The Breaker

by Nick Petrie

  He wouldn’t call the police, though. She knew from the paper that he hadn’t stuck around to talk to them after she’d held him up at the market. He’d turned himself invisible for a reason.

  After two solid minutes, the line clicked. “Maria, I’m so sorry to make you wait. Thanks for calling. How are you today?” Holloway sounded aggressively charming and self-assured, just like she remembered.

  Spark wasn’t going to be fucking polite. “Do you have my hundred million?”

  “That’s a big ask, Maria. Although I have to say, I’m impressed by the power move.”

  “Fuck you, Vince. A hundred million.”

  “Maria, you have to know I don’t have anything like that kind of liquidity. I’m all tied up. You already emptied my discretionary account. Out of respect, what I can offer you today is about a million six. That’s cash, my emergency fund from the safe at home. It’s already on its way.”

  The wind gusted again, and she smelled the coming rain. “You’re full of shit, Vince. I saw your account balances.”

  “I thought you were smart, Maria. You know it’s more complicated than that. You’ve been in my servers, so you know I’m in the middle of something huge. I imagine you’ve gotten a lot more business savvy since the last time I saw you, so I’ll lay it out for you. I haven’t taken any venture money on the project. I don’t want the interference, and I don’t want to split my ownership. Everything I have is invested.”

  A hundred million was the ask, not what she expected to get. “Come on, Vince. How many lines of credit are you running?”

  “They’re all at the max, Maria. My ass is hanging way out there. Between the debts I owe my suppliers and funds I need to take the project to market, I’m actually in the red. You can call my banker. I’ll send you my P&L, the business plan, too. I’ll walk you through it.”

  “Like I’d believe anything you told me. But that’s fine. I’ll just start pruning files off your server.” She was surprised how good she felt, the anger burning in a clean blue flame. Three years of work coming to fruition. “I’ll start with your lab notes, then move on to the CAD drawings and spec sheets of your HYENAS.” He could reconstruct some of that, she was sure, but it would cost him.

  “Please don’t,” he said. “How about preferred stock? Say, ten percent of the company? I expect to be profitable in eighteen to twenty-four months. I’ll buy the shares back in two years for twenty million. If you can wait five years, I’ll buy them back for two hundred million. I’ll put it all in writing.”

  Spark had seen how Holloway did business. She would never trust anything with his signature on it. He was just buying time for his IT guys to scour her code from his system. But she didn’t care about the money. This was about revenge.

  “The delete button is so satisfying, Vince. Preferred stock just isn’t the same.”

  He cleared his throat. “How about twenty percent? But the window is only two years. Hey, you never forget your first forty million, right?”

  “Eighteen months and fifty million.”

  “Jesus, Maria, you’re killing me,” he said. “But okay.”

  It irritated her that he kept calling her Maria. He’d probably read somewhere that people were more likely to do what you wanted when you used their name. But Maria wasn’t her name anymore.

  “Write up the documents and I’ll have my lawyers vet them. I’m keeping your goddamn data locked down until everything is signed. But I want the cash, too. This afternoon. You deliver it yourself, in person.”

  He sighed theatrically. “When and where? I have meetings until five.”

  Entitled prick. “I’ll let you know,” she said. “Cancel your fucking meetings and stay by the phone. Get your people working on those documents, I want them at my lawyer’s by noon.”

  “Okay,” he said. “But don’t hang up. I want to ask you something. That prospectus you emailed a few months ago? The one that got me to meet you at the market? Efficiency, materials, outputs—is that real?”

  In order to get into his phone, she’d needed him to agree to meet her in person. So she’d sent him an abstract on the experimental fuel cell she’d been playing with. No true design details, of course, but enough to grab his attention. She was counting on his greed and sense of invulnerability to overcome their history. Now that she’d seen the HYENA specs. she wished she’d made up something completely different. Her battery could power that thing for days. Her fuel cell would let it run for months.

  “The data is real,” she said. “But you’ll never get your hands on the actual design.”

