The Victim of the System

by Steve Hadden

  The migrating workers clogging the sidewalks provided good cover, and he watched the front doors of Falzone Center as four fifteen approached. They worked from seven to quarter after four, their core hours. At least that’s what the article in the Post-Gazette said where the Falzones had bragged about their flex hours. He’d bet that the building would empty like a shaken hive, especially with the culture he imagined Nick Falzone set within his organization. No one would want to work late out of dedication or as a way to enhance their performance ratings. He read Falzone as a narcissistic taskmaster, viewing his people only as a means to an end—not as intelligent and committed human beings.

  The doors flew open and the great employees of Falzone Energy began to flood the street. Ike moved quickly, toting a Swiss Army backpack and sporting Dockers and a button-down oxford shirt. He felt like a salmon swimming upstream against the crowd. He’d underestimated their zeal to escape. The lobby was packed, full of people flooding from the turnstiles. Two blazered security guards flanked the bank of turnstiles and looked as if they couldn’t care less. One lane was open, and Ike swiped the access card and slipped into an elevator as soon as it emptied. He opened the timer on his iPhone and set it to thirty minutes. He didn’t want to stay that long, but he was certain the guards would change to the evening shift at quarter to five, thirty minutes after the employees left.

  He’d learned that while working under his boss at Abbysis Energy years ago. The ex-FBI agent knew Ike’s family history. When he first interviewed Ike, he told Ike there was no room for vengeance in the job and doubted Ike would be a good fit. But after speaking to Mac and Ike’s old supervisor at the Pittsburgh Police Department, he changed his mind. One of the first roles he’d given Ike was supervising building security. Ike quickly graduated to investigations and managing kidnap-and-abduction training. He’d been slated to take his retiring boss’s job until Abbysis was swallowed up by Targon Energy and Ike refused to move to Houston. The severance allowed him to set up his own shop—a blessing in disguise.

  As the elevator crept toward the twelfth floor, Ike slipped the backpack off his shoulder. With security tied up monitoring the lobby, he’d hoped he’d be unchallenged on the floor. Whether there were a few stragglers was another matter. They’d be more of a threat, especially since they might have known the real Mark Smith, if he even existed.

  The doors opened on the twelfth floor and Ike settled the adrenaline surging through his body. The hallway was old. Frayed gray carpet covered the floor and thick faded wood trim outlined each doorway. Low ceilings and bad fluorescent lighting made it feel more like a cell block than an office. Evidently, the Falzones had spent all their money on the lobby and a few executive floors and left the rest the same since 1984. The hallway was empty and he headed to the third door on the right.

  The frame that should hold the nameplate was empty; perhaps it had been removed. The card reader just below it had a small green light, still active. Ike pressed the access card flat against the pad and the door clicked.

  Easing it open, he spotted lights on inside. Despite the warning bells ringing in his head, he was committed. Cautiously, he pushed the door open and stepped in. The room’s walls were covered with large maps. Closest to Ike was a map of Virginia’s coast showing the locations of the offshore blocks. Ike recognized the others quickly: isopachs, structure maps, and well log cross sections. While every open space on three of the walls was filled, a bare square on the far wall looked like a missing jigsaw puzzle piece. Something had been there. Ike could see the pins.

  He walked deeper into the workspace and spotted a door to an adjoining room. As he peeked in, a face met his in the doorway. Instinctively, he dropped the backpack and raised both fists to deflect a blow.

  The young redheaded woman dropped her backpack and raised her hands. “Whoa, dude. Lay off the Red Bull.”

  Ike quickly de-escalated his response and slipped back into character. “I’m so sorry. I thought I was alone.” Ike picked up his backpack.

  “Well, you’re not.” The woman shouldered her backpack and pushed past Ike. She stopped halfway to the door. “Hey. Who are you?”

  He raised the access card. “I’m with Cole’s Seismic.”

  She hesitated and squinted at the card. Ike didn’t want to have to restrain her, but he shifted his weight forward, just in case.

