by Tom Fowler
“You said your feeling was he might be a mob guy?” I said.
Chris nodded. “Yeah.”
“And not in so many words, he asked you to write ransomware for him?”
“Yeah.”
“And—”
“Why the hell did you say yes?” Anna broke in. She pounded Joey’s kitchen table so hard I thought she might dislodge a tile. “Why, Chris? You’re such a smart guy. Why the hell would you write that kind of software for a gangster?” Tears rimmed her eyes as she fell silent.
“I wanted to give you a nice wedding,” Chris said in a small voice. He looked at Anna. “I know the kind you want.” He looked at me now. “I do OK for salary, but I have a lot of student loans for undergrad and grad school. We could get married, but it would be a small wedding.” He shrugged. “I wanted to give her the kind she deserved.”
Tears slid down Anna’s cheeks. “I don’t need a big ceremony,” she said. “I just want a wedding with you in it.” Her head bobbed as she cried. Chris stood and walked to her. Anna jumped up, and they embraced, holding each other in silence for at least a minute.
“This is all really touching,” Joey said, “but if I want to watch teary lovefests, I have cable.”
After a few more seconds, Anna and Chris returned to their chairs. “Where were we?” Chris said.
“In the middle of your deal with the devil,” I said.
He nodded. “He hinted at what he wanted and why. I knew I could write it, so I said yes.”
“You never thought about him using the ransomware?”
“I guess not,” Chris said.
I shook my head. “So you agreed to do it. Then what?”
“I went to work on it. I already wrote something similar . . . a little more primitive. All I needed to do was update it a little.”
“I looked at your code,” I said. “It’s impressive.”
“You’re a developer?”
“Among other things,” I said, “but we can compare our bona fides later. What happened next?”
Chris sighed and stared at the ceiling. If Joey’s kitchen chairs would have allowed him to lean back, he would have. “At some point . . . I guess I realized what I was doing. Or who I was doing it for. Or both. He gave me a number to reach him, so I called. Told him I wanted out.”
“Let me guess,” I said. “He told you a deal’s a deal.”
“Pretty much, yeah. He said he paid me and I would finish the job if I knew what was good for me.”
“So you went into hiding?”
“Soon after,” Chris said with a nod. “I wrote a little more code, decided I couldn’t finish it for him, and stopped.”
“And skipped town with his money?” Joey said.
“Yeah.”
“You took Anna with you,” I said. “What about Brian?”
“I didn’t want him to have to go with us,” Chris said. “He should finish school.”
“I mean, you took Anna with you where she would presumably be safe. But you left Brian to fend for himself.”
Chris started to say something, then stopped. His jaw clicked shut, and he frowned. “I didn’t think of it like that,” he said after a few seconds of thought.
“You didn’t think the mobster you just ripped off would discover you had a brother?” I said.
“I guess not.”
“You’re lucky nothing happened to Brian.”
“I think you should take him with you,” Joey said.
“What do you mean by take him with me?” Chris said.
“Let me tell you what I do,” Joey said. He leaned forward in his chair, and his size allowed him to cut an imposing figure. “I help people disappear . . . start over. I turn a bad beat story into a new life somewhere else. You get a new identity, a job history, everything.”
Anna stared at Joey and frowned. “How do you do all of that?”
“I have my methods.”
“How much does all of this cost?” Chris said.
“For the three of you?” Joey said. “Considering C.T. referred you, I could do you all for thirty-five.”
“Hundred?”
Joey laughed. “Thousand. This takes time. It’s art and science.”
“I’m not paying thirty-five thousand for a fake ID,” Chris said.
“You get a lot more than a fucking fake ID.” Joey’s eyes narrowed. I couldn’t recall the last time I saw him offended. “But have it your way.”
“At least think about it,” I said. “Esposito is going to find you sooner or later. He might even find your brother and try to use him to draw you out.”
“Fine,” Chris said, “I’ll think about it. Is there anywhere we can all stay for a night or two?”
“I have a place,” Joey said.
“We’ll need to get Brian,” Anna said.
Joey tossed me a key. “You know the place?”
“Unless you’ve gotten a new one, yes,” I said.
“Good.” He looked at Chris. “Keep the place neat. It ain’t your hotel room. This is part of my business.”
“We will,” Chris said.
“And I’ll let you know what they decide,” I said. “Thanks, Joey.”
We left Joey’s house. I went first, made sure no one untoward lurked outside, and waved Chris and Anna out. From Joey’s house, we left to pick up Brian.
Chris called Brian from the Caprice. He was waiting for us. Brian and Chris hugged. Then they both got in the car before I could tell them we needed to keep going. Maybe Chris was learning. I got back on I-95 and headed toward Columbia. “Where’s this safehouse?” Chris said from the rear seat.
“Columbia,” I said.
“That’s convenient to a lot of things,” Anna said.
“It’s most convenient to staying indoors and not being seen,” I said. “The place is part of Joey’s business. It gets professionally cleaned three times a month . . . more often if necessary. He also has someone keep the pantry stocked. I’ll buy you some perishables once you’re there.”
“Is there an alarm?” Brian said. I was glad someone asked the question but wished it came from one of the adults.