  “That tech is worth a lot more than your battery.” She could practically hear him drooling. “Maybe, when this is over, we can talk about a partnership?”

  Her mother was right. The devil’s best weapon was a charming smile. She almost laughed despite herself. “You are a gold-plated asshole, Vince. You just told me you were broke.”

  “A cheap, efficient fuel cell? The first-round investment alone will be ten figures.” A billion dollars.

  Spark figured it wouldn’t hurt to have a carrot as well as a stick. Although Holloway would be in no position to buy into anything by the time she was done with him. “I’ll keep an open mind.”

  “One last thing, Maria.” His voice dropped. “I never had a chance to tell you how sorry I was to hear about your parents. It’s a real shame. I hope you know I didn’t have anything to do with that.”

  The world turned red. She closed her eyes and clenched the phone in her fist and took a deep breath and counted to ten before she answered. “Sure you didn’t, Vince. Just wait for my call. By the way, my delete bot has a countdown timer, and it’s ticking. If anything bad happens to me, you’re screwed.”

  “Nothing bad will happen, Maria. It’s been very nice talking with you. I look forward to resolving this whole situation soon.”

  As she put her phone away, she wondered if he actually believed his own bullshit or if he just wanted her to believe it. Either way, she knew it wasn’t going to be this easy.

  She left the Valley Passage tunnel and turned back onto the bike trail, leaning forward so the skateboard knew to pick up speed.

  On the path ahead, she saw a cyclist coming fast.

  She recognized the bike.

  She held up her hand and they came to a stop together. “Dude.”

  46

  PETER

  While Peter finished cleaning up the breakfast dishes, June went upstairs to shower. Lewis stood at the window with one eye on the street and the other on Fran, who sat at the kitchen table in her long white nightgown and a pale blue bathrobe with the Police Positive in the pocket. On the table in front of her was a thick white mug and a bottle of fifteen-year-old Balvenie. She tipped in another slug. It had started out mostly coffee, but was probably pure scotch by now.

  “No, I’m not going to a hotel,” she said. “That horrible man isn’t going to make me leave my own home. I’ve lived in that house for fifty years.”

  “Franny, I can’t watch out for you when I’m out chasing him,” Peter said. “What if he comes back?”

  She waved away his concern. “Oh, Edgar’s not mad at me. I patched him up. You just fix my house and I’ll be fine.”

  “You really don’t want us to call the police?”

  She looked at him with clear eyes. “Are you dim? What on earth will they do aside from track dirt on my carpet and drink all my coffee?”

  Peter turned to Lewis, who gave him an elaborate shrug. Peter had already called the lumberyard for supplies to get her house secure again. Eli Bliffert was driving it over himself. Lewis, with his many rental properties, had been a good customer for years.

  “Okay,” Peter said. “As long as you understand that I can’t really make things nice again until we get this guy.”

  “Just don’t take too long,” she said. “I’m almost n
inety-eight, you know.”

  When Eli arrived in his big diesel pickup, Peter jogged over to Fran’s to unload, then stayed to board up the window and add two-by-four barricade brackets to her doors. If Edgar really wanted in, Peter reflected, this wouldn’t stop him. Nothing would.

  But Franny was right. Edgar wasn’t after her. He was after June. And now, Peter.

  He put the tools away and walked her home, her hand tight on his arm. “You never asked me what this was about, Fran.”

  She kept her eyes on her blue sneakers navigating the cracked asphalt. “Bob and I never talked about his work. I didn’t want to let anything slip, and he never wanted me to worry.” She shook her head. “Buddy, I worried anyway. But that was the deal I made. I knew he was an outlaw when I met him.” She sighed. “Maybe that’s what I liked best about him. He was such a beautiful man.”

  Peter made sure she could get the two-by-fours in and out of the brackets, then crossed back to Lewis’s house as a police car rolled up the street toward him.

