Bell to Pay

by Jeremy Waldron

  Joey shifted his weight, kept changing the stations on the radio. No matter what he did to take his mind off of the risk he he’d taken, nothing could settle the nerves popping like electricity over his entire body.

  He glanced in his mirrors, drove no faster than the posted speed limit, and kept thinking that maybe this time it would work.

  Joey just needed to get as far from MSU as quickly as possible before anyone knew he’d been there. This was it, his last effort at getting the money he needed, before throwing in the towel. It had to work. He was out of options

  His phone dinged with a voicemail.

  Unable to take the suspense any longer, Joey pulled his phone from his breast pocket, swiped his thumb over the screen, and hit play on his voicemail.

  Brake lights shined in front of him and Joey slowed his car to a complete stop just as he heard a Detective John Alvarez say he had some questions for Joey and needed him to call him back. He recognized the detective’s name. It was one of the two Cecelia said dropped by their house earlier.

  Joey swiped the back of his hand over his forehead, wiping the pellets of sweat off his brow. He was nervous and experiencing paranoid thoughts that made him think everyone was watching—knew his secrets and what he had done.

  Needing to get back to the newsroom and have his face be seen, traffic was at a standstill.

  Suddenly, the sound of sirens sent his heart into a flutter.

  Joey killed the radio, cracked his window, and listened to the wails get closer. Soon, the emergency lights of a police car appeared in the rearview mirror and Joey worried that maybe Collins entrapped him and called the cops. That’s what he would have done. But Joey didn’t want it to end like this.

  He tightened his grip on the steering wheel and held his breath as he thought of the crimes he could be charged with if caught. Extortion and bribery were at the top of the list, maybe a few others as well.

  His stomach rolled. He didn’t feel so hot.

  The flashing lights got closer and all Joey could think was how the police were probably watching him since their visit to his house. It would make sense. This was his window of opportunity, perhaps his last chance ever at getting the money he knew his family needed. Now he was worried he’d taken it too far.

  Joey pulled to the side of the road. He felt his chest strangle his heart. Closing his eyes, he said a quick prayer. When he heard the police car zoom past without ever slowing down, he snapped his eyes wide open and began to laugh.

  He needed to relax. Everything would be just fine.

  Shaking off his nerves, he turned the radio back on. He drummed to the music, not caring that traffic was inching its way forward at a snail’s pace. Several minutes passed before traffic was funneled to a single lane, and that was when Joey saw the accident ahead.

  He sat forward and stared through his windshield. Even from here, he recognized Parker’s white BMW crunched in a heaping pile of bent metal. Bile rose in his throat and he quickly swallowed it down. He might have made some foolish decisions, but he wasn’t stupid.

  Another extortion and another death? Was that what was happening here?

  He didn’t want to believe Collins was dead. Even if he wasn’t, Joey knew that this couldn’t be coincidence. First Richard Thompson, then Donny Counts, and then this? If he wasn’t scared before, he was terrified now.

  Someone was watching him. Someone knew his secret.

  But who? And how long did he have before he was next?

  Joey kept his wheels straight, continuing to follow the car in front of him as he silently debated which was worse; the fact that the police had already been in his house, or that each person he had attempted to extort for money has now dead—or an attempt had at least been made on their life.

  He gripped his chest and felt his heart slow to a stop.

  Joey knew he looked guilty. Not only did he not have the money for a high-profile criminal defense lawyer, he also knew the police could make a strong case against him.

  Joey Garcia was doomed.

  Slowly, he rolled past the scene of the accident. Now he was certain that was Parker Collins’s car. He thought about stopping, trying to collect all he had just given to Collins in a last-ditch effort to hide the evidence. But even in his desperation he knew it was too late. All he could hope for was that those documents would somehow make their way to the salvage yard along with the totaled vehicle.

  When he locked eyes with none other than Samantha Bell, he almost caused another accident. He was too slow to react. She’d seen him.

  Shit. Now an eyewitness. How could he explain his way out of this one?

