by Ray Daniel
“What does Anderson know?”
“That he was locked out of his email.”
“Can you use that?”
The cab driver had fallen into a sullen stupor as traffic inched its way through the tunnel. Simple logic dictated that the cars in this tunnel would eventually make it to the surface and go home, but I saw little evidence of that. I had given us about an hour to make a ten-minute drive across town, and it looked as if we were going to use every minute of it.
“This traffic is ridiculous,” I said.
Jael said, “The traffic is irrelevant. You must find a way to regain the initiative against Anderson. He is dictating to you.”
“I could call him now.”
“And say what?”
“You’ll see.” I started dialing, then stopped. “He said he’d kill me if I kept bothering him.”
“Everyone has threatened to kill you.”
“Yeah, you’re right. What’s one more?”
Anderson picked up immediately. “Tucker, you hacking son of a bitch.”
“And a Merry Christmas to you too, sir. Oh, I’m sorry. Do your people celebrate Christmas?”
“What people?”
“Dickless assholes.”
Jael rolled her eyes.
Anderson ignored the insult. “Did you hack my email account?”
“And what if I did?”
“We’d have a problem.”
“You sure that you don’t want to send that to me in an email? I could send you my PGP key.”
Silence.
“Yeah, Dave, I hacked your email,” I said. “Turnabout is fair play.”
“Well, as you say, it is encrypted.”
“For now.”
“What’s that mean?”
“It means I’m decrypting it on my computer as we speak.”
“Decrypting it? How are you decrypting it?”
“Why do you think it’s called Pretty Good Privacy and not Fucking Great Privacy? It’s like hiding your house key under your doormat. They assign hacking PGP as a homework assignment in computer science classes.”
This was a great big lie. Nobody has ever successfully decrypted PGP. It is, in fact, Fucking Great Privacy. But Anderson wouldn’t know that. Like most of the public, he’d assume that hackers are invincible and unstoppable.
Anderson said, “You are a dead man.”
“Oh, very dramatic, Dave. But I don’t think so. My whole stash of email goes to the FBI if something happens to me.” That was an excellent idea. I should set that up. “They’ll crack PGP even faster than me.”
Silence at the other end.
“Hello, Dave?” I said. “Can you hear me now?”
“What do you want?” Anderson asked.
“I want you to give me Maria without a meeting tomorrow. I want you to call off your ambush and not kill Sal or me.”
“Kill Sal? I was never going to kill Sal.”
“Then what’s the purpose of the meeting? What do you want for Maria?”
“I want Sal to call off his $10,000 hit on me, that’s what I want. Then I want to go back to the way we were before he and I ever got involved.”
“You going to give him his money back?”
“I’m going to give him his daughter back.”
“You don’t need a meeting for that.”
“Yes, Tucker, I do. If I’m going to get Maria back to Sal, there has to be a meeting. A face-to-face meeting. That’s the way it’s gotta be.”
What the hell?
“And Tucker,” Anderson continued, “all that email crap doesn’t mean squat if there isn’t someone to testify as to how it was gathered. It would all get thrown out in court. So you enjoy your computational masturbation. Decrypt it all, because I don’t care.”
I was negotiating on fumes. “You’re not gonna like the distraction, Dave.”
“I swear to God, Tucker, if you call me Dave one more time—”
“You’ll what? Kill me twice?”
“Wait for my call tomorrow,” Anderson said. “As for today, watch the news and think about if you really want to threaten me.”
He hung up.
I turned to Jael. “He doesn’t care about the emails. He still wants to meet.”
“Don’t worry,” Jael said. “I will—”
The cabbie interrupted us. “Here you go, sir.”
The Whiskey Priest squatted in the darkness. Caroline was inside. She knew everything about me, and had been emailing Anderson.
It was time for some truth.
Sixty-One
Caroline Quinn sat alone along the back window of the Whiskey Priest, the nighttime lights of Boston Harbor twinkling behind her as she read emails on her phone. Three rocks glasses sat on the table in front of her, two with an amber liquid, one with ice. It looked like she was waiting for me.
“Would you wait by the bar?” I asked Jael.
“You think this interrogation will go better without me?” Jael asked.
“I think that I’m not sure it should be an interrogation.”
“You have not shown good judgment when it comes to—”
Caroline looked up, saw us, smiled, and waved us over. She stood as we approached. She wore a black turtleneck under a black cable sweater. Whatever prosthetic she had chosen today was hidden beneath an outstanding pair of sleek navy jeans.
Caroline hugged me and shook Jael’s hand. “I’m Caroline Quinn.”
Jael shook the hand. “I am Jael Navas.”
“You were with Tucker on Hanover Street, right?”
“I am his bodyguard.”
Caroline gave Jael an up-and-down appraisal. “Well, let’s sit.”
We sat. Caroline sat across from me next to the window. Jael sat next to Caroline, hemming her in.
