Geek Mafia: Mile Zero

by Dakan

  31

  "More than Sandee, certainly," said Chloe.

  "That's Persephone Petals to you!" insisted Sandee, referring to the stage name often found on the marquee at various clubs around town.

  "Sorry, Persephone. Anyway, we should be getting a pic of this Raquel chick any minute. Bee will forward it to your phone. Can you ask around at your usual haunts and see if she's been in? Be discreet, of course."

  "Of course," Sandee said. "I'm the soul of discretion."

  "That's what your mom said."

  "Well, mother is most definitely not in the slightest bit discreet," said Sandee with a wink. "Toodles, chica. I'll check in if I find your woman." Sandee started to turn and walk away but stopped as Chloe gently touched a bare shoulder.

  "Check in even if you don't, ok?" said Chloe. "There's a lot of strangers in town tonight."

  "I know," said Sandee, giving Chloe a kiss on the cheek. "I'm one of them."

  Chloe watched Sandee sashay up the block, back toward Duval. She reflected for a moment on how lucky they were to have found San for the Crew. Without the help of a Key West native - or conch as they preferred to be called - she and Paul might never have cracked this town. Now they practically had the whole island in their grasp. Assuming this Isaiah fucker didn't screw everything up with whatever he was up to.

  "Bee just got the pic," said Paul, breaking her out of her reverie. "Should be on your phone any minute."

  "Ok," said Chloe. "Where do you want to cover?"

  "I was planning on hitting the mega-bars and tourist traps tonight anyway to recruit for the party, might as well make my rounds as planned."

  "But maybe no party recruiting, right?" chided Chloe. She immediately regretted her tone as soon as she saw annoyance flash across Paul's face. He hated being reminded of the obvious. "As you already no doubt knew..."

  "Right," said Paul. He didn't seem angry, but then, just one of the things she loved about him was that he was good at letting little things like that go. "But I need to pass out new addresses to a few bartenders and waiters tonight. So I figured I'd show Raquel's pic around at the same time."

  "Sounds like a plan," said Chloe. "San has central Duval covered. I'll hop on my scooter and tour the periphery."

  "And when and if we find her, I assume our first call is most definitely not to Isaiah," said Paul.

  "Of course not. Let's hear her side of the story first. She no doubt knows more about Isaiah and whatever the fuck he's up to than we do."

  "She would have to - we don't know anything."

  "Not yet," Chloe said. "But the night is young."

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  "I put Bee on Isaiah as well," said Paul. "She's digging around looking for anything she can find on him and where he might be staying."

  "I hope she's careful," said Chloe. Bee was an amazing engineer and the best with gadgets, but she was no hacker. She knew her way around a computer, but from what Winston had said, Isaiah was a primo, oldschool hacker. He'd sniff Bee's digital scent a mile away if she got close to anything sensitive.

  "She'll be fine," Paul assured her. Chloe wasn't as confident, and decided to give Bee a warning call once she was alone.

  "You're probably right," she said, pulling him close for a kiss. "Now let's get on this thing. And remember, Raquel's probably not at the Pirate's Den."

  Paul laughed. Chloe teasing him about the strippers at the Pirate's Den was now an old joke between them even though, truth be told, Chloe usually had more fun in the Den than Paul did. "You can never be too thorough in these matters," he said. "I'll leave no stone unturned."

  Then they both checked their e-mail on their phones, downloading Raquel's picture onto their screens. She was a pretty, if severe, looking woman. Latin features and coloring, short, black hair. The pic looked like it came off a security camera - she certainly didn't seem aware that her picture was being taken. Still, it was a good, clear shot, and if the woman still looked the same, anyone who'd seen her recently shouldn't have any problem recognizing her.

  Chloe watched Paul as he followed Sandee, heading back toward Duval. She took off at a jog, headed back to Artist's Alley where she'd left her scooter. Considering the Vespa's security system and the thumbprint recognition device in the left handlebar, it should still be there. At her current pace, she would be in the seat and motoring in less than five minutes.

  Since the weather had finally, finally, finally turned from unbearably hot to pleasantly warm, Chloe had been jogging a lot lately, usually covering six or seven miles as she zigzagged through Old Town's streets or covered the island's perimeter. She memorized street names and house numbers and explored alleyways as she ran. Although she was somewhat frustrated by Key West's small size, she did feel like she was getting to know every little nook and cranny of its streets, which gave her a certain sureness of place she'd never quite felt in the vast sprawl of Silicon Valley.