“Yes.”
“You know the code?”
“No, but I know how to find it. It changes every time he puts someone up in the house.”
“Your friend takes security seriously,” Chris said.
“He has to,” I said, finding Chris’ eyes in the rearview mirror. “I wish everyone took it so seriously.”
Chris frowned. “I guess we deserved that.”
“You did.”
We made the rest of the drive in silence. I turned onto Puppy Breath Court—which is the most Columbia street name in the city—and drove slowly. The houses here were all large Victorians, many with unnecessary pillars surrounding their front doors, and two-car garages. I doubted any of them could be purchased for less than $600,000. Joey put his clients up in style. Signs on the street advertised a neighborhood watch, and most houses posted alarm system signs in their manicured front yards.
I pulled the Caprice into the driveway of Joey’s house, sitting right before the end of the cul-de-sac. “Stay here for a minute,” I said as I got out. I didn’t see anyone paying extra attention to us. No one followed. Still, I walked around the exterior once, checking the doors and windows and finding nothing unusual. I waved at Chris, Anna, and Brian, and they got out of the car. Joey texted me on the drive, and I looked at his message now.
Sir Laurence Olivier really hated Picasso.
His text meant the alarm code would be 387657. It also meant Sir Laurence’s myriad talents included a keen eye for weird art. I used the key Joey gave me and unlocked the door. The alarm emitted a quiet but shrill whistle as we walked in. I entered the code; the screen flashed ALARM DISABLED, and the whistle fell silent. I tossed the keys to Chris. “Don’t make copies,” I said. “There are only two. One of you won’t have a key. Too bad.”
“I understand,” Chris said.
“Yo
u’d better,” I said. “Joey is helping you here, and you haven’t even paid him yet.”
“I don’t know that I want a fake ID.”
I bit down my initial and very uncharitable reply. “It’s a new life,” I said in a measured tone. “You get all new papers, Social Security numbers, job history, everything. And it stands up to scrutiny.”
“How does your friend do it?” Anna said.
“You’ll have to ask him,” I said. “I know a little, but he’s a savant at this stuff.”
“Where would we go?” Brian said.
“Your destination is between you and Joey,” I told him. “He recommends places you don’t have family or anyone else who might call you out.”
They all thought about it. “I’m going to get you a few perishables,” I said. “I shouldn’t be long. When I come back, I’ll knock on the door six times. Don’t open it for anyone but me.”
“Why not take a key?” Anna said.
“What if the goon squad finds me?” She frowned. “It’s unlikely, but it could happen. If they get the drop on me and take my keys, you’re compromised. Get comfortable. I won’t be long.” She nodded.
As I left, I jerked my head for Brian Sellers to follow me. We walked into the living room. Despite being the youngest of the trio, he was definitely the adult in the situation. I held out a prepaid cell phone. “You’re giving me a phone?” he said.
“A burner,” I said. “It has my cell programmed in as a pizza shop, along with a few decoy numbers.”
“What’s it for?”
“Keep it with you all the time,” I said. “Your brother and Anna . . . well, I wouldn’t trust them to think their way out of a wet paper bag.”
“My brother’s pretty smart,” Brian said, a little defensive.
“Recent events don’t concur,” I said. “Anyway, keep this with you. If you’re in trouble, shove it down the front of your pants.”
He frowned at me. “Why?”
“Because no macho goon will search your junk. Take it.” He took the phone and charger.
“I hope I don’t need it,” he said.
“I hope so, too,” I said. “But considering what’s happened so far, I think you should have it. Don’t tell your brother and Anna about it.”
“All right.” Brian nodded. “Thanks for finding them.” He moved in for the hug, paused, thought better of it—perhaps cued by my grimace—and settled for a handshake.
“Thank me when this whole mess is behind us,” I said.
I left the house and got groceries from a nearby Safeway. With the perishables delivered, I headed back home. No one followed me. At least something was right with the world.
Chapter 14
I went to bed a few minutes after getting home. This case wore me out. I trusted luck for no crises in the night. When I woke up the next morning just after nine, it felt like the best sleep I’d gotten since Brian Sellers wandered into my life. I pushed my good fortune on the no-interruptions front and went for a run around Federal Hill Park. My luck continued.
A half-hour later, I went back home, showered, and pondered breakfast. I took the easy way out, putting sausage into a skillet and making toast. Cooking only for oneself is hard to beat. I sat at my table with coffee and orange juice and enjoyed my breakfast. Chris Sellers hadn’t done anything stupid yet, but I reminded myself it was barely ten o’clock. He had plenty of time to wreck his day and mine. No more Esposito goons came to visit me. Joey didn’t tell me his house burned down. This could turn out to be a good day.
After breakfast, I checked to see if my infection of my inept tail’s phone was still paying dividends. It wasn’t. All I got was a “No connection” message. Either he discovered my intrusion or got a new phone. Discovery was less likely. Esposito ran a pretty tight ship with respect to technology and phones were cheap. If I didn’t dislike him so much, I would respect his operation.
