Death Perception

by Victoria Laurie

  ‘‘Candy... you... got... to listen... to me,’’ Fred said, panting like he’d just come off the track.

  ‘‘Not now, Fred,’’ Candice said sternly. ‘‘Your job is to sit there and try and calm down while I get you to the hospital.’’

  Fred shook his head no and reached out to lay a hand on her shoulder. When Candice glanced at him, Fred took a deep breath and said, ‘‘I’m serious. You have... to find... Jabba.’’

  ‘‘Okay,’’ Candice said calmly. ‘‘We’ll find Jabba. Did you want him to come to the hospital?’’

  Again Fred shook his head no. ‘‘Jabba’s the one... who can... help you... get your intel.’’

  Candice gave Fred a funny look. ‘‘You mean all these years you’ve been dealing in information, you weren’t the one pulling it?’’

  Fred leaned back against the seat and worked to take air in and let it out for a few seconds before he answered her. ‘‘I used to do... all the legwork,’’ he said. ‘‘Then I met... Jabba... and he got me... intel no one else could.’’

  ‘‘How?’’ Candice asked.

  ‘‘Hacker,’’ Fred said. ‘‘The best... there is.’’

  ‘‘How do we find him?’’

  Fred closed his eyes and took a few more breaths. ‘‘He’s in... the black... book. Take my laptop... to him... for safekeeping. He’ll get you what you need.’’

  Fred’s black book—the one we’d taken off his desktop—was next to me on the backseat. I opened it and flipped through the pages to the Js. Midway down the page was the word Jabba plus a phone number and address. I held up the book so that Candice could see it in the rearview mirror.

  She glanced at me, saw the book, and gave a nod into the mirror. ‘‘Thanks, Fred, I owe you one.’’

  Candice dropped Cat and me off in front of a drugstore just before she got to the hospital with Fred. If things got sticky when she took Fred in, she didn’t want Cat and me to get caught. We waited anxiously for her for over an hour, and when she finally came back, she looked tired and worn down.

  Cat and I jumped back into Fred’s car and I handed her the chips and soda I’d bought for her in the drugstore. ‘‘Thanks,’’ she said absently.

  ‘‘How is he?’’ I asked.

  ‘‘He’s having a pretty bad asthma attack, but the doctors are getting him to calm down and they’ll keep him overnight because Fred’s also got a heart condition and diabetes.’’

  ‘‘Yeah,’’ I said. ‘‘I was picking up that ticker problem pretty strong.’’

  ‘‘Are we going to Jabba’s now?’’ Cat wanted to know.

  ‘‘Yes, but first we’ll need to ditch Fred’s car.’’

  I glanced behind us, suddenly alarmed. ‘‘You think they’ll know we took it?’’

  ‘‘Remember that camera on the outside of the fence?’’ Candice said. ‘‘My guess is that they’ll be looking at the feed from our escape, and once they find my rental, they’ll put two and two together.’’

  ‘‘How will we get around?’’ Cat asked.

  ‘‘I know a guy,’’ Candice said.

  ‘‘Of course you do,’’ I said lightly.

  Candice smirked. ‘‘And he owns a used-car lot. We can get a cheap car with no questions asked and no pesky paper trail.’’

  ‘‘What are we going to do with this car?’’ I asked.

  ‘‘I told Fred I’d park it at the mall. Like everything else here in Vegas, it’s twenty-four hours and we can leave it there without anyone becoming suspicious. Plus, the car lot’s only a few blocks from there.’’

  * * *

  It seemed like it took forever to park Fred’s car and make our way out of the gigantic parking lot and walk the several blocks to the used-car lot. We each carried a laptop and with every step they seemed to grow heavier and heavier.

  When we arrived at Lucky Seven Motors, I’ll admit, I wasn’t feeling so lucky. ‘‘This place is a dump,’’ Cat whispered.

  We walked into the lot and scanned the cars. Candice headed right over to a worn and weary Chrysler K-car. ‘‘Wow,’’ I said as Cat and I joined her to inspect the car. ‘‘I haven’t seen one of these since the eighties.’’

  Candice peered through the window and checked out the odometer. ‘‘I had one of these when I lived in Vegas,’’ she said. ‘‘That was a great car,’’ she added fondly.

  ‘‘They don’t make ’em like that one anymore,’’ said a male voice with a heavy Southern accent behind us.