  She quit squinting. “Great. You can turn this all off before you leave.” She turned back and started toward the door. “I’m tired of getting my ass chewed out.” She slammed the door as she left.

  Ike spotted the three workstations in the back corner. He moved quickly to them and pulled the Post-it note from his pocket. Two of the workstations were on with the log-in screens up. Ike took the one nearest the wall and farthest from the door. More reaction time if the woman got suspicious and returned with security. He entered the user ID and password Scott had written down, and then the screen disappeared and a Windows screen appeared. Ike spotted the File Explorer icon and clicked it. In the search bar, he typed the folder name: Minuteman. That name was on everything in the room. Standard practice dictated that someone on the team, or the whole exploration team, got to name the prospect. It was a perk of sorts because that name would appear on the documents and maps and would be referred to in public disclosures and permits.

  The search results showed the folder name. He’d found it. Ike quickly checked his watch: 4:40 p.m. Enough time had passed that the woman was no longer a potential problem. Shift change was coming and he’d slip out as easily as he’d slipped in. As he clicked the folder, he envisioned Jack playing with his Rubik’s Cube and enjoying his freedom.

  Suddenly the screen turned red and a warning appeared telling him he was in violation of the code of conduct by this unauthorized access. A bolt of electricity surged into his muscles. The alert would be sent to IT, but also to every security member’s smartphone. The response would be rapid.

  Ike grabbed the backpack and pulled out a Pirates cap and a pair of thick-framed glasses. He killed the light on the way out the office door and headed away from the elevators and to the emergency exit sign. He heard the bell sound behind him announcing the arrival of the elevator. He ran to the exit door and slipped into the stairwell. Twelve floors, and every floor represented a hazard.

  Taking three stairs at a time, he quickly made it to the ninth floor. He opened the stairwell door, checked the empty hallway, and headed to the elevator bank. The car came quickly and Ike hid to the side until it opened. It was empty. By now, someone would be stationed at the turnstiles, and the stairwell at the first floor. But he’d anticipated that possibility. Ike punched the second-floor button and the doors closed. The second floor had access to the annex, the annex had access to the health club, and the health club had access to the street. He quickly stripped, pulled the athletic gear from the bag, and changed.

  As he left the elevator and looked down the hallway, he saw a few people filing through a set of glass double doors, using their access cards to exit the annex and enter the back entrance to the health club. He trotted to the doors to catch up with a woman rummaging through her bag. Just as he arrived, she found her card. He politely grabbed the door handle as she swiped her card. He followed her into the back lobby of the club. The kid at the desk tracked Ike as he approached. The scanner on the desk required a membership card, but through the gym behind the kid Ike could see the street.

  He patted his sweatpants pockets. “Damn, I forgot my card. Left it in the car. I’ll just walk through and get it.”

  The kid nodded and Ike made his way around the crowded equipment. As he approached the front double doors, he breathed deeply to relax a bit. He’d be outside in seconds. But when he pushed through the front door, the security goon he’d seen in the lobby when he’d met Shannon Falzone appeared and blocked the door to the street.

  Ike casually turned and started back through the gym. Four Security guards appeared at the back-lobby desk. Ike turned back and decided he’
d take his chances with the goon. He’d have him on his knees with the first punch. Ike dropped the backpack and ran to the doors with his fist clenched and jaw locked. Just beyond the doors, two Pittsburgh Police squad cars pulled up. Ike stopped in his tracks. All the fight left his body. He’d never take on the cops. He had developed too much respect for them. As they rushed through the front doors with their hands on their guns, Ike raised his hands and dropped to his knees. This wasn’t what he’d had in mind.

