Diablo

by James Kent

  ‘Sorry about that pal. Well not really. It had to be done,’ said Swann, still patting the guy on the back, helping him cough up his confidence. ‘You’ll thank me later.’

  A knee to the groin is a nasty move, a dirty move, but a necessary precaution. Swann doesn’t like doing it because it’s uncouth, but it has the advantage of disabling a guy for a few minutes so he can “reconsider his options”, as they say in the trade. It clarifies priorities, gives him something else to think about in case he’s thinking of pulling a knife or a gun, or something else unexpected, as often happens. He’d used it once on a guy in Boston who had a syringe in his pocket. That guy too had lost interest in sticking Swann with it. Two minutes later, the Boston guy had it stuck in his own neck. That syringe had been a nasty surprise and a lesson to Swann who now takes no chances, no matter how “harmless” someone might look. But a knee to the groin is a crude bar-fight move, completely crass, indecent and ungentlemanly. There’s no respect. Not a pleasant experience at all. But on the plus side, there’s no lasting damage except to the pride and the ego because it’s embarrassing to be on the receiving end. Some call it “a temporary gender reassignment”, eunuch territory. But then, slowly, sanity returns and all’s well again and your balls are still there and so is your manhood. Yet the weedy guy was really no physical threat to Swann. No threat at all. Besides, the little twerp had a cheek thinking he could trail Swann without any consequences. Lesson learned.

  As the guy slowly got his breath back, Swann stuck the pistol’s barrel into his left eye socket and pushed him back against the wall with his left hand around his throat, the trachea hold. Swann’s fingers and thumb were squeezing the upper soft tissue below the guy’s jaw, threatening his trachea and tilting his head back, the gun now pointing slightly downwards into his left eye as he looked up at Swann with the other. He was still moaning, from the thick impact to the groin and petrified; his panic returned as he started breathing rapidly through his nose. Swann would be the first to admit that he was probably being unnecessarily aggressive, especially since the weedy guy was barely half his weight and a foot shorter, unthreatening and lacking in any sort of muscle mass to be concerned about. But the lessons of a lifetime did not permit the luxury of carelessness and reckless abandon based on trust of appearances. Even small, seemingly harmless dudes have often taken down guys twice their size using only speed and surprise with a concealed weapon. In this game, imprudence is the mother of all trouble and ruination, so the follow-through with the knee to the groin and the gun in the eye was necessary. It laid all one’s cards on the table. Well, the guy’s at least, because he was probably now wondering what kind of a psycho he’d been trying to follow. Probably regretting it already. In too deep, and no way out. Too bad.

  ‘I need some answers pal, so this is what we’re gonna do,’ said Swann quietly, menacingly. The guy nodded as much as he could; his right eye, streaming tears, looking up at Swann, his left eye held shut and sunk in by a fat barrel being pushed into it by a monstrous thug who clearly meant business. Swann smiled back at him, more of a smirk, and nodded in turn, Yeah, you gettin’ it boy! ‘We’ll walk back around to that diner you followed me into before, and you can tell me what’s going on. We can do that or I can give you a nine-mil headache right here and now. Your choice,’ Said Swann.

  ‘Sounds great!’ said the guy, enthusiastically, croakily, the essence of compliance. ‘The diner I mean! The diner sounds great! We can talk. I mean, I’ll talk!’

  ‘Excellent choice! Let’s go!’

  14

  The guy’s fingers were tapping up and down on the tabletop back in the diner, nervous as hell as he sat in the booth at the rear of the shop, with Swann across the table from him. Swann’s back was against the wall so he could see who else might come in the door. The green plant with the giant leaves was still obscuring the view, still waving gently in the breeze from the ceiling fan. It was now dark outside, save the light from street lamps and sidewalk lighting and the occasional car. Swann pushed the table into the guy to minimize his room to move. He told him he had two minutes to explain himself before they both got ugly . . . that is before Swann’s mood got ugly and the guy ended up with a facelift he hadn’t planned on. He told him to keep his hands on the tabletop where he could see them, palms down. Nothing within reach. He looked pathetic, like a scolded child who couldn’t reach the jam. He looked scrambled and screwed up, like he’d just been tossed into an industrial laundry drier and spun on high for ten minutes. A tragedy magnet.

