“Spit it out or I’m hanging up,” he snapped.
“Are you still sitting with your fat butt cheeks on a hernia cushion?” I could feel the guy tense up over the phone. Better not piss him off too much. “It’s Kyle.”
“I know.” I wasn’t sure if that was a bluff. “How’d you get this number?”
“Our mutual friend.”
“That’s some trick,” Bishop said. He was a charter member of the “There the Night Ryan was Killed” club.
“He left me his little black book. I was hoping for chicks.”
Bishop’s voice dropped to a whisper. “He said he might. I was hoping not. You didn’t call to invite me to poker, huh?”
“Nope. Can you get away for a few? The coffee place just off Route One?”
He paused long enough I thought the call might have dropped. “All right. Fifteen minutes. And I haven’t agreed to anything.”
* * *
The diner was just busy enough that there were people coming and going all the time yet it was easy to get a table. Bishop arrived minutes later in his white unmarked cruiser.
He’d gained weight since the last time I saw him, not that he was slim to begin with. I figured he’d eaten to make up for the chunk of his ass that got shot off and had overcorrected.
Our booth was in the corner and I could see we’d have some privacy if we spoke in low tones. Bishop spotted me when I waved and approached. He dropped into the seat and the leather on his gun belt creaked. “You’re the last person I expected to hear from.”
“I missed you, too. How’s tricks?”
“Why’d you call?” Bishop’s face tinged red, easy to spot over the pasty skin. His eyes locked on me and I recalled it was a mistake to underestimate him.
“Might have a project for you.”
“Better be good.”
“I don’t know how you and Ryan handled things, so I guess I’ll lay out what I need and you tell me if you can help or if I’m going too far.”
“Go ahead,” then we both clammed up while a waitress poured coffee and left us without a word. Bishop was a regular.
“Did you ever work with one of Ryan’s people, a computer jock?” I wanted to be careful here, as Ryan knew many people but they didn’t necessarily know each other.
“He worked with several, but the best was a guy who went by VoxPox. Hacker shit, but the info was scary good. I never met him in person. Why?”
That he got the gender wrong told me I was right to try to keep things compartmentalized. I suppressed a shudder, as small mistakes could get people killed in these circles.
“In a second,” I said. “Someone I’m dating has gotten jammed up with a slimy landlord. He tricked her into giving him some leverage and is trying to keep her quiet and skim some cash.”
“I guess your divorce went through, huh? This one must be hot, for you to jump on the favor train.” Bishop sat forward.
“Yeah, Beth is doing well on the other side of the country in Colorado. Sandy and I hit it off and we’ll see. She messed up, but it shouldn’t become a career ender. And this guy is a real piece of work.”
“Do tell.”
“I called you because I cooked up some payback for what he’s up to now.” I gave him the quick version like I did for VP.
“So, tell the Irish he dug up evidence or something and now wants to go to the Feds.” Bishop brushed his palms together in a “That’s that” gesture.
“I’m not trying to get him killed.”
“Picky, picky. You want nuance, it’ll cost you more than a cup of coffee.” Bishop smiled.
“I’ve got nuance. VoxPox came up with an open-ended campaign that’s going to keep him busy.”
“But—”
I almost said “She” and caught myself. “He said you could help score a treasure trove of data fast.” Ryan had made keeping track of all the balls in the air look easy. “He also wants something in trade that only you can get for me.”
“If you’re talking accessing the state database, he probably could do it easier than me. Or safer. They are real hard asses about logging searches and I have to be careful.”
“Nothing like that, but you’d still have to be careful. You might get a kick out of it all the same.”
“Let’s hear it.”
“VoxPox has a nifty gadget that he needs you to plant in Barnaby’s computer.”
“I’m not a hacker,” he said. “Why doesn’t he do it?”
“I’m not either and asked the same thing.”
“And?”
“VoxPox said he’s ‘not a frigging ninja,’ and I have to say that sounds about right, but I really think he doesn’t want to get his hands dirty with fieldwork.”
“In other words, dopes like us can do the break and enter, is that it?”
“Pretty much. The good news is that the hack is on a simple flash drive and all we’d have to do is find the computer, pop in the stick, power up the PC for five minutes and shut it off again.”
“Sounds easy enough as far as felonies go,” Bishop said. “What does the hack do?”
“I don’t know exactly, but he said it would give him a back door to the computer and he’d have the whole hard drive copied and all trace of the intrusion gone like he was never there.”
“And then the games begin?”
I nodded. “But the less you know about that, the better.”
“I see. Well, what is the something in trade only I can do?”
I hesitated and made sure we were still safe to talk. “A dozen PA driver’s license blanks.”
“You’re shitting me.”
“Nope and the truth is I have no idea what they are for. That’s his payment for the caper.” I felt strange even asking. “But if you can’t, I can scrape up some cash.”
“Why don’t you just handle the break-in, and pay him in the first place?”
A fair question. “‘Break’ is the operative word. I can get through the door, but I don’t know lock picking and I’m pretty sure his office has an alarm.”
As I spoke, I could see a glint in Bishop’s eyes that told me to discount his grumbling about the task. The “king of the storage lockers” was maybe a little bored with his kingdom.
