by Dave Daren
“More than you?” I laughed.
“Listen,” Gabriele said. “Anything before noon should be illegal.”
“Naturally,” I said. “I need to call Anthony and let him know about the note. Do me a favor and lay off the Monster for the rest of the night. You don’t want to end up like Eddie.”
“Human Eddie or Raccoon?” the hacker asked. “Human! Obviously. Though, I have gone dumpster diving before with some friends. You’d be surprised what some of those high-end stores toss out. And sometimes the tech places will toss cracked gear, and I can always use that stuff for my upgrades.”
“Gabriele,” I said as I pulled the plate of warmed-up Chinese from the microwave. “Decaf. I’ll talk to you later.”
I hung up before the overly-caffeinated man could go into another rant about absolutely nothing important. He really needed to lay off the Monster, either that, or I needed to make sure we never talked so late in my day again. I was pretty sure if we’d been in the same room that I’d have wanted to punch him.
The General Tso’s chicken was just as delicious the second time around, and I ate a few bites before I tugged my phone out of my pocket to call Anthony. The phone rang through, so I hung up and called again.
“What?” the mafioso growled when he finally answered.
“Someone left a note on the patio door,” I said.
“What?” Anthony repeated, and I heard the squeak of springs as he sat up in his bed. “When?”
“About half an hour ago,” I said. “They avoided all of the cameras. I think it was the cop that pulled me over. It has a lot of the same wording, but it’s not like they left a calling card or signed it.”
“Fuck,” the young Febbo sighed. “You’re sure they’re gone?”
“Oh, yeah,” I said and then grabbed a glass of water to wash my late-night snack down. “Gabriele was watching the cameras as soon as the alarm went off. He really needs to switch to decaf, but he said that the only people he could see on the street was a couple making out.”
“I wouldn’t rule them out,” the mafioso said. “I’ve heard of stranger covers. You should call Hank and have him come over once we’re off the phone.”
“I’ll think about it,” I said and downed my water in one long gulp. “Whoever it is left without a trace. They just wanted to let me know that they can get to me whenever they want, though I doubt they realize that I sleep with a Glock right next to my bed.”
“I hope they don’t get the chance to find out,” Anthony said. “What did the note say?”
“That you can afford another Ferrari,” I laughed. “And they reminded me that I’m not a cat, so I don’t have nine lives to waste sticking my nose in other people’s business.”
“They’re wrong about that,” my client snorted. “You’ve got more lives than a cat.”
“Do you know anyone that can do fingerprinting?” I asked and glanced over at the note. “I want to see if we can put a face and name to the threat. If they were stupid enough to handle it themselves, then I can use it as leverage on Dian.”
“You think he’ll care about a pawn?” Anthony asked.
“Probably not,” I said. “But if I have one of his men arrested, then it’ll put unwanted attention on his operation.”
“Are you sure you didn’t grow up in the business?” the mafioso chuckled. “You think like a capo.”
“I’m a lawyer,” I reminded him. “It’s required for us to think a little out of the box to get what we want. And what are laws if not bendable?”
“True,” the younger Febbo said. “I guess we were both taught that. Alright, I’ll send my guy over tomorrow. Well, today, really. But you should call Old Man Tony and have him add a few extras to your security system.”
“He’ll be here sometime this afternoon,” I said. “Although, I’m going to have to talk to him about all the crap that Gabriele ordered. I swear he’s trying to make my house into Alcatraz. I threatened to walk around naked if he put any more cameras in the house.”
Laughter burst through the line, and I winced as I turned down the volume on my phone, again. I heard the slap of Anthony’s hand on his leg, and shook my head as my client took deep breaths to pull himself together.
“Shit, Hunter,” Anthony chuckled. “I needed that. I wouldn’t push Gabriele too far, though. He might just send a video of your naked ass to everyone in the family. And trust me, you’ll never live that down. Besides, a few extra cameras might be a good idea since whoever visited you managed to avoid the ones you have.”
“That is true,” I conceded. “And I’ll take one in the office. But I draw the line with moving cameras inside every room. It’s just a bit too ‘Big Brother’ for me.”
“That’s a good show,” my client responded. “But I get what you mean. Just listen to Old Man Tony’s advice. He’s been in the business longer than almost anyone I know. If he tells you that you need it, believe him.”
“I will,” I said. “I’ll let you know if the fingerprint guy finds anything.”
“And call me immediately if you have any other unwanted guests,” the mafioso said.
“The only other one is Eddie, and he’ll be gone tomorrow,” I said.
“Eddie?” Anthony questioned.
“It’s what Gabriele named the raccoon that’s been rooting around in my trash,” I said. “The damn painters left the back door open when they left, and the little shit was in the house when I came home. Scared the fuck out of me. I almost shot it.”
“Good luck getting rid of it,” my client said. “I’ve heard that those things will come back even when animal control gets rid of them.”
“Well,” I said. “If it comes back, then I may just give up and adopt it. I’ve heard they make decent pets.”
“Now there’s an idea,” the younger Febbo laughed. “And he’ll take care of himself when you go out of town.”
