by Ice-T
Casey heard the electric window going up and Shin laughing. “Crush, you hear that?”
“Yeah. Good lookin’ out. Where are they now?”
“They just drove off.”
“Okay, drive my shit to the office and wait for me there. Also, call Sean E Sean and find out when he’s gonna have those cars and see if he needs any assistance.”
“Okay, bet.”
Casey’s next call was to Jacob so he could eavesdrop on those detectives. Having all the phones bugged was like a Get Out of Jail Free card. He also needed to figure out where to lay up for the afternoon so the cops couldn’t find him.
Jacob’s phone rang and rang, then went to voice mail. He redialed and got voice mail again. He glanced at his watch—it was 9:30 A.M. on the nose. Maybe he wasn’t answering ’cause Casey was using his burner phone and he didn’t recognize the caller ID. He tried him again. Nothing. He dialed Champa—maybe the doctor was examining Jacob.
“Hey, you at Jacob’s?”
“Nah, I’m still huntin’ the doctor’s ass down.”
“What? Champa, that nigga’s dyin’ over there and he ain’t pickin’ up his phone! If he’s outta commission, we’re all fucked!”
“I know, I know, Case! I called the dude, and he was supposed to meet me, but he never showed. I’m goin’ to his place now.”
“Fuck! Call Rich and get a backup doc! If he don’t have anyone, call the other guys and see if they do. I’m going over there now.”
Casey tossed the phone on the passenger seat, whipped the G-Wagen around, and headed to Jacob’s walk-up. With the rain and traffic, he figured he’d be there in a half hour. On the way over, he searched his brain for alternatives but came up empty. He had seen Jacob do his magic, but was totally clueless on how to operate the equipment, and it’s not like he could call up some tech support to help him out.
Casey pulled in the alley of Jacob’s building and surveyed the situation. He didn’t see anyone suspicious, just the two guys Shin had watching the building. Casey got out and dodged raindrops as he ran to the front door. Once inside, he looked through the glass doors at Shin’s guys and waved them over.
Two burly brothers got out of their rice burner and hustled over to the building’s entryway. “Hey, Crush,” the two men said in unison.
“Has anyone out of the norm been in this building in the last few hours? Think carefully before you say anything.”
“Nobody new’s been in or outta this spot this A.M. or last night.”
“Okay, good. You guys’re packing heat, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay, I want one of you to hang in this doorway and the other to stay back in the car. If cops—and when I say cops, I mean in uniform or detectives—come in here, call me on this phone.”
“Okay, no problem.”
“Be prepared to take ’em out on my signal. And don’t let me fuckin’ down!”
The guys nodded, and Casey had them take down the burner’s phone number. Then he ran up the four flights of stairs two at a time until he got to Jacob’s floor. He was a bit winded and took a second to catch his breath before he started pounding on the door. No answer. He pulled out his phone and called and got voice mail again. Fuck! Casey took four steps back and charged the door with his shoulder. On impact, he could hear the wood splinter and feel the door give way under his force. The computers in the living room were alive with all sorts of activity, and alerts were going off like crazy. Casey called out for Jacob and heard nothing. He was torn between looking at the screens and looking for his man but knew finding Jacob was more important. He went to the bedroom, then checked the bathroom, then went to the hall bathroom. Two seconds before he reached the door, he smelled the stench of vomit, and that was where he found him, passed out in his own puke. He initially thought he might be dead—shit, maybe he choked on his own vomit—but when he flipped him over, he heard him moan. His face was pale and his shirt was soaked with sweat. Casey dropped to his knees and tried to revive him.
“Jacob, it’s Casey! Wake up, man. Jacob, come on, brotha! Wake up, Jacob.”
Casey shook him and slapped him in the face a few times, which did jack shit. He turned on the water and looked for a cup, but found nothing. He ran into the kitchen and found a glass, then ran back to the bathroom. He stepped back over Jacob’s body and damn near busted his ass when he slid in the vomit. Shit, that’s all I need is to crack open my dome. He filled the glass with cold water and threw it in Jacob’s face. That brought him slightly around. Casey dropped to his knees and started talking to him.
