Reed Ferguson Short Stories

by Renee Pawlish

  “What something?”

  “I want to monitor him for a few days.”

  “So you want me to break into his house when he’s not there?”

  “And break into his computer.”

  “Hey,” I said. “I may be able to get into his house, but you’re the one with the computer mastery. You need to come with me.”

  “No way. I can walk you through how to do everything, but I can’t be in there with you, in case you get caught.”

  “I’m not going to get caught,” I joked.

  He laughed. “You know what I mean. You do the breaking and entering, not me.”

  “I prefer Clandestine Unauthorized Entry Specialist, and it’s only for my job.”

  “That’s a new one on me.”

  “I just made it up,” I said. “And why do you want to monitor him?”

  “If he’s doing something illegal – and I suspect he is – I want to stop him. I know that I hack into things, but it’s only for my job, or to help you. I’ve never stolen anything from anyone or done anything dishonest with the information I get. And I don’t like those that do. With your help, I may be able to get something on him, and tell him to back off.”

  “Maybe I can get the Goofballs to help as lookouts. I don’t want to be on his computer and have him walk in on me. And we need to find out when he won’t be home. I don’t relish the idea of staking out his house for days, plus the Goofballs won’t have that much time.”

  Ace and Deuce Smith are our slightly goofy downstairs neighbors. Over the last few years, I’ve gotten to know them well, and we’ve enjoyed lots of beers and pool games together. They’ve become like brothers to me, but I have to admit they are not necessarily the brightest guys in the world, which is why I’d dubbed them the Goofball Brothers. They love to help me with investigations, and only hesitate if I ask them to help with surveillance, because they think it’s boring. And it is.

  “Let me do some more research on him, and maybe I can figure out when he might be gone. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”

  “That’ll work.”

  He ended the call. I sat and watched Flat Face for a few more minutes. How was he involved with Patrick Fitzgerald, an unemployed hacker?

  Nothing good, I thought as I started the 4-Runner and went home.

  Chapter Three

  Cal called the next afternoon.

  “Fitzgerald is in a gaming group, and they meet on Wednesday nights downtown at some club I’ve never heard of. As long as he goes that night, we should have plenty of time to get you in and out of his house unseen.”

  “I’ll see if the Goofballs can help. If they can help, I’ll have them stationed at either end of the block, and they can watch for Fitzgerald’s car. They can call me if they see him come home.”

  “And if they can’t?”

  “Well …” I sighed. “Maybe Willie can help.”

  “I’ve got a mic that you can wear, so you and I can talk to each other. Then I can walk you through what you need to do on his computer.”

  “Nice and high-tech, huh.”

  “You’ll have to be my eyes and ears.”

  I laughed. “Come down here tomorrow around seven. It’ll be dark by then. We can drive over to Fitzgerald’s house, and I’ll have the Goofballs follow us.”

  “Sounds good.”

  He ended the call. I went into my office, and googled Patrick Fitzgerald and Denver. It was a fairly common name, and I got lots of hits on Facebook and other social media sites, White Pages lookups, and LinkedIn, but I didn’t find one for the guy I’d seen in the Ruby Hill neighborhood. The Fitzgerald I wanted to know about was hiding his tracks well.

  Then I called Ace.

  “Hey, Reed.”

  “How’d you like to help me out tomorrow night?”

  “Sure thing,” he said enthusiastically. “What do you need?”

  I explained what I wanted him and Deuce to do.

  “I know Deuce will want to help,” he said when I finished. “It sounds like fun.”

  I laughed. “I’m sure it will be.”

  “You want us to go into this guy’s house with you?”

  “No, being a lookout is an important job, that’s why I want you two to handle it.”

  “Okay, good.” He sounded serious. “We’ll see you tomorrow night.”

  I thanked him, then sat back and stared at The Big Sleep poster hanging on the wall, next to vintage posters of The Maltese Falcon and The Postman Always Rings Twice. They – along with my first-edition detective books and my film noir collection – serve as inspiration to me. Right now, though, Bogie stared at me blankly. I grimaced. Hopefully, Cal would get what he wanted tomorrow, and this guy would be history.

