“Because women pack better than men. It’s science. Fowler, get the car. I took a cab here, so you’re giving me a ride back to the office.”
I decided it was best not to argue under the circumstances. I took the keys from April and went to the car. By the time I’d backed it up to Gwen’s room, April was nearly done packing. She’d left the stuff in the kitchen, but seemed to have gotten just about everything else in the room into Gwen’s two suitcases. She zipped them up and I threw them in the trunk of the Mustang. April got into the passenger’s seat and Keane sat in the back. As I pulled out of the parking lot, I saw a man standing next to the bashed-in door to Gwen’s room, yelling and shaking his fist at me.
SIX
“Why didn’t you tell me, Fowler?” asked Keane. He didn’t sound so much upset as curious.
He, April, and I were sitting around a table in what passed for a conference room on the first floor of our building. Gwen’s suitcases were lying open on the table, with the contents strewn across the table and several chairs. Thus far we hadn’t found any clues to where Gwen might have gone.
“She asked me not to.”
Keane nodded. “Because she doesn’t trust me. Can’t blame her.”
April remained silent, sipping at a cup of coffee. She was trying to sober up before driving back to her condo.
“I assume you saw her earlier today?” Keane asked.
“Why do you assume that?” I asked. It didn’t surprise me that Keane had suspected, but I was hoping to figure out where I’d slipped up in case I needed to lie to him in the future.
“When you meet April for dinner, it’s always at seven. You left a half hour early. Also, something caused Gwen to leave today, after staying put for three weeks.”
“You think she left because of me?” I asked.
“Seems likely,” said Keane. “What did you say to her?”
I had to think. I’d been so focused on keeping Gwen safe from whoever had killed Selah that it hadn’t occurred to me that she might have left because of something I said. “I told her about our case. About Selah hiring us to find an iota coin.”
“How did Gwen react?”
I shrugged. “She seemed aware that physical iota coins exist. That’s about it.”
“No surprise? Fear? Uncertainty?”
“Not that I could sense. But she’s been in hiding for three years, Keane. I’m not sure how good I am at reading her anymore.”
“Any idea where she’d have gone?”
“Not unless she went back to her place in the DZ. But that would be suicidal.”
Keane nodded.
“So you don’t think her leaving has anything to do with … other events?” I asked.
“You mean like Selah’s murder?” Keane replied.
April swallowed hard, almost spitting her coffee all over Gwen’s unmentionables. “Her what?” she gasped.
I glared at Keane. I hadn’t intended to involve April in this, but Keane evidently had other ideas. Probably trying to get back at me for lying to him. “When we got to Selah’s place, she was dead,” I said. “Somebody broke in and killed her.”
“Over the iota coins?” April asked.
“We don’t know,” I said.
“Well, you’d better find out,” April said. “If Gwen’s disappearance has something to do with the iota coins, that’s the only way you’re going to find her.”
“We have no leads,” I said.
“Not entirely true,” said Keane. “Before we went to see Mr. Kim, I did some digging on the group that organized the iota auction, the Free Currency Initiative. They had some big names backing them.” Keane tapped something on his comm screen and my comm chirped. I looked at the display to see that he had sent me a list of the FCI board members. There were nine names; at least five were familiar to me. One in particular jumped out.
“Gerard Canaan was pushing iotas?” I asked. “I guess it makes sense, after losing as much as he did in dollars.” The majority of Canaan’s fortune had been stock in Elysium Oil. When the Wahhabis turned Saudi Arabia into the Arabian Caliphate, that stock lost over 97 percent of its value. I’d have gone into a different business, too.
“Hmm,” said Keane. “Several other big names on there as well. Considerable overlap with the Los Angeles Future Foundation.”
“You think FCI was part of LAFF?”
“Hard to say what the relationship was, exactly. They definitely had some shared interests. Interestingly, though, Selah Fiore seemed to have no connection to FCI.”
“Maybe she got left out,” I said. “And getting her hands on one of these coins was her way back in.”
“You mean like a Spectre ring?” said April. “A secret totem to get into the club?”