  The waitress came over to their table - correction: Swann’s table - with a notepad and pencil in her hand. She was chewing gum. Swann looked up at her as she chewed her damn gum, her pencil bouncing up and down on the notepad. She looked sideways at the disheveled guy sitting squashed up into his seat with the table pushed right into him, his arms outstretched across the top. Swann could see the cogs turning in her tiny brain trying to figure it out. “What the f…?” he could see her forming the words silently; saw her lips moving, her eyes fixated on the guy. But she snapped out of it, said nothing and looked back at Swann with a steady gaze. He smiled at her and ordered another coffee and steak sandwich, just like before, as though there was nothing strange going on.

  ‘Would you like the gluten-free option?’ she asked in a thin, timorous voice.

  ‘Why? Do I look like a vegan to you?’ he replied. ‘I’m vegan-intolerant! But he probably isn’t,’ he added, pointing at the rat-faced guy.

  The waitress scratched in her pad like her memory was too short to remember two items, one of them coffee, then she looked at the weedy guy again, expectantly, waiting for his order. He was a mess, but he still looked back at her, one eye slightly squinting, his greasy black hair all over the place; he was probably wondering if she would ask what the hell was going on. But she didn’t. Swann said, ‘He’s not hungry, despite being a vegan.’

  ‘But . . . I ‘aint . . .’ the guy stammered, looking at Swann.

  ‘He’s not hungry.’ repeated Swann, looking at the girl. The waitress looked back at the guy then she shrugged, folded her notepad and walked away to fix Swann’s order.

  Swann gave the guy a little time to calm his nerves and stop shaking, stop his nervous tapping and twitching. The guy kept looking around, then up at Swann, then he’d look down at his hands again, fidgeting. They sat there quietly for a minute. They could hear the ceiling fan and some noises from the kitchen, a car passing by outside. A dog barking.

  Then Swann asked, ‘So who the fuck are you? Besides being a vegan.’

  ‘I ‘aint . . . You’re the cop looking for Diablo,’ the guy said, not answering the question. ‘I know where he is.’ He looked nervously around the diner again like he was expecting something to happen. His hands were still trembling. He was right to be scared. ‘I know where Diablo is at,’ he whispered again, leaning forward over the table, looking up at Swann. Then he leaned back in his seat and asked, ‘Can I bring my arms in now? Please?’

  ‘Go ahead,’ said Swann as the guy relaxed a bit and pulled his arms in. He leant on the table, relieved to be able to sit more comfortably, relieved not to be looking so weird sitting with his arms out like that.

  Swann stared at him, waiting for more, giving him more time to compose himself.

  ‘I need you to believe me,’ said the guy. ‘I know things you might find useful in getting Diablo.’

  ‘I don’t care what you need! Why should I believe you? You look like a bum!’

  ‘Because I know everything about him, about Diablo and his guys, and I know you’re here looking for him!’ He paused, then added, ‘And I can prove it!’

  15

  Swann looked at him with a raised eyebrow, taken aback that this weedy little twerp had the balls not only to follow him, but to think he could muscle in on what he was doing, like he knew him or that Swann needed his help. Not likely, given the circumstances. Not many people would do that. Not to Swann. Yet he seemed to know something of what was goin
g on. He knew that Swann would be in Boulder City and when. How? A leak at the Bureau? Or something else? That’s a problem right there. Something he would have to fix. Swann didn’t like it one bit. Or the guy for that matter. He looked like a rat and had the kind of face you just wanted to punch. Useless to look at, perfect to punch. The kind of face that belonged to a wiseguy who’s smoked too much weed and who’s had the shit kicked out of him all his life by other assholes; shifty and untrustworthy, a “yes” man. Probably grew up sleeping in the broom cupboard under the stairs because his parents hated him, thought Swann, amused at the mental image. But somehow, he knows why I’m here.

  Swann decided to take a punt. Not something he would normally do, but he needed to get to the bottom of who this nutjob was. Thought he would see where it went before he punched his little rat face and put him out of his misery. Swann sat with his huge arms folded across his chest, staring at the guy. ‘Ok, you’ve earned two more minutes. Who are you?’ he asked again.

