by Eden Sharp
The location looked like a formal dinner. McGlynn was wearing a dress and high-heels. She was on the arm of a man he recognized. A tall, tanned man with silver gray hair and piercing pale eyes who spoke with a natural authority. A man known for publishing required reading lists for Marines under his command. Brigadier General Paul Harding. Formerly colonel. Commander of the 15th and 26th Marine Expeditionary Units known collectively as Task Force 58. The first U.S. Marine officer ever to command a naval task force in combat. McGlynn looked feminine and high-end. A totally different look. He tucked it back inside and lay the album back on the floor then closed the closet.
He walked back to the door and waited for a moment to listen before heading back out of the room.
In the bathroom he noted only one toothbrush, some shaving foam, a razor, and a bottle of men's cologne.
Angela McGlynn
I made best use of the time by watering Jeff's orchids. When I came out of the kitchen Knox was waiting in the hall. His hands were planted against the wall, leaning his weight forward into it, head down, as though he was trying to shore it up. As though he was Atlas trying to carry the world on his shoulders.
I could feel anger pouring out of every inch of him. His face was a knotted mask. He pushed away from the wall then turned to look at me, one hand over his mouth, the other wrapped around himself. Studying me. Maybe trying to calm himself. Partly self-comforting I thought. His eyes were dark, making him look like someone else.
'How did you know about the counterfeit hologram sheets from China at the carder's supply place?'
'Remember I told you there are parts of the Net most people don't get to see?' I said. 'There's a place called the Blacklist where you can buy all kinds of illegal things. The store owner advertised on it.'
'And how did you find the carder?'
I started to form a picture of where things were headed.
'I found him posting on the Blacklist, made contact using a fake name, and afterward I hacked into his computer. The internet is just like a television. Except it watches you. I read his emails, found out his address, and found out about the credit card data he'd downloaded from some Ukrainian outfit.'
'You hacked him?'
'Yes.'
'So you know how to do that?'
'Some.'
'Did you take the data?'
Kelly knew I had.
'Yes.'
'You still have it?'
'Yes.'
Knox shook his head.
'Are you out of your fucking mind?'
'The hacking part was illegal. But I'm not about to go on a shopping spree using cloned cards. You know anything about playing computer games Knox?'
'No. I was busy fighting in Afghanistan so I had no need to simulate violence. But I had this crazy sonofabitch corporal called Baudrillard. We were in an outpost a mile from a Taliban front line and he'd be playing Call Of Duty on a Nintendo. Like he didn't find the war down the road freaking real enough. They're dumb.'
Okay. I concentrated on keeping my voice calm, calmer than I felt. Trying to bring him down.
'Maybe he enjoyed being distracted. Technology allows you to interfere in the workings of the world, violate its physical laws even, makes you omnipotent. The thing is, in some games you collect what you find along the way. You never know when they might be useful later on.'
He was doing a poor job of masking his rage.
'It wasn't a useful distraction for Baudrillard. He got his head blown off.'
'I'm sorry.'
He glared at me, feet planted with both arms folded across his chest.
'Why are you asking me all this?' I said.
'Ortiz came to see me. You're being investigated for fraud. He says you're setting me up.'
'It was Ortiz who told you about the data?'
'Uh-huh. So I think you're in some pretty deep shit right about now.'
Interesting.
'You send the Bayview cops the photo of Pulido? Tell them about Hayley having it?' Knox asked.
'No not yet because I think Ortiz and maybe his partner were involved in Amber's disappearance. But I need to prove it. And, if they are involved, I don't know who I can trust,' I said.
'Right. Convenient. You tell me why I should trust you or I'm done.'
'Because I'm not lying to you John.'
'You said it yourself. You lie professionally.'
'I'm telling you the truth.'
'The truth according to you?' He was smiling but there was no warmth there at all. 'Well how about this? You don't live here.'
There was that.
'No. As an investigator it's kind of good to keep those sorts of things private so the bad guys can't find you.'
'So where exactly do you live?'
I stared him down. 'That's none of your business.'
He nodded slowly. His eyes looked almost black.
'You just slumming it with the lower ranks sister? Or is it because you've got some luxury place in a sweet spot somewhere with your nice car in the driveway?'
He walked out the front door. It slammed so hard behind him I felt the shock wave.
FIFTY-TWO
With Homicide investigating Amber's death and Fraud investigating me, I was effectively out of things as far as Ortiz was concerned. But the question was had the Fraud unit found Neiger or had he?
I ran up to my old room and opened up the desk drawer and took out a lacquered wooden box which contained various makes of cell phones. I picked out one that came with a useful accessory, a hard-shell case containing a battery pack. I pulled the case in half, inserted the cell onto the charging pin, snapped it back together and flicked across the switch on its side. When I powered on the phone I got the battery charging symbol so it was good to go.
I put it down and took out the cell phone I now needed to ditch and a paper clip from the box. I jammed it into the hole on the top and the SIM popped out. I snapped it in half, put the dead phone in the box and placed it all back in the drawer. Secora wasn't going to be happy when I disappeared off the grid. I used the new phone to make a call.