“I have no idea,” I admitted. It sounded kind of stupid when April said it out loud.
“There’s no reason to think any of the FCI members have one of the auctioned coins,” Keane said. “Quite the opposite, in fact. If they had intended to keep the coins close, they wouldn’t have held a public auction for them.”
“Maybe we can get an interview with Gerard Canaan. It’s worth a try, I guess.”
“I’d like to know more before we talk to someone like Canaan.”
“That’s a Catch-22,” I said. “All we’ve got is the list of FCI board members. How can we gather more information before we talk to someone on the list?”
“No, I also managed to come up with another list. There seems to have been a prohibition against unofficial photography at the auction, but earlier today I ran a search algorithm for public social media postings that occurred in the Los Angeles area while the event was going on, filtering for certain keywords. I came up with a list of seventeen likely attendees, and identified six more people by running image-recognition software on photographs against a public database. That gives us a list of twenty-three likely attendees of the auction. I’ve arranged them in order by how likely they are to have attended.”
My comm chirped again. Keane had sent me the list. Keane’s algorithm had assembled a small dossier on each individual, including age, comm ID, address, and a photo in most cases.
“So now what?” April asked, as I scrolled through the dossiers. “Start calling everybody on that list?”
“It’s what we’ve got,” said Keane.
“Hang on,” I said, tapping my display. “This guy, Declan Colvin. Some kind of TV producer. Gwen used to date a guy named Declan.”
“You think it’s the same guy?” asked April.
“Could be,” I said. “She used to get invited to lots of events with Hollywood big shots because of her job. Says here he’s dead, though. Motorcycle accident in 2038.”
“Foul play?” said April.
“Not as far as I can tell,” I said. Keane’s dossier included a link to a news item on Colvin’s accident. “If he had one of those coins, though, he doesn’t have it anymore.”
“Maybe he gave it to Gwen,” Keane said.
“That seems like a stretch,” I said. April nodded.
“It fits, though,” said Keane. “Colvin is at the auction. Maybe Gwen is there with him. He buys one of the coins, gives it to her to impress her. She breaks up with the guy, never thinks about the coin again. She goes into hiding, takes the coin with her. Then she leaves the DZ in a hurry, leaving the coin wherever it is. Fowler tells her Selah Fiore is desperate to get her hands on this coin, and suddenly Gwen disappears again.”
“Gwen told me Selah helped her disappear the first time,” I said. “Mag-Lev’s been protecting her.”
“I figured as much,” said Keane.
“You didn’t tell me that,” I said.
“And you didn’t tell me Gwen had reappeared,” said Keane, meeting my glare. “This is what happens when you withhold information.”
He had a point there. “So now what?”
“Do you know where Gwen was staying in the DZ?”
“No, but I know the name she was using. Kathryn Buchanan.�
�
“Was she at one of the LAFF safe houses?”
“No,” I said. “She said Selah suggested that option, but Gwen refused. She was at some apartment where Mag-Lev set her up.”
“Smart,” said Keane. “Okay, I’ll message some of my DZ contacts tonight. Maybe we’ll have an address tomorrow.”
“You really think she went back to the DZ?” I asked. “That place is like a war zone these days. She left because it was too dangerous.”
“She’d go back for one of those coins, though, if she knew how badly Selah wants them. If she had a deal with Selah for Mag-Lev to protect her, and Selah and Mag-Lev have had a falling out, then she’s in trouble. She needs more leverage.”
“Except that Selah is dead.”
“Gwen doesn’t know that. Did you tell her Selah was sick?”
“No,” I admitted.
“So Gwen still believes Selah can be manipulated. And you told her Selah is desperate to get her hands on one of these coins. If Gwen did have one of those coins stashed in the DZ, that’s where she went.”
“Why wouldn’t she have just told me?” I asked.
“Maybe she doesn’t trust you, either,” said Keane.
* * *
I awoke the next morning to the sound of my comm chirping. Looking at the display, I saw I had another message from “Lila.” It read:
who do you trust?
I wrote back:
Who is this?