  ‘I used to work for him, Diablo I mean, Vito Hernandez Silva,’ said the guy.

  ‘Yeah, we’ll get to that,’ said Swann. ‘What’s your name first? What do they call you?’ he asked.

  ‘Ferret’

  ‘Ferret? That’s your name? Doesn’t anybody use actual names anymore?’

  ‘No. I mean yes. I mean my real name is Eddie, Eddie Reid, but I’m called “Ferret” because I look like one apparently, and because I can sneak into anyplace and steal shit. And when I say “sneak” I don’t mean breaking into buildings, I mean “hack”, as in computers . . .’ he stopped and thought for a few seconds before continuing, ‘Hence my on-line alias, “Putorius Furo”,’ added Eddie, like a kind of confession.

  Then it clicked in Swann’s mind as he remembered the reference to the Latin for “stinking thief” in his discussion with Simms and the three agents in Simms’s office. Of course! he thought. But he decided not to say anything about that just yet.

  ‘I see their point. You don’t look normal. But you look more like a rat to me,’ said Swann, ‘Ferrets are respectable creatures, as opposed to sneaky little rats.’

  ‘Thanks! Well anyway, Diablo would have someone else doing his hacking now, but he won’t be as good,’ boasted the Ferret.

  ‘Why?’ asked Swann. ‘Did he fire your ass for incompetence? I know I would, if tailing someone was your day job! You suck at that!’

  ‘No, it’s complicated. I used to do his dirty work with computers, things you’re better not knowing about if you’re a cop,’ he said. ‘So I know him, and his guys . . . and I . . . I was employed to hack into certain classified databases, so I always knew when the Feds were on the prowl, something I’m very good at,’ he boasted, ‘but I never told you that.’ Like another confession. He looked like he almost regretted saying it because he suddenly looked away, looked at the wall a moment like he was ashamed, but it was too late. It was tabled. There’s your answer, thought Swann to himself, he hacked into the Bureau’s database and emails. Damn! How long has that been going on? And those initial messages weren’t from “Diablo” at all. They were sent by this little bastard sitting right here!

  Then Swann’s coffee and sandwich finally arrived. The waitress was still chewing her gum as she put the food down in front of him. He looked at her, wondering why a simple coffee and steak sandwich would take so long to make like it was a big deal. She looked at him, smiled then walked back to the kitchen.

  16

  Then Eddie the Ferret decided to take the plunge. He had nothing more to lose so he went for it. Everything would depend on the big guy’s reaction to what he was about to say.

  ‘Let’s just say,’ he continued, ‘I was employed as a computer expert when I wasn’t doing other things . . . Silva used my considerable skills to break into very secure databases, especially government, military, intelligence and law enforcement databases, as well as various supplier companies for the military, not to mention banks, insurance companies, communications companies, universities, schools, even hospitals . . . you name it. Nothing’s safe. Absolutely nothing. The world is awash in sensitive information and here’s me just scooping it all up. And I’m certainly not the only one doing it. It’s a lucrative trade, believe me,’ he admitted. ‘Lots of hackers like me go mining.’ Eddie paused a few seconds, collecting his thoughts, then he carried on as Swann listened. ‘Everyone has a secret, especially powerful people who don’t want their shit out in the open. And that makes it worth something. Worth a lot. Secrets are like gold dust. But, yeah, some secrets are just too deep even for me to dig up, at least in the time I had. I’d do it eventually though. Guarantee it. There’s always a way in. Especially with the help of a crew of other decent hackers I know . . . we all share information and techniques so there’s not much we can’t penetrate.’

  ‘No shit!’ said Swann as though he didn’t believe him, or that he wasn’t impressed. But he was, in fact, astonished. ‘So, who’s the crew? Got names?’

  ‘No. No idea who they are. And they have no idea who I am either. Everyone just uses their online alias, which is a pretty strict rule. Real names are verboten! I mean, we all could go digging into each other’s identity, but we don’t because there’s a kind of code, a “gentleman’s agreement” like. And if you did, you’d have all the others working hard to screw you over. So, no one does. It would be self-defeating.’

  ‘Jesus H. Christ!’ said Swann, shaking his head in astonishment. He picked up his coffee, needing a few seconds to digest what he’d just heard.

