Stuff to Spy For

by Don Bruns

  The car that picked up the Asian man in front of the Red Derby Bar. In our parking lot last night. And now a similar car was five cars away.

  “You’re clear, James.”

  He pulled out.

  “Circle the block.”

  “Why?”

  “There’s a car back there. A gray Honda that looks like the same car that was parked in our lot last night. And the same one that picked up that guy who was checking out Carol Conroy’s Lexus.”

  “Gotcha.” James eased the truck out of the parking space, a stream of brown exhaust blowing from the tailpipe. With the noisy muffler, the brown exhaust, and the coughing engine we’d be hard pressed to ever sneak up on someone.

  Down the street and to the left, down by the big tennis pavilion with its fourteen clay courts, seven hard courts, and big stadium that seats over eight thousand people. How do I know? Em plays there. I couldn’t afford the place. I mean they’ve had the Fed Cup, the Davis Cup, and who knows what else there. Out of my league.

  James turned left at the next street. We got an angry look from an old lady who was crossing the street. Not because James almost hit her, which he almost did, but because as we passed her I could see another blast of brown exhaust that shot right at her.

  Now he drove two streets down, and then left on the street where we’d parked. As we slowed down and creeped slowly up the street I could see the spot was empty.

  “How many gray Honda Accords do you figure are in Delray Beach? Or Miami for that matter?”

  Knowing James, he already had the answer. “How would I have any clue?”

  “Just wondered. I’m guessing thousands.”

  “You’re probably right.”

  “So, let’s not get too paranoid.”

  A horn honked and I checked my sideview mirror. A long line of cars and small trucks stretched out behind us.

  “You might pick up the pace, James. There are quite a few people lined up back there.”

  James glanced in his side mirror. “Yeah. I see them.”

  He could use the mirror when he needed to.

  “And, Skip, about six cars back there’s another one of those bastards. It’s a gray Honda Accord.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  “Are you sure you’ve got it installed properly?”

  “Hey, you want to try it?”

  James already knew that was the worst suggestion in the world. While my roommate was no whiz at the technology of computers, he could at least use the machine once it was hooked up. I’ve already pointed out that he was a whiz at Google, and the boy could kill at about a dozen online games. Texas Hold ’Em wasn’t one of them, however. He’d gotten into some real cash games, and I had to help bail him out once or twice.

  “No. But if you followed all of the directions, we should be able to pick up Em’s car.”

  “Don’t call her yet.”

  James wanted to call Em and announce her location. I already knew her location. She was almost assuredly home. Probably working on Daddy’s books, and listening to the Flight of the Concords album.

  “I’ll figure this out.” He punched in some numbers, referring again to the directions. “Okay, I’ll bet this does it.”

  “Anything?” I was on the couch, my feet up, watching a Jerry Springer rerun.

  “No.”

  “You did something wrong.” Two heavy blonde women were trying to tackle each other as the guards kept them apart.

  “Or didn’t do something right.”

  “Yeah.” God forbid James would do something wrong.

  “Where do you think she is?”

  “Home.”

  “Mmmm.”

  “Nothing?”

  “Nothing. Where does she park when she’s home?”

  “Condo has a garage.”

  “Well, damn it. Why the hell didn’t you tell me?”

  “What?”

  “GPS works off a satellite. If the vehicle isn’t outside, there’s no way we can tell where it is.”

  “So, should I call her?”

  “Ask her to move the car outside.”

  She was going to love this. I dialed her cell.

  “Em. You parked in the garage, right?”

  “Sure.”

  “And the GPS works off—”

  “A satellite. Skip, I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

  “Do you mind moving the—”

  “Car outside? No. Tell James I’ll do it in the next five minutes.”

  Em was full of surprises. We waited.

  “James—”

  “Yeah?”

  “The people you are trying to follow—”

  “What about them?”

  “Are you going to call them and tell them to move their cars outside so you can find them?”

  He sighed. I was apparently his burden to bear. James came over and gazed at Springer for a while. “Where do they get these strange people, Skip? It’s tough enough dealing with problems in private or with two or three of your friends. But to take it to Springer or weird Doctor Phil or Oprah? For God’s sake, what are they thinking?”

  What had I been thinking, letting James take charge of this case?

  The phone rang.

  “Skip? The car is outside.”

  James was already at the computer. He hit keys, dragged on the mouse, and I don’t know what all. Thirty seconds later he had a huge smile on his face. “Give me the phone, amigo.”

  I handed him the phone.

  “Em, you are at 1717 North Bayshore Drive.”

  There was silence as she apparently said something to him, then he handed the phone back to me.

  “Em?”

  “Call me if you need me, Skip.” And she was gone.

  “Congratulations, James. You got it to work.”

  “I did. I proved your girlfriend was right where she was supposed to be. And, I proved that she thinks I’m extremely intelligent.”

  I knew Emily well enough to know that she would never accuse James of being smart. “So what exactly did she say?”

  “She verified the address.”

  “And? How did you extrapolate the fact that she thought you had a brain?”

  “It was the way she said it, pard. She came on the phone and said, congrats, Einstein. That’s where I live. Where the hell did you think I would be?”

