by Jon F. Merz
“Megan, I’m being honest. I’m grateful for your work. What you think took you a long time seems remarkably short to me. Relax. It was an honest gesture.”
She sighed. “Okay, sorry. I’m so used to dealing with lightning fast hackers, I forget sometimes how to play around normal folks.”
I laughed. “The fact that you called me normal is hilarious.”
She paused and then laughed too. “Good point. Screw being normal. Everyone ‘normal’ I know is a complete hypocritical asshole.”
“We must know the same people,” I said. “But seriously, thanks again.”
“Good luck. Let me know if you need anything else.”
She hung up and I grabbed my laptop and sat down to wait for the email to come in. I didn’t even have to ask how Megan knew what my email address was. There wasn’t much she couldn’t hack. She’d worked with the government in their Tailored Access Operations unit out of Fort Meade a while back before she went independent. Megan probably knew more about me than I knew about myself. I’d have to keep that in mind whenever I went surfing or left a digital footprint some place.
My inbox dinged and I saw the quick couple of lines from her. I clicked on the link and it brought me to an anonymous site asking me for my log-in credentials. I punched them in, along with the password and then waited.
Instantly, my screen filled up with several options to search through. And I had a choice to make on where to start looking into Amalfi’s life. I could go with email, text, pictures from his camera roll, notes, messenger, and then a whole bunch of other apps.
For only having had the phone for a few months, Amalfi certainly had a lot of stuff to pore over. No doubt he’d migrated his old stuff into his new phone, but the question was where to start? I opted for email first, hoping that I’d come across a message from his lover.
But after scrolling through so many convoluted emails dealing with lawsuits, lawyers, and legalese, I quickly abandoned that in favor of his texts. I saw a bunch from his wife Samantha, most of them asking when he was coming home. I frowned. Clearly, their marriage wasn’t going to have any stories written about it anytime soon. Not unless people were interested in reading about a loveless relationship.
The texts to his kids were vastly different, however. It was clear reading through them that Amalfi loved his children very much. He was constantly asking how their day had gone, what grades they had received on tests, and he was even a fan of sending motivational memes to them. I came across a few embedded pictures of him with his kids and I had to admit that they all looked pretty happy.
Nowhere, however, were there texts from his lover. I frowned. She’d already shown that she was capable of hiding her tracks and giving nothing to the likes of me. Had she wiped his phone clean, too, somehow? Was it even possible?
I kept going. I popped open Facebook’s messenger app next and took a long, slow scroll through those messages. I also accessed the “filtered” and “archived” boxes on that app, just to make sure that things hadn’t gotten accidentally misplaced. No luck there, either.
I tried Snapchat, but the list of things still active was terribly short. And while I didn’t think it would do any good, I pulled up his camera roll and started going through that, flipping through picture after picture. Amalfi liked to take selfies, that was evident. There were pictures of him in his office - a grand affair with a huge window behind him overlooking Boston Harbor, pictures of him at restaurants, with a bunch of old fogies I assumed worked in his office, a number of them with attractive women who also looked like they worked with him, and then a hundred or so shots of him working out.
Those piqued my interest, mainly because I was interested in seeing what the guy could put up. A couple shots showed him lifting about five hundred pounds on his deadlift. That would have been great for a human, but it was only so-so for a vampire. He liked the bench press, apparently, and the pictures showed that he had good pectoral development from doing it as much as he apparently did. The guy had a decent six-pack as well, something that no doubt helped when it came to attracting women.
I leaned back in my chair and sighed. This was not to treasure trove of information that I’d hoped for, by any means. I grabbed my phone and punched in Megan’s number again.
“Now what?”
“One quick question: is it possible for you to tell if things were deleted off of his phone and when they were deleted?”
“Not unless I have the phone, sunshine.”
I frowned. “I as afraid you were going to say that.”
“Why? You think someone wiped it?”
“There’s nothing here. And there ought to be something I can use to find a connection that I’m looking for. But there isn’t. There’s absolutely nothing, which makes no sense. How the hell would people hook up these days if they don’t communicate with a cell phone?”
Megan chuckled. “Hey man, you’re the spy. You oughta be able to figure something like that out.”
“Yeah, thanks.” I hung up and sat there. Megan had a good point: and I hadn’t yet asked myself that question. If I was going to arrange a covert meeting or attempt to pass a message, how would I do it? Would I even trust a cell phone? Hell, knowing people like Megan existed, the answer was probably not. It had only taken her under twelve hours to crack a backup on the Cloud so I could access Amalfi’s phone and all she’d had was a phone number to go on.
No. A cell phone was too insecure. Although I had no doubt that whomever had killed Amalfi had taken the phone as a precaution. She wouldn’t be able to guarantee that Amalfi hadn’t told someone about her. Better safe than sorry.
If it was me…my mind drifted off for a moment. We’d become so reliant on technology that a lot of the old ways of doing things had fallen by the wayside. But that didn’t mean they weren’t still effective. If I’d been trying to set up something with someone, how would I have done it?