After I showered and got dressed, I checked my comm again and saw no reply. Probably an ex-client or someone else Keane and I had pissed off trying to get a rise out of me. I didn’t have time to deal with it.
I went upstairs to Keane’s office to see if he’d had any luck finding an address for Kathryn Buchanan. I still wasn’t convinced Gwen had one of the coins, but if there was any chance she had gone back into the DZ, I had to go after her. As luck would have it, one of Keane’s contacts had gotten back to him: There was a Kathryn Buchanan who matched Gwen’s description living in an apartment building in an area known as Willowbrook, in the southwest quadrant of the DZ.
I had ended up driving April home a little before midnight so Keane and I could keep her car for a bit longer, but there was no way she’d let us take her car into the DZ. It took nearly an hour for us to find a driver willing to take us to Gwen’s address. Getting to the DZ was no problem, but drivers hate going through the checkpoints, and most car companies don’t have the proper insurance for the DZ. The driver pulled up around 10 A.M. in an ancient Buick that smelled like stale cigarette smoke. Keane and I got in the back. Half an hour later, we were at the DZ checkpoint. The checkpoint took almost another hour; due to the increased violence of late, the LAPD goons manning the border were being more thorough—and belligerent—than usual. But we made it through without incident, and twenty minutes later we pulled up in front of the address Keane had been given.
The building was a three-story, gray-blue stucco block that looked like something the Soviets would have built to house their troops in Cuba during the Cold War. It was nestled among several similar buildings, all of which were in considerable disrepair. Graffiti covered the lower parts of the walls and the windows on the first floor were boarded up or latticed. In front of the buildings, where there once had presumably been lawn, there was dry ground with a sparse covering of weeds boxed in by a chain-link fence topped with razor wire. And this was actually a pretty nice neighborhood for the DZ.
I’d gotten pretty good at picking locks since going to work for Keane; I managed to get the padlock on the gate open in about ten seconds. Keane and I went through the gate and I closed it behind us, leaving the lock open in case we needed to make a quick escape. We walked briskly to the front door of the building, unlocked it, and took the stairs to the third floor. Gwen’s apartment, number thirty-nine, was at the end of the hall. As we exited the stairway I saw a tall, skinny man sitting in the hall, his back against the left wall, legs splayed out in front of him. He wore dirty jeans and a pink Hello Kitty T-shirt. He had a three-day beard and his hair was long and greasy. I had my gun drawn, but he didn’t even glance at it. I gave him a nod as I walked past.
“You guys friends of Kathryn’s?” the disheveled man asked, as I approached apartment thirty-nine.
“Just watering her plants,” Keane said. I knocked on the door.
There was no answer. The man stared at us dumbly. After a moment, he got slowly to his feet. He walked to a nearby door, opened it, and disappeared inside, closing the door behind him.
I knocked again, but still there was no answer. I got out my lock pick and started to work on the door. This one took me almost thirty seconds. I opened the door, holding my gun out before me. The apartment seemed to be empty. I went inside, Keane following. He closed and locked the door behind us.
Making a quick survey of the apartment, I determined that it was vacant. Gwen’s apartment was clean and surprisingly well-furnished. She’d always had good taste, but I was surprised she’d even been able to find furniture of this quality in the DZ. Maybe it had been part of her deal with Selah.
I holstered my gun. “Looks like she’s already been here,” I said. On the counter was a half a bowl of what looked like canned chicken soup. It was room temperature, but it didn’t look like it had been there more than a few hours.
“She left here in a hurry, too,” said Keane.
“Possibly against her will,” I said.
“Yes,” said Keane. “We should look for the coin.”
“I’m more concerned about Gwen than the coin.”
“The coin is the key to finding Gwen.”
I wasn’t so sure about that, but I supposed we might as well take a look around while we were here. We might find a clue as to where Gwen had gone.
“Well, if you were Gwen, where would you hide a novelty coin?”
“It may not be hidden,” said Keane. “If she had any idea of the coin’s value, she’d have taken it with her.”
