Wild Fury

by Tripp Ellis

"We've been back there three times and still haven't found it. How do you explain that?"

  "I don't know."

  JD flashed a skeptical glance, then looked at his watch. The sun was long gone by now. "Look, KGB doesn't get happening till late. And I'm hungry."

  "I need to get back to Diver Down and take Buddy out. We'll grab something to eat, get changed, then hit Oyster Avenue."

  We hopped into the lizard-green Porsche and sped across town to the marina.

  We took a seat at the bar, and Teagan popped the tops off two beers and set them on the counter as we arrived. She smiled. "See, psychic."

  JD frowned at her, playfully. "Okay, tell me what I want to eat?"

  "Something good," she said.

  "Be more specific."

  Teagan thought about it for a moment. Then a look of recognition washed over her face. "I see what you're doing. You're trying to cheat."

  Jack raised his hands innocently. "How am I trying to cheat?"

  "You are thinking of multiple different entrées, trying to confuse me. You're getting the seafood platter. End of discussion."

  I chuckled. "How about a little calamari to start, and I’ll take the jumbo shrimp brochette."

  The char-grilled, bacon wrapped shrimp with Monterey Jack and dirty rice was a tasty little delight.

  Teagan put the order in, then hung out and talked to us for a moment. The bar was slow. Harlan sat in his usual spot, drinking a beer, watching the flatscreen TV behind the bar.

  "So, what's new with you two?" Teagan asked.

  "Don't you already know?" JD asked.

  Teagan scowled at him playfully.

  "Well, I have good news,” I said. “The sale of Diver Down fell through."

  Teagan's eyes widened, and she jumped up and down. "Yay! Does that mean I get to keep my job?"

  "Possibly."

  She frowned.

  "It's all dependent on whether he can scrounge up the purchase price," JD said.

  "I have faith in you," Teagan said. "I believe that a person can do anything they put their mind to. I've been trying to keep a positive attitude, visualizing that I would be able to keep this job, manifesting my own reality, and now you tell me that the sale of the property fell through." She smiled. "See!"

  "I don't know if I can just will several million dollars into existence," I said.

  "That's part of your problem," Teagan said. "Self-limiting beliefs. As long as you believe it's not possible, it won't be. It's kinda like those college kids," she said.

  "What college kids?"

  "You haven't heard?"

  Harlan grumbled for another beer, and Teagan shuffled to his aid.

  Jack muttered, "I've been putting my mind to willing her bikini top to malfunction, but so far it hasn't happened."

  Teagan grabbed an ice-cold longneck from a tub of ice, spun the bottle opener, and popped the top with a hiss. She set it on the counter before the cranky old Marine, grabbed the empty bottle, and tossed it in the trash, then she skipped back to us.

  "You were saying?" I asked.

  "I can't believe you haven’t heard about it. It was all over the news today. A couple of college kids found Spanish gold buried on Angelfish Key island. They said they just kept visualizing the treasure until they found it."

  My heart sank, and my stomach twisted.

  JD and I exchanged a look.

  He punched me in the arm. "I told you we should have gone back out there sooner!"

  Teagan looked confused. "What's going on?"

  "You’re sure they found Spanish gold on Angelfish Key?" I asked, just to make sure I was hearing things correctly.

  "Yeah. They estimate it's worth several hundred million dollars. Of course, the state confiscated it. I'm not sure how much the kids will actually see. But they ought to get something. It's still kind of cool."

  Jack scowled at me.

  "I told you it was there."

  "You guys knew it was there?" Teagan asked.

  "Long story," I said.

  We ate dinner, then I took Buddy out. Afterward, I changed into more upscale attire. A Gaspari suit, Giannino shirt, no tie.

  We stopped by Jack's house so he could change, then headed to Oyster Avenue. It was a little after 10 PM by the time we got to KGB. It didn't usually start filling up until 11. The bar was Cold War themed and felt like stepping into a spy movie from the '80s. There were lots of red lights slashing the air. Old-school techno music pumped through massive speakers. Music from Nitzer Ebb, Front 242, Tribantura, Kraftwerk—classic '80s techno. Most of the people in the club weren't even born when turntables originally spun the tunes for the first time.

