by Thomas Scott
“What’s up, Becks?”
“I tried to call you an hour ago.”
“Sorry. I was taking care of something.”
“How is Sandy?”
Virgil thought it must have been something in his voice. “She’s great, Becky.” He stepped off the deck and began to wander down toward the pond. “What do you have? Something on Murt?”
There was a pause before she answered. “I’m losing my mind here, Jonesy. How could he do this to me...to us?”
Virgil sat down in the chair next to his father’s cross. “I don’t think he’s doing anyting to you, Becks. I think he’s doing something for you, no matter how hard it might seem right now, in the moment.”
Her voice took on a lighter tone. “Did you just hear yourself?” Then, as if her question was rhetorical in nature she spoke without waiting for an answer. “You said ‘anyting.’ For a second there you sounded almost exactly like Delroy.”
But Virgil didn’t want to let the moment go. “Becky, I promise you, I’m going to take care of Murton. I’ll figure it out.” When she didn’t respond, he asked her about the subpoena for Doyle’s iCloud account. “Ron sign off on it?”
Their connection cut out for a moment and Becky said something that could have been either a yes or no, Virgil wasn’t sure which. “Becks? I lost you for a second. What’d you say?”
“He said he’d get the paper going, but I haven’t seen anything yet. Meanwhile, I’ve got everything I need set-up and ready to go. I’m waiting to pull the trigger. That’s why I called you earlier.”
“What, exactly, does pulling the trigger entail?”
Becky told him.
Virgil didn’t hesitate. “Do it.”
“Ron likes his i’s dotted and all that.”
“I’ll take care of it. Besides, you work for me, remember? Ron doesn’t like the arrangement, but that’s his problem, not ours.”
“You got it, Jonesy.”
Virgil heard an unusual background noise over the phone followed by a rapid set of keystrokes. “What are you doing?”
“Pulling the trigger, Sherlock.”
“Let me know.”
Becky said she would. Then she said something that made Virgil feel as if he alone had the power to determine Murton’s fate. “I don’t know how I know this, only that I do. I think he’s out there and he needs your help, Jonesy. In fact, I think he’s counting on it.”
How do you respond to that? Virgil thought.
He sat by the cross for a while and thought about what Becky had said to him. Virgil believed that the women of the world who love their men have connections to them beyond the boundaries of normal time and space. He’d seen it too often to think otherwise. His mother and father had it, Sandy could practically read his mind, and Murton and Becky seemed to have it as well. If Becky thought Murton was out there and counting on him to help, Virgil was ready and willing. The problem wasn’t one of want; it was one of how. He thought back to the beginning and how everything had started and decided that protecting the boss was one thing. Doing it at the expense of others, especially people Virgil loved and cared about was another. In short, it was time to get some answers, straight from the horse’s mouth. In this case, a horse named Mac. He took his phone out and punched in the number. Right before he hit send he saw his father.
“You sure that’s a call you want to make?” Mason asked.
“What, you can read my mind now?”
“Not exactly. But I know how you think.” Then Mason smiled and pointed with his chin. “Besides, I can see the screen on your phone.”
Virgil cleared the screen and stuck the phone back in his pocket. “I work for the man. Why shouldn’t I call him?”
“You report to him, Virg. You work for the state.”
“Are we going to argue semantics, now?”
“Who says we’re arguing?”
Virgil took a deep breath and started over. “Why shouldn’t I call him?”
“I never said you shouldn’t. I asked if you were sure about it.”
“The other day I told you Murt is in trouble. Then you said, ‘You don’t know the half of it.’ What did you mean?”
Mason was leaning against the cross, his arms folded over his bare chest. He waited a long time before he said anything. Virgil let him.
“Murton told you something the last time the two of you spoke.”
Virgil nodded at his father. “He sure did. Did you or mom know about any of that?”
Mason shook his head. “No. But that’s not what I’m referring to. He made a simple statement right when Cora and Gibson showed up. Gibson’s not the enemy, by the way, no matter how this shakes out. Neither is Mac.”
Mac? What the hell? “I don’t care about Gibson. What was the statement?”
“It’ll come to you,” Mason said. “Right now there are other things to consider.”
“Such as?”
“You’ve kicked the hornets’ nest this time, Bud, and good.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning they aim to destroy you if you keep pushing an issue that’s outside the boundaries of their agenda.”
“Let them try.”
“Don’t deceive yourself, Son. They won’t do it with force. Their kind never do. They’ll come at you from outside the lines. They’ll use lawyers and the courts and even the Patriot Act if they have to. They’ll whittle away at you until there’s nothing left to give.”
“What are you telling me?”
“I’m telling you that your thinking on this entire affair is a little one-dimensional. I think that’s the message Delroy has been trying to send you as well.”
“I don’t even know what their agenda is. How am I supposed to do anything about it if I don’t know what I’m up against?”
“Remember how mad you were that day when Cora and Pearson showed up and fired you? Whew, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so cranked up. Skipped your badge right into the pond.”
Suddenly Virgil’s mind was racing. He was learning to listen how his father expressed himself…not just the statements he made. When he answered, he was cautious with his words. “I might not have been thinking clearly. I remember, though. I appreciate you fishing it out for me.”
