“Good. On the count of three.” I gathered my legs underneath me and prepared to launch myself through the opening. “One, two, three.”
The deadbolt turned, and the door swung open. Mac must have followed my directions, because I couldn't see him. I leapfrogged in, pushing off with both my arms and my legs. It wasn't graceful, and fell far short of a somersault, but it got me in. When my hands hit the floor inside, I pulled up my legs and half rolled, half scrambled far enough in that Mac could slam the door behind me.
Once the door was closed, I clambered to my feet and locked it. I rushed to the front door and secured it as well, leaving Mac slack-jawed with confusion in my wake. We had a few windows in the office, but most were obscured by blinds. As long as we stayed clear of the ones that weren’t, we should be okay.
Now that I was reasonably safe from sniper fire, I dialed Frank's cell phone and left a detailed message as to why he might want to take the next day off. Next, I called the boys in blue. I figured that a few uniforms crawling around the place might deter the shooter from hanging around for another shot when I left.
“Sorry about that, Mac,” I said when I hung up. Mac, with his wiry frame, short black beard, and stainless steel barbell through his eyebrow, still looked dazed and confused. “I guess I owe you an explanation.”
“That would be nice.”
“To make a long story short, somebody is trying to kill me. They had me pinned down out on the back balcony.”
“Seriously? That's heavy. Why?”
“I'm not sure, but I think it has something to do with that file I asked you to look into. You said you found something?”
“Yeah, let me show you.” Now that we were back in his comfort zone, the shock was wearing off. He led me back to my computer; I checked each room before we entered to make sure we wouldn’t present targets.
“There's actually no trace of that file anywhere, which is unusual, because even when you delete something, remnants always linger on your hard drive,” he explained. “If this file was ever on your system, then somebody did a bang-up job of scrubbing it.”
“So if it’s completely gone, what did you find?”
“That's where this gets interesting. I found a piece of code that looks like some sort of spyware.”
“Like a virus?” I asked, hoping I didn't sound like a complete idiot.
“Kind of,” he replied. “Spyware doesn't do any damage on its own, though, and it isn't designed to replicate and spread to other computers like a virus does.”
“Okay, so what does it do?”
“In layman's terms, it creates a door that a hacker can use to access your system without your knowledge. In this case, I think it was used to delete your file.”
“Okay, so what next? Is there any way to trace the spyware like they do in the movies?”
“That depends on how the spyware got onto your system. If it came through an email or a website, maybe. If it was installed manually with a flash drive or CD, then no.”
“How can you figure that out?” I asked.
“Time,” he replied with a sigh, “and a lot of searching.”
6
The ornate mahogany doors, framed in hand-carved reliefs of biblical angels and demons, swung open, revealing a truly opulent office. Its expanse of black marble floor was interrupted only by an ancient Persian rug, behind which sat a desk the color of obsidian. The only thing more impressive was the bird’s-eye view, seen through the floor-to-ceiling, wall-to-wall windows directly behind it, of the city sprawled below.
Even though he had been in this office hundreds of times, Michael couldn’t help but be awed by the vista, especially at this time of night, with all the lights twinkling below, the headlights of thousands of people driving to and from whatever menial activities occupied their existence.
Facing the windows was the one who had summoned him here. There were many powerful people living in this city—Michael dealt with most of them on a regular basis—but none had the sheer presence of this one. He wore a gray pinstripe wool suit. Most would call his features attractive, but not exceptionally so.
“Magnificent, isn’t it?”
The voice filled Michael with ten thousand emotions all at once, as nothing else could; joy, excitement, pride, fear, apprehension, relief, envy, hope, and admiration washed over him. It had taken him years to learn how not to be swept away by them, how to maintain mental focus and stand firm in the incessant tide. That was why he had attained his position, why he was here now. Very few others could keep their sense of self in this one’s presence.
“Indeed,” answered Michael, “it is.”
“There is a situation. You know of the rebels?”