  But when his cellphone rang, and he saw that it was Samantha calling, he knew that maybe he couldn’t.

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  “I knew that name sounded familiar,” Alvarez grumbled into his phone’s screen.

  King kept one hand on the steering wheel and leaned over to see what he had found. They were parked outside Backstage, planning their visit.

  “Damien Black, one of America’s most wanted computer criminals.” Alvarez was reading from the department’s database. “Convicted of stealing corporate secrets, he was sentenced to five years in prison, plea bargained down, and was released after having only served sixteen months, the judge allowing him to finish his sentence out under strict supervision.”

  “So how is he now Managing Director of this place?” King pointed at the entrance to Backstage.

  Alvarez swept his gaze up and stared over the car’s dash. “Must be part of his parole agreement.”

  King flicked his eyebrows, thinking it wasn’t completely unheard of. “Come to think of it,” he said, “I’ve read stories of computer hackers who, after prosecution, later go into consulting and public speaking, teaching others about computer security.”

  “It appears Mr. Black may have done the same.”

  The detectives exited the vehicle and were feeling unqualified with the questions they knew they needed to be asking when they entered Backstage. The computer lab had a college campus feel to it as King noticed a couple students busy working on a robotics project.

  “Can you get it to do whatever you want?” King asked the two young men as he approached.

  “It can’t quite do everything we ask, but watch this.” The young man held a control in his hand and made the robot do a backflip in the air. They didn’t seem too concerned with having a new face inside their walls, and King took it as a positive sign.

  King clapped, clearly captivated. Then he asked about Backstage. As the students explained what it was and why they were here, King grew impressed by the program. “Is your instructor here now?”

  “Damien is out.”

  “Damien Black?”

  “The one and only.”

  No one knew where Damien was or when he would be back. The two students said they hadn’t seen him today. As King listened to what they said, his thoughts drifted to Samantha’s news about Parker Collins.

  King thanked the young men, encouraged them to keep up the good work, and turned his curious gaze to the young woman working alone behind a large computer monitor. Her hair was tied up in a messy bun, a heavy set of headphones wrapped around her ears. She flicked her gaze up to King, smiled, and went on working.

  Alvarez was standing at the corkboard in the front of the room when King joined him. “Anyone besides Damien teaching these kids?”

  “I didn’t get that impression.” King stepped forward, taking particular interest in the event flier they had heard so much about. “A bounty?”

  Alvarez wagged his head. “Far cheaper than the alternative of having your complete system held for ransom.”

  King knew little about the underworld of computer hacking. He turned to the young men and asked, “Are you two planning to compete in this event?”

  One of the boys pointed to the woman. “She is.”

  “What am I?” The woman removed her headphones and hung them around her neck.

&nb
sp; “Competing in the hack event.”

  “Oh, yeah.” The woman’s neck craned. “Damien encouraged all of us to join.”

  “Mind telling us what exactly it is?”

  The woman jumped to her feet and skipped to the front of the room. She explained the different events, the types of challenges presented. “Damien has been working with me personally, preparing me with the best skills to win. And, this year, the crown cup is mine. I can feel it.”

  “Who won last year?” Alvarez asked, not sure if this event was annual or a first of its kind.

  “Some kid from California.” The woman made an angry face, then burst out laughing. “Nah, I’m only kidding. I’m happy for him, but Backstage should have won.”

  “And if you win, you get to keep the prize money?”

  “Yeah, but I’ve already promised Damien I would donate it back to Backstage.” Her eyes stared at the flier, a serious look falling over her face. “We need this win bad. Backstage will close if we lose.”

  “A lot’s riding on your shoulders then?” King said.

  The woman nodded. “I’ve been training day and night for this event. I’m ready.”

  “What’s your name?” Alvarez asked.

  “Marion,” she said proudly. “But my hacker name is Maid Marion.”

  The detectives shared a look.

  “Damien nicknamed me that.” When asked, she added, “Because he said I’m beautiful, confident, and sincere.”

