The Solid-State Shuffle (Sunken City Capers Book 1)

by Jeffrey A. Ballard

  "Anything useful out of these?" I ask Winn about the auto-binoculars.

  "No," Winn says. "Unless 'Lumberjacks canoodled a tree on fire,' counts as useful."

  I pull back and glance at him. No smile, no mirth.

  On the street below, Long Chin is standing to the side of Squeeze, who is sitting on a flat stone railing. They're chatting in the absent-minded way of those who know each other well and are just trying to pass the time while they keep an eye on things.

  But where's the Bald Accountant, Puo's equivalent, holed up?

  Squeeze glances at her bony wrist where she's wearing a watch—quaint—and then stands up from the railing and heads toward Korum's.

  "We have movement," I say. "Squeeze is headed inside."

  I watch the woman as she walks. She has the confidence of a woman who knows how to handle herself. She's wearing tight black-and-white checkered leggings with a white blouse and black vest. Easy to move in, the legging pattern is sufficiently an affront to the eyes. But she has long dirty-brown hair that almost cascades down to her waist, which is a liability in a fight. So, not a brawler? She's short, maybe five-six, five-five, with short stubby fingers. I'd think delicate handwork would be difficult for her, but not impossible, I suppose. What exactly is her role? She's plain looking, nothing to really set her off, so she's not classic seduction bait. She must have some use to Hayes.

  A few minutes later, I hear Squeeze's voice muffled through Hayes's pocket, "Eli, sweetie—"

  Eww. I never was one for pet names. It's even worse to hear them applied to that homunculus manboy Peter Pan.

  Squeeze continues. "—It's seven fifty. We need to move. You all right?"

  "Yes," Hayes says. "Just thinking over the situation, and the meeting I just had."

  I'll bet.

  Winn and I start packing up, ready to run to the Pelican to trail Hayes.

  "Learn anything?" Squeeze asks.

  Hayes is silent at first. I hear their footsteps on the concrete floor of Korum's, then I hear door hinges creak and then a door shut. "I think," Hayes says, "that her snot-nosed attitude is really who she might be—"

  Attitude? What attitude? I've been well behaved, thank you very much.

  Squeeze says, "I don't know why you don't let me take care of her."

  Take care of me? A stiff sneeze from me would knock that mousy shrew over. I'll take care of her, that stubby homunculus-fetishist. She may like it small, but she'll get a big fat—

  "Queen Bee," Winn says, "quiet. We can't hear what they're saying."

  Whoops. I snort to comply.

  Hayes is talking mid-sentence, "—prudent to accelerate our plans."

  Squeeze doesn't reply.

  Puo breaks in, "The beeper is moving out the back."

  Damn it. A place like Korum's has more than one entrance/exit. I just didn't think Hayes was high enough up to get regular access to those.

  "Keep on it," I say to Puo. I fish out the auto-binoculars and check. Long Chin is still there—a decoy. In case there's anyone in The Rusty Gate keeping an eye on Korum's. Damn. Hayes is proving more competent than I hoped.

  Winn and I high-tail it out of there to the Pelican. I plop into the passenger-side bucket seat, and slide my hand over Winn's hand on the start button to stop him from starting it up just yet.

  He looks between me and my hand touching his, and suddenly it's all awkward. I snatch my hand back and pretend nothing happened. "Toad," I say, "Keep us informed of Homunculus's movement."

  "Aye," Puo says. "Still moving on foot."

  Hayes and Squeeze have gone quiet as they walk. Hayes presumably gave some sort of hand signal to be silent.

  "They just popped out on the street," Puo says, "I've got them on a street cam in the distance. They're threading their way through the street traffic. I've got facial trackers running on them but ..."

  "But what?" I prod. I can hear the street noise through the audio feed of the beeper.

  "Yeah," Puo says, "They're gone. Ducked among the pedestrians."

  "Still got the beeper?" I ask. Not entirely surprising. Professionals know how to disappear, which is useful if you don't wish to be followed.

  "Loud and clear."

  "Run the facial trackers on the other feeds," Winn suggests.

  "Whadda ya take me for?" Puo asks. "A snot-nosed moon-pie?"