  At eight o’clock the next night, I was standing beside Deuce’s truck, parked near an alley that ran behind Patrick Fitzgerald’s house. Down the street, Fitzgerald’s house was dark. A flickering streetlight on the opposite corner from us barely illuminated the scene. I was dressed in what Cal always called my Navy Seal attire: black jeans, a long-sleeved black shirt, and a black knit ski cap. With that, and the darkness, I didn’t think I would be easily spotted.

  “Don’t worry, Reed,” Deuce said. “If this guy shows up, I’ll call you right away. And Ace is watching the other end of the block, and he’ll do the same. You can count on us.”

  “I know I can.” I smiled. “If you see Fitzgerald, just stay put. I’ll hightail it out of the house, and Cal can pick me up. Then we’ll rendezvous at B 52s like we planned.”

  B 52s is a local bar and pool hall where the Goofballs and I like to hang out. Willie even joins us on occasion. It was once a warehouse that’s now decorated with old plane propellers and advertisements from the 1940s and ’50s. It reminds me of the film noir movies and long-gone era that I love.

  “I just wish I had a gun,” Deuce moped, “just in case.”

  His ardent desire is to carry a weapon, but that’s never going to happen, not while helping me anyway. Although he’s practiced with me at the range several times, and I love him dearly, I don’t trust Deuce with a weapon. Possibly because I’ve watched him at the range. And if anything ever happened to him or Ace – such as an accident with a gun – I’d feel horribly responsible.

  “There won’t be any kind of danger,” I said, “so you won’t need a gun.” I didn’t tell him about my Glock in my ankle holster. Of course I hoped I wouldn’t need it. I pulled out my phone and called Ace. “Go for it.”

  “Will do,” Ace said.

  We had arranged for Ace to ring Fitzgerald’s doorbell, just in case he was home. Ace had a story made up where he would play confused, as if he were looking for a friend but at the wrong house. Cal was parked down the street, watching the front of the house with binoculars. He would report any trouble – if there was any. Otherwise, Ace would call me and let me know whether the coast was clear.

  Deuce and I waited in silence, and a few minutes later, my phone rang.

  “I rang the bell twice,” Ace said. “And I knocked, too. I don’t think he’s there.”

  “Good work. Text me when you get back to your car.”

  “Over and out.” Ace ended the call in his most official-sounding voice.

  “Fitzgerald’s not there?” Deuce asked.

  “No, he’s not.”

  I felt for the mic hidden under my shirt, then said, “Test. Test.”

  “I can hear you,” Cal’s voice was loud in my earpiece.

  “As soon as I hear that Ace is back in his car, I’ll be on my way. Radio silence until I get in the house.”

  “Roger that.” Cal sounded as official as Ace had moments ago.

  Deuce and I waited again without saying a word, and moments later, my phone vibrated. Ace had texted that he was at his car.

  “It’s go time,” Deuce said. He sounded very authoritative as well.

  “What’s with the Adam-12 lingo?” I muttered.

  Deuce stared at me. “Huh?”

  �
��Never mind.”

  I gave him a quick nod, then turned and headed down the dark alley behind Fitzgerald’s house. Somewhere close by, I heard someone talking in a back yard, and I crouched down and carefully approached the rear of Fitzgerald’s house. I reached the fence corner and stared at his back porch for a minute.

  No movement anywhere on his property.

  Satisfied that no one was home, I sneaked into the back yard and up to the back porch. I tiptoed to the door and tried the doorknob. Locked. I took out my lock-pick set – which over the years I had become adept at using – and in moments I had the cheap knob unlocked. I quietly opened the door and slipped inside. No lights of any sort were on, so I pulled out a tiny flashlight and shined it around.