  “Damien nicknamed you that?” King automatically thought of Sam’s theory, the name Loxley, and how she believed they were chasing a computer hacker vigilante who thought of himself as a modern-day Robin Hood.

  “That’s right.” The girl’s head bounced on her shoulders.

  Suddenly, King’s cellphone rang. He answered the call from Lieutenant Baker. “What’s this about sending a patrol car to Rose Wild’s house?” LT asked.

  “I received information that she might be planning to leave town.” King explained the flight risk and how she might be a suspect—or at least a valuable witness—to Donny Counts’s investigation. “Has she been located?”

  “We have eyes on her now, but not without repercussion.” King asked for an explanation. “Rose Wild is threatening a lawsuit against the department for harassment.”

  King pinched his eyebrows. “LT, she was the one to request our help.”

  “Apparently she’s had a change of heart.”

  Alvarez had one ear on King’s conversation, the other on Marion who was still talking his ear off, when King turned his back on them. “Don’t believe it, LT. As soon as we have our backs turned, she might disappear.”

  “Your source better be good, because Chief Watts is already on my ass about these protestors popping up around town. There’s another one growing outside MSU chanting for Parker Collins’s head.”

  King mentioned the car accident. Lieutenant Baker hadn’t heard.

  “Did he die?” LT asked.

  “It doesn’t sound good,” King said.

  “Let’s hope he makes it. If not, that would be the third rich man in as many days to die, and we’re still without an arrest,” Baker muttered into the phone. When King didn’t respond, Baker asked, “What else do you know that I don’t? And why does it feel like we have a vigilante on our hands?”

  King turned and looked into Maid Marion’s sparkling eyes. “Because, sir, I believe we do.”

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  The hot dry air was silent as Ronald Hyland lined up his putt. He was shooting for birdie when he tapped his putter gently against the golf ball that had his business logo imprinted on it.

  Ronald held still, ignoring the dark shadow of cloud splashing across the green, as he watched his ball travel up the slope, then take a sharp curve toward the cup. The ball picked up speed and hit the opposite edge with enough force to nearly send it flying out of the cup. An aggressive ping filled the silent air before miraculously falling into the hole.

  Grinning, Ronald took a step back and pointed his putter at his opponent. “Now, that, my friend, is how it’s done.”

  Damien Black tucked his club beneath one arm and clapped. “Nice shot. But you got lucky.”

  “A man makes his own luck,” Hyland said. “But I suppose you already know that, seeing as you’re here today.”

  Damien grinned. “We use what resources we have available to us.”

  “And that is why I’m going to make you a deal.” Hyland handed his club to his caddie and loosened the glove he was wearing on one hand. A glimmer of hope flashed in Damien’s eyes. “If your next drive goes further than mine, I’ll agree to give you the money you asked for.”

  With raised eyebrows, Damien looked over both shoulders. No one was around. It was just the two of them and their young caddies. “Without any witnesses, I’ll have to get this in writing.”

  Hyland chuckled. “My word isn’t good enough?”

  Damien was steadfast with his lack of a response.

  “And here I thought I was the greedy one.”

  “Greed comes in all shapes and sizes,” Damien whispered close to Hyland’s ear. Then he asked, “What’s the catch?”

  “Catch?” Hyland tucked his chin, looking offended. “Why does there have to be a catch?”

  Damien angled his head and said, “With you, there is always a catch.”

  Hyland held Damien’s gaze for a moment before flinging his arm around the back of Damien’s shoulders. Together they walked, meandering down the cart path, stepping over the shadows of the towering blue spruces on their way to the next hole. Their caddies followed no closer than twenty-five yards behind, and were just out of earshot when Hyland said, “Tell me, Damien, what happens if you’re able to raise the money elsewhere first?”

  Damien eyed Hyland suspiciously. “You know about my meeting with Susan Young?”

  Hyland gave him a knowing look. “Like you, I have also done my research. But tell me, who was that black woman she brought along with her?”