  Peter was glad he’d left the axe and the ruined Colt at Fran’s house. He needed a replacement gun.

  * * *

  —

  The cruiser pulled over and the driver stepped out. He was the same uniformed sergeant who had pulled Peter over the day before. Peter waved and kept walking. “Good morning.”

  “Hold up a minute.” The cop adjusted his equipment belt and came around the front of the car, smoothing his push-broom mustache with one hand. He was maybe ten years older than Peter, crisp and professional without being spit-polished. “I’m looking for June Cassidy, but I’ll talk to you a minute first. You’re Peter Murphy, correct?”

  Peter had to remind himself of his alias. “Yes, I’m Peter.”

  The sergeant watched Peter’s face like he was memorizing it. It was a little unnerving.

  Peter tried not to look like a wanted poster. “I think you and I met the other morning. You pulled me over for a bad taillight, but you let me fix it. Thanks again for that.”

  The sergeant gave him a curt nod. “No problem. I’m surprised to see you, though. I thought you’d gone on a hunting trip.”

  For a moment, Peter didn’t know what he was talking about. Then he remembered the story June had told the police after the van had crashed. He’d make a lousy spy. “You’re the one who showed up about the lunatic with the axe?”

  “I get all the weird stuff,” the sergeant said. “But I guess you didn’t go hunting after all.”

  Peter put a sheepish look on his face. “I left, but I turned around pretty quick. What kind of asshole goes hunting after someone tries to run over his girlfriend?”

  “Someone who really likes hunting,” the sergeant said. “But I guess you got your priorities figured out. What can you tell me about the man with the axe?”

  Peter wasn’t going to mention that he’d seen the guy that morning. “You haven’t found him yet?”

  “Soon,” said the sergeant. “Can you describe him?”

  “Let’s see. A couple of inches taller than me, with a crew cut and a happy smile. He was thick around the middle, but he could really move. He beat us to the corner and then just disappeared.”

  The sergeant wasn’t taking notes. “He had an axe, but he ran away. And you went after him.”

  “Well, there were two of us. And I had a crowbar.”

  The sergeant just looked at him.

  “I was a Marine,” Peter finally said. “I guess it’s hardwired.”

  He watched the sergeant’s expressionless face and knew he should have kept his mouth shut. The guy was trying to place him and he’d just added another data point.

  “Did you know the man with the axe had threatened Ms. Cassidy earlier that day?”

  “Not until later. That’s why I turned around from the hunting trip.”

  “Do you know why he threatened her?”

  “You’ll have to ask her,” Peter said. “I’m just the boyfriend.”

  The sergeant’s flat stare told Peter he didn’t believe any of it.

  “One last thing and we’re done.” The sergeant pulled a phone from his uniform pants and held it up. “Stand right there.”

  Peter raised a hand to block the camera’s view. “I’m sorry, what’s this about?”

  “Put your hand down, Mr. Murphy. It’s just routine and perfectly legal. You’re a witness to an attempted assault who left the scene of a crime. Unless there’s a reason you don’t want your picture taken?” Peter dropped his hand. “Great. No need to smile.” The sergeant stepped around to get another shot from the side. “Thank you.” He looked down at the screen. His mustache crinkled up in a smile.

  Peter was pretty sure the improvised mug shot wasn’t fucking routine. But there was nothing he could do unless he was willing to beat down a veteran patrol sergeant. He wasn’t. And it would only make things worse anyway. He had to hope they could solve their problem before the sergeant figured out why Peter looked familiar.

  The cop tucked his phone away. “Now, about Ms. Cassidy. She hasn’t returned any of the detectives’ calls, so I’m here to escort her to the District Five station. Is she home?”

  Peter hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “We spent the night at our neighbor’s. We’re all a little jittery about this thing. I’ll get her.”

  Behind him, the screen door slapped shut and June came down the front walk with her phone to her ear. She waved merrily at the sergeant and kept talking, her voice loud enough to be heard clearly on the street. “No, Detective, you’re absolutely right. I’m very sorry. Honestly, I was so freaked out, I didn’t really think. I just had to get out of there. Yes, I did shoot him. Yes, I’ll bring the gun. Lunchtime? Great. Thank you.”