  CHAPTER 35

  Maria’s safety was not negotiable. At least that’s what Mac and Ike had told her when Ike asked her to run Rossi’s after he bought it from the previous owners. Every night, Mac or Ike escorted her on the seven-block walk to her home. Tonight, the amber sunset lit the storefronts along Liberty Avenue, and Maria admired the golden hue it gave the old buildings. The early autumn air was fresh, aside from the aromatic smell of garlic and butter pouring out of the kitchen ventilation fan from Rossi’s. Mac walked with her, regaling her with another hilarious story of chasing stupid criminals through the neighborhood.

  Since it was Thursday, Maria and Mac had left before the dinner rush—another agreement with Ike and Mac. Despite having a solid assistant manager at the restaurant, Maria spent every night there, either tending bar or performing. Both roles were the safest form of human contact she could find. She had several offers a week for a drink or dinner from well-intended patrons, but for the last five years she’d politely refused them all.

  After she’d shared her therapist’s insight in a moment of weakness, Ike and Mac had stepped in and negotiated a deal. Maria would take one night off a week—a date night—and take some time for herself. It didn’t feel like a negotiation—more like an ambush. But Maria knew they were right. She’d never do it on her own. Relationships were difficult for her. Over the years, she’d spot flaws in her dates before they said their first words. There was always something wrong with them. However, through her therapist, she’d learned that intimacy took vulnerability and trust, two things that had become hard for her nine-year-old self after her parents died. She still carried that with her, but she took the therapist’s advice and pressed on anyway: fake it to make it, she’d said, and Ike and Mac had personal missions to make it happen.

  Mac finished his story and Maria caught her breath after laughing for half a block.

  “Got a date tonight?”

  The question was predictable and usually came on the fifth block of the walk.

  “Yes. He’s picking me up at seven.”

  Mac seemed satisfied—his plan was working.

  “Give the poor guy a chance.”

  “I will.” Deciding to head off any further interrogation, she said, “I’m worried about Ike.”

  “Me, too. He shouldn’t do it.”

  “I think he needs to do it. It’s like he doesn’t have a choice,” Maria said.

  “That’s not what I’d hoped Doris and I taught you both. No matter what, always tell the truth and always obey the law. I’ve seen hundreds of people make either mistake. Then they make six more trying to cover up or correct the first.”

  “I know. We did learn that, Mac. You and Doris were great. I helped Ike because he’s my brother. I trust him even if I don’t agree with him.”

  With both hands in his pockets, Mac stopped at the curb a block from her house. Before stepping off, he looked over at Maria. “It’s all about getting an answer for the kid, isn’t it?”

  Maria slipped her arm under his and locked her elbow in his, and they started across the street. “It’s that, but there’s something else. I see something in his eyes. It’s like he’s gone backward in time.”

  “Your mom and dad?”

  “I think so. He said something about how getting closure for Jack might somehow get closure for us.”

  Mac shook his head as they stopped at the concrete steps that led up to the house. “He’s not thinking this through. He’s not himself.”

  Maria turned up the steps. Mac followed for two steps until his phone rang. He answered but said nothing else, just listened for thirty seconds or so. “I’m on my way,” he said and hung up. He looked upset. “I gotta go. You okay from here?”

  “Of course. Everything all right?”

  Mac nodded. “Just a friend who needs my help.”

  She hugged Mac. “I hope it works out.”

  “Always does.” Mac smiled and headed down the sidewalk.

  Maria watched him walk away, sensing something wasn’t quite right. She debated the possibilities as she walked up the steps and fished her keys from her backpack. The house was a two-story brick home built in 1925. After several renovations, her parents had purchased it in 1975. A year later Ike was born. Ten years and another remodel later, Maria arrived. The thick front door was the last thing added to the home, and the two deadbolts were the only security system her father had ever needed. “This is Bloomfield, where neighbors take care of each other,” he’d said. He was right. She always felt safe here. She unlocked each deadbolt and opened the door with a welcoming creak.

  The house had wood floors, wooden trim, and radiant heat, and the house always talked to her. Each step brought a familiar but nearly imperceptible squeak. Visitors rarely heard them, but Maria had ever since she could remember. They’d announced her father’s arrival each night. He’d be amazed by her appearance before he’d left the entryway. Over the last twenty-two years the house had remained the same, other than upgrades to both bathrooms and the kitchen. Maria had wanted it that way.