'Stuart? There's...'
'Hi. I'm kind of busy right now.'
There was a pause. Then Kerpen said, 'Debbie? I can't talk right now I'm at work. But I get off shift at seven-thirty. Why don't we meet up at that place where you had your birthday dinner? Same place, same time. Let's have some happy memories while I sign your damn papers.' He hung up.
I checked the time. I had a few hours. Matt's birthday dinner had kicked off with drinks at eight.
I redialed, it answered on one.
'Sin Nombre.'
'Account 42. I need a cab from Oak Street ASAP. Usual place.'
I checked the window half expecting to see bodies spilling out from a mix of vehicles below. So far so good. I exited out of the back door and into the yard. The surrounding wall was maybe six and a half feet. I launched myself at it, half scrabbling, using feet and fingers to gain purchase in the mortar wherever I could, and vaulted over the top. I hit the ground running, made my way through the rest of the block, eyes out for company, then sprinted the length to the end.
Back home I plugged the name Carlito Fernandes into a database and checked all of the boxes so it ran through the maximum number of searches. I chose to go with Fernandes first because of the Spanish name in case of a link to Pulido or a Sureño affiliation.
Ten minutes later I had confirmation when scoping the results. Fernandes was blue and had jackets for dope and using juvie runners to hustle rocks. Older bangers drew in kids because as minors they were too young to be charged. I found no apparent connection to Pulido.
I ran the same searches on Tyler Buckner. His arrest and court records showed he was also involved with peddling dope.
Drug possession charges involved a range of penalties at sentencing which varied from state to state and California was particularly tough. Penalties for simple possession ranged from a fine of less than a hundred dollars with possibly a few
days in jail to thousands of dollars and several years in state prison for the same offense. Distribution and manufacturing carried much heavier penalties.
It was true that defendants were sometimes offered plea deals if they could help with a high priority investigation, perhaps one which led to the arrest of an organized crime leader or in providing information relating to a homicide. But Buckner hadn't been taken in to the Hall and recently busted. He had been serving his fifth month of a three-year felony stretch in state prison. Ortiz was getting sloppy. He had made a mistake. Maybe Fernandes had been offered up because of his Sureño connection. There was no way to tell and I was tired. I set an alarm, laid down for a while and emptied my mind.
Back Yard Soul was on Montgomery. The place was busy. I found Kerpen at the back where it wasn't so well lit. I slid into the booth opposite him.
'Shit Angela I can't believe I'm sitting here talking to you. You know you're wanted in connection with a felony?'
'Maybe.'
'What do you mean maybe?'
'How do you know that? Did you hear it from someone in Fraud?'
'No. Ortiz mentioned it.'
'He told you?'
'No. He was having a conversation with Aaron.'
'Maybe you were meant to hear it. I think those guys have got a lot of plates spinning right now. I'm not sure they'd want Fraud getting involved in any of this. But you could find out.'
A wave of guilt came over me. I shouldn't really be there with Kerpen. A waitress came over with a couple of menus. I was starving but didn't want to compromise him longer than necessary.
'Can we just get drinks?' I asked.
'It's Saturday night, other people want to eat,' she said.
'Well I'm hungry,' Kerpen said. He looked up at the waitress. 'Can you give us five?'
She wandered off to attend to other customers, probably rating their value higher.
'It's got to be better than takeout.'
I thought about how rough it must be for him at the moment.
He spent about a minute deciding then looked over at me.
I nodded I was ready. 'Let's get her back over.'
He managed to get her attention. She had her pen out before she reached the table.
'I'll have a bowl of chicken, sausage and okra gumbo and a beer,' he said.
She looked at me.
'I'll take the sweet potato dumplings with shrimp and crawfish and a Coke.'
I waited for her to leave.
'I need to know where I stand with Fraud. If I've got freedom to act,' I said.
'What are you going to do?'
'Get to Pulido and try and get some evidence.'
I pushed a piece of paper with a number on across the table.
'You can reach me on this.'
'All right, I'll see what I can do about checking things out with Fraud.'
'Thank you. And be careful or Matt will never forgive me.'
He smiled. 'That goes for you too.'
'I'm sorry to do this but I should run. I'll get this.' I called back the waitress for the check and to have her wrap mine. The dumplings made pretty good takeout.
Outside I got half way through dialing Sin Nombre and stopped. Maybe that was how Secora's men had found me. It was popular with the criminal element. The place made its money by not asking questions. I had already used them twice since. Now I was getting sloppy. But I needed to get home. Before I did anything else, I still had a bank transfer to prep.
FIFTY-THREE
Saturday night in SoMa was not as busy as it used to be. Originally known for its artistic and club culture, the internet boom of the nineties had ensured that the artists and musicians who had once made it cool had had to make way for the tech companies when the area became prime real estate and rentals had gone sky high.
Some of the best clubs were still here but it was dangerous after dark and most people preferred taking a taxi even though every street had a bus line of some sort. Every single cab that passed by me was occupied. My building was only a few blocks away. I didn't want to be hanging around on the street, so I started to walk.