  I was standing in a kitchen that didn’t have much but a small table and chairs in the corner and dishes in both sides of the sink. I didn’t waste my time there, but hurried through the living room and into a small bedroom and bathroom, assuring myself that no one was there. I was surprised that I didn’t see any computer equipment, so I open doors until I found a stairwell that led downstairs. It was pitch black. I shined my flashlight into the darkness and listened.

  Still nothing.

  “No sign of him?” I whispered into my mic.

  “It’s all clear.” Cal was murmuring, even though he didn’t need to.

  I crept down the stairs and looked around. The basement was one big open room with a large TV, a ratty couch, and a long table against the far wall. The table’s entire surface was covered with computers, monitors, and other electronic equipment. It reminded me of Cal’s setup in his house.

  “This guy has an office a lot like yours,” I said.

  “How many computers?”

  “Three.” I approached the table. “What do I do?”

  “Are they on?”

  I checked them all. “They’re all on, and all are password-protected.”

  “Hang tight.” Then he rattled off a password.

  “Hold on.” I went to the first computer, and tried it. “It doesn’t work.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ve got this covered.”

  He gave me another password, and it worked.

  “I’m in.” I breathed a sigh of relief. “How do you find passwords?”

  “Trade secret,” he said with a small laugh. “Here’s what you do.”

  For the next few minutes, Cal directed me on how to install a program he’d written that he said Fitzgerald wouldn’t detect. It was on a USB drive Cal had given me, and once I installed the program on that computer, he had me go through the same process for the other two. When I finished, I wiped the sweat from my brow.

  “I should get out of here,” I said.

  “Take a few pictures of his setup,” he instructed me.

  I did, and as I focused my phone on the table, I noticed what looked like the disc that I’d seen Fitzgerald showing the Russians the other night. I picked it up and started to look at it, and my phone buzzed in my pocket. I yanked out the phone and answered. It was Ace.

  “His car is coming down the street,” Ace hissed.

  “He’s not supposed to be back yet,” I said.

  “It’s him! Get out of there.”

  Without thinking, I grabbed the disc and stuffed it in my pocket, along with my phone. I ran up the stairs, my footfalls loud in the quiet house. When I reached the living room, headlights crossed in front of the window. I ducked down, raced through the kitchen, and slipped out the back door and locked it. An engine died out, and then a car door slammed. I hurried to the corner of the house and peeked around it. Fitzgerald was crossing the driveway. He disappeared around the front of the building, and right then I dashed through the back yard and into the alley. I sprinted down the alley to the street and leaped into Deuce’s truck. He was on his phone, and he jumped when he saw me.

  “Man, Reed, you scared me.” Then he spoke into the phone. “It’s okay, Ace. He’s here.”

  “Let’s go to B 52s,” I said.

  Deuce told Ace to head there, and as he pulled his truck into the street, I spoke to Cal.

  “Did he notice me leave?”

  “No,” he said. “There’s a light on in the living room, but he hasn’t come out of the house.”

  “Good. We’re headed to B 52’s.”

  “I’ll see you there.”

  I sat back, pulled the mic from my ear, and stuffed it in my pocket. While my heart rate returned to normal, I thought about the disc I had stolen. Fitzgerald would notice it was gone, but he wouldn’t know who took it.

  Famous last words.

  Chapter Four

  “Are you kidding?” Cal stared at me in disgust. “Why did you take the disc?”

  We were at B 52s, and Ace and Deuce were playing a game of pool while Cal and I talked. In the background, “Call Me” by Blondie played, and I tapped my finger on the table to the beat of the song. I gave Cal a half smile.

  “It was an impulse. I wasn’t really thinking.” I pointed at the disc sitting on the table between us. “Take a look at it, okay? Let’s find out why Fitzgerald was showing it to the Russians. I’ll bet he’s selling them information.”

  Cal looked at me and then at the disc. He finally picked it up gingerly, as if touching it could poison him.

  “He’s going to know I had something to do with it,” Cal said.

  I shook my head. “He’ll have no idea. He doesn’t know anything about you, and he doesn’t know anything about me. He’ll think he lost it or something like that.”

  Cal took a sip of his beer and shrugged. “I hope you’re right.”