I still wanted to keep tabs on Esposito and his cronies. Getting close to his house again wouldn’t be easy. The whole crew knew the Caprice, I left in Joey’s car last time, and Gloria’s red Mercedes rocket was way too distinctive. Walking by on the sidewalk or the alley behind the house would give me away and lead to me being quickly outnumbered. So I did the only reasonable thing I could do in the situation.
I rented a car.
My gray Honda Accord looked like about a third of the cars on the road. I parked it on the opposite side of the street from Esposito’s house and about a hundred feet away. I wore sunglasses, a hoodie, and a hat, counting on the trifecta to prevent me from being discovered. Armed with a tablet and a high-strength antenna, I went to work.
Finding Esposito’s wireless network was easy. Unless a neighbor named his or her network “ESPO,” I found the right one. For a guy who swapped out his employees’ cell phones on a recurring basis, he didn’t practice good security when it came to picking his SSID. He did use the recommended WPA2 encryption, at least. People used WPA2 because it was hard to compromise. Previous wireless security like WEP and WPA folded to hackers too easily. WPA2 was more robust.
Robust but not impenetrable. The past couple years saw great advances in cracking WPA2 encryption. It took a determined adversary (check) with lots of time on his hands (check) but it could be done. My tablet ran Kali Linux, the preferred operating system of people whose ideas about computer security mirrored my own. Metasploit, a framework meant for penetration testing but used by hackers the world over, boasted of the latest and greatest WPA2 cracking techniques. I streamlined them a bit with a custom script. First, I tried the well-publicized KRACK vulnerability, but it didn’t work. I then chose my script-enhanced module, entered a few inputs, and launched the exploit. Now I needed to wait.
About twenty minutes into my vigil, a goon strolled out of Esposito’s house. He spent a few seconds looking around, then walked off the porch and down the steps toward the sidewalk. I was parked across the street to his left. He headed in my direction. I sank a little lower in the seat. If he saw me, he didn’t give any indication. He walked up to a black Dodge Charger on the other side of the street and got in. I guessed the distance at about twenty-five feet away.
It left his phone in range for a Bluetooth attack. I fired it off as his Charger rumbled to life. He backed up a bit and pulled away. I looked down at my phone. He got out of range before the Bluetooth hack finished. Alas. I still had the Wi-fi hack in progress. With the right tools in place, Esposito may have known someone assaulted his network. I didn’t figure him for having such defenses, however. Changing phones and using jammers were simple mitigations. Active monitoring of a network took time, tools, and manpower. Plenty of businesses didn’t do it. I didn’t think Esposito would divert resources away from his desired takeover of Tony Rizzo’s enterprise to find some techie to watch Wireshark looking at network traffic.
The module kept running. The more traffic Esposito’s network generated, the faster it would work. Still, its speed was relative. A patched router running WPA2 would not succumb quickly, even on a busy network. I budgeted two hours of time for this. Based on the rate my progress bar inched across the screen, the guess appeared to be accurate. The time itself wasn’t a concern; I felt exposed sitting here on the street. Spotting me from the house wouldn’t be easy, but it could be done. I considered moving the car, but it might draw unwanted attention, and a shift out of range would force me to start over. All told, sitting it out proved the more acceptable risk.
And so I sat. And waited. And waited some more. About forty-five minutes later, another employee of the Esposito enterprise walked out of the house. He headed in the other direction, up the block, and down an alley. When a car didn’t emerge a minute or so later, I grew concerned. This guard may have gone out on a patrol, and his radius could include my inconspicuous Honda. It would be more conspicuous with me in the driver’s seat and a tablet on the passenger’s seat.
The Oaks had alleys all over the place. Like in downtown Baltimore, they ran behind many of the
houses, offering more parking and other means of getting around. I needed to be prepared if Esposito’s lackey popped out behind me. I pulled my hat down lower and made sure the sunglasses hid my eyes. The tablet would be a problem. I closed the Kali window, shrugged out of my jacket, and used it as a cover. Sure enough, the guy walked out of an alley about a hundred yards behind my car and across the street. To make my job as hard as possible, he crossed the street.
I reclined the seat and shifted to lie facing the passenger’s seat. All I could do was pretend to be asleep and hope he passed by. If he challenged me, I planned to be ready to act. I heard his footsteps on the sidewalk as he approached. He slowed as he passed the Accord. Then he stopped. I could feel him looking at me. If he already knew me and looked long enough, he could recognize me.
He stood there.
A moment later, I heard his footsteps move on.
I remained lying down and faking sleep. The last thing I needed was to pop up and have this goon see me and come back to investigate. After a couple minutes. I figured I was in the clear. I opened my eyes and poked my head up. I didn’t see him, which could be a good or a bad thing. He could have finished his patrol and gone back inside. Or he could have run into the house and summoned reinforcements, who were now arming themselves to come and shoot holes in yours truly. I took my gun out of the glove compartment and kept it handy.
And I waited.
No one came running from the house. I kept watching it. Five minutes passed. It didn’t take a bunch of trigger-happy men so long to grab their guns. I couldn’t see the back of the house, and it occurred to me they might run out the back and use the alleys to get behind me. It seemed unlikely, but I kept an eye out. While I did, I checked my progress on the tablet. About sixty percent.
