Zero Sum

by Russell Blake

He checked on the stock one more time. Still up eighty-four cents, low volume. No fireworks. On the way out the door, the phone rang. Steven snagged it. “Hello.”

  Silence on the line.

  “Helloooo…”

  Faint clicking and more silence. He hung up. After a few moments, ring ring…

  “Hello?” More clicking, line buzz.

  Odd…still, with cell service you occasionally got dead spots where you could hear the other person but they couldn’t hear you. It happened sometimes when the caller was driving. The wonders of a digital world. If it was important, they’d call back. They always did.

  Steven hopped into his car, a convertible mid-eighties Porsche he’d owned for eons. It still ran like a charm, looked good, and was indestructible. The Germans definitely knew a thing or two about building a car, and his 911 was the proof. He dropped the top and pulled out of the garage, narrowly avoiding taking out a skateboarder who rolled behind him as he backed out. The kid glared at him like he was the biggest asshole on the planet. Have a nice day, and welcome to Newport Beach.

  He buzzed up the peninsula, enjoying the sharp acceleration from the powerful, throaty engine, and dropped off his dry cleaning, hit the coffee shop, and stopped in at the grocery to pick up some odds and ends. Next up, he went by the tackle shop to collect a reel he’d left for maintenance. Of course it wasn't quite ready yet - a perennial problem with the tackle repair guys, but they assured him it would be in just a few minutes, which turned into forty five.

  The whole exercise took half the day – mainly due to the summer beach traffic clogging the streets with the usual chaotic abandon. Throngs of bikini-clad nymphettes orbited PCH like satellites, checking out their male counterparts, who were displaying every variety of tattoo and piercing and nonchalant muscle-flexing conceivable. It was a state of barely-controlled pandemonium that occurred every summer; part of the price one paid for living in paradise.

  Steven arrived back at the house to find Jennifer languishing in the living room, watching the parade of humanity go by on the boardwalk.

  “How’s the head?” he asked, moving the grocery bags into the kitchen.

  “Getting better. I went back to sleep after you left, then the guys from the Gas Company woke me up, and I’ve been down here ever since.” She sounded better, if a little groggy.

  “What guys from the Gas Company?”

  “They knocked on the door, needed to check the kitchen and garage with their sniffer. It was routine. They said they were doing all the houses around here today.”

  The hair on the back of his neck prickled. “What exactly did they do? Where did they go?”

  “Why? I just told you, they sniffed around in the kitchen and the garage. What’s wrong?”

  “Were you with them both at all times? How long were they here?” He tried to sound light.

  “Well, I let them in, and walked them back to the garage. One of them spent some time by the water heater looking around the pilot light, and the other one went into the kitchen and sniffed around the stove. Oh, and he went upstairs for a minute to check the heater in the attic. They said everything looked fine... What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “So the one in the house was alone some of the time?”

  “Well, now that you mention it, I guess he was for a minute or two. Steven, you’re scaring me. Why are you asking all these questions? What’s wrong?”

  Steven sighed. “Probably nothing. It’s just that the website was hacked last night, and my system crashed this morning, and I guess I’m a little rattled.”

  “You didn’t say anything about any of that. They were very polite, had the little blue jumpsuits – I didn’t even think twice about it.”

  “No worries. How long ago was that?”

  “About forty-five minutes... Steven, should I be worried?”

  “Nah. I’m just a little wound up right now. Damn...I’ll be right back, I forgot something in the car.”

  He hurried into the garage and looked around. Everything seemed fine, nothing out of place. Still, his stomach had a knot in it, little butterflies singing the ‘something’s not quite right’ song. He pushed the garage door opener and went out onto the street. Looked in both directions. No Gas Company trucks. Didn’t mean anything, but didn’t mean that everything was okay, either. He lowered the door and went back in.

  “Did you find it?” Jennifer called from the couch.

  “What? Oh, I just left the top down. I wanted to put it up so it wouldn’t wrinkle. I’m going to go hit the head.”