  I was glad to hear that Em and James were still getting along. It’s important that children play well together.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  I pulled in early, right around seven a.m., not sure what to expect. One of our installation trucks was already there, unloading heavy boxes. There would be wiring, lots of wiring. And contacts, and motion detectors—real motion detectors—not like the secret camera we’d seen yesterday. We included smoke detectors in our package even though they had some installed. There would be control pads with secret passwords and codes for all kinds of things.

  I’m surprised that things go as well as they usually do after we install a system. There are panic codes, breaking-and-entering codes, remote phone codes, fire codes, and more, and I figure somebody is going to screw up and all the whistles, bells, and alarms will go crazy because someone forgot to punch in a number. It happens, but not as often as you might think.

  “Hey, Skip. This your gig?”

  Andy Wireman was one of the senior installers. Honest to God, that’s his name. Wireman.

  “It is.”

  “Who’s doing the running?”

  Runners. That’s what the installers called them. Michael called them supervisors. It was easier to hire someone part-time if you gave them the title of supervisor. “One guy who says he’s done it before. Name’s Jim Jobs. The other guy is my roommate, James Lessor.”

  “You’ve got a lot of contacts going in. What is it, forty windows, every office door, seven outside doors?”

  “Plus all the smoke detectors and the remote camera equipment.”

  “Four cameras that can be accessed from a remote co
mputer. This is going to be some operation.”

  Select people could access the cameras and monitor every movement in the company from thousands of miles away. Why they would want to escaped me, but they could. “So, Andy, this is going to make all of us some good money.”

  “Good job, Skip. The boys were excited from the get-go. And you, you’ll make a nice commission on this.”

  I agreed. A nice hefty commission operation. “They’re running a pretty important project inside. I guess they just want to take the extra precaution.”

  Wireman nodded and picked up two of the boxes, one under each arm. “You tell the runners we’re going to keep ’em running. Michael said he wanted us done and out in three days. I think that’s a little optimistic, but we’ll give it a go. Give me a hand.”

  “Michael is a bottom-line lackey, Andy. He’d squeeze anyone to get his profit.” I picked up two more boxes, and we walked into the building. A lone secretary manned the reception desk, eyeing us with a furtive glance.

  “Are you part of the security system people?”

  “We are.”

  “Do you have identification?”

  We both pulled out our wallets and gave her identification. I’d met the woman two other times, but I’d been with Sarah both times and apparently that was a different story. Sarah had pull.

  She eyed the photo IDs and looked up at us. I even knew her name. Amanda. However, she acted like we’d never met. “Well, I guess you can go on in, but you’ll pass another checkpoint before you get to the main plant. I should send someone with you.”

  “I’ve been here before, Amanda. I can show Andy the way.”

  She frowned, but nodded for us to go ahead.

  Down the hall, past another desk where we showed our IDs, then into what appeared to be an assembly room. It was too early for the workers to be there, and I was surprised they’d left us alone.

  “So this is where the big project is being designed?”

  “It is.” I remembered the first time I’d been inside. With workers at all the benches, silently punching computer keys and making whatever it was they made. And office number five, with a very dead body inside. I shuddered.

  “And we’re free to wander?” Andy set the boxes down, and glanced around. He was seeing it just like I did, but this time empty of any employees. The room was a circle, with benches, computers at different stations, what looked like small welding machines, and other assorted machinery that was foreign to me.

  “Can I help you?” The uniformed guard stepped from a doorway on the perimeter of the circle. There were the five doors. They all led to offices. He’d stepped out of door number two.

  “I’m going to be the chief installer for your security system.” Andy stuck out his hand. The short, Asian gentleman kept his thumbs tucked into his thick leather belt.

  “When you come back here, you should be escorted at all times.”

  Andy kept his hand out. “Andy Wireman. We’re going to be working together, friend.”

  “Mr. Wireman,” thumbs still in his equipment-laden belt, “someone should have walked you back here. From now on, please don’t enter this restricted area unless you come accompanied.”

  “Got it.” Andy glanced at me and slightly rolled his eyes.

  The guard glared at Andy and me as he rested one hand on a holstered pistol and the other on a small metal gray canister. “You will have someone from our staff with you at all times.”

  It was my project. “Look, we’re going to have a team of people in here who will be all over this building for the next three or four days. You’re going to need eight or nine people to keep up with us.”

  The small man with the closely shaved head glowered at us, then pulled a cell phone from his belt. Punching in two numbers, he waited. “You’re not making my life any easier.”

  Andy smiled. Mr. Congenial. I’d worked with him before, and when I was ready to kill the client, Andy Wireman always kept his cool. Then, at the end of the day, we’d go out with some of his guys for a drink. And after about four or five shots Mr. Nice Guy would start throwing bar glasses, screaming about the assholes he’d had to put up with all day long, and he’d get thrown out of whatever bar we were in. But on the job he was strictly professional. Strictly.

  The armed, uniformed man talked in a low voice, turning from us, then spun around and pointed at me. “You’re Skip Moore?”

  “I am.”

  “Sarah,” he heavily emphasized her name as if he didn’t approve of the girl, “Sarah will be back in a minute. And, Mr. Moore, just because you’re a close friend of Sarah, doesn’t mean you can break rules.”