Keane started with the kitchen drawers; I went into the bedroom. I went through all of Gwen’s dresser drawers and her nightstand but found no coin. I went back into the kitchen to see how Keane was doing. He was crouched on the floor, looking through cabinets, his back to the entry door. As I entered the room, I saw the door handle turn.
“Keane!” I hissed, drawing my gun. “Door!”
Keane got to his feet and turned around as the door opened. A large man, wearing the colors of the Tortuga gang, entered the room. Behind him were two more men, similarly garbed. The Tortugas worked for Mag-Lev. The guy in front held a Glock pistol; the two behind him had AR-15s.
“Looking for someone?” said the large man, striding into the kitchen. He seemed unconcerned that I was pointing a 9mm SIG Sauer at him.
“Just trying to find some popcorn,” Keane said. “My partner and I were about to start a Selah Fiore movie marathon. You guys are welcome to join us if you like.”
“Show’s over,” said the large man. “You’re coming with us.”
I glanced at Keane and he gave me a curt nod. Shooting our way out of this situation wasn’t going to work; I might be able to take out one or two of them before they got a shot off, but Keane was unarmed and we didn’t know if there were more Tortugas downstairs. Besides, it was pretty clear we had found who had taken Gwen. If we wanted to see her, our best bet was to cooperate.
I moved to holster my gun, and the large man shook his head. I sighed but handed it over. One of the other guys frisked me and Keane and took my Beretta as well. Then we were prodded downstairs, brought outside, and shoved into the backseat of an old Lincoln SUV. The big guy drove while one of the others held a gun on us.
Fifteen minutes later, we were standing in a luxuriously appointed office that contrasted starkly with its location in a dilapidated old building in the worst part of the city. Two armed men stood against the walls, watching us. Behind a large desk was a man Keane and I had met before: Mag-Lev, the most powerful warlord in the DZ. Mag-Lev
was an ugly, mean-looking man with a clean-shaved head. He sat with his elbows on the desk, his chin resting on his fists, studying us impassively like a wolf regarding its prey. The left side of his face was disfigured by a horrible burn scar, and his left eyelid drooped over a dead, bloodshot eye.
Mag-Lev certainly looked the part of the DZ warlord, but the fact was, Mag-Lev was a fraud. He’d been a little-known sitcom actor named Giles Marbury before Selah Fiore had plucked him out of obscurity and made him into the terrifying figure known as Mag-Lev. That said, he’d taken to the part with gusto, and I wasn’t certain he was entirely sane. If he was holding Gwen, she was in real danger—and so were Keane and I, come to think of it.
“Good to see you again, gentlemen,” said Mag-Lev. “Care to explain why you were sniffing around one of my apartment complexes?”
“Got lost,” said Keane. “We heard John Wayne’s grave was around there somewhere.”
“Funny,” said Mag-Lev. “What’s your interest in Kathryn Buchanan?”
Interesting. Mag-Lev had been protecting Gwen for three years and he didn’t even know her real name. I guess that’s what happens when you get promoted to a position way beyond your level of experience. Mag-Lev was charismatic and ruthless, but he wasn’t particularly bright.
“I don’t know who that is,” said Keane.
“Don’t play dumb, Keane. It doesn’t suit you. Kathryn Buchanan has been under my protection for the past three years. Three weeks ago, she disappeared. Yesterday, she came back. And now here you are.”
“Then you do have her?” I asked.
“Oh, so you do know who I’m talking about,” said Mag-Lev. “Yes, Kathryn is staying with me.”
“Against her will,” I said.
Mag-Lev shrugged. “The situation in the DZ has changed. I’m keeping her here for her own protection.”
“And to use her as leverage against Selah Fiore,” Keane said.
“Selah needed a reminder of our agreement,” said Mag-Lev.
“So that’s it,” I said. “You and Selah have a falling out. The other warlords start getting ideas about moving in on your territory. You know Selah wants Kathryn kept safe, so you get the idea to use her against Selah, but by the time this occurs to you, she’s already gone. Lucky for you, she came back.”
The Last Iota Page 6