  He ran upstairs, checked on his watches. None missing. He’d held onto a few high-end Rolexes and Pateks from his collecting days to wear occasionally on dressy occasions. The Gas Company ninjas had apparently passed them by.

  Maybe he was just being paranoid.

  He snagged the phone as he went into the bathroom. Dialed information.

  “Newport Beach, the Gas Company.” He selected the ‘put me through automatically’ option, before entering a call tree from hell. “If you’d like to be put on indefinite hold, press one. If you’d like to report your house blew up, press two.” After a few symphonies of music-on-hold he got a real, live person, who grilled him for his account number, which he didn’t know, then took him through the fifth degree to establish that he wasn’t an identity thief. Once he was verified as genuine, he asked about testing at his address.

  That led to another five minutes on hold because the customer service rep didn’t know – such knowledge required a supervisor. When the supervisor came on the line Steven repeated his question, but the best she could do was take his details and commit to calling back with more information later – the crew schedules weren’t accessible from the telephone service center. Steven gave her his information and hung up.

  He returned downstairs and got on the computer. Allied had closed down almost a dollar, an unexpected and happy development. The message boards were relatively quiet. He logged onto his ‘Group’ forum and posted a greeting. A message immediately popped up.

  [Dude, the site’s awesome, but man, if I were that Griffen prick I’d be pissed – Pogo]

  He bantered a bit, before telling the Group about his ISP getting hacked. One of the more heavyweight guys, who sometimes intimated a deeper knowledge of a broad range of topics, some not strictly legal, posted

  [That’s a pretty alarming breach on the firewall. I just pinged it and it’s bulletproof at first glance. If they were able to not only breach but also access security areas, that’s heavy talent. You better be careful. Gordo]

  He spent some more time debating strategies to safeguard his privacy, but had been set on edge by Gordo’s post and the open Gas Company issue, so he logged off sooner than he normally would have. He heard Jennifer in the kitchen and went to see how she was doing.

  Jennifer was looking better, though she knew him well enough to know something was bugging him, and she called him on it. “What’s your deal, Steven?” she asked him. “You’re here, but you’re not.”

  He considered telling her about the warning from the Group and his unease over the Gas Company visit, but thought better of it. Nothing had happened that warranted any concern other than a half-expected hacking attempt a thousand miles away – and he was dealing with that.

  “I just have a lot going on at the moment. I’m gonna go upstairs and meditate; that should bring me back to earth.” He looked out at the beach and cocked his head. “Honey, it’s really beautiful out. Let’s put the top down and run down to Corona Del Mar for dinner. Martinis are on me.”

  “Deal.”

  Chapter 11

  Steven’s meditation was troubled. Instead of a sense of descending to progressively lower and lower levels of awareness, or rather of increasing the level of tranquility and peacefulness at each stage, it was punctuated by random leaping thoughts and a vague sense of unease.

  It was far from relaxing. When he came to full awareness, he remained distinctly anxious. He’d come to
trust his instincts, and they were insisting that something disturbing was on the horizon – and drawing ever closer.

  Jennifer went upstairs when he came down. He’d changed into a linen shirt and loose linen trousers with a pair of huaraches, sort of the dressed-down version of white guy on vacation. He filled Avalon’s water bowl, cleared the remaining items off the counter – and vowed to stay away from the computer. While he was waiting for Jennifer to freshen up and return, the phone rang. He picked up.

  “Mr. Archer?”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s Monica Sweeney at the Gas Company. Sorry to take so long to get back to you.”

  “No problem. Any news?”

  “I’m still checking, but I haven’t noticed any activity in your area for today. It’s quite possible a crew was there, but I don’t see it on my printouts. We aren’t perfect, though, so this isn’t the last word...”

  “Well, that’s not very reassuring,” he said, “considering there were two guys in my house earlier claiming to be your employees.”

  “Did they show ID when they arrived?”

  “You kn…I…I don’t know, I wasn’t here. My girlfriend was.”

  “Always ask to see identification before admitting anyone into your house.”