  We turned around and saw that a tall, lanky man with a pencil-thin mustache and a sharply pointed nose had come to help us. ‘‘Candy?’’ he said when he saw Candice. ‘‘Oh, my God! Is that really you?’’

  ‘‘Fats?’’ she said, her jaw dropping as she took in the man’s appearance. ‘‘I can’t believe it! Where did the rest of you go?’’

  Fats smiled and tucked his thumbs into the top of his pants, pulling out his waistband before letting it snap back. ‘‘It’s the new me,’’ he said.

  ‘‘You must have lost, like... two hundred pounds!’’ Candice exclaimed.

  ‘‘Closer to three,’’ he said proudly. ‘‘I got me that LAP-BAND and it worked purty good.’’

  ‘‘Whoa,’’ she said, standing back to take a good look. ‘‘I cannot believe it’s you! Your new nickname should be Skinny!’’

  Fats puffed his thin chest up and beamed at her. ‘‘What brings y’all by?’’ he asked, getting to the point.

  Candice flashed him her most winning smile. ‘‘We need a car,’’ she said. ‘‘Cheap.’’

  ‘‘I can help you with that,’’ Fats said. ‘‘And that model K’s a good start.’’

  ‘‘How much?’’ Candice asked.

  ‘‘For you?’’ Fats said. ‘‘A thousand.’’

  ‘‘What?’’ Candice roared, her fists balling up and her eyes bugging out. ‘‘Are you kidding me with this bullshit, Fats? I thought we were tight!’’

  ‘‘Prices have gone up, honey,’’ Fats said, completely unfazed by her outburst. ‘‘Chalk it up to inflation.’’

  ‘‘Oh, that’s a load of crap, Fats!’’ Candice said. ‘‘And you know it!’’

  I glanced at Cat and the look we shared meant that we were both beginning to think this outrageous form of haggling was the way things were done in Vegas. ‘‘I’ll give you a hundred bucks for it,’’ Candice said.

  Fats made a derisive sound. ‘‘One thousand dollars, Candy. And that includes all the paperwork you’ll need not to flag anyone if you should get pulled over. And I’ve seen you drive, child. You are one red flashing light away from a good speeding ticket, if you ask me.’’

  ‘‘Five hundred,’’ Candice said.

  ‘‘Seven fifty,’’ he countered.

  Candice stomped the ground and clenched her fists some more. ‘‘Six twenty-five and that’s our final offer, Fats.’’

  Fats pulled at his mustache for a while as he thought about it, his eyes roving to the K-car, then back to Candice, then over to us. Finally, he broke out into a big old grin and said, ‘‘Well, since you were so nice about calling me skinny and all, I suppose I can take a hit on a car this one time.’’

  Candice extended her hand and the two shook on it.

  ‘‘I’m glad that’s settled,’’ Cat said. ‘‘Abby, hand me my purse so I can pay the man.’’

  I looked at Cat blankly. ‘‘I don’t have your purse,’’ I said.

  The color drained from Cat’s face. ‘‘You didn’t get it out of the rental?’’ she asked in a high-pitched voice.

  ‘‘Oh, shit!’’ Candice said. ‘‘You left your purse in the rental?’’

  ‘‘Yes!’’ Cat squealed. ‘‘I left it behind when we went into Fred’s and I thought Abby grabbed it before we took him to the hospital!’’

  ‘‘We’ve got to go back and get it!’’ I said desperately.

  Candice looked at Fats. ‘‘Say, Fats,’’ she said, ‘‘can we borrow this car for about a half an hour? We’
ll bring the money to you. We just have to go get it.’’

  Fats laughed like she’d just told him the funniest joke. ‘‘Apparently, Fats isn’t into loaning out his cars,’’ Cat mumbled.

  ‘‘Fine!’’ I said, and dug into my backpack, where I pulled out the wad of bills that Red had given me. I counted off six hundred dollars and change, then handed that to Fats. ‘‘Can we have the keys, please? We’re in a hurry.’’

  * * *

  We drove out of the lot with our model K coughing and sputtering while I was having second thoughts about forking over six hundred dollars for something so smelly. ‘‘Can we roll down the windows?’’ Cat said from the backseat. ‘‘It’s like something died back here!’’

  Candice tried running the air, and there was more sputtering and coughing, but nothing even remotely close to cool air wafted out of the vents. Candice lowered the windows and we did our best to lean toward the open air and try not to breathe through our noses.

