The Nephew

by Claude Bouchard

  He clicked a mouse and a third monitor came to life displaying the home page of Trenton’s GratisEntertainment website. Running centre-screen in a continuous loop was a video clip of Trenton captured moments earlier.

  “Listen,” said Rubi as he turned up the volume.

  Digitally altered voice: “Where did those phishing target lists come from?”

  Trenton: “Every email address and name I get my hands on, excluding personal contacts, goes into a database. That includes my CanTelco hack and others, my website members, whiners who contact me and so on. I’m up to almost two million and it keeps growing.”

  “Anyone going to your site now sees this, no matter what page they’re on. Oh, and downloads are no longer available,” said Rubi. “The same clip is also running on your social media pages.”

  “But why?” asked Trenton, almost in a daze. “Why did you do this to me?”

  “Maybe because you’re a little shit?” suggested Bob.

  “The piracy, the phishing, the hacking,” said Doug. “All crimes, Trenton. The problem is, catching scum like you is difficult because you hide behind your computer screens. You travel in the dark, bouncing around proxy servers and there just isn’t enough manpower available to track you cowards. You just aren’t easy to pin down unless you’re stupid, get caught and confess.”

  “I-I didn’t confess to anything,” Trenton argued. “Even if you recorded me, it will never hold up in court.”

  “You’re probably right,” said Bob. “Even if what you gave us so far leads to a successful investigation, a good lawyer could probably get you off.”

  “But good lawyers cost money,” said Rubi, “And Trenton doesn’t have any.”

  Trenton stared at Rubi. “I’ve got more money than you think, asshole.”

  Rubi smiled and said, “Not any more, asshole. It’s all frozen or gone.”

  “If you guys think you can get away with this, you’re crazy,” said Trenton. “You kidnapped me. I’ll have you arrested.”

  “You don’t even know who we are,” Doug replied.

  “I don’t think it will be too hard to identify the Skipper here,” Trenton retorted. “I’m sure there weren’t too many big yachts named Rubicon Dust 4 U docked at the marina this morning.”

  Rubi laughed. “Fake boat name on a big old static label, buddy. Just part of our sucker job on you.”

  “I can still get you traced,” Trenton insisted, “And you’re finished in the chatrooms. I’ll warn everyone about you. I’ll go public with this.”

  “Do you know what’s funny?” Bob asked without waiting for a response. “You’re talking like you’re going to kick our collective asses by the time this is all over.” Gazing at Rubi, he added, “How far are we from land now?”

  Rubi glanced at a display panel and replied, “About ten miles, give or take. Why?”

  “I’m wondering if we shouldn’t just deal with our friend right here, based on what he is,” said Bob.

  “Makes sense to me,” Doug agreed.

  “W-what do you mean?” Trenton stammered in fear.

  “You’re a pirate, aren’t you?” said Doug. “Maybe we should make you walk the plank.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Trenton gasped in horror. “You can’t be serious?”

  “We’re very serious,” said Bob.

  “But that’s murder,” Trenton exclaimed, attempting to stand only to be pushed back down into his seat. “Get your hands off of me.”

  “Stay in your seat,” Doug ordered as he swivelled Trenton’s chair to face them.

  “Who the hell are you guys?” Trenton demanded. “I don’t believe you’re cops.”

  “We never said we were,” said Bob, “But if you’re willing to turn yourself in and confess to the crimes you’ve committed, we’ll turn you over to the cops.”

  “And if I don’t?” Trenton challenged in a tremulous voice.

  Doug leaned down and stared into Trenton’s eyes. “We will throw you overboard.”

  “You really mean it,” Trenton whispered as his eyes welled up.

  “Don’t doubt me for a second,” Doug confirmed. “We’ve wasted enough time with this. You need to make a decision, now.”

  “I’ll do what you want,” Trenton whimpered.

  “A wise decision,” said Doug. “I’ll show you to another cabin where you’ll write out a full confession of the various crimes you committed. You’ll also include authorization of access to all of your records. We’ll be watching you while you’re in there so don’t do anything stupid. Understand?”