  “Thanks, I’ll remember that,” Steven said patiently.

  “And like I said, there could be a crew out there, it’s just not on my system. Sorry I can’t be more help.”

  “Well, thanks for checking.”

  “You’re welcome. Have a nice evening, and thank you for calling the Gas Company.”

  Well, that hadn’t left him any the wiser, but given nothing had been touched, though, the best bet was the obvious; it was a routine check, and he was just a teensy bit on edge from the drama surrounding the website and the message boards.

  His ruminations were pleasantly interrupted by Jennifer’s descent down the stairs. She was stunning, wearing a simple white summer dress that accentuated her deeply tanned skin and mane of blonde hair; the scent of tropical flowers and coconut accompanied her into the room.

  “Wow. Someone could get lucky tonight if she wanted. You fully recovered?”

  Jennifer smiled. “Better by the minute. What does a girl have to do to get a decent Cosmopolitan in this town?”

  “Hop into the beach-mobile. Your chariot awaits.” He grabbed his keys and cell phone, and escorted her to the garage, opening her door for her and holding it as she got into the Porsche. The engine turned over with a meaty roar, the top went smoothly down, and soon they were cruising down Pacific Coast Highway with the warm summer breeze in their hair.

  Monday night at the restaurant was relatively quiet, and in spite of the popularity of the area at that time of year there wasn’t much of a crowd. Jennifer ordered her Cosmo, and he a Malbec. They were seated in a booth overlooking the kitchen, and enjoyed watching the crew frantically turning out the orders and preparing the food, rushing about in a controlled and well-choreographed pandemonium. They made small talk – she complaining about her job, he about property taxes being raised on the boat. They deliberately stayed away from any discussion of Allied. Jennifer had made it clear she didn’t enjoy that topic, and at this point, Steven sort of agreed with Jennifer that Allied had gotten enough of his attention for a while.

  It was a pleasant enough dinner, although a tension played between them that was only somewhat eased by the alcohol. That had been a recurring theme for the last few weeks, but Steven didn’t know what to do about it. She’d just turn distant on him, with no explanation.

  Their relationship worked because they both wanted the same things, or at least they had until recently, since Jennifer’s younger sister gave birth to a daughter. Ever since, Jennifer had been probing his sentiment about families and marriage, but that wasn’t on his radar at the moment. The nesting noises kept coming up, and he knew he needed to discuss things with her, but it was bad timing right now, what with all his focus being on the market and the site. He just wanted to get past this period and have a more normalized life, and then he’d be in a better position to consider things with her. He figured they’d work things out with time. Just not right now.

  The beach traffic was dying down as they returned to the house, and the frantic throngs of revelers along the sidewalks had dispersed, leaving the area temporarily tranquil. Steven pulled into the garage and shut off the engine, returning the top to its closed position. He kissed Jennifer softly, but she pulled away from his embrace. The romance had evidently been put on hold for the evening. Such was life – he’d long ago given up on trying to predict feminine behavior. They entered the house, she following him, and she almost ran headfirst into his shoulder blades.

  He’d stopped abruptly in the hallway leading into the living room.

  “Steven, what the hell are you...” and then she saw what had frozen him in his tracks.

  He turned, his hand over her mouth, and whispered in her ear. “Back out to the car. Now.”

  They moved quickly back into the garage, and he raised the door and started the engine. He pulled out, so he could see his front door and garage while parked diagonally, and dialed 911. Jennifer opened the car door and quietly vomited her dinner into the street, then sat sobbing quietly beside him.

  “Newport Beach Police, Emergency,” the voice on the line declared.

  “I need police at 811 Boardwalk on the Peninsula immediately. My name is Steven Archer, I live there, and I’m reporting a break-in and a killing.” Steven’s voice was steady, with only the slightest quaver to it.

  “Sir, I’m dispatching two cars at once. What is your location and telephone number, and can you please describe what’s happened? You’re being recorded.”