  I wait for Winn to respond, but he doesn't.

  I mouth "moon-pie" at him trying to prompt him to say something back, but Winn sits there looking somewhere between morose and angry.

  Brooding man-candy. So I respond for him, "You're more like pasture pie: big, steaming, round and brown."

  "I think," Puo says, "you mean cow pie."

  "Well—" I grin at Winn. "—You would know."

  Nothing from Winn. Sigh.

  "Mmmm," Puo says. "I do like pie, though."

  That gets a disgusted look on Winn that makes me laugh.

  "It's settled then," I say, "After this we're going for pie."

  "Score!" Puo celebrates. "Wait. Like tonight, or like after we take care of all this business?"

  "Like tonight," I say.

  "Whew," Puo says. "You had me worried there."

  Winn shakes his head, but there may be a lightness to his face that wasn't there a minute ago. Good. Maybe—

  "Dog farts!" Puo swears. "Hello, you hair-challenged clod." To us, Puo says, "I'm getting kicked out of the municipal systems. The trackers are getting shut off. I'm losing feeds."

  "Can you stay on?" I ask.

  There's silence, and I can hear him frantically typing and switching between keyboards. "Yeah," Puo says eventually. "He's good. But I'm better."

  "Let him kick you off," I say quickly.

  "What!" Puo says.

  Winn nods at me. "But do it," Winn says to Puo, "in such a way as to make them think you're trying to stay on."

  "I am trying to stay on!" Puo says.

  "Toad," I say using my command voice, "do it."

  "Awww! Ribbit!" Puo complains. "Fine."

  Sometimes Puo has a hard time not being the smartest tech person in the room.

  I hear more banging on the keyboards.

  "Toad?" I ask. "Is it done?"

  Puo responds, now all snooty, "Do you want it done? Or do you want it done right? Almost there. Baldy will be talking about this for months about how cleverer and smarter he is. Stupid hair-challenged gorilla."

  More banging on the keyboard, then thirty seconds later Puo says, "I'm locked out."

  "Beeper—?" active; I was about to ask when Hayes's voice comes through the beeper audio. "Lucas says he kicked them out of the local feeds."

  "Nosy Amazonian monkey-bitch," Squeeze says. "Me don't know what me steal," she mocks. "Me try to use magic boxes to watch—"

  "That little bitch! I'm five-nine. I am not Amazonian! Right, Winn?"

  Winn looks like a deer in headlights. "No," he says quickly. "No, you're not Amazonian."

  "Damn right I'm not! New plan," I say, "however we resolve this, that little homunculus lover is going to get her comeuppances."

  "Roger, that," Puo says. "Now shut up, so we can listen."

  "Did you just tell me to shut up?" I ask.

  "Abandon position," Winn breaks in to Puo, "Abort, abort. The Amazonian has awakened. I repeat, the Amazonian has awakened."

  Puo roars with laughter, and I punch Winn hard on the shoulder.

  "Hey," Puo says seriously, "wait, wait, wait."

  I force myself to settle down.

  It's Hayes on the audio. He just said three magic words: "We're all clear."

  I'll show her Amazonian.

  * * *

  Hayes isn't nice enough to say where they're headed. Fortunately, the beeper has proper manners, and the tracking signal is moving toward Mercer Island and stops on the east side, while continuing to feed us audio.

  Winn and I only now take off in the Pelican back on the Center Island to follow behind at a comfortable distance.

/>   I hear through the audio Hayes and Squeeze get out of their vehicle. They walk for a minute or two—it sounds like they're on the water. There's some more noise that sounds like they're entering a building—or a missing yacht.

  "We make the grab tomorrow," Hayes says.

  "That's sooner than planned," an older male voice, that I don't recognize says.

  "Recording?" I ask Puo quietly.

  "Yeah," Puo whispers back. He doesn't know who it is either or he would've told me. "They're on the docks."

  The older male voice asks, "Is everything in place?"

  "Yes, or it will be," Hayes says, "by tomorrow."

  "I don't want this rushed," the older male voice says.

  "They're getting suspicious," Hayes says. "They tried to follow me here tonight."