  Trenton nodded as he wiped his eyes.

  “Good,” said Doug. “We’ll check in on you to make sure you’re on the right track. I figure you can get this done in an hour or so but you certainly want to be done before we get back so don’t waste any time. Come on. Let’s go.”

  “One last thing,” said Bob as Trenton rose on shaky legs. “We’re intent on making you pay for what you’ve done so we’ll be keeping track of you after we’ve turned you over to the authorities. Any indication of you trying to wriggle out, talking about kidnapping or coercion, basically doing anything you know we wouldn’t like, will lead to unpleasant consequences. Trust me. You want to go to prison for a bit. Now, get busy.”

  * * * *

  “So, Rubi, how did you like being directly involved in a Discreet Activities operation?” asked Bob aka Jonathan Addley, head of the clandestine government team.

  “It certainly was a change of pace from the mandates you and other clients usually throw at me,” replied cyber-security guru, Ben Fredricks. “I enjoyed role-playing live instead of in a chatroom somewhere but, I have to admit, I was freaking out when you threatened to throw the little bastard overboard. I guess I hadn’t thought of what might happen if he refused to cooperate.”

  “I seriously doubted it would get that far,” said Jonathan. “If he had tried to play tougher, we might have had to tie him up but he would have caved before we tossed him off.”

  “Anyhow, I’m glad it worked out like it did,” said Ben. “I’d rather not think of what it would have been otherwise.”

  Jonathan winked and said, “That’ll teach you to ask us for help.”

  “I figured it would be the fastest way to nail this guy and, as usual, I was right,” Ben countered. “It’s funny when you think about it. I’d been watching Trenton boasting in the chatrooms and playing him along for a while when CanTelco gave me the mandate to find the hacker. The next damned day, Trenton is blabbing about a major score then thanks me in private for pointers he picked up from me and informs me CanTelco was his doing.”

  “You’ve got to love an idiot,” said Jonathan. “Is this going to have any impact on you in the chatrooms going forward?”

  Ben shrugged. “It’s possible but I doubt it. For one, nobody will want to have anything to do with Trenton should he show up anywhere. Word will get out that he got busted so he’s finished. Should he try to smear Rubi, it’ll be my word against his. Nobody knows who I really am so he can’t even prove we actually met. Also, I go under a number of other names so should anybody become wary of Rubicon, it’s not an issue.”

  The door opened and Doug, aka Chris Barry, also with the Discreet Activities team, rejoined them, tossing Trenton’s mobile phone to Ben as he approached.

  “I know you deactivated it,” said Chris as he slid into a chair, “But who knows what he has stored on there. Also, he did take several pics since he boarded this morning.”

  “I’ll clean out what needs cleaning,” said Ben, turning to the monitor showing Trenton as he wrote in the next cabin. “How’s he doing?”

  “Well, he stopped crying,” Chris replied, “And what he’s scribbled so far is exactly what we asked him for. We convinced him to do the right thing so we can start heading back. We won’t have to toss him overboard after all.”

  Chapter 2 – Saturday, August 5, 2017

  Barry residence, Knowlton, Quebec, 10:26 a.m.

  “I
should be back by noon,” said Sandy, hugging her husband from behind and giving him a peck on the cheek as he sat on the terrace. “I’ll call you if I’m late.”

  “Sounds good,” Chris replied, standing and turning to her for a better hug and kiss. “There’s a nice breeze going. I think I’ll take the catboat out for a bit.”

  “Have fun,” said Sandy as she headed back inside.

  He followed her in through the kitchen and dining room where they parted ways as she went for the front door while he headed to their bedroom to change. He left the bedroom minutes later, clad in bathing trunks and a tank top and, as he reached the end of the hallway near the entrance foyer, the doorbell rang.

