The White Gold Score (A Daniel Faust Novella)

by Craig Schaefer

  “It’s true,” Jennifer said. “Ten keys of coke are gonna make a nice bundle for the retirement fund, though.”

  “Sure. We just have to con Dino Costa, rip him off, and set him up to be killed by a Colombian drug cartel.” I shrugged. “Huh. Something just occurred to me. We are not good people.”

  “Nope.” Jennifer leaned back on the bed. “I’ll start caring as soon as you do.”

  “I’ll let you know.”

  I glanced at my phone for the twentieth time, as if I could will it to ring.

  “So. That bullwhip of hers.” Jennifer gave me an impish smile. “She ever bring that into the bedroom?”

  “Jen, c’mon.” I shot a look at the bathroom door. “She’s right there.”

  She held up her open hands. “I’m just tryin’ to get a notion of the dynamics of your relationship, that’s all! It’s a perfectly innocent question. Besides, I remember back when we were datin’. That Halloween party at the Tiger’s Garden? You really liked my cowgirl outfit…”

  I pressed my palm to my forehead. “Jen.”

  “I still got the spurs. Want me to lend ’em to her, or does she have her own?”

  My phone chimed against my hip. I held it up with a sigh.

  “Saved by the bell,” I told her.

  Curtis’s admin’s assistant admin’s receptionist had passed my details along to Tanesha’s receptionist’s admin’s assistant, or something like that. Bottom line, we had an address and an invitation to drop by for a quick chat. “She can give you five minutes,” I was told, in a tone that made it clear we’d be lucky to get three.

  Good enough. As we got ready to head out, Caitlin emerged from the bathroom, looking vaguely pleased.

  “Local business?” I asked her.

  “Checking up on a few people. And doing a bit of research that might come in handy later. Shall we?”

  The address led us to a sky-blue office just off La Brea Avenue, with no sign out front and a keypad lock on the polished glass door. A woman in scrubs came to meet us and had us wait out on the front stoop while she verified our invitation was legit. She finally came back and ushered the three of us inside, the arid sunshine replaced by cool AC and string music piped over concealed speakers.

  “What is this place?” I asked, earning a look of disdain from our greeter. Apparently I’d just outed myself as a filthy peasant.

  “The Shulman Clinic is a full health and body resource for patrons requiring discretion and privacy. We offer private workout rooms with the best personal trainers in the city, saunas, a full day spa—”

  “So it’s a gym for rich people,” I said.

  That look again. I was definitely a filthy peasant.

  Behind the door for Salon Three, we found Tanesha in a small, brightly lit weight room with tangerine walls. Her gray sweats soaked through as she struggled to keep up with a rock-bodied trainer straight out of an ’80s aerobics video.

  “Oh, hey,” she gasped, then looked to her trainer. “Molly, I gotta take five, okay? It’s business.”

  Judging from the trainer’s glare, I was not only a filthy peasant but possibly a creature made of sentient dough. Still, she left the room and Tanesha dropped her weights. She staggered over to a glass-and-chrome credenza and uncapped a bottle of vitamin-infused water.

  “Thanks for that,” she said, downing half the bottle before coming up for air. “Swear that woman’s gonna kill me. I’ll look good when I die, though. Who’s your friend?”

  I gestured to Jennifer. “Another member of my team. Helping out on the Dino Costa investigation.”

  “What’s to investigate? You got all the info you needed, right? Now you’ve just gotta turn it all over to the cops and bust him for it.”

  I hated when a lie came back to haunt me.

  “Right,” I said, “that. There’s…been a complication.”

  Her brow furrowed. “Complication? What kind of complication?”

  “We did provide everything we had to the authorities. And, unfortunately, Dino was a step ahead of us. His lawyers have already moved to respond in Nevada, doing everything they can to shield him from prosecution. Apparently he’s got a solid alibi for the night of the murder. It’s bogus, we know he killed Monty, but what we’ve got just won’t hold up in court.”

  “Damn.” Tanesha sank down on the edge of a weight bench, cradling her half-empty bottle. “So he gets away with it?”

