Harry who just hunched his shoulders, having no idea where Pruitt was going. “Yeah, sure, I remember,” she said. “I went with you.”

  “And where did we go?”

  Denise swung her head the other way and peered into the night. “You know where. We went to the front of that office building over there, the one with the revolving entrance door that sticks out onto the sidewalk. I can see it from here.”

  “And did you or ADA Brimton observe anything special or unusual?”

  “I don’t recall that any of us did.” Denise sneezed and said, “Ugh! I think I’m allergic to something in here.”

  “Except that I noticed something, or someone, actually, and that was the second time I’d noticed him this evening. The first time was when I arrived at the bar.”

  “You saw someone watching us?” Harry said urgently.

  “And if I’m correct, I’m about to see him again now, for the third time.”

  It was suddenly electric inside the car. Harry instinctively reached for the .45, feeling Pruitt’s hand on his arm.

  “I can’t let you do that,” she said, matching his intensity. “I’m still an officer of the law.”

  Harry swung his gaze to Denise, who in turn glanced at her handbag. He turned back to Pruitt. “Where did you see him?” he asked gruffly.

  “Do you remember the spot where Mister Hutchinson’s car was parked on the night of his death?”

  “Sure,” Harry replied. “A couple of parking spaces past where the ATM machine is located, opposite side of the street.”

  Pruitt pointed in that general direction. “And if you follow that line from here you’ll see someone in a dark sedan camped out under the street lights just short of that very spot.” Denise swung around and gave her a dubious look. “Trust me on this, Mrs. Curlander.”

  The spot in question was between two and three blocks away, and Harry backed away from the car in front of them so he could get a better look. “Screw this,” he said a moment later. “It’s too dark.” He popped the car into drive and pulled back out onto Newberry Street, staying to the right while a couple of other cars passed. He was just about back to Slick’s when suddenly a police cruiser pulled up behind him seemingly out of nowhere, lights flashing to high heaven. Harry hit the brake and said, “Shit.” A minute passed before the officer came up and poked his flashlight beam into the car, shining it on all of them in rapid succession.

  “License and registration, please,” said the officer. “Do you know why I’m stopping you, sir?” The lights from the cruiser lit up the entire street.

  Harry looked up and noted the officer’s name tag. “Officer Nekel?” he said. The flashlight beam came back and stabbed him in the eyes. “It’s me, Harry Curlander, from a couple of weeks ago. Do you remember?”

  Officer Nekel took a second and popped the flashlight beam at Denise and into the back seat again. “I do now,” he replied. “Why are you driving Indigo’s car, and why are you driving down the street with your lights off?” He popped the flashlight beam into the back seat one more time. “Detective Pruitt, is that you back there?”

  Pruitt stuck her badge into the flashlight beam and said, “It is, and I can explain. Is it all right if I get out of the car?”

  “Are you on the job?” Nekel asked.

  “I am.”

  “Then maybe you can explain why there’s a pistol lying on the console in plain sight.”

  Pruitt said, “Oh boy,” and she proceeded to haul herself out of the tiny back seat.

  Listening to their conversation, Harry could tell that Nekel was not a happy camper. Pruitt was doing her best to explain, but it all buzzed past him as he kept his eyes focused on the street in front of them. There were two groups of cars parked there, one group of three followed by a couple of empty spaces and then another pair further up almost directly opposite the bank. He could almost feel the presence there. As he sat there listening to Officer Nekel’s voice getting louder, the headlights belonging to one of the cars came on.

  “Did you see that?” he said to Denise. “The headlights on that car just came on but no one got into it.”

  The car pulled out onto Newberry Street and it only took Harry a second to recognize it as a black BMW. “It’s them,” he said as the car got closer. “It’s the same car that tried to run me off the damn road.” All sense of reasonableness left him in that moment and he took hold of the .45 automatic that was sitting on the console. With every molecule in his body he wanted to fire that .45, and he raised it to eye level but was prevented from doing so when Officer Nekel’s hand clamped down on his wrist and wrenched his arm downward. Burning pain knifed through his still tender ribs, but it was nothing like the burn that seethed within him as he made out the face of the driver of the evil-looking BMW as it drove past. The fucker was smiling at him.