  ‘Am I under arrest now?’ he asked.

  Swann ignored the question as he thought about it all. ‘So, what makes you think you know who I am? I could be anybody, just passing through . . . Maybe I’m just a drifter who wants a sandwich.’

  ‘First of all,’ said the Ferret, ‘you definitely don’t look like a drifter. You look like a heavy hitter. You look military, or something; special forces maybe. I dunno. You sure as hell don’t look like you belong around here,’ he paused, then continued, ‘you don’t look like you belong anywhere. You look like a cop or a fed, or military, or something from the classified deep,’ he said, ‘and you certainly didn’t look like you were out for a Sunday stroll, window-shopping for shoes!’

  That’s for damn sure! thought Swann, finishing his coffee and dealing to his New York steak sandwich.

  ‘So, when I saw you a few days after I hacked into a certain unmentionable database, I knew it was you . . . I put two and two together.’ he said.’

  Swann stared back at him, but said nothing. Eddie carried on talking. ‘But I don’t know who you are exactly, or what you are or anything else about you. I tried, but you’re too deep . . . too many layers on top, even for me to penetrate,’ he repeated. ‘It’s like you’re a ghost.’

  ‘Good to know,’ said Swann. ‘What else?’ he asked.

  ‘I knew someone was on the way here, but I couldn’t get a fix on who. So, I came back here, knowing this was where I’d most likely find you before you found Diablo.’

  ‘You’ve got balls, I’ll give you that!’ replied Swann.

  ‘Then I saw you walking down the street here,’ said the Ferret, not registering Swann’s comment and indicating out the window with his arm, ‘You’re huge and intimidating. You look threatening, always watching like a predator,’ he continued.

  ‘Good to know,’ said Swann again.

  ‘I knew it was just a matter of time before someone turned up. Someone like you.’

  ‘Why is that?’ asked Swann. ‘Why did you think someone would come? And why here? What’s the significance of this place?’

  ‘There’s nothing significant about this place,’ replied Eddie, ‘it was just convenient for me is all. I’m hanging out at the Haven motel across from the diner on Nevada.’

  Something doesn’t add up thought Swann. ‘Pull the other one!’ he replied. ‘I could be any guy passing through. So you’re talking shit and wasting my time. How did you know specifically I would be her
e in Boulder today? I don’t believe you just saw me by chance and “put two and two together” after hacking into some server,’ said Swann. ‘You’re don’t look that smart.’

  ‘Looks can be deceiving,’ said Eddie with a smile like he found it funny.

  ‘Not in your case!’ Swann stared at him, deciding whether to use this weedy little nerd or deal with him now before he made things complicated. He could throw him under a train perhaps. Or he could use him . . . and then throw him under a train.

  No one spoke for a while.

  Then Swann looked at Eddie, ‘Earlier you said “There’s word out on the street the Feds are on the prowl”, or words to that effect. Why did you say that? Who else knows besides you?’ he asked.

  ‘No one. I lied. It’s just me. Honest! But, like I said, I hacked into a certain server, a server in L.A . . . you know the one. I . . . I read some emails. One sent by you I guess, signed just “S” to someone called “Sally”. So ok, I just assumed you were the “S” in the email. But I know I’m right. I do now at least, because I was expecting someone more or less like you to turn up here around about now,’ he said, ‘from what I could read on line. And one other detail . . . the clincher really,’ he paused again, ‘I found your license plate listed in some classified files on the servers in L.A., and the make and model of your vehicle, among a bunch of others of course, but still no name attached. So, I printed out all the likely vehicles, ignoring the obvious inner-city girly cruisers, small town cars and such like. Real nice choice by the way, that F150 Raptor! That’s a real piece you’re driving!’ he finished.

  ‘Nosey little fucker, aren’t you! I should shoot you in the face right here!’ Swann looked like he was about to punch his lights out or pull his SIG out and put a nine-mil slug through his brain. But he said nothing more for a few seconds, just stared at him. He remembered too that the email in question also mentioned Lavinia by name, including her surname. Damn! Then he continued with quiet menace, ‘Those emails were encrypted. And private! How did you get past the encryption?’