  She hung up and gave the sergeant a sweet smile. “Sergeant Threadgill, how nice to see you again. What can I do for you this morning?”

  He was not amused. “I’m here to escort you to the station. My orders were to provide you with every courtesy.”

  She waggled her phone. “That was Detective Hecht,” she said. “I’m meeting him at one. I’m sorry you had to come all this way.”

  “I’m sure the detective would have a moment for you now, ma’am. I can follow you in your car or give you a lift myself.”

  “I’m a journalist, Sergeant. Right now, I’m chasing something and I need to keep chasing it. I’m sure you understand how that is from your own work.”

  “Yes, ma’am, I do. Right now I’m chasing you.”

  “Well, you’ve found me. Safe and sound. I’ll be at the station at one. Feel free to confirm that with Detective Hecht.” She looked at Peter. “We need to get moving.”

  His mustache bristled. “Ms. Cassidy, this is not a game. This is a homicide investigation. A man is dead.”

  “I’m well aware of that,” June said quietly. “His name was Jerry. He liked English soccer and homemade calzones.” She sighed. “I’m one of the good guys, Sergeant. Peter is, too.”

  The sergeant gave her a grim stare. “That’s hard to tell from where I’m standing. You both seem pretty slippery to me. If anyone else gets hurt, I’m coming after you both. Hard.” He got back in his cruiser and slammed the door.

  As he drove off, Peter looked at June. “Lady, you are something else.”

  June shook her head. “I just burned our last piece of goodwill with the police. We better get this thing figured out.”

  “Absolutely. Just as soon as I can talk Lewis into lending me another gun.”

  47

  JUNE

  They were back in the Yukon headed north toward Capitol Drive, with Lewis driving, Peter in the passenger seat, and June sprawled across the back with her laptop open. They’d stopped at Colectivo on Humboldt for a caffeine infusion and a sack full of pastries.

  Lewis looked over his shoulder. “What’s at Hampton and Teutonia?�
��

  “Metzger Machine.” June tore apart a blueberry muffin.

  Lewis slurped at his quadruple mocha. “Where the two guys got killed the other day?” Then he figured it out. “With a machete,” he said. “Partially dismembered.”

  “A heavy bladed weapon, brutally used. Remind you of anyone?” June stuffed a piece of muffin in her mouth. “They’re the same kind of killings as the Virginia murders, too. A machete instead of a kitchen cleaver, but still.” Peter had brought Lewis up to date on the conversation with Oliver the night before.

  “Do we know anything about the dead guys?”

  “They were partners in Metzger Machine, and cousins. According to the reporter who wrote the story, the police have no leads. They think it was a random crazy. But if it turns out they’re connected to Edgar or Holloway, that might give us a way in.”

  “How about your friend Dean? Did you talk to him this morning?”

  “He called while we were dancing with the cops.” Her phone rang. “Here he is again. I’m putting him on speaker. You guys, button it.” She turned up the volume. “Hey, Dean. How was it with the police last night?”

  “I was at the paper until four in the morning,” he said. “They were pretty pissed at you, I have to say.”

  “I’m going to the Fifth District station at one today,” June said. “I’ll come to the paper afterward and tell you all about it. Can I give you a few things to run down?”

  She knew the question was coming before he asked it. “Hold on,” he said. “Why didn’t you wait for the police last night?”

  “Because I have work to do, Dean. I didn’t want to spend the whole night in an interview room.”

  This was true, but not the real reason. She didn’t want to tell the police everything, and they’d probably figure that out if they grilled her long enough. She’d have to talk to them eventually, but she was putting it off as long as she could.

  Dean didn’t like her answer. “Your friends don’t seem to want to talk to the police, either. Why is that? Who are they? They seem like interesting guys.”