  It was the young and hot crowd.

  Gorgeous girls danced wearing tight cocktail dresses and high-heeled shoes. Some of them went full '80s with crimped hair, teased high. Some of them assumed the retro '80s look with lots of bracelets and lacy underwear as outerwear.

  It was like stepping into a time capsule.

  Now and then, old-school techno acts would come through town, playing their hits on the stage. Large red banners with Soviet era symbols hung on the walls. There were large, black and white pictures of politicians from the time—Khrushchev, Gorbachev, Reagan. There were black and white silhouettes of spy figures wielding pistols with suppressors.

  The drinks were expensive, and the pours were light. That didn't seem to matter much to most of the patrons. The beats kept coming, and the music was good. Half the crowd was rolling on Molly (MDMA, ecstasy) or some other stimulant. I had no doubt that Vasily had his own dealers in the club, satisfying demand. The Syndicate was vertically integrated. They handled importation, warehousing, wholesale distribution, and street-level retail.

  JD and I ordered a whiskey from the bar and settled in, surveying the crowd. The bartender didn't quite pour in a full shot.

  I saw Vasily in the VIP area. He was surrounded by gorgeous women, hanging on either side of him. There was a bottle of vodka on the coffee table and a pitcher of cranberry juice. Ivan, the blond goon from the warehouse, hovered nearby. But where was his brother?

  I figured if we tailed them long enough, we'd catch them in the act of transporting merchandise, or some other type of illicit activity. But it would be hard to connect their activities to Vasily.

  Then I noticed something I did not expect. Vasily was talking to a man in the VIP lounge, and the two were engaged in what appeared to be a friendly discussion. They laughed and smiled and clinked glasses as they toasted.

  These men were clearly buddies, or close associates.

  "Well, look who we have here," JD said, trying to suppress his glee.

  30

  Denise could deny that Nick, the pilot, was her boyfriend, but that didn't change the fact that she had been dating him exclusively. Denise wasn't the kind of girl to date multiple guys at the same time.

  She was going to be in for a hell of a surprise when I told her that Nick was buddy-buddy with Vasily Kozlov. I imagined there would be a fair amount of pushback. Just because I saw him in the club, talking to a known Syndicate boss, didn't prove anything. But I knew he flew jets for a private charter company.

  "What do you think the odds of those two being casual acquaintances are?" JD asked.

  "Slim to none," I said.

  "Are you going to tell Denise?"

  I hesitated for a moment. "She needs to know."

  "You'll be the bad guy."

  I cringed. "I'm already the bad guy."

  "We could use this to our advantage. Keep her in the relationship undercover."

  "I think that will hit a little close to home for Denise. I don't know if she will want to do that. It's taking a lot of risk. They'll kill her without a second thought if they think she's spying."

  "I'm guessing Vasily doesn't know that Nick's dating a cop," JD said.

  We leaned against the bar, watching Vasily and his crew frolic in the VIP lounge beyond the velvet rope.

  I felt sick inside. Denise would be crus
hed. I wasn't sure how close she had gotten with the pilot, but I knew there was interest on her part.

  We ordered another round of drinks and kept watch on Vasily and his friends—and I use the term loosely. Gregor entered through the back door, carrying a black duffel bag. The same type of duffel bag I had seen the two goons unload from the van at the warehouse. He stepped into the club, gave a nod to Vasily, then headed toward the back office.

  "What do you think is in that bag?" JD asked.

  "Either money or drugs."

  "I say we go to the warehouse," JD said.

  I frowned at him.

  "What?" JD asked, innocently. "They're all here right now. Let's go take a look, just so we know what we're dealing with."

  "Did you forget about the dog and the cameras?"

  "Like I said, I got the dog covered. The cameras too."

  "How are you going to disable the cameras? And don't say shoot them out."

  He looked appalled. "I have much more finesse than that."