“I have a few conditions,” he said. I waited. “You’re part of the lookout team. And I’m not doing anything until you get me specs on the alarm. VoxPox should be able to dig that up via billing and whatnot. You can get a head start by going by the dork’s office and checking the alarm company’s displayed warning sign.”
We’d never exactly gotten along, but it was way better to have this guy on my side rather than against. “You got it. And what is it going to cost for your help and the other stuff?”
“I need a favor, if Ryan trusted you enough with his connections.”
“What favor?”
He stared out the window and spoke just above a whisper. “Not here.”
“I thought you’d want everything up front. You’re extending me credit?”
“You’re talking to a cop. I can always just arrest you.” He pushed the bill my way and stood up.
* * *
Fishtown
I figured there was no time like the present, so on the way home I turned off on Girard Ave and swung by the entrance for Barnaby Bones Chiropractors and Sandy’s Physical Therapy of Fishtown. Although Sandy was sharing space rented from Barnaby, the place was really two converted row homes repurposed in this mixed-use neighborhood. Sandy had a different account for her alarm system, otherwise I would have gotten the code from her.
As I rolled past, I didn’t bother to stop. Both of them were likely busy and all I needed right now was to get the company right. Sure enough, at both entrances there was a visible, stop-sign-shaped placard that read in white letters: “Protected by Klaxon Sentinel.”
“Not for long,” I muttered and turned the old truck for home.
Chapter 13
Fishtown
“Are you sure this piec
e of junk didn’t go through the crusher once?” Rollie said.
We were sitting in an absolute wreck of a Kia. The back seat smelled like a family of mice had died in it. Still, the outside was clean, more or less, and most of the doors matched.
“Beggars can’t be choosers,” I said. “And again, I must remind you that you insisted on coming out here tonight. This heap is the last legal thing about the night.”
We were waiting for Bishop to show up. I hoped I wouldn’t sweat through the coveralls I was wearing.
“How am I supposed to get in trouble sitting at home?” he asked. We’d watched Barnaby get into and drive off in the new Volvo that Sandy told me about.
“Got your phone?”
“Yeah, but if there’s trouble, I’ll hit the horn on this beater and pretend it got stuck. You guys cheezit if you hear that.”
I liked it. “I have to hand it to old Mike. He came up with this pretty fast.” The shady garage in Conshohocken was on Ryan’s list and I’d seen him work with the guy before. Ryan referred to him as a “dealer for disposable cars.”
“What did it cost you?”
“That’s the funny thing. Mike said all we had to do was bring it back, unless there was trouble. Then we’re supposed to set fire to it and lose his number,” I said. “That and to tell Ryan that they were all even.”
“Ryan’s ‘favor economy’ strikes again eh?” Rollie said.
I glanced up the street and saw the van approach. “Here he comes. How do I look?” I pulled on the white painter’s cap printed with the BugsOff logo.
“Like a man on a mission.”
Bishop pulled right into the driveway in a white van marked with same exterminator logo. He jumped out and I clamped down on my laughter. He looked like he’d been poured into the coveralls.
I wore glasses with clear lenses and a mustache. I doubted the neighbors, if any noticed, remembered what I really looked like, and half the block was shops or offices now closed, anyway. Still, the last thing I needed was an accurate description.
Bishop had gotten with the program and had a dark wig to cover his gray hair and shades along with fake muttonchops. He looked like Elvis in a bland jumpsuit.
“Thanks for meeting me out here. Had to get the work order from the office,” he said for any eavesdroppers while he pulled a pump sprayer from the van.
“Pop gave me a lift,” I played along. “They saw the nest in back?”
“Yeah.” Bishop moved fast to the back entrance. Dress-up was fun and all, but this was serious shit if we got caught.
At the back door facing the alley we had relative privacy so we could speak as long as we kept our voices down.
“The geek is good.” Bishop meant VP. After I gave her the alarm company she’d come up with the account and we knew the exact system. “If he’s great, we’ll find out.”
I stood with my back to the rear door and blocked anyone from seeing Bishop crouched over, working on the lock. He had a gadget in his pocket with little alligator clips dangling from it.
The lock didn’t give him any trouble, but the hard part was next. As soon as the door opened, we both could hear a high-pitched tone. I saw the sensors on the door. The system was waiting for the owner to enter the code.
Bishop stepped inside. “Find the computer,” he said. “I got this. We have sixty seconds, but if my toy doesn’t work, we’ll have to bail. Too bad VP didn’t get the code.”
“He told me there were tripwires all over those files,” I said. “Not worth the risk.”
I stepped around him and headed for the front of the office. I passed a room with a table and posters of skeletal and muscular systems. I was here for another system. Maybe next time, Barnaby.
I glanced back at Bishop and heard the whine of a power screwdriver over the steady tone of the security panel. VP had confirmed that there were panels by both entry doors.
The clock in my head got to about forty-five seconds and I saw the light on the panel by the front door flip to green. I headed straight to the office area and the desk next to a set of locked metal file cabinets. There was a monitor and desktop computer in plain view.