I checked out every car that passed. In case it was a cab, in case it contained four men I didn't want to meet again, or in case it was an SFPD patrol looking to pick me up. Every time I spotted one in the distance, I ducked into a doorway until it had gone by. If anybody was surveilling me from a distance, I looked guilty as hell. A black and white with a light bar was easy to spot. An unmarked car was going to give me much more of a problem.
I only had a fifteen-minute walk. Nothing happened for the first ten minutes. No free cabs passed me, no hardwood flooring company employees, and no cops. Things were going well until I was no more than a five-minute walk from home. The same distance I usually walked to my building whenever I got dropped off by a cab.
Ten feet ahead of me a guy appeared from the shadows and stepped into the middle of the sidewalk. I took a quick glance behind me for an exit point but another guy had me boxed from behind. He'd done well. I hadn't heard any footsteps. Both men were wearing blue.
Each were dressed similarly. Cotton sweatpants, one pair white, one pair gray, and baggy blue sports shirts. Blue bandannas and high-top trainers. One leg tucked into a sock, the other leg loose. One on the left-hand side, one on the right. Like they couldn't make up their minds what the lore was.
Neither were Hispanic although that wasn't necessarily a requirement. The clothes were providing a shortcut that said gangster initially but on closer inspection they looked like middle-class white boys acting out. The guy up front started towards me, throwing out an arm as he walked, almost limping, affecting a swagger.
'Yo bitch, empty your pockets,' he said.
'You have got to be kidding me,' I said.
Probably on their way out for the evening, they had me marked as an easy touch and were attempting to roll me. I guessed I was meant to stand where I was frozen by fear, or back up and get grabbed by the other guy. I smiled and stepped in closer to guy number one.
'I don't have time for this shit so quit dancing and let's cut right to it,' I said.
He stopped in his tracks. The chances were, it was slowly dawning on him that I knew something he didn't because I didn't look like any victim he'd seen in the movies. I took another step closer.
'The thing about life is, you never know when you're going to meet your match,' I said.
I wasn't in the mood to allow him to save face, so he had a dilemma. He'd been dissed and squared up to by a girl. He was also a bully and a wannabe whereas I'd had years of martial arts training and was uninhibited about violence.
I stepped in closer. He stayed where he was. One more step and I'd be within his range and he'd have to make a decision about whether to put up or shut up.
I looked in his eyes and I knew that he knew that if he attempted to hit me it would be game over even if he couldn't quite work out why. So he made a coward move. He pulled out a knife. Not a very big one, or a very impressive one but one that he'd lifted from either his mother or a kitchen store. If it came down to grappling I was going to ruin my take out. Now I was pissed.
I drew my SIG and pointed it as his face. The effect was immediate.
'Drop the knife real quick,' I said.
I didn't take my eyes of his face but heard the knife clatter to the ground and the footsteps of the guy behind me retreating into the distance. I was pretty sure he wasn't going to call any cops but I needed to wrap things up quickly.
'Now you empty your pockets.'
He took out a few items from each side of his sweatpants. When both his hands were full I reholstered the SIG, put down my food parcel and punched him hard in the center of his face with the heel of my palm. No point in using knuckles. A regular punch amounts to using lots of little bones which are easily broken whereas the palm heel inflicts more damage to an opponent and less damage to the aggressor. He landed on his ass and I picked up the knife.
A wallet, cell phone, and a pac
ket of cigarettes lay scattered on the ground around him. His nose was busted and he was either crying or being generous I might say his eyes were watering.
I retrieved his cell and wallet and flipped open an ID which said his name was Lee. Lee Kimberley. Except it was a really bad fake. I skipped through his cell's contacts list until I found the one I wanted. Also a three letter name. Mom. I selected the home number and hit dial. A pleasant woman's voice answered the phone.
'Is that Mrs. Kimberley?' I asked.
'No this is Mrs. Marshall, Caroline Marshall.'
'Mrs. Marshall, I have your son here, he's hurt.'
'Oh my God, Ross? Is he okay?'
'His name's Ross? I was going by the fake ID so you can see the confusion. Ross has a busted nose but he's more than okay. He's just learned that going round attacking lone women is a felony not a career plan. Also, California has an open-carry knife law for chef's knives so they're only legal if carried openly in a sheath suspended from the waist. I'll pass you over but please don't chastise him for mumbling. On account of the nose.'
I tossed Ross Marshall his phone and wallet and scooped up my food. I hoped he was more afraid of her than the cops. I ditched the knife down a drain and continued on my way.
At home I ate, changed my clothes, and made a start on preparing what I needed for the crack on Rawlings’ bank account. I did what I could but would need to wait another twelve hours or so to get everything I needed so I settled in to listen to Ortiz's day. I trawled through mundane recordings from his phone. Most of them were routine business and domestic calls until I was almost an hour in.
It'll all be wrapped up by the beginning of next week. We sell the dope to Rami. Let Secora hear about it. He shows. We take Secora out. Our boy's running things.