  I rolled my eyes.

  I knew I was going to regret this, but I let JD talk me into pulling a little reconnaissance on the warehouse.

  We left KGB and weaved our way through the revelers on the sidewalk to the lizard-green Porsche. Somebody stopped Jack and asked him for his autograph. I'm not sure if they confused him with the '80s rock star, or they just wanted Thrash to sign their T-shirt.

  We climbed into the Porsche, and JD cranked up the flat six. It growled like a lion. He dropped into gear and launched from the curb. We zipped into traffic, and the tires barked as he shifted into second gear.

  We stopped by his house, and JD hopped out of the car, leaving it running. He ran up the driveway and darted into the garage, returning a few moments later with a pair of wire cutters and a handful of zip-ties. He put the cutters in the trunk, then climbed behind the wheel, pulled his phone from his pocket, and dialed a number. "Hey, I need a favor."

  From where I was sitting, I could barely hear the voice that crackled back through the speaker in his phone. The voice sounded annoyed. "Do you know what time it is?"

  JD continued, "I know what time it is, but this is an emergency situation."

  "What do you need?"

  "I need a little help with a wireless network."

  "No. No way. I can't touch a computer."

  "Bullshit. Don't even pretend like you're not on a laptop right now."

  "I'm not. I don't own a computer. That would be a violation of my probation."

  "I'll come over there right now and come up with a probation violation!" Jack paused to let it sink in. "I don't think you'll do well in the big house."

  There was a long moment of silence. "I'm not gonna get in trouble if I do this for you, right?"

  "It's official police business."

  I glared at JD. This was far from official police business.

  "Fine," the voice sighed. "But this is the last thing I do for you."

  JD grinned. "Excellent, we'll see you shortly."

  "Who was that?" I asked.

  "Remember that ass-clown we arrested for video voyeurism? Zeke."

  "That guy?"

  "Yeah. He pled down because of his assistance, and the DA cut him a deal. A year of probation, and no computer."

  "He's going to help us hack into the cameras?" I asked.

  JD smiled. "Exactly. He knows his way around wireless camera systems. "

  We stopped by Zeke's apartment, which wasn't far from Jamaica Village. We parked at the curb and banged on the door. It was another rectangular building that contained four connected units. Palm trees swayed overhead, and the complex was painted in a light flamingo pink that was dirty and grimy.

  Zeke pulled open the door, looking annoyed. He held a diet soda in one hand and a bag of chips in the other. Crumbs had drizzled down the front of his shirt, some of which still rested on the ridge of his belly.

  The T-shirt was way too small for him.

  He had greasy, matted, brown hair, and a thin mustache lingered on his upper lip like a grease stain. He was in his early 30s but looked like he was just out of high school. He had a round face and thick square glasses. "What is it you need me to do exactly?"

  "I just need you to disable some wireless security cameras," JD said.

  "Oh, is that all?" Zeke asked with a healthy dose of sarcasm.

  "That should be easy for a man of your talent."

  Zeke's eyes narrowed at JD. "I do this, and I want all that bullshit expunged from my record."

  Jack balked. "Not possible."

  "Then I can't help!"

  "Is that a laptop I see on the couch," JD said pointing past the man's belly to the sofa.

  "If you recall, I helped you guys out, big time."

  "And the DA compensated you for that with a lesser charge, to which you pled out."

  "I'm tired of being on probation. This is bullshit. I lost my job. I had to move into this shitty apartment. My life sucks now."

  "Should have thought of that beforehand," JD said.

  "Why do you need the security cameras disabled?" Zeke asked.

  JD and I exchanged a glance.

  "That's classified information," JD said. "But, if you help us, and it leads to an arrest, I will talk to the DA personally and see if we can't solve some of your problems."

  Zeke thought about it for a long moment. "I have your word on that?"

  "You have my word," JD said.

  "And how about a little something for the effort," Zeke asked.

  JD lifted a curious brow. "How much do you want?"

  Zeke shrugged. "$200?"

  "No way!"