“If you mean the group calling themselves Red Dread, then yes.”
“I’ve been tolerant of their foolishness, have I not?”
“You have.”
“But they have made a dire mistake—one that will have serious consequences.”
“It is time to remove them?”
The one spun to face Michael. “M’Hael!”
The use of his proper name startled Michael. It had been so long since anyone had called him that. Coming from this one’s lips, it was more than he could take. Michael collapsed to one knee.
Stupid. Such an order would have to come from the Circle itself. He was dangerously close to overstepping his bounds.
“My apologies,” Michael stammered.
“You are forgiven. It has come to my attention that this... Red Dread,” he said with disgust, “have availed themselves of a certain asset to deal with a potential threat. It is well within my power to nullify their contract with that asset and prevent them from using any of our other resources. Should this threat deal with our upstarts himself, the Circle need not be disturbed. Contact Harrison. Instruct him to stand down. Make sure everyone knows our stance on doing business with this group.”
“Yes sir,” Michael replied. “It shall be so.”
As Michael quietly closed the door, Mr. Monday turned back to the window, once more admiring his domain.
7
Carol’s Pub is a seedy little dive bar in my neighborhood, the only place I know of in the city that caters to the country and western crowd. It’s a scene straight out of Road House. The bouncer is a burly fellow with a long black beard and a ponytail who wears a leather biker jacket and sunglasses at eleven p.m. It even has chicken wire wrapped around the stage where the band plays. All that’s missing is Patrick Swayze and a blind keyboard player.
I got there about eight thirty so I could find a seat with a good view of the door. I really didn’t want anyone sneaking up on me here.
Mac and I had waited at the office until the cops showed up. While I filed a report and gave my statement, I had Mac pack up my computer so he could take it back to his shop to keep working. I didn’t feel comfortable leaving him alone at the office after what happened, and this way he could work on it through the night. I also swapped the trench coat and fedora for a ball cap and windbreaker out of the closet so I wouldn’t be such a sore thumb. I helped Mac load the computer into the car while the officers bumbled their way through possible trajectories and dug mutilated slugs out of the wall, then Mac dropped me off at the train.
Sitting at this tiny table for two in this smoky little joint watching for someone I’d never met to show up and hopefully give me information I desperately wanted set my mind to buzzing. By now, I was certain that Victor Sanz had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time and that two attempts had been made to end me in the last two days. My gut told me it was connected to the McCarthy case, but I had no real proof other than a deleted file. I racked my brain, thinking who else might want me dead. I mean, I’ve ended a lot of marriages, ruined a couple of careers, and pissed off several people over the years, but I couldn’t imagine any of them hiring a hit man to come after me. One thing was sure: I needed to be a lot more careful if I planned on making it through the week.
I fin
gered Alderman Juarez’s business card and studied my fellow patrons. There weren’t many at this hour—the live music didn’t start until ten—but four men and one woman, not including the bartenders, appeared to be getting an early start on the night’s drinking. They were all at the bar, though one sat apart from the others at the end.
I eyed them closely, noting their clothing. All wore jeans, and the lady, a too-tight tube top. Two of the men were in cowboy boots. One of the gents wore a white T-shirt, and I noticed a crude tattoo peeking out of his sleeve. Could be a prison job. I’d keep an eye on him.
Christ. I was getting paranoid. Careful was one thing, but paranoid could get me killed. It had a habit of filling your head so full of imagined threats that you didn’t notice the real ones sneaking up behind you.
I flagged down the only waitress and ordered a gin and tonic to settle my thoughts. Drink in hand, I refocused on the body language of the patrons.
Clothing tells you what a person wants you to think about them, but body language tells you what they think of themselves. The woman sat with her shoulders hunched, indicating low self-esteem, but she was trying to compensate by being overly touchy with the men sitting next to her. One of them was repulsed, as evidenced by the angle of his body. The other was trying to ignore the woman’s advances by facing the bar straight on with his shoulders, but his legs and hips were turned slightly toward her. Tattoo-boy at the end was slouched and hunched, nursing his beer. He looked deflated, defeated. He didn’t seem to be a threat after all.