I would have arranged a meeting. Some place where we’d both be at a certain time each day. I would have learned my target’s schedule. People are predictable, after all. They follow patterns the same way animals follow a game trail in the woods. Terrorists and kidnappers know that people are inherently lazy and will revert to the easiest means of living unless they are one of those strongly-motivated individuals who eschews a typical life.
As accomplished as Amalfi was, he was still a man of routine. And that was where she would have found him.
The question no was, which routine would she have picked up on?
The answer was staring me in the face: literally.
A picture of Amalfi sitting on a bench with the barbell at his feet flexing was open on my laptop. She’d picked him up at the gym. It was the perfect place. She knew about when he’d be there, she knew she could see him in person and talk. There was no trail, no evidence that they were having an affair. It was easy and quick. They could have worked out together and made plans to meet later anytime. And it would have been virtually secure.
I checked my watch and saw that ninety minutes had elapsed since I’d started poring through this stuff. I needed food. But first, I put a call into Niles.
“I’m not due at the office for another two hours yet, Lawson.”
“Are the Ferrets still working Amalfi’s life?”
“Unless someone told them to stop, which they wouldn’t.”
“I need to know where he worked out.”
Niles’ voice sounded instantly more alert. “You have something?”
“Not yet. But possibly. I’ve been focusing on the wrong thing, obsessed with his cell phone instead of looking at the rest of his life and thinking about how I would have approached him.”
“Let me call the Ferrets,” said Niles. “I’ll get back to you.”
9
Ten minutes later, I had an answer.
“Superfit Fitness in the Back Bay,” said Niles. “Amalfi was a member there for about two years. I’d say that’s your best bet for the time being.”
&nb
sp; “Agreed. I’ll head down and see if they remember him.” I swallowed another swig of juice. “It’s not one of ours, is it?”
“Human joint,” said Niles. “Which surprised me. I don’t know why Amalfi would be interested in working out with humans. He’d have to conceal any strength he had.”
“Not necessarily,” I said. Amalfi might have enjoyed looking like he was the strongest bastard there, especially around young guns half his age who probably pegged him for being some old geezer they could out-lift in their sleep.”
“You think he was that egotistical?”
I didn’t tell Niles about the fact that I’d asked a lycanthrope to crack Amalfi’s backup file on his phone. Sometimes, it was better keeping Niles in the dark. Not because I didn’t trust him, but because I wouldn’t be putting him into a bad situation if I did. If the Council ever found out and came to him, Niles would have plausible deniability. And that would help keep him out of the shit.
“It’s possible,” I said. “The only way we’d know for certain would be if Amalfi was still alive. But since he’s not, I’ll have to go ask around about him.”
“Did his wife give you anything useful?”
“Not really. I don’t think they were winning any couples-of-the-year contests. Amalfi seems to have checked out a number of years ago. Guy loved his kids, though. Just a shame for him that he and his wife didn’t have that fire any longer.”
“Remind me never to get married,” said Niles.
“What’s the matter? You lose all your romantic optimism?”
“You could say that.” Niles paused. “Things haven’t been the same since…”
“I know, dude. I know. But that was one time. And there are still plenty of guys out there who would kill to have a partner as cool as you. Don’t give up hope, okay? You’re bumming me out.”
“Sorry,” said Niles. “It’s just been tough coming back from that event. I’ve thrown myself into my work, but I’m desperately lonely.”
I checked the clock. I needed to get showered and ready to go, but I didn’t want to cut Niles off while he was venting. I’d learned a long time ago that sometimes it’s just better to shut up and listen rather than offer an answer people weren’t interested in hearing anyway.
So that’s what I did. Niles vented for the better part of twenty minutes until he paused at last.
“Holy shit. Sorry, Lawson.”
I smiled. “You feel any better?”
“Actually, yeah.”
“Well, I see our time is up. Be sure to make an appointment with the receptionist on your way out.”
Niles actually chuckled, which was a good sign. “Thanks. I needed that.”
“Forget about it. You’ve always been there for me in the past. Least I could do was return the favor. But I’ve gotta run. I’ll check in later and let you know if I find anything out.”
“Okay.”
Thirty minutes later I was driving down 109 east through Westwood where I grabbed 128 North and then took the Pike into the city. I’d caught one of those rare traffic bubbles, so my commute in was under twenty-five minutes when I took the Copley Square exit and found myself close to Clarendon Street. I tucked my car away in a garage and walked out, embraced then by the harsh February wind that seemed to immediately suck all of the moisture out of my cheeks.
Superfit Fitness was one of those franchises that made a point of telling you it was okay to suck. Their commercials were famous for stressing a judgment-free environment, muffin days for muffin tops, and safe zones for people easily intimidated by those who don’t spout excuses and actually put hard work in.
In other words, if you didn’t really feel like pushing yourself to be better, then Superfit Fitness was the place where you could say you were working out without really breaking a sweat. All to the tune of a mere ten bucks a month.
And yeah, I was judging.