  "$150?" Zeke asked.

  "$100,” JD said. “$200 if it leads to a conviction."

  Zeke let out a resigned sigh. "You guys are dicks, you know that?"

  31

  Zeke followed us to the warehouse district. JD parked his car in the lot of the rehearsal studio, clicked his alarm, and the lights flashed twice. We hopped into Zeke's blue Honda with a dented quarter panel.

  "Kill the lights," I said.

  Zeke shut them off and we cruised down the block and backed into an alley across from Vasily's warehouse. Zeke killed the engine and scoped out the building for a minute, then opened his laptop. "This is like real spy shit, isn't it?"

  "Something like that," I said.

  "What's in the warehouse?"

  "That's what we're trying to figure out."

  "This isn't exactly legal, is it?" Zeke muttered.

  JD and I exchanged a glance.

  "I swear, you guys do illegal shit and it's okay. I do one thing wrong, and they want to send me to prison."

  "This is for a good cause," I said.

  "You're violating people's rights. Their due process." He was just being cantankerous.

  "Kinda like you did when you placed cameras in people's hotel rooms, huh?"

  Zeke sneered at me.

  The stereo played techno music at a low volume, and the glow from the laptop's display illuminated Zeke's face with cool light.

  "Turn the brightness down so we don't draw so much attention," I said.

  Zeke dimmed the screen. He launched a black-hat wireless recon program and searched for available wireless networks. The app let him perform wireless signals intelligence in a passive way, making his virtual trespassing undetectable. "Bingo!"

  He pointed to a list on the screen.

  "You see that. I'm guessing that's the Wi-Fi at the warehouse. And all of these networks with similar names... Look at the MAC addresses. They all start with AX1946… Those are the cameras. They are password-protected, secure devices. But nobody ever changes the passwords. Hell, most manufacturers don't even give you the option. They have open ports and hardcoded passwords. I can back door my way in, then use the cameras as a hub into the main router."

  "You think you can figure out the password?" I asked.

  He scoffed. "Please. I know the default password for every make of camera. You can find al
l that shit on the dark web."

  With a few keystrokes he had accessed the network. "I can disable the cameras. Most of these security cameras are motion activated. Unless someone is actively monitoring them, no one will know if they go down temporarily. If you guys get in and get out quickly, nobody will ever know you were there."

  "You sure this is going to work?" I asked.

  "It's totally going to work," he said with a cocky grin. "But here's the deal. You guys better stick to your word. If you don't, I'm gonna blab that I helped you do something illegal."

  "You'd be admitting to co-conspiracy," I said. "You'd go down with us."

  "It would be worth it just to see both of you lose your badges." He smiled.

  I opened the door and slipped out of the car.

  JD followed.

  We held up at the end of the alley and surveyed the building. There was nobody there. I didn't see the Doberman, but I knew the ferocious creature was there somewhere, lurking in the shadows.

  With a quick glance up and down the block, JD and I crossed the street, then made our way around the side of the building to the dumpster by the chain-link fence. Jack carried the clippers in his hand.

  It didn't take long for the dog to come charging—moonlight glistening from his teeth as he barked and growled. The guttural rumblings echoed through the night, bouncing off the brick walls of neighboring buildings.

  JD dug into his pocket and tossed the dog a treat.

  The dog stopped barking and crunched on the treat, his molars macerating it to bits.

  "That a boy!" JD said, feeding the dog another treat through the chain-link fence.

  The dog's collar read Punisher.

  He chomped on the second treat, and by the time he scarfed it down, JD had slipped another one through the fence. "Good boy. There's plenty more where that came from."

  Crunch.

  Crunch.

  Crunch.

  JD held another treat out. "Sit, boy. Sit!"

  Punisher complied. He waited obediently.

  JD tossed another treat through the fence, then began clipping the wire.

  Punisher did nothing but chomp and chew and watch.

  JD clipped enough links for us to slip through, and I was careful not to snag my expensive suit on the jagged edges. The chain links rattled as we slid through the other side.