  She cleared the small entryway and walked down the hallway to the kitchen. While daylight still seeped in through the sheers, it was still shadowy inside. She reached for the light switch and heard the creak behind her.

  Before she could turn, her upper body was locked down in what felt like a human clamp. She couldn’t move her arms and her scream had been cut off by a thick leather glove across her mouth and face. The smell of the leather mixed with gasoline filled her nose. She fought hard to free herself, but her struggle was pointless. Dragging her backward and slamming her into the hallway wall, the intruder demonstrated his physical control. She decided to stop fighting and preserve her energy. He’d used no weapon and didn’t seem interested in sexually assaulting her. As soon as she settled down, he spoke.

  “I have a message for you. Are you listening?” He tightened his grip for effect. His deep voice had a painful rasp. He spoke with some kind of cowboy accent. She nodded as best she could and he released her mouth.

  “Tell your brother to stop.”

  Maria immediately knew why Ike had decided to get into Falzone Center. He’d obviously got someone’s attention. Maria wanted to keep the intruder talking.

  “What if he won’t listen to me?”

  Her assailant grabbed her jaw and nearly crushed it, tightening the pressure around her chest like a boa constrictor. “Then he dies.”

  She went limp and let her knees buckle. When he loosened his grip, she spun and snapped a backhand at his nose. He caught it and crushed her fist. The pain buckled her knees for real this time. He pressed her wrist backward until she hit the floor. He lowered both knees onto her chest and grabbed her throat. She struggled to breathe. He was masked.

  “If you tell him about this, I’ll kill him first and then you.” He choked off what little air she had left. Her vision faded; she was on the brink of passing out.

  “Get him to stop or I’ll be back.” He shoved her body into the floor, and the pressure on her chest stopped. His steps faded down the hallway and across the kitchen, then out the kitchen door.

  Maria rubbed her neck, trying to regain circulation and a little breath. She pressed herself up and stumbled to the kitchen door. The deadbolt locks were unlocked but not broken, and the door’s window wasn’t shattered. She shivered thinking how easily the intruder had got in. She relocked them anyway, but still she felt trapped and scared, like she had that dreadful night Mac and Ike had told her about her parents in this same kit
chen. But this feeling was worse. She knew what would happen ahead of time—and she wasn’t sure she could stop it.

  CHAPTER 36

  Ike had sat alone in the interrogation room for the last hour. He’d been here before, on the other side of the mirror, and he knew the drill. Hand the perp off to the detectives and let him sweat.

  The patrol officers had recognized him upon removing his disguise and apologized for leaving him there on orders from their supervisor. Ike graciously told them not to worry. He had plenty to think through.

  As he stared at the two-way mirror and the nicked white walls, the anger inside him burned white-hot. A tsunami of suspicion reinforced his determination. While this was a setback that might cost a few clients, he didn’t care. Falzone’s system had been scrubbed, and he was convinced they were hiding the seismic. But the seismic wasn’t his only lead—he still had time to get to the truth.

  The door eased open and Vic Cassidy appeared. The asshole had probably been watching through the mirror trying to sweat Ike. But Cassidy would be the one sweating. His shoddy detective work was decaying like origami in a rainstorm.

  “Ah, the great Ike Rossi.”

  Ike didn’t react as Cassidy circled the steel table, laid a new manila file folder between them, and sat in the chair facing Ike. He’d shed his sports coat, revealing an oversize white shirt that struggled to stay tucked into his black slacks. His maroon tie rested on his belly. Ike wanted to slap the grin off Cassidy’s face, but the assault charges would take him off the playing field. He needed to stay in the game.

  Cassidy opened the file and lifted the single sheet of paper. “Looks like attempted theft of trade secrets. That’s a nice felony to add to your bio.”