  “I’m parked outside the house in a blue Porsche. I don’t know if the intruders are still inside, or whether they’re armed or not, but I do know they’ve killed my dog and left him in the middle of the living room. I’ll stay on the line until someone gets here.” He choked down some rising bile, caught his breath. “You should hurry.”

  Chapter 12

  The crime scene van arrived twenty minutes after the first squad car. According to the police, there was no sign of a forced entry; and the house appeared undisturbed, other than the butchered corpse of Avalon lying in a rust-colored pool of blood on the living room carpet and the heavy metallic smell of expended bodily fluids sullying the air.

  Avalon’s head had been severed and placed on the small coffee table in the living room, positioned so it would appear to be waiting for and watching anyone entering from the garage. The effect was chilling, and the cruelty and sickness of it resonated in the room even after the technicians had removed the remains.

  The police were sympathetic to the situation, but given that the alarm hadn’t been activated and nothing had been stolen, the actual teeth for a serious investigation weren’t there. Everyone was horrified by the viciousness of the crime, but at the end of the day it was a B&E and cruelty to animals charge – not exactly murder one.

  Jennifer was deeply shaken, and after the police took her statement she adjourned upstairs and left them to Steven.

  “Do you have any idea who might have done this? An angry ex or disgruntled employee? Has anyone threatened you?” Sergeant Matthews was courteous and efficient, but clearly not the sharpest.

  “No. It’s the first time anything like this has ever happened to me. I don’t know anyone who would do something like this.” Steven considered telling him about the website, but decided against it. What would the theory be? Steven wanted to point the finger at Griffen, but even in his head it sounded pretty stupid that a multi-millionaire Wall Street icon would be butchering pets at a beach rental as retribution for speculating that one of his companies was junk. That, and he didn’t want to go on record as being the creator of the site. What would be the point of going down that road?

  He did mention the Gas Company visit, and the sergeant noted it, however, even as he uttered the words he re
alized how idiotic his concerns sounded.

  “Okay then,” the sergeant ventured. “You mentioned you had a software company, correct? Did you ever do anything business-wise that might have come back to haunt you?”

  Getting colder, colder.

  “No. I just don’t understand why anyone would do this,” Steven said. “I mean, what kind of sadistic rat fuck would cut a dog’s head off? And such a good dog, not a mean-spirited bone in his body.”

  “I know, it’s a weird one, but it’s not the first weird one around here during the season. Look, there are a lot of oddballs in town, street people, crazies, kids high on all kinds of wild shit. Summer brings them out of the woodwork. It’s possible one of them got in somehow, or that it was some kind of really fucked-up skinhead initiation, or a dare or something.” Poor Sergeant Matthews, eyes glazing over even as he said it.

  Steven was becoming annoyed with all the holes in the idiotic theory the cop was trying to force the situation into fitting. “There’s no sign of a struggle, and no blood anywhere but where he was hacked up.”

  “Good points.” The officer walked towards the door, Steven following. “Let me offer some advice. Change your locks, set your alarm, and be watchful for any odd characters loitering around. The majority of destructive or vandalism crimes don’t make a lot of sense, and most of the time we get nothing like all the facts. This one is probably no exception. It’s one of the frustrations we all have when something bad happens. There are no resources to do a full-scale multi-day investigation on something like this. I know that isn’t comforting, but this week we’ll probably have fifty vandalisms, double that many DUIs, a whole busload of B&Es, fights, assaults, two or three rape charges per night, stabbings, hit-and-runs…you get the picture.”

  Put like that, Newport Beach sounded like Beirut.

  “Officer, I understand what you’re saying, but–”

  “It’s Sergeant, Mr. Archer. Here’s my card. We’ve dusted the entryways for prints, we’ve checked for signs of forced entry, we’ve shot the crime scene, we’ve talked to your neighbors. There isn’t a lot more we can do. Most of the time these things are either someone you know, or a crazy. You don’t know anyone who would do this, so that leaves crazy. If anything comes up or you see anything suspicious, or if something occurs to you you’ve left out, then call me.”