About ten till, another pair walked through the door. The first was an imposing figure—a coiled spring of tension, eyes darting from face to face, searching out the dark corners of the bar for any threat. He, too, wore a light windbreaker, the faint outline of a sidearm concealed within. I could tell immediately the second was the alderman. Despite the relaxed-fit jeans, rumpled T-shirt, and Cubs cap he wore in an effort to dress down, his posture and gait screamed power. He was a good-looking guy of some Latino or Hispanic descent; Puerto Rican was my guess. His eyes flicked nervously around the bar, and the corners of his mouth were drawn with worry.
The others patrons looked up at the newcomers, but broke eye contact immediately, too intimidated to risk any interaction. The alderman’s gaze slid over to me, and we locked eyes. I nodded. He put his hand on the other man’s shoulder and said something in his ear. The bodyguard, as I presumed, then took a seat at a table near the door and Juarez walked over to my table.
“Mr. Gray?” he inquired, looming over me.
“Alderman.”
He sat down in the chair opposite me.
“I’d like to apologize for the clandestine nature of our meeting. As I’m sure you can imagine, there are certain things we might discuss tonight that my opponents would want to use against me. But in light of last night’s happenings, I feel I owe you an explanation.”
Ya think. “I’d appreciate that,” I said. I decided to get right to the point. “So you are familiar with Victor Sanz, I take it.”
“Yes. We were good friends when I was younger. He helped me through some difficult times in high school. Unfortunately, our paths diverged, and he ran into troubles of his own. As I climbed from the mire of the city streets, I hoped to make an honest man of him. I provided legal counsel several years ago when he ran afoul of the law, and since then, he has tried to do right by me. I’ve given him work when and where I could, and until now I have not regretted it.”
“Why was he in my apartment?”
“The last time I saw him, I asked him to find out what you knew, without divulging my identity, about a case of yours. It was not my intent that he break into your home. I should have been clearer in my instructions.
“You’re saying Sanz broke into my apartment to find one of my case files as a favor to you?”
“So it would appear.”
“But you didn't actually tell him to break in?”
“Absolutely not,” he replied.
“Plausible deniability, eh?” I couldn't help poking the bear. Politicians chapped my ass. They played by a different set of rules than everyone else and usually got away with some pretty sketchy stuff. He didn’t laugh.
“As I said Mr. Gray, I was trying to make an honest man out of Victor. I had hoped he would simply speak with you about the matter in confidence. In hindsight, it seems obvious that he would have interpreted my words to suggest an illicit action, given his prior offenses. But I did not see it that way at the time. His death is and always will be on my conscience.” The alderman sighed deeply as the burden settled about his shoulders.
“Fair enough,” I said, cutting him some slack. He’d given me new questions that now needed answers. “Which case of mine are you so interested in?”
“Ellie’s.” He said the name so softly and with such tenderness that it caught me off guard. Ellie? Ellie who? “Wait, the McCarthy case?”
He nodded.
The questions raced through my head and jammed like a multi car pile-up on the expressway. I had to slow down, organize my thoughts. One question at a time.
“Why do you want to know about that one?” I asked, leaning forward.
He paused, trying to figure out how to answer, then said, “She’s my girlfriend.”
“I see.” I leaned back and laced my fingers behind my head. “So why all the cloak and dagger? Wouldn’t anyone be worried about their significant other?”
“It’s a bit more complicated than that,” he began, then paused to flag down the waitress and ordered an Old Style. Gross.
“How do you mean?”
“Politics,” he chuffed.
“You’re gonna have to explain that.”