Caroline glanced at Jael but turned her attention to me. “I ordered you one of my favorite bourbons, Tucker. It’s called Blanton’s,” said Caroline. “Jael, would you like some whiskey?”
“No, thank you. I am working.”
“Should I be worried? Are we going to get attacked?”
“Not to my knowledge.”
I tried my bourbon. “It’s good,” I said. “Thank you.”
We sat. Looked out into the harbor. There was nothing to see. The sun had pulled its disappearing act hours ago. I looked over the dark water. Random lights twinkled across the harbor. Caroline reached out. Touched my hand. I pulled it back without thinking. Caroline sat back. Crossed her arms.
“Well, this is awkward,” she said.
“What’s awkward?” I asked.
“This whole thing. The two of you. A bodyguard. What the hell is going on?”
“How was your day?” I asked.
“Oh, it was peachy. How was yours?”
“Funny you should ask. I hacked David Anderson’s email account today.”
“You realize that’s a felony,” said Caroline.
The Blanton’s warmth rode through me. “You going to turn me in?”
“Of course not. Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I mean, if you didn’t turn me in after what I told you today, then why turn me in for this, right?”
“Okay. Let’s do a reset. I need to go to the ladies’ room.” Caroline stood. “Excuse me, Jael.”
Jael remained in place.
Caroline tapped Jael on the arm. “Excuse me.”
Jael said, “Tucker has a question for you.”
“Well,” said Caroline, “Tucker and his question will just have to wait. Now get the hell out of my way.”
This was going badly. I nodded. Jael stood. Caroline slipped around the table and locked her gaze on me. “You had better have figured out a fucking great explanation for all this by the time I get back.”
Jael asked, “Why didn’t you ask her about the email?”
“I’m working up to it,” I said.
“She knows everything.”
“I know. I know.”
We looked out the window until Caroline returned. She made an ushering motion to Jael. “Do you mind?”
“Do I mind?” asked Jael.
“Do you mind waiting at the bar? I want to talk to this chucklehead alone. I promise to guard his body for you while you’re gone.”
Jael slipped out of the booth. Strode to the bar, arranged herself where she could keep an eye on us.
Caroline sat, knocked the rest of her bourbon back, and thunked the glass onto the wooden table. “Explanations,” she said. “Now.”
I pulled the printed email out of my pocket, spread it out on the table. “I found this email.”
Caroline looked at the sheet. “It’s an email from me to David Anderson.”
“Yeah.”
“So?”
“What do you mean, ‘So?’ You sent it today, right after our—”
“Assignation?”
“Yeah, our assignation.”
“Do you demand an email embargo from everyone you fuck?”
“No.”
“Then what the hell?”
“David Anderson has threatened to kill me.”
“I don’t blame him.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
“Why did you email him?”
“It’s none of your goddamn business.”
“Well—”
“But I’ll tell you anyway.”
“You will?”
“Yes. You know why?”
“No.”
Caroline took both my hands in hers. She was warm and her hands were soft. She leaned forward, bore in. “Because it’s clear to me that you’re scared shitless.”
My breath caught in my throat. She had named it. I started to talk, got stuck, tried again.
“Shh,” Caroline said. “Don’t say anything. I know you’re scared, Tucker. It’s why I came to see you this morning.”
“Wha—?”
“Sal had told me what happened in Charlestown.”
“He did?”
“You know why you’re terrified? Because you know this could get you killed, but you also won’t leave that little girl out there on her own.”
I drained my glass, hoping the buzz would hit immediately.
Caroline continued, “And I thought, here’s a guy who’s got what it takes to stick with Maria. He’ll have what it takes to stick with me.”
“Stick with you?”
“Despite my job and my leg and my personality.”
“I love your personality.”
“Clearly, you have a mental condition.”
I laughed. First laugh I’d had all day.
Caroline nudged the email. “David Anderson wanted to put me on retainer to be his advisor. If you decrypt that email you’ll see that it reads ‘No means no.’”
“You turned him down? He must have offered you millions.”
“I don’t need millions. I need self-respect. If he gets arrested, I’ll make sure the state proves its case and he’ll pay me for my time. But I’m not—”
“Excuse me.” Bobby Miller stood above us, Jael next to him. “I need you with me, Tucker,” he said.
“What?”
“Here’s your coat. We’re going.”
Caroline said, “We’re talking.”
“Sorry, Counselor,” said Bobby. He threw my coat in my lap. “Let’s go.”
“But—where?”
Bobby turned, headed for the door.
I stood to follow, but Caroline caught me. Kissed my cheek. “Be safe,” she said.
Safety? That would be sweet.
Sixty-Two
Bobby’s Chevy Impala steamed exhaust in a double-parked spot on Northern Ave. As we climbed over a shoveled-out fire hydrant to reach the car, Bobby said, “You can sit in the back with Jael.”
“I would love to sit in the back with Jael, but I have something you need to know,” I said.