“Exactly,” I said. “Maybe I’ll train him to attack intruders.”
We chatted for a few minutes about the trainability of different animals and then hung up so Anthony could go back to sleep. I was fully awake, or at least my brain was, so I started a pot of coffee and padded into the living room to turn on the TV.
The morning was only a few hours away, but the news stations were still full of infomercials, so I switched over to Netflix and The Great British Baking Show. I plopped down on my sectional couch and booted up my laptop. If I couldn’t sleep, then I was going to do research.
Dian had three more days to get the Enzo back, but with the scare tactics that he was using, I doubted that he was putting much effort into the car’s recovery. I needed to find out more about the man so that I could figure out a better way to approach him.
The British bakers on my television rambled while I grabbed a cup of coffee and the now cold Chinese leftovers. I thought about warming them up again, but I didn’t want rubbery chicken, so I just ate it the way it was.
I texted Gabriele to have him send over everything that he’d found on Dian Pham and Phoenix Imports, and the files that I’d received were so big that it took two episodes to finish downloading. My computer gave a ding when it was finally done, and I pulled my attention away from the bread week challenge to glance at the screen.
The coffee that I’d made had cleared away the rest of the cobwebs in my brain, and the gray light that poured in from the backyard told my body that it was time to be awake. My stomach was a little upset, so I knew that I’d need to grab a few hours of sleep at some point, but for the moment I could muscle through.
The first file that popped up was the background on Dian Pham. The Vietnamese businessman was much different on paper than his website claimed. The biography on his site said that he’d come over to the US when he was just a kid, but according to Gabriele’s research he’d come over in his twenties.
He’d brought his wife and first son with him, and every member of the small family had bought new identities and social security numbers. The family’s origina
l last name had been Ho, but they’d left that behind for Pham, probably because Dian Ho was a wanted criminal in Vietnam.
He’d been charged with petty crimes like theft of a chicken when he was younger, but that had escalated to drug trafficking in adulthood, and after that was when Dian had relocated to the US with a new name. The connections that he left behind were likely the ones that he was using to import the stolen cars, and I wondered if he had any ties to drugs still, or if he’d moved strictly to pilfered products.
Nothing that Gabriele had found suggested that he was still moving drugs, but there were hours of videos that the purple-haired hacker had sent me, so I couldn’t completely rule it out. I made a note of the people that he’d been arrested with in Vietnam and then moved onto his port inspections.
Phoenix Imports grossed almost three-quarters of a million dollars every year on paper, but the house that he had told me that he made way more than that. According to the port authorities, he passed every inspection that came in. He’d had a few issues when his business had first taken off, but it had been years since he’d been cited for anything more than a small violation like packing too much in a shipping container.
I scoured through the declared lists of what he was shipping to see what products he moved. It looked like most of his containers were designed to move seafood, specifically crabs and other crustaceans, and the inspections of those always proved that they were within temperature limits.
There was nothing about car oil or signs of vehicles being transported in the refrigerated boxes, but Dian no doubt knew exactly who to slide money to since he’d been in business for so long. He was a smart man, but he’d made a mistake thinking that he could intimidate me enough to back down.
I took a break to grab another glass of water and ran a few miles on my treadmill. The movement helped me to process all of the shipping logs and pictures that I’d gone through. I still had several more files to go through, but I wanted to check through the online community to see if I could find anything about how the ships were meeting and changing cargo.
My stomach started to growl even before I’d finished showering, so I changed into some jeans and a sweater and headed out to my car. I made sure to set the alarm and grab my Glock, just in case, and then headed down to one of the local diners.
It was a little mom and pop place that seemed like it was filled with nothing but regulars, so everyone looked at me as if I had three heads when I strolled in. The old men narrowed their eyes and sized me up while the middle-aged waitress bustled over with a half-filled coffee pot in her hand.
“Good morning,” she said with a bright smile. “You can sit wherever you want. Do you need a menu?”
“Yes, please,” I said and grinned at the woman as she led me to a booth. “Do you think that I could have a glass of orange juice?”
“Right away,” the frizzy-haired woman said. “Do you want some coffee, too?”
“No,” I shook my head. “I think I’ve already had enough.”
“Alright,” she gave me an appraising look like she could tell that I hadn’t slept all night. “My name is Gladys.”
“Thanks,” I replied and then began to peruse through the breakfast menu.
I ended up getting an omelette loaded with ham, cheese, and mushrooms, hash browns, and a side of fruit. Everything was cooked to perfection, and Gladys made sure that my water was always filled without hovering too much. I added the place to my list of restaurants in the area that I’d return to, left the money on the table with a generous tip, and then stepped out into the cool morning sunlight.
Winter was in full swing, and the clouds bringing snow had already started to spot the blue canopy above me, but I drove back to the house with the windows down. The crisp air revived me in a way that even coffee couldn’t, and I was ready to dive back into my research when I pulled into the driveway.
I checked the security feed for intruders, but even Eddie had disappeared, so I climbed out of the car and headed inside. My laptop was fully charged, and since my furry guest was currently gone, I decided to sit out on the pack patio and dive back into the world of conspiracy theories.