  It didn’t take long to thread our way back through the warehouse district—avoiding the street Fred lived on—and over to where we’d left the rental. I felt like weeping as we pulled up to the curb where we’d left the car and there was no sign of it. ‘‘Shit,’’ Candice said. ‘‘They’ve already taken it.’’

  ‘‘All my ID was in that purse!’’ Cat wailed from the backseat. ‘‘I won’t be able to get any more money without my ID!’’

  Candice pulled away from the curb and back through the dizzying array of streets, glancing in the rearview mirror often to make sure we weren’t being followed. ‘‘How much cash do you have left?’’ she asked me.

  ‘‘About a thousand,’’ I said.

  ‘‘I’ve got about the same,’’ she said. ‘‘Come on, let’s go see this Jabba character and see how much he charges. With any luck he’ll only want two grand.’’

  * * *

  ‘‘Five thousand,’’ said a porky young man with curly black hair covering most of his head and arms.

  ‘‘What?!’’ Candice hollered, and so began the negotiations. I looked around while the two of them argued money.

  Jabba lived in the basement of his mother’s one-story ranch. The house upstairs was a testament to cows. There were cows on the welcome mat, cartoon cows on the throw rugs. Cow figurines on the mantel, cows on the wallpaper in the kitchen. Cows on the magnets on the fridge, and a cowbell in the center of the kitchen table.

  Down in the basement, however, we entered a galaxy far, far away. Jabba was no different from the stereotypical young hacker. His walls were covered with posters of the Star Wars trilogies. A Han Solo figurine perched atop his computer, and hanging from the low ceiling on fishing wire were Federation Battleships and Death Stars.

  Now I understood the ‘‘Jabba’’ reference, and looking at the slothlike youth, it was easy to see the comparison.

  ‘‘Two thousand, Jabba, and that’s our final offer!’’ Candice yelled, pulling my attention back to the haggling.

  ‘‘I don’t argue over price, Miss Fusco. My price is my price, and that price is five thousand dollars. You don’t want to pay it, then go somewhere else.’’

  ‘‘Fine,’’ Candice said. ‘‘We’ll pay you fifteen hundred to get started, and bring you the rest later.’’

  Jabba considered that for a few seconds. Shrugging his shoulders, he said, ‘‘Okay. Give me the list again of everyone you need dirt on.’’

  Candice handed him the list and he surveyed it. ‘‘Hmmm,’’ he said. ‘‘Some of this stuff may be tricky, but I’m always up for a challenge.’’ I noticed the twinkle in his eye as he looked at our list.

  ‘‘Just don’t get caught,’’ Candice said.

  ‘‘Never do,’’ Jabba said with a sly grin. ‘‘I’ll call you when I’ve put your packet together.’’

  ‘‘How long will it take?’’ I asked.

  ‘‘Not long. Maybe a day, or two at the most.’’

  Candice gave him her cell number and we left Jabba to his hacking. We got back in the smelly K-car and Cat exclaimed, ‘‘It smells worse!’’ as she pinched her nose. ‘‘God Almighty, something bad happened in this car.’’

  ‘‘Hopefully we won’t need it for long,’’ Candice said as she backed out of the driveway.

  ‘‘Where are we going now?’’ I asked.

  ‘‘How much money do you have in your bank account?’’ she asked me.

  ‘‘Enough to cover what we owe Jabba,’’ I said. ‘‘But weren’t we trying to avoid the banks and their cameras?’’

  ‘‘I know a guy,’’ she said. ‘‘He’s got an ATM that will let you withraw any amount from your account with no limit.’’

  ‘‘No cameras?’’

  ‘‘Nope,’’ she said.

  ‘‘Will I need to change my PIN number?’’

  ‘‘Immediately afterward,’’ Candice said with a small grin.

  ‘‘Fabulous,’’ I said woodenly.

  Candice drove us a few miles over to a street lined with pawnshops and adult bookstores. ‘‘Quaint,’’ Cat said from the backseat.

  We parked the K-car at the curb outside Buckey’s Pawn and Lotto and headed inside. ‘‘Candy!’’ said a little old man about four feet tall with huge Coke-bottle glasses, black pants, a white grimy T-shirt, and suspenders.

  ‘‘Hey, Buckey,’’ Candice said smoothly. ‘‘We need to use your ATM.’’

  Buckey smiled, revealing two sets of gums and no teeth. ‘‘Ish right over there,’’ he said with a toothless lisp as he pointed to an ATM in the corner of the shop.