“Jacob, wake up, man, come on. It’s Casey! Wake up, Jacob!”
Jacob was slipping in and out of consciousness, but wasn’t coming to. Grabbing his arm, Casey put it around his neck and stood up, careful not to slip and fall. Jacob’s body felt like a furnace. Casey carried him to his bed and laid him down on it. As he did, he heard Champa come through the front door and hollered to him. “Champa, I’m in the bedroom!”
Champa ran back with the doctor in tow. The doc was a light-skinned brotha, about six foot seven and incredibly thin. He looked to be about sixty-five and was wearing a rumpled suit. The doctor rushed to Jacob’s side, opened his bag, and took his temperature. From the smell of it, he had already been tossing back a few that A.M. Casey shot a look at Champa, who just rolled his eyes and shook his head.
The doc took the thermometer out and reviewed it. He had a concerened look on his face as he turned to Casey and Champa. “This man has a temperature of 103. Can he be taken to the hospital?” The doc had obviously dealt with a lot of criminals, which was why he phrased his question as “can he” rather than saying “he should.”
“No, he can’t—he needs to be revived and ready to work ASAP,” Casey said. As the words came out, he was very aware that he sounded like a total heartless prick. The lives of his crew were at stake; he would have said the same thing if Champa, Shin, or any of the other guys were lying there. That was the nature of the game, and everyone knew it. Nothing personal; that’s just the way shit was.
“Okay, see if there are ziplock bags in the kitchen. If there are, fill four of them with ice. Also, set the thermostat to seventy degrees and get a big glass of water.”
Casey and Champa booked it to the kitchen and started searching drawers and found some ziplock bags and started filling them up. “Champa, where’d you find this guy?”
“Exactly where you think I found him. He was on his way to being two sheets to the wind when I showed up. He was at McDermott’s Pub with two boilermakers in front of him.”
“Well, I guess we know why he ain’t legit no more.”
“Rich swears by this guy, drunk or sober. On the way here, I made him drink two cups of coffee.”
“Well, he’s the only hope we got—come on, let’s get this in there.”
The guys carried the ice packs into the room. The doc had an IV in Jacob’s arm with the bag of solution hanging from a nail in the wall and was taking his blood pressure. Ghetto medicine at its best. Casey tried to avoid thinking about how absurd this mess was, but it was hard not to. He had a drunk doctor treating a Rastafarian computer nerd that held the key to framing the top detectives of the NYPD. Can this shit get anymore ludicrous.
The doc had taken off all of Jacob’s clothes except for his boxers. He grabbed two of the ice packs and put them under each armpit, then took the other and gently put it on top of Jacob’s head. He took the fourth ice pack, lifted up Jacob’s boxers, and put it on his crotch. The guys instinctively recoiled at this and exchanged startled looks. The doc reached into his tattered black bag and pulled out a syringe and a small bottle of medicine.
“This should give your friend a bit of relief and some energy,” he said as he started to draw back the medicine into the syringe, his hands a bit shaky.
“What is it, Doc?” Casey asked.
“It’s a little cocktail I invented.… It works pretty good, unless there is an allergic reaction or somethin
g.”
“Or something?” Casey asked incredulously.
The doc looked at Casey through bloodshot eyes. “Look, I’m under the impression there’s two seconds on the clock and you need this man functional immediately, so I’m pushing the standard medical protocols. Am I incorrect?”
“Spare me the metaphors, Doc, and do what you gotta do.”
The doc grabbed Jacob’s arm, stuck the needle in, and administered his “cocktail.” Champa and Casey were at the foot of the bed, watching Jacob. The clock next to him said 10:45. In three hours, Jacob was due to “press the button” that would release holy hell for the NYPD.
The doc took his temperature again and looked at the guys. “It’s going down slightly. Let me have the water.”
“How’s he gonna be able to drink? He’s passed out!” Champa exlaimed.
“It’s not for him, it’s for me. I’m still feeling a bit tipsy.”