  “I am. Now let’s play a game of pool.”

  What was that about famous last words?

  The next afternoon, Cal called, his voice frantic.

  “He sent me another message.”

  “Who?” I said. I’d been paying some bills, and he took me off-guard. “Oh. Fitzgerald. What’d he say?”

  Cal growled. “It’s not what he said, so much as what he sent me.”

  I suddenly felt a rock in my stomach. “What’s that?”

  “He sent me a picture of you.”

  “Huh? He doesn’t even know I exist. What do you mean?”

  “Of course he doesn’t know it’s you. He has cameras in his basement. There’s a couple of shots of you messing around on his computer. The light from your flashlight wasn’t very good, but it was good enough that I can tell it’s you.”

  I sat back in my desk chair and exhaled through my teeth. “Oh boy. If he knows the disc is missing, he has me not only for breaking and entering, but also for burglary.”

  “He knows that whoever you are, you took his disc. But he obviously thinks the image is me. He thinks I took the disc.”

  “Oh, got it.”

  “Right. He wants the disc back, and he wants money from me, a lot of it.”

  “What do you want to do?”

  Cal paused, then said, “I don’t think he’s figured out who I am, so that’s a relief. Squeezing me for the money is just a bonus for him. What he really wants is that disc. Oh, I checked it out, and it’s full of credit card information from a clothing store.”

  “Did he hack into that store the other night? The one that was on the news?”

  “I think so.”

  “I’ll bet he was trying to sell that information to those thugs I saw him with the other night.”

  Cal swore. “That’s not cool.”

  “I can drop a dime on them, turn them in.”

  “Have you been watching some film noir lately? You sound like all those old detectives with your ‘dropping a dime.’ ”

  I laughed. “I can call Spillman.”

  “That only solves part of the problem. He can still blackmail me.”

  “You think he’s an amateur, right? Someone who knows what he’s doing wouldn’t be meeting those thugs in person.”

  “That’d be my guess.”

  I thought for a second. “See if you can arrange a meeti
ng with him.”

  “Are you kidding? Why? I don’t want to meet this guy in person.”

  “I’ll go with the Goofballs, and we’ll let him think we’re another group that wants the credit card information he took. We’ll tell him to back off you or else. I’ll make sure he gets the message. Between being scared of us and having to deal with the police, he won’t have time for you.”

  “You think that will work?”

  “If this guy doesn’t know what he’s doing, and it seems like he doesn’t, it’ll work.”

  I heard clicking in the background as Cal began typing.

  “I’ll see if I can get him right now,” he said. “If he agrees to meet with me in person, then he really is sloppy and clueless. Where do you want to meet him?”

  A plan was forming in my mind. “Tell him to meet you at Cheesman Park at midnight tonight. Over by the pavilion near the entrance to the Botanic Gardens.”

  Cheesman Park is a popular park, but at that time of night, there wouldn’t be very many people around. We’d be able to meet Fitzgerald out in the open, and Cal could sit in his car and video the whole thing.

  “Is he responding?” I asked.

  “Hold on.” I heard him humming, then he said, “Yep, here he is. I’m telling him I want to meet with him.”

  “He says he wants fifty grand from me, and the disc,” Cal said. “Does he think I’m made of money? I don’t have that kind of cash.”

  “It doesn’t matter. You’re not going to be paying him anything. Agree to it.”

  “All right, all right,” he grumbled. More sounds of him typing. “Anything else?”

  “No. Let him go for now. We’ll deal with him tonight.”

  I heard a final decisive click.

  “You know I can’t meet him,” Cal said.

  “Don’t worry. You’ll sit back in your car and video the whole thing. And if anything goes wrong – and it won’t – you call the police.”

  “Okay. What time do you want me at your house?”

  “Why don’t you come over for dinner, and hang out here for a while? Then we can head over together.” I glanced at the clock on the wall. It was almost five. “Ace told me yesterday that he has the day off, and Deuce should be home from work soon. I need to talk to them.”