It comes down to what I’ve always believed: if you want to get better at something, you have to push yourself out of your comfort zone and actually do work. There are no shortcuts. There are no easy paths to staying fit and healthy. Without the grunt work, without the sweat, and without the determination, all you’ll ever have is a nice pair of yoga pants or compression shorts you can wear all day long and give the appearance that you workout when what you really do is gab for twenty minutes before hitting the nearest Starbucks for a triple mocha whatever. And then next December 31st, you’ll pop out onto Facebook and proclaim this as the year you get serious because you’ve spent the last twelve months not doing shit except watching your waistline expand since you lacked the discipline to tell your excuses to fuck off.
Ah, what the hell, at least they were in the gym. That was something, I supposed.
An upbeat pop tune greeted me upon pulling open the door to the place and a wall of heat enveloped me, instantly making me sleepier than I wanted to be. I saw an empty sign on a table close by proclaiming that today was pizza day at lunchtime. Several folks walked on treadmills and one or two ran on them. Way in the back, I saw the weights, but it was clearly relegated to a section out of line of sight for the majority of members. I remembered another one of their commercials that parodied people who lift weights as being mindless gorillas.
Cute.
“Hey there, good morning, can I help you?”
The smile could not possibly have been any brighter and I wondered if the kid standing in front of me rented his mouth out as a portable light source in coal mines on his off hours. He’d clearly overdosed on tooth whitener, but the product appeared to be working remarkably well.
I should have brought my sunglasses.
“Is the manager around?”
“Yeah, dude, I’m him. My name’s Chaz.”
“Chaz?”
“Yeah short for Charles.”
“They’re both monosyllabic.”
Chaz looked at me like I’d just spoken Sanskrit. “Uh…what?”
“Never mind. Listen…Chaz….I’m trying to find out some information about a guy who used to be a member here.”
“You mean he quit?” Chaz looked crestfallen. “Man, bummer.”
“He didn’t quit by choice; he was murdered.”
Chaz didn’t say anything for a moment. Then he cracked a grin. “Oh okay, I get it. That’s a joke, right? Funny.”
“Chaz, look at me for a moment: do I look like the sort of man who would joke about someone getting murdered?”
“Well, I dunno, dude. I only just met you.”
I had to give him that. “Well, I don’t.”
Chaz nodded to the back of the gym. “Maybe we should talk in my office. This probably isn’t the best sort of conversation to have out here on the floor.”
“Probably not.” I followed him into a plain sterile office about eight feet by eight feet. Two huge posters hung on the walls reasserting the company motto of “Everyone Is Awesome!” A desktop computer sat on the desk. Chaz had a couple of pens topped with giant erasers of bunny ears. Working for him must have been quite an interesting experience.
I sat in a plastic chair while he sat behind his desk in the same style chair. “Okay, so I have not heard anything about this, but who is it?”
“Richard Amalfi.”
“Richie?” Chaz slumped back in his chair. “Oh, man.” He sighed for several seconds. I was guessing Chaz hadn’t experienced much death beyond perhaps a goldfish or two when he was younger. “I just saw him last week. We had a good talk.”
“About what?”
“Just stuff. You know. He was a lawyer and I was thinking about getting into law at some point if this thing doesn’t work out.”
The irony of his phrasing amused me, but I refrained from mentioning it. One big word was probably enough for him today. “You guys ever talk about his love life at all?”
Chaz leaned forward. “I’m sorry, I totally forgot to ask: are you a cop?”
“Who else would be here asking these sorts of questions?”
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�Yeah, good point.” Chaz slumped back again. “I mean, not really. I knew he had a thing for the ladies. We all knew he was married, but you know, it happens. You come in here with all these amazingly fit individuals and people are wearing next to nothing and people just sorta click. It’s almost unavoidable.”
I made a mental note to start using the phrase “amazingly fit individuals” as my new go-to. “Anyone in particular catch his eye?”
“Why? You think someone here could have murdered him?
“Anything’s possible. We’re just trying to rule out any potential folks. Talk to people who might have interacted with Amalfi outside of here.”
“Richie didn’t really talk to any of the other guys except for me. We talked a lot about strength programs and the like.”
Chaz looked like he weighed one hundred pounds and couldn’t deadlift anything more than a pizza box. But who knew? “And the ladies?”
“Oh, they definitely dug him. He was a good-looking, older, successful dude. Who wouldn’t want to hitch their wagon train to his shooting star you know?”
Oh good, mixed metaphors now. I was going to need an English grammar detox session after this conversation. “Sure, makes sense.”
“Most of the time, it was admiration from afar. A lot of them maybe didn’t feel like they were in his league. We get a lot of ladies in here who would rather talk a lot than workout. The clothes help, but you can’t disguise effort, you know?”
“Go on.”
“But we have a few girls here who are legit badasses.”
“And what makes them so?”
“They’ll do weight circuits, cardio, that sort of thing. They’ll think nothing of wearing a sports bra around the place and you can see the cut of their abs.”
“I could have sworn you guys frowned on that sort of thing.”
Chaz shrugged. “Well, sometimes we bend the rules a little bit. A little eye candy for our more obese members isn’t a bad thing. Hell, it brings the guys in just for the chance to ogle, y’know?”
“How many calories does ogling burn again?”
Chaz laughed. “Yeah, I know, but business is business.”