“One’s choice of life partner can have huge repercussions on a political career. It may not matter to you, but an up and coming Latino such as myself getting involved with an Irish girl from Canary Park is a big deal to a lot of people. It can either build bridges or destroy them, depending on who spins it and how. Plus, an alderman’s girlfriend can fall under a lot of pressure. Ellie wasn’t sure she wanted to deal with all of that yet, so we chose to keep our relationship secret until... for the time being.”
I wanted to despise Juarez and all that he stood for, but instead I realized what I really despised was the nature of politics itself. Him, I just felt sorry for. He seemed like a decent guy with solid values, but his actions and decisions were warped by the game he played in an attempt to make a difference. No one should have to hide their relationships and feelings from the ever-watching public eye.
“How did you know I had been hired to investigate her disappearance?” It bugged me that he’d found out so fast. The alderman leaned back in his seat and laced his fingers behind his head. Just then, the waitress came with the alderman's beer and set it in front of him. When she had returned to the bar, he said, “The same way I found out that Victor had been murdered. Politics.” He smiled.
I knew I wouldn’t get anything more specific out of him. Even I don’t talk about my sources. The alderman was obviously connected—probably to the PD, maybe to other people and places as well. Phone taps were a possibility, likely on Ellie’s old man’s, since he was the one who’d hired us. Anyway, the specifics didn’t really matter.
“All right, Mr. Juarez.” I shifted again and placed my elbows on the table. “Let’s say the break-in was a mistake. That still doesn’t explain why Sanz is dead. Can you shed any light on that? Could he have been followed by any of your enemies, or did he have any of his own?”
“Good question. I doubt I have made any enemies, as of yet, who would kill an errand boy to spite me. As for enemies of his own, he most certainly had them. However, this appears to have been a professional job, and most of Victor’s enemies wouldn’t be capable of such a thing. If they wanted him dead, they would have done it differently, most likely a face-to-face confrontation, so he would know who was responsible, or perhaps a drive-by if brevity was desired. This kind of calculated killing hints at a diff
erent mindset. I will, however, be asking some very pointed questions to certain parties from Victor’s past. Just to be sure.” He took a long pull from his glass.
“That sounds... interesting.” Creepy, but I’d like to see it. Apparently Mr. Juarez had no qualms about going up against gangs and drug dealers, and it sounded like he didn’t follow the rules when doing so, either. Maybe I could like this guy after all.
“So...” he drawled.
“So...” I drawled back. I had more questions, but to keep the conversation balanced, I needed him to ask the next one.
“What can you tell me about Ellie?” he finally ventured.
“Probably less than you already know. I only started my investigation today. The police file was skimpy. I spoke with her father, but he doesn’t know much, though he did give me one lead.”
“What sort of lead?” Juarez’s eyes suddenly sharpened.
“It’s pretty thin. He said she’d mentioned the club Neo a couple of times. Do you know anything about that?” Right now, Juarez was the best lead I had. He hadn’t spoken with the cops, and I’d bet a Benny he knew something that would help.
His eyes moved back and forth as he accessed his internal database.
“She mentioned going there a few times. Said she liked the atmosphere, that it was a good escape from reality. That’s about it.”
“You never went with her?”
“No.”
“Why would your girlfriend go to a nightclub without you?”
“Because our relationship was so secretive, and because I work late a lot, she had a life outside of us. I wasn’t threatened by it,” he said, not in the least defensive, simply explaining the facts.
“Hang on a second,” I said, fishing around for my notepad and pen. “When did you see her last?”
“The day before she went missing, I think. We had dinner on Thursday three weeks ago.”
“Where?”
“Sai Cafe. It’s a sushi place just off Fullerton.” I jotted this down in my notebook while he continued. “My schedule was full on Friday, so we’d planned to get together on Saturday. That morning, she didn’t answer the phone. I’m sure I called ten times that day and twenty on Sunday, but everything went straight to voice-mail. I was beside myself with worry. I didn’t know what to do, or if I should file a missing-person report myself. After all, I’m not family. No one knew we were dating.”
Missing: A Mason Gray Case Page 4