  Making his way to the front door, he paused for a moment to scan the images displayed on the security monitor to one side, an ingrained practice following the harrowing home invasion four years prior. The various cameras showed a lone, young man standing at the door and a rusting, first generation Kia Rio parked in the driveway. Glancing at the close-up image of the man, he noted he was likely in his twenties, clean cut, with a slim, wiry build. With little to suggest any danger but remaining on his guard, Chris opened the door to greet the visitor.

  “Good morning,” he said. “Can I help you?”

  The man gazed at him and flashed a nervous smile then asked, “Are you Mr. Barry? Chris Barry?”

  “Yes, I am,” Chris replied warily. “And you are?”

  “I’m Carlos Garcia,” the young man replied, clearly ill at ease. “You don’t know me but you do know my mother, Donna Barry.”

  “My sister?” Chris exclaimed, taken aback. “Are you kidding me?”

  “No sir,” said Carlos, shaking his head as he raised the canvas satchel he carried. “I have papers and photos here to prove it.”

  “Let’s start with you showing me some ID,” said Chris, looking the young man over to determine if he might be armed.

  “No problem,” said Carlos, putting the satchel down before pulling out a slim wallet from a pocket of his cargo shorts and flipping it open. “Here you go.”

  Chris took the proffered wallet and examined the Ontario driver’s licence.

  “How old are you, Carlos?” he asked.

  “Twenty-three,” Carlos replied. “My birthdate is June 17, 1994.”

  “Where do you live?” asked Chris.

  Carlos recited an address in Mississauga then said, “I’m really me and your sister is really my mother. Will you let me show you?”

  “I will,” said Chris gazing evenly at the young man, “But you need to understand I haven’t heard from her in a long time.”

  “Over forty years,” said Carlos, gazing back. “Like forty-two or so.”

  “You’re not bullshitting me,” Chris stated.

  “I’m not,” said Carlos.

  “How is she?” asked Chris.

  “She’s in trouble,” said Carlos. “That’s why I’m here. I need your help.”

  “What kind of trouble?” asked Chris.

  “I will explain everything,” said Carlos.

  “Come on in,” said Chris, stepping aside.

  Carlos entered and Chris closed and locked the door then led his unexpected visitor through the house to the kitchen.

  “You have an awesome place,” said Carlos. “Mom told me you had done great in life and even retired when you were like thirty-five.”

  “I didn’t quite retire,” said Chris, “But that not important. I’m surprise to learn your mother was spying on me but never tried to contact me.”

  Carlos shrugged. “I think she was just keeping tabs on her little bro. She’s always been really proud of you.”

  “I wish she had stayed in touch,” said Chris. “I tried to track her down for a few years but eventually gave up.”

  “From what she told me, she was off the grid for quite a while,” said Carlos, “Backpacking across the country, hitching rides, getting odd jobs for a bit of cash and doing whatever she had to do to survive.”

  “Damned Donna,” Chris muttered. “I would have loved to know how she was doing.”

  “I asked her once why we never saw you, why she didn’t even call you,” Carlos replied. “She said her life wasn’t anything to brag about and she didn’t want to bring you down with her crap.”

  “That’s really too bad but I’m happy to learn she’s still around,” said Chris before pointing at Carlos’ satchel. “Show me what you have there.”

  Carlos laid the satchel onto the kitchen island, flipped it open and pulled out a file folder.

  “This is my birth registration,” he said, holding out a document.

  “Donna Garcia,” said Chris as he scanned the page.

  “Yeah, my, uh, ‘biological father’ married her a couple of months before I was born,” Carlos replied, handing over more documents. “Here’s their marriage certificate, and their divorce papers.”

  “I’m sorry things didn’t work out,” said Chris.

  Carlos sneered. “Besides being happy to be alive, I wish they had never met.”

  “Problems with your father?” asked Chris.

  “He’s an asshole and a criminal,” said Carlos. “I’ll get to that. First, here are some pics I need you to look at.”

  Chris traded the papers he held for a short stack of photos and began to look through them. A few showed Carlos, more recently and younger, with Donna, definitely Donna. She had aged, of course, but remained slim, almost gaunt, and her features had not changed. A few other photos were of Donna through the years, going back in time. Chris gasped as he looked at the final photo, one of himself with his sister when he was twelve or so, taken literally months before she had left the family home.