Casey was more than annoyed with this whole situation, but let it slide. He walked to the other side of the bed and crouched down; whatever Jacob had, he sure as fuck didn’t want it.
“Two questions, Doc: How long till he’s conscious? Also, is he contagious?”
“I’d say he should be somewhat alert in a half hour or so and able to function an hour after that. He’s badly dehydrated, has low blood pressure, and he probably overdid the meds.” The doc pointed to two empty bottles of over-the-counter flu remedies. “As far as contagious, you’re okay. Just wash your hands with soap, a lot. That bathroom will need to be cleaned with bleach as well.”
“So, what does he have?”
“My guess is the Norwalk virus, it causes viral gastroenteritis. He made things worse by overdoing it on the meds. That’s why he passed out and threw up. I checked his skull, and he’s also got a nasty bump and maybe a minor concussion.”
Casey got up and went to the kitchen with Champa to wash his hands. Once there, Casey grabbed a bar of soap and turned to Champa. “I don’t need to tell you how this whole ball of wax is hanging in the balance. If he doesn’t come to, we might as well blow up the NYPD, ’cause that’s the only way we’re gonna survive this mess.”
“Yeah, I’ve been thinking about that. Do you think Al P. knows enough about Jacob’s tech to step in?”
“I doubt it, but call him up and get him over here, that’s a good thought.”
Champa dialed Al while Casey went in to check on Jacob. Casey could tell by the color of Jacob’s face that he was in better shape. “He’s lookin’ better, the color in his face is returning.”
“Yup, the temperature’s coming down, too, and he’s on his second bag of saline solution.” The doctor shrugged. “He should be conscious any minute now, although he might be a bit useless.”
Champa walked in and called Casey out of the room, then told him Al was ten minutes away. Casey walked over to the computers and looked at the screens. He could see conversations being transcribed from all the different phones. All that activity, but no one to access it.
Casey heard the doc call him from the other room. The guys walked in and saw Jacob semi-conscious. He was far from being able to do shit in his state. A few minutes later, they heard a hello from the living room; it was Al P. The guys called him back to the bedroom.
Al looked at Jacob, then at Casey and Champa, and was noticeably shocked. “Jesus! What happened to him? Is he gonna be all right?”
“Yeah, but we may be fucked unless you can figure out his tech. Come out here.” Casey led him and Champa to the living room and out of earshot from the doc. Casey didn’t trust the doc not to spill his business on a bender.
“You’ve been over here regularly, do you feel you know how to work this shit?” Casey looked at Al, who instantly knew what was at stake.
“Shit, I’ve watched him a hundred times and know how to go over the material, but if you’re talking about putting it on the Net, I can’t do that.”
Casey looked at his watch; it was 11:30 A.M. Time was evaporating.
“Okay, Al, I want you and Champa to start goin’ through the conversations from this morning till right now, and lemme know what’s being said.” Casey looked at Champa and continued his train of thought. “I’m gonna check on Jacob once more. He told me he had everything ready to launch, I just need him alert long enough to tell us how to do it.”
He went into the bedroom and started peppering the doc with questions about his patient. But the bottom line was that he couldn’t give Casey any kind of definitive answer on when Jacob would be in better shape. Casey looked out the bedroom window; it was still raining like mad. From the other room, he heard Champa call for him as the sound of rolling thunder filled the air.
“Case, you got to see this.”
Casey walked out, closing the bedroom door behind him. He walked into the living room, where Al was wearing headphones and Champa was reading papers being spit out by the printer.
“Dude, five-oh is all over this shit! They’re casting a net over the whole crew to find you. Mick, Rich, Sean E Sean, the Garcia brothers, and me!” Champa said.
“Exactly what do you mean?”
“I mean they’re looking to pick everyone up for questioning.”
“Fuck! I gotta unleash this video and audio now or we’re all done!”
“Even that may not be enough,” said Champa.
“What?”
“If they get some of the guys, they can hold them overnight and not charge ’em. If that happens, we’ll lose out on this job. We need all our manpower free and clear.”
“Call Sean and Mick and tell ’em to lay low. I’ll call the Garcia boys and Rich.”