“Believe it or not, it took me a while to find it.” Mason smiled as he spoke, not because of his words, but because he knew Virgil was finally starting to understand. “Everything is exactly the way it should be. Wasn’t that essentially what you told Becky?”
“I guess it was, although I didn’t use those exact words.”
“You might think this subjective, but I promise you, it’s not. You’re one of the smartest people I’ve ever known. You’ll figure it out and when that happens, you’ll know what you have to do, whether you want to or not.”
Want to or not? Virgil felt an odd sensation pass through his stomach. “That’s your gut talking to you, Virg. I hope you’re listening. Anyhow, I guess I’ll be on my way. Keep your phone in your pocket until you’ve got all the facts, Son.”
Virgil looked away from the cross. He did so with purpose. It was hard sometimes to watch his father disappear. When he was sure he was alone he looked back and despite the fact he now considered conversations with his dead father a normal part of everyday life, he couldn’t quite believe what he saw sitting on the edge of the cross.
23
Long before Cora became the governor’s chief of staff, the position was held by Bradley Pearson. Pearson believed he was untouchable; a political operative of the highest order. He had dirt on everyone and anyone that mattered and he wasn’t afraid to let them know he’d use it to his advantage if need be. Virgil never knew if it was the power of the position, the lure of easy under-the-table money, or a guttural rapacity that caused him to cut corners, skirt the edges, and in general live his professional political life as if the rules applied to others, not him. But when you stray across the double yellow line without knowing what’s around the corner, you often
end up a victim of your own making. Virgil hadn’t been present when Pearson was killed, but he suspected when the moment arrived it came with an array of conflicted emotions, among them fear, surprise, and a sense of how deeply he’d been deceived. Perhaps not, though. Who could really say? What he knew for sure was Pearson had been the alchemist of his own destruction.
But there was someone who knew full well the depths of Pearson’s malfeasance: Nicole Pope. Nicole and her twin brother Nicholas had amassed volumes of information on Pearson in an effort to systematically dismantle his life. They succeeded in grand fashion, but like narcissists everywhere, it hadn’t been enough. Why? Because the ego is literally insatiable. It is a beast that devours everything in its path. The Pope twins had to prove what they’d done, and more importantly why. When Nichole Pope showed up at the bar two years ago and gave Virgil a thumb drive with everything Pearson had done over the course of his political career, Virgil didn’t want to look at it. Why would he? Why feed the beast when its victims were all dead?
He remembered setting the thumb drive on the cross, reasoning he’d destroy it and leave Pearson to rot in hell and let the Pope twins deal with their own demons any way they could. He was, in fact, thinking it from the very spot where he now stood. He could picture the entire scene like it was only yesterday…he turned to grab the thumb drive from the top of the cross, ready to crush it under his boot. But when he looked at the cross, the thumb drive was gone and his badge—the badge he’d thrown into the pond—sat there in its place.
Virgil walked over to the cross and picked up the drive. He still didn’t know what it contained or how it could help him find and protect Murton, or if it even could.
Only one way to find out, he thought. Had he known what would transpire, that Delroy had been right all along, he would have done what he had intended to do two years ago. He would have crushed the damn thing under his boot.
But that didn’t happen. He walked the drive up to the house and fired up his computer.
When Virgil plugged the drive into his laptop he had a little trouble getting his machine to recognize the device. Then he realized his security settings were blocking the recognition process. He fiddled around with the settings, ignoring the warning boxes that kept popping up asking him if he was sure he wanted to continue. When the computer finally decided that Virgil wasn’t going to be dissuaded it showed him an icon of the drive. Virgil double-clicked it.
Nothing happened.
He double-clicked again and still nothing. He thought for a moment, single-clicked to highlight the drive, then selected file, open, from the menu. Another warning box popped up asking him if he was sure he wanted to continue. He swore under his breath, clicked yes to make the box go away and when he did, he was presented with another box, this one asking him for a password.
Christ.
He typed in the name ‘Pearson’ and clicked the continue button. The box appeared to vibrate rapidly on the screen but nothing else happened. Then, thinking he was being clever, he typed BPCoS. The letters stood for Bradley Pearson, Chief of Staff, and had been a vital clue in the Pope case and the death of Pearson. The box vibrated at him again. He leaned back in his chair and placed his hands behind his head, and thought about the Pope twins. He pulled out his notebook and began making a list. He spent twenty minutes thinking of various words and phrases connected to the case and wrote them down. Ten minutes later he’d tried them one by one until he’d crossed them all off the list.
Now what?
Then he laughed at himself and picked up the phone. He’d been so amped up regarding the contents of the drive he’d momentarily forgotten that he had in his personal employ one of the best computer people he’d ever known. “Hey Becks, where are you right now?”
“Can’t you tell?”
Virgil listened for a moment and knew. She was at the bar. “How long are you going to be there?”
“Why do I have the feeling no matter how I respond, you’re going to say something that will change my answer.”
Couldn’t argue that, Virgil thought. “I’m at home. I’ll be there in about thirty minutes.”