“You can tell me from the back.”
“It’s hard to talk from the back.”
“Good. Then for once in your life, don’t talk.”
I slumped in the back seat, directly behind Bobby. Jael slid in next to me.
I typed out a message on my phone, showed it to her: I need to talk about Hanover Street. You OK with it?
Jael pursed her lips. She was most likely not okay with it.
Trust me.
Jael nodded, crossed her arms, and looked out the window.
I called forward, “So, as I was saying.”
“Yeah, Tucker, tell me what you were saying,” Bobby said.
“I was saying that you are a big fat pussy.”
Bobby nearly spun the car trying to turn and get a look at me. “Fuck you.”
“Hey, pussy, you wanted me to sit back here. Now you deal with it.”
Bobby caught my eye in the rearview mirror. “How am I a pussy?”
“All this bullshit about how I lied to you.”
“You did lie to me.”
“How?”
“You kept Hanover Street from me.”
“What do you think happened on Hanover Street?”
“I think you and Jael were talking to Hugh Graxton and Oscar Sagese when Pistol Salvucci and his buddy smashed the window and tried to shoot you.”
“That’s what you think.”
“Yeah, it’s obvious. Ten witnesses place you there.”
“Then what do you need me for, Bobby? You want me to pat you on the head and tell you how smart you are?”
“I want you to be honest with me.”
“And that makes you a pussy,” I said. “‘Oh, Tucker, it hurts my feelings when you don’t share.’”
“This has nothing to do with sharing. It has to do with trust.”
“Trust? You’ve still got your GPS tracker on my phone. What do you know about trust? You’ve got no idea who to trust.”
“Oh, fuck you.”
“Jael here is the most trustworthy person on the planet, and yet you trust that piece of shit Frank Cantrell over her.”
“Frank is a good agent,” Bobby said. “What are you trying to do?”
“What am I trying to do? I’m trying to save your friggin’ life, you moron.”
“Why would you say that about Frank?”
I paused. Could I do this without betraying Sal? The impossibilities of my situation hadn’t changed. I had done nothing but wedge myself in tighter between a rock and a hard place.
Bobby said, “Well?”
I caught Bobby’s eye in the rearview mirror. “You promise not to arrest me if I tell you this?”
“Of course I don’t promise not to arrest you. What did you do?”
“It’s a felony.”
“For Christ’s sake. Just tell me.”
“I hacked David Anderson’s email today, downloaded a bunch of his messages.”
“And?”
“Frank Cantrell sent an email to David Anderson this afternoon.”
“What did it say?”
“I don’t know. It was encrypted.”
“Seriously? What do you want me to do with that?”
“Well, isn’t it suspicious?”
“I don’t know,” said Bobby. “There are a thousand reasons that Frank could be emailing Anderson.”
“Name one.”
“Undercover operation.”
“Wouldn’t you know about it?”
“No. That’s what makes it an underc
over operation.” Bobby pulled to a stop next to Columbus Park, where Sal, Hugh, and I had argued a day ago.
Jael said, “There is more.”
“You think Frank’s dirty too?” Bobby asked.
“Agent Cantrell is dirty,” said Jael. “I am sure of it. I have seen it myself.”
“What did he do?”
Jael said to me, “There is only one way forward.”
“I don’t want to betray him,” I said.
Bobby asked, “Who?”
“Anyone,” I said. “I don’t want to betray anyone.”
“Will you just tell me what’s going on?”
Jael said, “It is time for the truth, Tucker.”
“Are you going to tell him?” I asked.
“You should do it.”
I took a deep breath. “Bobby, a couple of days ago I was on the Commonwealth Ave Mall with Jael and S—”
Someone rapped on the window. We looked out to see Frank Cantrell shout through the glass: “You guys going to get out here or what?”
Sixty-Three
The twinkling lights under the Columbus Park arbor were pulling their weight now that the sun was gone, turning an archway of desiccated vines into a fairy tunnel. I’d have stopped to gape at them if I wasn’t being hustled along to a spot beyond the park where a fence made of thick black chains kept people from accidentally pitching into the harbor.
The chains did nothing, however, to keep a body from being intentionally pitched into the harbor. The body at the bottom of the rock harbor rested on a pile of frozen seawater chunks.
“Who is it?” I asked.
“You mean who was it,” said Frank Cantrell.
“Yeah, who was it?”
“Jarrod Cooper.”
Jarrod’s body was splayed across the chunks, his neck bent at an impossible angle, his legs floating in the water.
“Did somebody throw him down there?”
“We figure he got shot and then thrown into the water farther away from shore. But the currents are crazy, and he must have drifted in here at high tide.”
“The tide is going out now,” Jael said.
Frank said, “Yeah. But he got hung up on the ice.”
I asked Bobby, “Why did you bring me here?”
“I wanted to know if you had any ideas about who did this,” Bobby said. “Give you a chance to tell us what might have happened.”