  The little guy walked to door number two, opened it, and stepped inside. The door remained open, and I assumed he was watching us. I closed my eyes for a moment, thinking about his face. There was something familiar about the guy.

  She came bustling in, if you could actually bustle in the high, high heels she was wearing. A wraparound skirt and a sleeveless blouse with a low neckline completed the outfit, and I saw Andy’s eyes do a double-take.

  “Skip, Skip, I am so sorry. Feng is very loyal to the company, and I told you we’re working for the Department of Defense. We’ve got to really be careful that we don’t have any slipups.”

  “I understand. This is Andy. Andy, Sarah.”

  She’d let the hair fall down almost to her shoulders, and the short skirt and sleeveless blouse highlighted her golden tanned arms and legs. I saw Andy’s mouth open a little further. I should have warned him.

  He held his hand out and she grabbed it. “Hi, Andy.”

  “So, Sarah, how are we going to work if there has to be a Feng everywhere we are?”

  “There are actually nine guards. Six men and three women. They’ll be at different stations watching.”

  “Nine Fengs?” Andy shook his head.

  “Nine.”

  “We’ll make it work, Sarah.”

  As supervisor I should have just told them to stay the hell out of my way, but Andy was in charge of installation. And Andy was Mr. Nice.

  “Skip,” she took my arm and pulled me across the room. “Sandy wants to talk to you. He wants to meet the players on your team.”

  I hadn’t even been introduced yet. “Sarah, I need to talk to you about the down payment. Michael has put aside the rule, but we need that check as soon as—”

  Sarah smiled, stood on her tiptoes, and kissed me on the lips. Took me totally by surprise. I could smell the subtle perfume, a light sent of flowers, and I could taste her lipstick, a very faint flavor of citrus. I didn’t know what to say.

  “Hey,” she whispered as she stroked my arm, “we’re romantically involved, remember. Got to keep up appearances.” I immediately thought about Feng, watching the proceedings from office number two. The money issue? We’d address that at a different time.

  I heard James’s voice before I saw him. He was laughing his loud, over-the-top guffaw with someone else and their jovial attitude seemed wrong for this early in the morning. Then I saw them.

  “Skip, amigo. Have you met Sandy Conroy?” He pointed his index finger at the president of Synco Systems.

  “No.” But James had.

  “Sandy, this is my good friend Skip Moore.”

  Conroy had that somber look on his face, but he stuck out his hand and we shook. “James has been telling me a little about your background, Skip.” I shot a look at James, who gently shook his head.

  “My friend tends to exaggerate.”

  “On the contrary, from what he told me you are the perfect person to run this job. He says you’ve got a keen eye for detail, and he’s assured me you’re the man I can trust to put this together. I guess we made a good choice.”

  Sarah beamed. Her two boyfriends seemed to be getting along nicely. Who says you can’t have your cake and eat it too?

  I introduced Andy to Sandy and James, and a minute later Jim Jobs shuffled in, a tablet and pen in hand. Essential tools for a supervisor. M
aybe he had done this before. I introduced J.J., as James had started calling him, and motioned to James to follow me.

  “What’s up, pard?”

  “So you and Sandy are good friends?”

  “Met him in the hall, Skip. He introduced himself, and we talked for a couple of minutes. That’s all.”

  I dismissed it. “Listen, I know this is strictly paranoia, but there’s an Asian security guy named Feng who has a bit of an attitude. He looks very much like the guy I saw outside the Red Derby. I’d love to know what kind of a car he drives.”

  “Feng. He’s head of Sandy’s security.”

  I looked back at Sandy, Andy, Sarah, and J.J. They weren’t paying any attention to us. Feng probably was. “You and Sandy are such good buddies that he told you about his security arrangements?” I was pissed. I’d gotten James the job, and he knew more about it than I did.

  “Hey, settle down, pard. He just mentioned that he should probably walk me into the assembly room or his chief of security, Feng, would have a fit. That’s it, pal.”

  “Well, he’s right.” I took a deep breath. Then another, letting it slowly escape. I could have used a cigarette, but I quit smoking. “Anyway, as a runner, you have—”

  “A what?”

  “Andy calls you a runner. As a supervisor you have free run of the place.”

  “Except there has to be a guard with any of us at any time.”

  “Exactly. So, my friend, I’d like to know if Feng drives a gray Honda Accord. If you can time your lunch break with Feng’s, you could get him to walk you to the parking lot. Then, you could see what kind of car he drives. What do you say?”

  “You think Feng is—”

  “I recognize him from somewhere, James.”

  “It’s a great plan, amigo.”

  I smiled. James didn’t hand out compliments too often.

  “But unnecessary.”

  “James, call me crazy, but I’d like to know if there’s any chance Feng is the Asian gentleman who was fooling around with Carol Conroy’s Lexus.”

  James nodded, brushing back his unruly hair with his hand. “And the same guy who drove the gray Honda in Delray Beach. Skip, I haven’t had a chance to talk to you. I got here about half an hour early. I sat out in the parking lot, waiting for you to show up.”