  We approached the machine with caution. Candice stepped in front of me and looked at the side of the machine, whispering, ‘‘Just like I thought. Abs, you’ll be able to withdraw as much as you need from this puppy. It’s got a gadget that will override any preset limit, but I would suggest you withdraw all of the cash in your account, because it will also grab your PIN number and make a withdrawal of its own after we leave.’’

  ‘‘Comforting,’’ I said with a grimace as I moved in and pulled out my ATM card. Swiping the card, I punched in my number and waited while the electronic readout suggested it verified the PIN.

  After several seconds Cat asked, ‘‘What’s taking so long?’’

  Candice’s face was registering concern too. ‘‘I’m not liking this,’’ she said as the display continued to show the hourglass with no signs of verifying my PIN.

  Alarm bells were going off in my head when suddenly the machine displayed a message that said, Unable to verify, please reenter your PIN.’’

  I moved my finger over to the keypad, but Candice caught my hand. I looked up at her and she shook her head no. ‘‘Let’s roll,’’ she said quietly and calmly, but I could hear the urgency there too.

  ‘‘How’s it coming?’’ Buckey said from his perch behind the counter.

  ‘‘Great, Buckey,’’ she said as she hustled us toward the door.

  ‘‘I’ve got a special on watches today,’’ Buckey called to us.

  ‘‘We’re good, thanks!’’ Candice said, and we shot out the door.

  When we were back in the K-car and Candice had zoomed away down the street, Cat asked, ‘‘Why did we leave before getting the money?’’

  ‘‘I think the FBI’s put a trace on Abby’s account. I’ve heard of the technique where they encode the account with a tag that keeps asking you to enter or validate your information while setting off an alarm at the FBI. While you’re busy reentering your PIN number over and over, they’re sending the posse to your location to nab your ass.’’

  ‘‘Clever,’’ Cat said.

  ‘‘Very,’’ Candice replied. ‘‘I figure they’ll be at Buckey’s in under two minutes.’’

  ‘‘So we’re totally screwed,’’ I said grumpily.

  ‘‘Oh, I don’t know about that,’’ Candice replied. ‘‘I think there’s still a way to come up with some dough.’’

  ‘‘How are we going to come up with three thousand five hundred
dollars when we’ve got no access to bank accounts and Cat’s fresh out of money?’’ I asked.

  Candice shot me a grin. ‘‘How’s that old radar working these days?’’

  My brows knit together. ‘‘Fine, I guess.’’

  ‘‘Ever try your hand at using it to beat the odds?’’ she asked.

  ‘‘Oh, that’s brilliant!’’ Cat chirped nasally from the backseat. ‘‘Abby! We can just win the money!’’

  ‘‘That’s your big plan?!’’ I gasped. ‘‘Candice, I’ve never done something like that!’’

  ‘‘Whoa, didn’t you once tell me about a strip-poker game you played with the Royal Oak PD that cost every cop there everything but his underwear?’’

  I blinked furiously at her. ‘‘Yeah, but that was for fun. This is different!’’ I said, feeling the pressure.

  ‘‘You’re right, Abby—this is different,’’ she said soberly. ‘‘The difference is that unless we come up with some serious coin fast, we can’t move forward with our search for Dutch. It’s not like I can go around and interview people, because of this little pesky business about being wanted by the law. That leaves us little recourse if we want to chase down leads here, girl, and unless you can come up with a better idea, your radar is the only thing that will move our chess piece forward.’’

  My right side felt light and airy and my crew gave me a small mental nudge. ‘‘Okay,’’ I said reluctantly. ‘‘I’ll try.’’

  ‘‘Great,’’ Candice said as the K-car coughed and sputtered while we idled at a light. ‘‘We’ll need to go back to the Strip, and that means we’ll also need to go incognito.’’

  ‘‘Like with disguises?’’ Cat said cheerfully.

  Candice glanced at her in the rearview mirror. ‘‘Exactly,’’ she said. ‘‘And I know just the place.’’

  ‘‘Oh, Abby, this could be fun!’’ Cat said, and I remembered how she always loved to play dress-up as a little girl.

  * * *

  Cat changed her tune about an hour later as she came out of the dressing room dressed in a black bouffant wig and a short cocktail dress. ‘‘I look ridiculous,’’ she said, observing her petite frame in the mirror.