In the next few minutes, Casey and Champa made calls to all the guys and told them to get into hiding fast, and if all went according to plan, shit would blow over tonight. Naturally, this sent a shock wave through the crew. There were a ton of questions from everybody, and no time to answer them. Casey and Champa just told them to sit tight and trust that all this drama would be worked out. After the calls went out, Casey went back to the bedroom to have a conversation with the doc.
“I need him up and conscious, Doc.”
“I’m doing the best I can. I’m not a—”
“Save that shit! You need to start working overtime on this problem right now! Putting ice on his balls, giving him shots and IVs is not getting results! Now, what else can be done?”
Champa walked in the room when he heard the shouting and stood behind Casey, glaring at the doc. The doc was peering over his reading glasses and calmly looking at Casey. He then reached into his bag and pulled out something that looked like a long white pill about an inch and a half long.
“I hesitate doing this, as it may cause a seizure,” the doc said as he took off his reading glasses.
As the doc spoke, Jacob started showing more signs of life.
Casey went to the side of his bed and started talking to him. “Jacob, it’s Casey. I need you to wake up, brotha, it’s game time, man. We need to do this right now, so I need you to pull it together, my man.”
Jacob’s eyes fluttered open and he started talking, but his words were all slurred. They couldn’t make out what he was saying until he said, “My dick feels … frozen?”
The doc removed the bags from his crotch and under his arms. As he did, Jacob let out a yelp and twitched a little. He looked like he was waking up from a bad dream, but Casey could see his eyes focusing.
“Man, I feel totally stoned.”
“Jacob, look at me, it’s Crush. We need to set shit off now, you understand what I’m saying?” Crush was about a foot from his face, trying to get Jacob to look at him. He gave Champa a head jerk to come over. “Pick him up, we gonna take him into the living room.” The guys locked their arms under Jacob’s knees and behind his back and carried him into the other room while the doc held the IV bag over his head.
“Jacob, concentrate. Tell Al what to do. How does he launch everything?”
“Casey … I think I’m gonna t
hrow up.”
“Later, Jacob, right now you gotta tell Al how to launch everything,” Casey said impatiently, his arms starting to burn from holding the hacker’s big ass.
“Open … the hard drive … and go into the folder … called ‘Surprise.’”
Al selected the hard drive and opened it, then double-clicked the folder called “Surprise.” The folder opened, and a message popped up, demanding a password.
“What’s the password, Jacob?”
His words slurring, Jacob gave the password: “90347G09753RE0372.”
Al P. grabbed a pen, quickly wrote it down, then typed it in and hit the Enter key. An error tone promptly sounded, and a message popped up to confirm it hadn’t been entered correctly. He tried it again and got the same result. This time the message told him he had one more chance, or the folder would be destroyed. Al was about to type it in again when Casey stopped him.
“Hold up.” He turned to the hacker. “Jacob, that’s not the password. It’s not working. I need you to concentrate, what’s the password?”
“Shit, uh … try it again, but you need to have caps lock on.”
“Are you sure, Jacob? We only got one more shot at this,” Casey said.
Jacob nodded and Casey told Al to try it. Al hit caps lock, reentered the password, and clicked Enter. The folder opened. There were two files in the folder; one was named “Launch”; the other, “Tracker.” Casey and Champa laid Jacob on the couch and went back to the computer.
“Okay, double-click it, Al.” Casey looked at his watch; it was 12:18 P.M.
Al double-clicked it, and a shitload of dialog boxes opened up all over the window with status bars. On top of the dialog boxes were the names of social Web sites, news sites, the governor’s, mayor’s, and police chief’s names, as well as video-sharing sites. All the blue status bars were creeping along; then, minutes later, messages started popping up, saying that the specific files had been successfully uploaded. In total, eighteen files had been uploaded onto 234 Web sites.
Champa looked at Casey. “Is that it?”
Casey looked back at Jacob, who was passed out on the couch in his boxers, and then back at Champa. “Yeah, I think so. Al, open the ‘Tracker’ file.”