  “Wow,” Chris whispered after swallowing the lump in his throat.

  “I told you I wasn’t bullshitting,” said Carlos.

  “You certainly did,” Chris agreed. “It’s a bit early yet but I could use a drink. Can I offer you something?”

  “A beer would be good,” said Carlos then added, “Mom doesn’t like me to drink because she’s scared I’ll end up like she did but I know when to stop.”

  “Good for you,” said Chris as he pulled a couple beers from the refrigerator. “So, sis has a drinking problem?”

  “Not anymore,” Carlos replied. “She slowed down some as I got older and she quit drinking altogether about four years ago.”

  “Well, that’s good,” said Chris.

  “I think you should know she was doing drugs too,” Carlos continued. “She stayed pretty clean while pregnant but got back into it, mostly coke after that. Good news is, she hasn’t done any dope for the last eight years, not even a joint.”

  “I’m happy to hear that,” said Chris, handing Carlos an opened bottle and gesturing toward the terrace.

  “She’s proud of herself for it,” said Carlos as he followed Chris outside. “She’s told me so much of her past life was a blur, though she jokes that wasn’t always a bad thing.”

  “Why is that?” asked Chris as they sat at the patio table.

  “She figures she’s forgotten a lot of crap which she’d regret if she remembered,” Carlos replied, “And she feels she has enough stuff to regret as it is.”

  “That’s unfortunate,” said Chris, “But it’s not all bad. She seems to have brought up a good kid.”

  “Thank you,” said Carlos, raising his bottle in salute. “She really did her best to instill proper values and keep me on the right track. I think seeing her efforts pay off over time really helped her pull her own life together. Three years ago, she found a job as a stock clerk in a used goods store, first real job she had in a long time. She was assistant manager six months later and was promoted to manager after another four months. It’s a non-profit organization so the pay isn’t great but she loves it, especially since it involves helping people in need.”

  “It sounds like everything is working out,” said Chris, “Except you mentioned she was in some sort or trouble. What’s that about?
”

  Carlos hesitated for a moment then said, “Gang problems. Like I just mentioned, her job is a first in a long time. When she left Montreal, she moved around some, backpacking and surviving without working, at least for the most part. She went out west, lived in Alberta and B.C. for a bit then ended up back in Toronto which is where she stayed. She liked drinking and drugs so she bounced around from one bad boy to another. It made for a place to crash, a ready supply of booze and dope and it beat working for a living. Along the way, she hooked up with Fernando Garcia and about a year later, I was born.”

  “Okay, I get all that,” said Chris, “But I want to hear about these gang problems.”

  “I’m getting there,” Carlos replied. “Fernando’s been associated with gangs all his life and has wanted to be a member of the Mara faction in Toronto for years but never made it because, thankfully, he’s not a violent man. They liked him well enough though, and he is Salvadoran, so they used him as an errand boy, delivering or picking up dope shipments. Problem is, he’s getting older, and maybe tired of the game and the risks, so he apparently disappeared with a sizeable amount of coke and cash which made some people unhappy.”

  “I can see that,” said Chris, “But how does this affect Donna? Does she still have anything to do with Fernando?”

  Carlos shook his head. “About eight years ago, he tried to get me involved in his crap. Mom went ballistic, threatened to kill him and we left him. They were divorced a couple of months later and they haven’t spoken in years… But the gang doesn’t care about that…”

  “Spit it out, Carlos,” Chris insisted. “Are they after your mother?”

  “They have her,” said Carlos.

  “What do you mean, they have her?” Chris demanded.

  “They grabbed her and took her somewhere,” Carlos replied as tears suddenly rolled down his cheeks.

  “When?” asked Chris. “When did this happen?”

  “Thursday,” said Carlos. “They called me Thursday afternoon from her phone. They let her talk to me for a few seconds so I would know they really had her.”