  “There’s more,” Caitlin said. “We have reason to believe he’s targeting you for further harassment. Getting ready to step up the pressure. You’re in serious danger.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know. Long as that creep’s walking free, he’s never gonna leave me alone. Is that it?”

  I shook my head. “No. Not if you don’t want it to be. Tanesha, you have…friends at CMC Entertainment. I’ve been given the authorization to take special steps here. Steps that would remove Dino Costa as a threat. Permanently.”

  She looked up at me, a new wariness in her eyes.

  “You mean permanently, like…” She touched her throat, her fingertip making the faintest slicing motion, as if afraid to commit to the gesture.

  “Permanently as in he’ll never bother you again, and that’s all you have to know. You wouldn’t be involved in anything illegal or unethical, and your name wouldn’t be connected to what happens in any way.”

  “If I’m gonna be so uninvolved, why even tell me this?”

  “Because we need your help. We’re setting up a sting operation to expose the inner workings of Blue Rhapsody and prove Dino’s crooked.”

  That perked her up, her eyes widening a little. I knew she wouldn’t go for a murder plot—she wouldn’t want anyone’s blood on her hands, not even a tiny drop—but a sting operation was something else entirely. Something benign and righteous.

  It was still going to end with Dino’s head on the chopping block, but she didn’t need to know that.

  “Like on TV,” Tanesha said. “An exposé.”

  “Exactly like that. We’re going to present him with a singer he’ll have to sign, so we can document the whole process on a concealed camera. The pressure, the intimidation tactics, everything.”

  “Not me,” she said fast. “I can’t. I can’t do it. I can’t be in the same room with that man.”

  I held up my hands, easing her down. “Not what we had in mind. When you were telling us about your new album, you said nobody’s heard it yet, right?”

  “Nobody but me and my studio engineer. Why?”

  “We have the singer,” I said. “What we don’t have is the music. If you could let us use two songs off that album to cut a demo, it’ll be the kind of bait Dino couldn’t possibly pass up.”

  She tilted her head at me, dubious.

  “You want me to let you cover two tracks off an album that hasn’t come out yet. My best work. Exposing me to who knows how much trouble, legal and financial, if those recordings leak. And trust you with them—total strangers who just came in off the street.”

  “When you put it like that,” I said, “it almost sounds unreasonable.”

  She tossed back a swig of water. Her head sank.

  “No. Forget it. I don’t want to get involved in any of this shady stuff. I’ll take my chances alone.”

  “Dino will pursue you,” Caitlin said. “And the next group of men he sends won’t be there to frighten you. They’ll be there to hurt you. Badly.”

  “Then I guess I’ll quit.” Tanesha sighed. “I made a nice nest egg. I can retire young. Go out on a high note, right? Fame just makes people crazy. All I ever wanted to do was make music. Entertain people. That’s all.”

  I started to respond, digging for something, anything, to win her back to our side. Then Caitlin silenced me with a light touch to my sleeve and glided over to the weight bench. She sat down beside Tanesha.

  “That’s your choice to make,” Caitlin said, “but what would Wanda say?”

  Tanesha blinked. “My grandmother? How
did you—”

  Caitlin brushed her fingers along Tanesha’s arm. “You talked about her in an interview last year. Her years in Motown, her struggle to make it. She worked every day of her life to achieve that dream.”

  Tanesha gave a slight nod. “Never did, though. Lived and died as a backup singer for the ones who did make it big.”

  “But she never stopped believing in you, did she? She supported you every step of the way. She was there for you when the chips were down, when you were sure you’d never get your big break. Even when she was too sick to come to your shows, she’d call you after each and every one, just to find out how it went.”

  Tanesha smiled, just a little. “Yeah. She sure did.”

  “She wanted you to fly.” Caitlin’s fingers curled gently over Tanesha’s shoulder. “Are you really going to let a worm like Dino Costa steal that from you? From you both? Are you really going to let a small, greedy man stand between you and your dreams, when you’ve already fought so hard and given so much to make them come true?”

  Tanesha didn’t answer right away. She looked from the bottle in her hand to Caitlin’s unblinking eyes.

  “You know what?” she said. “No. I’m not. To hell with him. So this demo tape—if it hooks Dino in, you can use it to bring him down? You’re sure?”