  We approach the east side of Mercer Island and take the coast skylane to fly over the general area where they're meeting.

  "I'm coming with you—" a female voice says.

  I know that voice. Christina Chavez. Son of bitch, she's working with Hayes. But who's the third voice?

  "—They have something of mine," Christina continues. "And I want it back." That’s how they must have found Valle’s boat. She followed the signal on her squeegee until we put it into an EM bag.

  "Forgive me," Hayes says diplomatically, "but the fewer of us the better. And without your ... tool, it would be—"

  "I have more than one kind," Christina says icily. Then she adds forcefully, "But fine then. I choose the Cleaner though."

  "As you wish," Hayes gracefully sidesteps having Christina force herself on the job.

  Shit. If she's not the Guild Master, she definitely outranks Hayes.

  We fly over the dock area. "Puo," I say. "We just found Valle's missing boat. That's where they're meeting." It's on the opposite side of the island and a bit south of where we left it, and I doubt Christina told Colvin they 'found' it.

  "You think the old guy's voice is Valle's?" Puo asks.

  "Very likely," I say. "Can you use the recordings to verify that?" All our previous reconnaissance on Valle before visiting Pacific View Bank was visual.

  "No," Puo says. "I don't have a confirmed template."

  Winn and I are going to have to linger to see if we can't confirm it's Valle.

  The older male voice asks, "Are you continuing with the Locklear job?"

  What job were they originally talking about?

  "Yes," Hayes says.

  Squeeze says, "It would be suspicious if we didn't show up."

  "You may get swept up in the fallout," the older male voice says.

  "I'll be counting on you two," Hayes says, "to provide cover."

  "Colvin can be ..." the older male voice hesitates before continuing, "brutal and quick. We will provide cover, but not at the expense of exposing ourselves."

  And there it is. These three are the nexus acting against Colvin. But what are they planning? A bigger heist? A coup? And where does Rodrigo fit into all this? Is he a major player or a lackey?

  "What does that mean?" Squeeze asks.

  "Don't get shot in the initial wave," Christina answers succinctly.

  "We'll try not to," Hayes responds dryly.

  "Lay low afterward," the older male voice says. "Understood?"

  Hayes presumably nods, instead of answering verbally.

  "Good," the older male voice asks. "Anything else?"

  "No," Christina answers.

  "Anything else from you two?" the older male voice asks.

  "No," Hayes and Squeeze answer at the same time.

  "Meeting adjourned then," the older male voice says. "Good luck."

  Hayes and Squeeze leave.

  Winn and I continue to loop around the coastal skyway around Mercer Island, until we visually confirm what we already suspected: Valle walking off his own missing boat.

  "Too bad Colvin couldn't see this," Winn observes.

  I silently nod in agreement with Winn. But to be really useful, Colvin would have to find the drive on them when all of them are together.

  And with that, my mind is suddenly off and racing.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  "IS THIS A good idea?" Winn asks.

  "Yes," Puo says confidently at the same time I ask, "Is what a good idea?"

  All three of us sit in the back corner of Promontory Pies on the South Island uphill from Sturgus Avenue overlooking the Center Island.

  Winn lowers his voice, "What's going to happen, is going to happen tomorrow. Shouldn't we be preparing, and in private?"

  I deliberately look around the almost completely empty pie shop. I answer Winn, "We are preparing. No one knows we're here. We've never been here before, so it's not bugged. Puo's got his EM detector—"

  Puo breaks in, "We're good."

  "—And we practically have the place to ourselves," I finish. "We're fine here."

  "Don't forget," Puo says, "the most important part."

  I raise an eyebrow at him.

  "Pie," Puo answers. "Delightful, delicious, delectable pie."

  As if on cue, our middle-aged female server in white tennis shoes dips from around the glass pie-display case near the register holding three pieces of pie. Steaming mugs of coffee already sit in front of me and Winn—Puo opted for a glass of "moo-milk" as he called it.

  The Promontory Pie shop is cute, but too chic for its own good. I like the color palette of white on gray, white tables with white metal chairs, but the bench along the wall has a light gray upholstery in the leather style where the dimples are little pies. The whole motif helps set off the color of the pies and the yellow pendant lights hanging down over each table.