I wondered what on Earth I’d do if Barnaby came back and hoped that we’d hear Rollie honking the horn.
Under the desk I could see wires and plugs leading to a power strip. I flipped the switch when I remembered that VP said it was vital that the unit be powered off when I plugged in the flash drive. I took out the stick and found the USB port. I popped it in and made sure it was seated properly.
I hit the power switch back on and listened as the machine whirred to life. The screen flickered and I saw a black screen with a blinking cursor. I was expecting the usual Windows power-up. Now a numbered list appeared item by item:
1. Good job so far
2. Wait five minutes
3. Did you wash your hands after using the restroom? J/K
4. Are you sure it has been five minutes?
5. Power off, remove flash drive, and tiptoe out the doe. Thank you for flying Hacker Air.
Smart aleck.
I must have waited six minutes just to be sure, and I hadn’t needed to use the bathroom until she’d brought it up. I wasn’t about to touch anything I didn’t need to, though, and I wore thin gloves in any case.
During the wait I could hear the hard drive working so it was clear there was more than cute messages on that flash drive. I pocketed it and made sure to remember to close the office door again.
Bishop was waiting by the back door. The open panel box looked like it was wrestling a tiny electronic octopus that grabbed connections with its toothy clips. “All good?” he asked.
“I guess we’ll see. Nice job on the panel.”
“Don’t thank me yet. I need to reassemble this in under a minute after I reset the system.”
“Want help?”
“Nah, you’d get in the way. I’ll meet you outside.”
I stepped out of the place and stretched like I’d been actually working. A moment later I heard a chirp and the screwdriver then Bishop slipped out the door. I blocked the view again while he relocked the door.
“Hope that worked.”
I felt like we’d been exposed for an eternity, but in fact it’d only been about fifteen minutes from when Bishop arrived.
“Always nice to get in a little overtime,” Bishop said to the night air.
I glanced at the corner to see if Rollie was agitated, but he sat placidly at the wheel. “Thanks. I owe you.”
“Damn right, you do. I’ll be in touch.” Bishop scratched one of his sideburns.
At the car I got into the passenger side. The door creaked in protest. Rollie spoke without facing me. “We happy?”
“We done,” I replied. “I’ll have to hear from our friend to know if it worked.”
Rollie cranked the car and for a moment I thought I’d used up all my good luck for the week. The engine caught and rough idled until it decided to smooth out and get us out of there. “Don’t pay her if it doesn’t work,” he said.
Rollie knew about VP’s gender.
I had to trust somebody.
Chapter 14
Ryan’s Place, Fishtown
The next afternoon I answered the back door knock at Ryan’s house with a lot less drama. VP wore her anarchist getup and carried a laptop case under her arm. I let her in.
She took off the mask once she was inside and played with the drawstrings on her hoodie. She looked around. “Hey, you didn’t have to pick up the place for me.”
I’d hardly touched the room, aside from dusting enough area to sit and work at the table. “I didn’t, but there are some MonStar energy drinks in the fridge.”
“You shouldn’t have.”
Did she just blush?
“We’re still rounding up the other stuff for you,” I said, “but I’m dying to know, did it work?”
She dug the neon green can out of the refrigerator and I heard it open with a faint hiss. She held anot
her can to me. I took it and opened it.
“Of course. I wrote the code myself.”
“Nice Hacking for Dummies instructions, by the way.”
She gave me a light version of her crooked grin. “Lots going on in the background. I ghosted his whole drive and swept up afterwards. He has some passwords and encryption on the drive.”
“Was that a problem?”
“It saved me time. That told me where all the good stuff was. The encryption itself was a joke.”
Impressive. “You got into all of it?”
“Kyle, I told you I knew what I was doing. Yeah, and once I had all his logins it was cake to get the whole picture. The dude is pretty messed up.”
“In what way?” For the first time I wondered if I should consider Barnaby a physical threat to Sandy.
She shrugged. “For starters, his real name isn’t Barnaby.”
“I had that figured out,” I said.
“Yeah, but it is legally recognized, so he can hide behind it when he wants.”
“I don’t understand.”
“It’s lawyer stuff, but basically he can run his bone-cracking operation and keep his real life separate.”
“But—”
“That’s only for a surface look, like online profile stuff. I have the source. So, you want to know his real name?”
“If it’s not too much trouble.” The sarcasm just slipped out.
She ignored it and pulled out a sheet of paper and slid it across the coffee table. “Meet Mr. Mason Oliver, age fifty-seven, originally from Patterson, New Jersey. Was married, wife deceased, no kids.”
I glanced at the paper and it had the basic information, including his social security number, followed by a listing of several addresses. “What are these? Chestnut Hill, and Strawberry Mansion. Wide range of neighborhoods.”
“I know which one I’d want to walk around in after dark,” VP said. “And where I’d rather have a house to live in.”
I caught her drift. “The place in Chestnut Hill is his home?”
She pulled out another page, this one a satellite picture printout of a huge stone house with a large yard and pool surrounded by a stone wall. “The Beauregard Estate, two acres, and ten thousand square feet. Ideal digs for a bachelor, don’t you think?”
Short Cut (The Reluctant Hustler Book 2) Page 8