Gabriele had given me a decent headstart with the information about them transferring the goods halfway through the shipping process, out in international waters where crime was technically legal, and I decided to start there. I still wasn’t sure how a primarily seafood import company could make the move to stolen cars, especially when the owner had a connection to drugs, but it was probably a safer operation to run than the usual pirate operations. At least when the pilfered vehicles didn’t belong to the Italian mob, that is.
Dian had to have made new contacts in New York when he’d come over from Vietnam. The connections that he had in his home country would help him with the ports in Asia, but he needed to know which ones to look at in the city. If he’d started off his company with the idea of using it as a cover, then he would’ve needed advice on what products would be the best to hide behind, and that meant that there was someone in New York City that would probably know everything that I needed to know about Phoenix Imports.
I looked through the various conspiracy theories about the underground crime network in the bustling metropolis. Some of them mentioned the Febbo family, and most of them seemed to be focused on the recent upheaval. I read through some of the pages just to see if anyone had any ideas about who was moving in to take over the void that the Serbians left behind, but most of it was just wild speculation that I knew was off base.
The animal control guys distracted me for a little while as they searched for Eddie. He’d managed to hide somewhere, and the two middle-aged guys finally gave up when they couldn’t find a nest even in the attic. They said that they’d come back if he showed up again and put out a trap that they promised wouldn’t hurt him, but I was pretty sure that the smart little dude was just going to become my backyard pet.
I took a break from looking through the underground websites to stretch and research what pet raccoons usually ate, and then ordered some of it and a doggie house for my new best friend. Eddie was about to become a well-kept guard raccoon, though I was sure he wouldn’t mind since he’d already decided that my house was his house.
After that, my research into the New York City crime rings had pretty much stalled, so I switched gears and focused on how the cargo ships would be able to move the heavy cars from one deck to another while they were in the middle of the ocean. It took a few tries, but I finally managed to word my Google search just right, and I found exactly what I was looking for.
There was an entire website dedicated to the conspiracy of international car smuggling, complete with pictures, diagrams, and long lists of players and deals.
It seemed Dian hadn’t been as careful as he thought.
Chapter 11
“Is that Dian?” I whispered and zoomed in on one of the pictures.
The photo had to be old because Dian’s hair didn’t have any streaks of gray in it. The Vietnamese man was on the deck of a cargo ship with a clipboard in his hand. The picture was just grainy enough that I wouldn’t be able to submit it as evidence, but I was almost positive that the man pointing to the shipping containers was the import businessman.
I scrolled through the rest of the photos on the page, but Dian didn’t make any repeat appearances. There were a few that might’ve been him with his back turned, but that wouldn’t do me any good if I tried to take it to court, so I kept going.
Eventually, I ended up on the main page where the bulk of the conspiracy theories were located. Most of the ideas that were bounced back and forth in the forums agreed that the cars were transferred from one ship to another using a giant crane like they used to bring them in on the docks. After they were transferred, the real product would be loaded onto the original ship, and then the new one would go to seedier ports where the cargo could be unloaded and sent anywhere in the world.
I grabbed another cup of coffee as I processed. Gabriele was
an amazing hacker, but there had to be thousands of ports for him to look into, and if they were making the transfers in the middle of the ocean, then there was no telling where the ship actually came to land.
It would be smart for them to send the cars to Asia, where Dian had more connections, but the man had been in business for years, so he could have friends in any port from Vietnam to London. Gabriele had his work cut out for him, but I was pretty sure I had an idea.
“Hunter?” the hacker mumbled into the phone on the third ring.
“Hey,” I said and looked at my watch to make sure that it was after one p.m.. “Did I wake you up?”
“Nah,” the purple-haired man said. “I’ve been up for like an hour. But the Monster hasn’t really kicked in yet. And I didn’t go to bed until six.”
“Ah,” I said. “Well, I won’t take up too much of your time. I have an idea for how to find the cars.”
“Oh?” Gabriele asked before yawning loudly in my ear. “I’m down for that. Let me get to my computer. I need to write this down if I want to remember it.”
“Sure,” I responded and opened my fridge to look for something to munch on.
I still hadn’t slept, and the exhaustion was starting to wear on me. A little lunch would help the coffee get me going. I dug through the leftover containers that Tommaso had left and found a spinach salad with glazed pecans, strawberries, and feta cheese. It smelled like it was still good, so I grabbed the balsamic vinaigrette and a fork, and then I headed to the dining room table to dig in.
“Alright, I’m ready,” the hacker said right after I stuffed a giant bite of salad in my mouth.
I grunted loud enough that he’d be able to hear me from where the phone laid on the table, and then chewed as quickly as I could. The salad was delicious and light enough that I didn’t feel bogged down, though a cheeseburger and fries would probably be my dinner.
“Sorry,” I said when I swallowed the first bite. “Bad timing, but hunger waits for no one.”
“It doesn’t,” Gabriele laughed. “What are you eating? Is Tommaso still cooking for you?”