  “Positive,” I said.

  She turned my way. “And you’ve got a singer lined up?”

  “I’ll be doing the honors,” Caitlin said.

  “If you’ve got the pipes,” Tanesha told her, “I’ve got the songs. I’ll book some studio time and round up my band, and we’re gonna put together a demo so hot no producer alive would turn it down.”

  I gave Caitlin a small thumbs-up behind Tanesha’s back. We almost had our bait. After that came the hard part: casting our line and convincing Dino to bite down on the hook.

  13.

  Back in the rented Camaro, riding shotgun while Jennifer perched in the rear seat, I let out a sigh of relief.

  “Wow,” I said, “when you’re a fan, you are a fan. I thought we were gonna lose her, but that detail about her grandmother? Perfect. You remembered all that from one interview?”

  “Not in the slightest.” Caitlin flashed a smile, cranked up the air conditioning, and threw the car into drive. “When I was making my calls back at the hotel, I ordered a bit of quick research. I thought we might need an emotional pry bar to get into Tanesha’s head, and I was right.”

  “So your people went and read through a bunch of interviews?”

  “No, silly. They found her. Tanesha’s grandmother is in hell.” Caitlin touched her finger to her lips. “Shh. No telling.”

  “Ooh,” Jennifer said. “That just got dark.”

  “Dark,” Caitlin said, “was her repeated insistence on knowing when her son-in-law was going to be joining her down there. Anyway, she was very cross at the idea of her granddaughter being threatened. Happy to throw a bit of help our way.”

  The sky blossomed ocher and candle yellow as the sun shimmered its way down, blurry behind a rippling gauze veil of smog. We were all in agreement that when it came to getting this job done, sooner was better. On the phone to his supplier, Dino had said Winter Court was the band who’d be unwittingly ferrying his drugs cross-country. I hadn’t heard of them, but a quick Google search enlightened me. Some neo-goth thing with classical influences, a quartet of artists in black mascara who dressed like vampires without the fangs and played the electric violin. Not my style of music—give me B.B. King or Bo Diddley any day of the week—but the tour dates on their official website commanded my full attention.

  Their kickoff show was on Friday night; then the tour buses rolled out. We had three days to seal the deal and rob Dino blind.

  Fortunately, Tanesha and her backup band were night owls. She’d booked the studio time and sent out the rallying call, leaving us with nothing to do for a couple of hours but wait. We found a diner down the street from the studio, juicy burgers and fries and fountain drinks, and ate while we hammered out the details.

  “Don’t think a guy like Dino’s big on cold calls,” Jennifer said, clutching a quarter-pound burger in both hands. Ketchup leaked out the other side, dripping from a curled lettuce leaf and spattering the paper place mat. “How are we gonna get his attention?”

  “A little social engineering,” I said. “I think we need Pixie for this job.”

  “The mysterious Pixie. Am I ever gonna meet that girl in person?”

  “Who’s Pixie?” Caitlin asked.

  “Mercenary hacker,” I said. “Probably the best on the West Coast. She’s a little idealistic, but if I tell her I need help fighting the bondage of capitalism and the elite bourgeoisie, she’ll generally go along with the plan. Right now I’ve got her working on tracking down Lauren Carmichael. Lauren’ll poke her head out of hiding sooner or later.”

  “I look forward to chopping it off,” Caitlin murmured.

  We finished our meal, bellies full and energy refreshed, and met up with Tanesha at the studio. Her studio engineer, a lanky young man named Trey—just Trey—sat at a mixing console that looked like the control panel on a 747. Her backup band waited behind a wall of glass, perching on stools and tuning their instruments.

  “Okay,” Tanesha told Caitlin, “I picked out my two favorite tracks. One’s a breakup song, all heartache and regrets, and the other’s a serious piece of dance-your-ass-off high-tempo pop. Think you can keep up with me?”

  Caitlin chuckled, one hand on her hip. “I’ll do my best.”

  “We’ll run each song once with me singing lead, so you can get a feel for it.” Tanesha handed Caitlin a couple of photocopied pages. Lyrics, it looked like. “Then if you think you’ve got it down, it’ll be your turn and I’ll sing backup. Let’s see what you can do.”