  Damien’s mind churned when deciding how much he was willing to share. Working with Hyland was a game of cards—nothing could be revealed without risking it all. “Allison Doyle. Very intelligent, and knows software technologies extremely well.”

  Hyland tipped his head back and stared. Damien watched as Hyland’s pupils narrowed. “Should we be worried?” Hyland asked.

  Damien turned his head and gazed the length of the fairway when thinking about Hyland’s health. He felt confident in his ability to persuade anybody into doing anything he needed, but he didn’t know how much Hyland already knew. That worried him. Suddenly, shouts came from the woods behind.

  Hyland’s assistant seemed to have come out of nowhere.

  Waving his arms frantically over his head, he shouted for Hyland.

  “What is it? For Christ sake, get a hold of yourself,” Hyland ordered the younger man. “You’re making a scene.”

  Catching his breath, Hyland’s assistant swallowed his excitement and said, “It’s Parker Collins.” He flicked his eyes to Damien. “He’s dead.”

  Hyland rolled his neck over his shoulder and glared at Damien.

  Damien felt his chest squeeze.

  “How?” Hyland asked his assistant. His assistant said it was a car accident. “Was he alone or was Joan also with him?” Hyland inquired, pressing his palm flat against his skipping heart.

  “Alone, sir.”

  “Very well, thank you.” Hyland’s assistant scurried off over the bluff.

  Damien kept calm, acting like this news didn’t bother him. But as Hyland strode closer to him, he held his breath and waited for the volcano to erupt.

  “Let’s try this again,” Hyland said sharply. “Should I be concerned with these deaths somehow finding their way to me?”

  Damien swallowed a single breath. “Everything I’ve been able to gather tells me no.”

  “Good,” Hyland said, lining up for his shot. “Let’s keep it that way.”

  Chapter
Fifty-Eight

  King arrived by the time we were being told to go home. I wasn’t sure how much longer we could just sit here without being towed ourselves. By now I was beginning to doubt what happened to Collins could even be possible. But I knew it had to be Loxley because of the timing of his message to me.

  “The car was hacked. It had to have been,” I was saying to Allison over the phone.

  “It’s possible,” Allison said, her words encouraging.

  How Loxley did it was beyond comprehension. We were working through the possibilities when I suggested he messed with the traffic lights.

  “I’m thinking that sounds far too difficult. He would have had to time Collins’s movement perfectly.” Allison reminded me of how precise Loxley’s execution would have had to be. “It would be far easier to attack the car itself.”

  “But is there a way we could prove it?” I asked.

  “Not unless you can get me access to the system computer logs.”

  The tips of my fingers were digging into my forehead when I thought about how Loxley could be doing this from anywhere in the world. He didn’t need to be near, only needed to have access to Collins’s vehicle’s computers. A part of me just wanted to ask Allison to hack it herself—crack the safe and bust into the black box that would tell us everything. But it was too risky now that the cops knew we were chasing a hacker. There had to be another way.

  Allison asked what King found on Damien. “He just arrived,” I said, watching King canvas the scene. His strides were long, his jawline strong, and I handed my phone off to Erin and opened my door. “Keep Ali on the line,” I said. “I’m going to talk with King.”

  I stepped out of the car and walked beneath the partly clouded sky. King badged a fellow officer, and I watched them talk as I made my way over to him. Time slowed as I flitted my gaze across the scene, thinking about what we had to work with and how hopeless I felt at ever being able to find Loxley. It seemed impossible, but I had to stay positive.

  My call with Garcia didn’t help either. He delayed having a drink with me and I knew something was up. I still didn’t have an answer to what that might be, but it only made him guiltier in my eyes. Him driving by Parker’s accident didn’t help matters, but he didn’t tell me where he was going. Worse, I couldn’t confront him over the phone with the question I needed to ask. It had to be subtle when I asked him how my article ended up in his home office—if he was the one to give it to Thompson.