  The problem for Promontory Pies is that we have the place to ourselves. I don't suspect pie is a high profit-per-unit venture, so one needs high volume—which they obviously don't have. They should have spent their startup capital on more marketing and less interior design.

  The server's hazel eyes are tired, the vacant expression of serving the last customers that stand between her and going off shift. She sets down the cherry chocolate swirl in front of me, key lime pie for Winn, and a heavy, rich, dark-looking German chocolate for Puo.

  "Thanks," Puo says never taking his eyes off the treat in front of him.

  As soon as the server disappears back in the kitchen, I ask Puo in a low voice, "So, what's on the solid-state drive?"

  Puo promptly shoves the first bite of pie into his mouth that he was about to taste before I asked. He closes his eyes, chewing slowly. Pleasure breaks over his face.

  I wait patiently. "Puo," I prompt.

  He points to his mouth, keeping his eyes closed. "Mmmmm."

  I continue to wait patiently.

  He's still freaking chewing.

  Well, then. Two can play this game. "Looks good," I say. I lean forward preparing to spear a piece off Puo's pie with my fork.

  Puo is the wrath of Poseidon come to life. He blocks my fork with his own, pins it expertly to the table. "Blasphemer!" he says, bits of dark chocolate stuck on his teeth.

  "The drive," I prompt again and withdraw my fork.

  "Oh," Puo says, coming out of his defense mode. He withdraws his fork, but watches mine closely. "The tables on the drive correspond to different charities."

  "Laundering?" I ask.

  "I don't think so." Puo prepares another scoop of pie and pops it into his mouth.

  I take the opportunity to sample my own. The cherry pie filling oozes out of the sides as I slide my fork down through the graham cracker crust to hit the light-gray plate underneath with a clink. I make sure to get a part of the chocolate swirl on top. It's a rich, delicious explosion on the tongue. The cherry filling is a light sweetness that melds perfectly with the thicker sweetness of chocolate, while the graham cracker crust crumbles in the mouth for a crunchy treat. Damn. Why isn't this place more popular?

  Puo swallows and picks up his explanation. "All the places are to like schools, summer camps, that kind of thing. Very clearl
y kid-oriented."

  "You think," Winn asks, "he has a kid?"

  Puo slowly nods. "Five to be exact. If you work with the assumption that it's for a kid, and then time-sort the donations, a geographic pattern of three emerges. But they're all for three different local areas and five different kids."

  "Three different mistresses?" I ask.

  Puo taps his nose, while going in for another bite.

  "But why hide that?" Winn asks. "I mean I get hiding kids, but why go through that kind of length."

  "Don't underestimate," I say, "the length parents will go through to protect their kids. Colvin's kids would definitely be a target of leverage for any rivals." It's one reason my father didn't recognize me as his until I was of age to defend myself.

  "There's more," Puo says while smacking the chocolate left over in his mouth from his last bite. "It's not just about hiding the drive from people that would use it against him; the whole setup is also about hiding where the money is coming from to the charities."

  I wait for Puo to continue. He doesn't.

  Grumble, grumble.

  Puo likes to have his ego stroked when he's cracked some particular piece of code. I ask in sarcastic wonder, "How, oh wise ruler of cow-pies?"

  Winn snorts key lime pie back down onto the plate.

  I suppress a laugh—I'm not sure how Winn would respond right now with his mansies. Puo just eyes us both before continuing.

  "Pacific View Bank," Puo says, "is still in business. Not the branch we visited obviously, but still in business. Colvin actually sends the money through their old infrastructure, which he connected back to the mainland. The drive communicated wirelessly to a receiver which then connected to the cables back on land. The setup masks the origin of the transactions so that it looks like it's the bank making the donations. I think that's also how he knew it went missing, it sent its homing signal through the same network."

  So the drive is only valuable in regards to the information on it.

  "Shit," I say.

  "What?" Winn asks.

  "They're planning a coup," I say. The only reason to want that information is to use it to inflict damage on Colvin.

  Puo sets his fork down and says quietly, "And we're being set up as the first causalities."