  Jennifer and I hung out in the mixing room, watching the action from behind the glass. Caitlin’s eyes met mine, and she beamed like a kid opening presents on Christmas morning.

  Generally speaking, I wasn’t a huge fan of Tanesha’s tunes. Then the music swelled up, and she parted her lips and made me a believer. There was something raw about a live performance, something intimate you just didn’t get on the radio after all the rough edges and hard feelings had been sanded smooth. She snared me, cupping me in the palm of her hand. Then she passed my soul and the microphone over to Caitlin, one more slow ride through the valley of heartache, and Caitlin’s voice nearly brought me to my knees.

  After the last, lingering note trembled into silence, Tanesha blinked at her. “Damn, girl. Why aren’t you doing this for a living?”

  “Afraid I have a higher calling,” Caitlin replied with a subtle smile. “You approve, I take it?”

  “I think if you ever want a new job, you should let me know. Okay, next one. We’re gonna go hard, loud, and fast. You ready?”

  “Hard, loud, and fast,” Caitlin said as she slipped her headphones back on, “is exactly how I like it.”

  I’ll admit it, I danced. Badly, but Jennifer has two left feet just like me, and we weren’t looking to impress anybody. Sometimes, when the music’s right, you just have to move a little.

  “It’s good,” was Trey’s reserved opinion. “Lemme mix this down and play with it a little. Gonna be one hell of a demo.”

  “Nobody’s going to hear this but Dino, right?” Tanesha asked as she and Caitlin stepped out of the recording booth. “I can’t have these songs getting loose in the wild before my album drops.”

  “Trust us.” Caitlin’s fingertips brushed her shoulder. “Your work is in good hands.”

  Jennifer glanced my way. “So. We’ve got the singer, and we’ve got the songs. What now?”

  “Now,” I said, “we get Dino’s attention. I need to step outside for a minute and make a call.”

  I’d been putting together a plan in my head, and it needed two more pairs of hands. One potential recruit would have to wait until morning. The other was never hard to reach.

  “Faust,�
� Pixie said with the tone one might use to discuss a venereal disease. I wasn’t one of her favorite people. Still, my cash was good and I never tried to cheat her, so she usually took my calls.

  “Hey, Pix. Is this a bad time?”

  “It is if you’re calling about the Carmichael-Sterling job. Lauren’s hiding deep, no news to share. I’m working on it.”

  “No, this is a side deal. Got a question for you: is there any way to hijack a person’s web browser so it goes wherever you want it to? Like, if they try to read a news site, could you redirect it to a fake?”

  “Sure,” she said, “BeEF it.”

  “Beef?”

  She sighed, spelling it out for me. “Browser Exploitation Framework. So easy a script kiddie could do it. Once your target’s browser is hooked, you can see everything he types, every URL he visits, read his passwords in plain text, whatever you want. Total ownage. Heck, if he’s got a webcam hooked up, you can watch him through it. And yeah, you can send him anywhere you want, completely invisible on the user’s side.”

  “Wow, that’s…kinda terrifying.”

  “You asked.”

  “True. So if I wanted you to, um, beef somebody…”

  “That part is easy,” she said, “but there’s a catch. First you’ve gotta inject the malware into your target’s system.”

  “And that’s done how?”

  “It scares me that you don’t know this. Get him to open an infected file, execute a compromised Java app…let me put it this way, does the guy have any computer smarts? Is he dumb enough to click on a random file from a stranger, or open links from a spam email?”

  “For the record, I don’t do either of those things. And I’m not sure. Maybe?”

  “‘Maybe’ isn’t helpful,” she said. “Look, all you have to do is get him to open an infected file. You’re the con man. Figuring that part out is your job. Once he’s infected, I can do the rest.”

  Fair enough. My next call, which involved two transfers and ten minutes on hold, was to Curtis Rake.

  “My man,” he said. Faint bass thumped in the background. Clinking glasses and muffled laughter. “I talked to Tanesha. Sounds like you got something cooking over there. You really gonna go toe to toe with Dino?”