“What do you have?” Becky asked.
“I was hoping you could tell me. See you in thirty.”
But Becky wasn’t done. “Huma and Delroy seem to be hitting it off.”
Virgil grinned into the phone. “That’s great.”
“Yeah, except half the women in here want to tear her hair out. I think she’s the new teacher’s pet.”
“See you soon,” Virgil said. He hung up and went to tell Sandy he was leaving. When he walked into the boys’ bedroom she was asleep next to Jonas. He covered her with a blanket, made sure Wyatt was breathing…he was—that still scared the bejesus out of him—and left her a note saying he was at the bar and he’d be back as soon as he could.
He grabbed his laptop and the list of failed passwords and headed into the city.
When he walked in he found Huma sitting at the end of the bar chatting up Delroy, who appeared to hang on her every word. He stood and watched them for a moment. Huma Moon looked lovely, Virgil thought. There simply wasn’t another word for it. Most of the interactions he’d had with her so far had been at the house and this was the first time he’d seen her outside of her work environment on her own, having a good time. Her blond-white dreads were tied back and covered with a scarf, the ends poking out the back. She wore a floor-length flower print dress with sandals, a multitude of bracelets on each wrist, and giant silver hoop earrings. The look fit both her personality and her name.
He walked up, put his arm around her shoulder and gave her a squeeze. “You look lovely, Huma.”
“Dat she do,” Delroy said. He never even looked at Virgil.
Huma gave him a toothy grin, then turned back to Delroy. “Maybe it’s the company I keep.”
Delroy laughed his big Jamaican laugh. Virgil noticed Becky had been right. Huma was getting the evil eye from a few of the female customers who wanted Delroy’s natural affections on them, not some hippy chick with white Rastafari hair who’d never been in before. Who did she think she was?
Delroy may have had his attention on Huma, but he didn’t let it get in the way of his job. He was mixing drinks, pulling draft beer, washing glasses, swaying and singing along with the music all at the same time.
“How’s business tonight?” Virgil asked.
“Shaking and baking, big mon.” He looked at Huma. “The clientele seems to be on da uptick too.”
Virgil was going to say something to Delroy about the other customers, but then thought, screw it. He knew when to butt out. “Becky upstairs?”
Just as he spoke the house band cranked it into overdrive and Virgil’s words were lost to the rhythmic beat of their original Reggae music. Delroy leaned across the bar. “What’s dat, mon?”
Virgil shook his head and moved behind the bar. He leaned into Delroy’s ear. “Ask her to dance, Delroy. I’ve got the bar for a few minutes.”
Delroy pulled his head back and tipped it to the side. “You a good mon, Virgil Jones. Anybody ever tell you dat?”
Am I? Virgil thought.
“What was dat?” Delroy said.
“Nothing. Go. I’ve got this.” He set the laptop under the bar and watched as Delroy took Huma’s hand and led her to the dance floor. When he asked the two women at the other end of the bar if they’d like another drink they gave him a dirty look, got up and walked out without saying a word. Virgil laughed out loud, the sound lost to the music.
Delroy’s work ethic brought him back to the bar after three songs. Huma’s night out didn’t appear to be over though. Virgil grabbed the laptop and headed upstairs to the office. He found Becky standing near the window that looked out over the bar. When he walked in she turned and gave him a hug.
“What was that for?”
“That was a good thing you did down there,” Becky said.
Virgil let his eyes slide away from hers. “I think it was his br
eak time anyway.”
“Why do you do that?”
“Do what?” Virgil asked.
“Undervalue your generosity with others.”
Maybe because I sometimes feel like I don’t deserve what I’ve been given, Virgil thought. Or worse, I do and I fail to reconcile the books often enough.
“Yoo-hoo. Anybody home in there?”
Virgil held out the computer. “Here’s my laptop.”
Becky took it from him and laughed.
“What’s so funny?”
“What do you have as a desktop model? A Commodore 64? Man, this thing is ancient. If it’s broken I don’t think I can help you.”
“It’s not broken. See that thumb drive?”
“What about it?”
Virgil filled her in on the basics, skimming over the details of how the drive ended up in his possession.
“So you plugged it in and started exploring, huh?”
Virgil turned his palms upward. “Yeah. I wanted to see what was on it. What’s the harm?”
Becky removed the drive and placed the laptop in one of her desk drawers.
“I’m going to need that computer back.”
She didn’t appear to be listening. She opened a cabinet behind her desk and Virgil saw a rack of electronic equipment with various green and red lights flashing in and out of sequence. Becky flipped a few switches and Virgil watched the lights go away.
“What are you doing?”
“Killing the WIFI. Please tell me you did the same thing at your house before you plugged that drive into your laptop.” The look on Virgil’s face gave her the answer. “Yeah, I didn’t think so.”
“Isn’t that a little over the top, Becks?”
“You tell me. This drive came from the sister of the guy who hacked his way into Pearson’s personal and professional life without anyone ever knowing it happened. He also managed to write the code that scammed the lottery out of hundreds of millions of dollars, depending on which particular story you believe.”