  Chloe turned left on Simonton, retracing the path she and Paul had walked earlier with Winston. With fewer people on the sidewalk she increased her pace, running west to her Vespa. She got a few stares from drivers passing by, but she decided that time was more important than avoiding attention. Right now all she wanted was to find Raquel before Isaiah's Crew tracked her down. At the very least it would be a sign that she really did have some pull in this city and might therefore strengthen her position. If she was lucky, she could make some deal with Raquel or learn something that she and Paul could use to their advantage going into this negotiation or revolution or whatever it was.

  Closing in on her destination, Chloe slowed her pace to a trot and then a quick walk as she turned onto the more populated streets by the marina and saw a pair of cops standing not fifteen feet away. Nothing attracted police attention like someone running. They were right between her and where she needed to be, but she wasn't worried. Key West cops kept the drunks in line and harassed street dealers and street walkers. They had no idea about the Crew or any of the crazy shit she and Paul were up to. She saw that the two officers, dressed in white shirts marked "Police," shorts and heavy black belts weighed down with pistol, nightstick and radio, were doing one of their other favorite duties - harassing the homeless.

  In this case though, Chloe recognized the young woman they were questioning so intently. And at that Chapter 06

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  moment the young woman noticed and recognized her as well. She was small, with pixie-like features and long, stringy brown hair. She wore a pair of dirty, gray men's suit pants that she'd slit up the sides to her thighs and tied at the ankles and around the waist with rope salvaged from some dock. Her worn, faded blue spandex halter top looked like it came from the same dumpster as the pants. As usual, she wore a pair of chipped but serviceable roller blades in place of shoes.

  "Hey, hey!" said the woman, pointing at Chloe. "She can tell you! You can tell them, right?"

  Outwardly, Chloe flashed the cops a pleasant smile, but inside she was groaning. "Hey Cassie," she said.

  "What's up?" Both cops turned to look at her. Chloe recognized them as officers Hurley and Gutierrez. She'd taken the time a few months ago to memorize the names, faces and, where possible, the records of every officer on the Key West police force. They, on the other hand, didn't seem to recognize her at all, which was good.

  "You need to tell them," Cassie said. "Tell them it's ok."

  "You know this woman?" Officer Gutierrez said to Chloe, his eyes suspicious in that bored cop way.

  "Sure, sure," said Chloe. "Why? What's up?"

  "They wanna shut me down, man!" Cassie interjected. "They want me to stop... stop..."

  "Stop what?" Chloe asked.

  "Stop..." Cassie said, calming down as she tried to remember what was going on.

  "Stop her from making a nuisance of herself," Officer Hurley offered.

  "I wasn't..."

  "You weren't skating into pedestrians on the street?" Gutierrez said.

  "No..." Cassie mumbled in
to her chest.

  "Cassie," the cop continued, his voice level and calm. "We saw you. You skated right by us and nearly knocked that woman over."

  "Oh," said Cassie. "Really?"

  "Now, take off the skates and we'll have a patrol car come pick you up," said Hurley. Cassie's eyes widened at this and she tried to back away, but Gutierrez grabbed her. Chloe absolutely didn't have time to get involved in this shit right now, but she didn't want to leave Cassie hanging like that. She knew that the homeless girl had a pathological fear of being held in custody.

  "Can I just take her home?" Chloe asked, not believing it even as she said it.

  "Excuse me, ma'am?" asked Hurley. He knew as well as she did that Cassie didn't have a home and he no doubt wondered why Chloe was sticking up for her.

  "I could, you know, just take her home. Let her chill out a little. Sleep it off, you know?"

  "This woman lives with you?"

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  "She stays over sometimes. It's no big deal. I just thought maybe..."

  "Please!" said Cassie. "I'll be good and quiet and sleep like a bug in a rug and not run into anybody, I promise.

  Promise, promise, promise."

  The cops gave each other a look. Chloe hoped that they were now tired of the entire encounter and willing to turn responsibility over to her so they could get on with their evening. They weren't quite there yet.

  "If that woman decides she wants to press charges..." Gutierrez said. Chloe knew this was bullshit of course.

  If the woman wanted to press charges they would've had Cassie in handcuffs already. They just wanted to extort some sort of penalty from Cassie in order to make it worth their time.

  "You could take her skates," Chloe suggested. "She doesn't go anywhere without them. I'll bring her by tomorrow to pick them up and you can question her then if you still need to."

  "And until then she'll be staying with you?" Hurley asked.

  "Yes," said Chloe. She pulled out her wallet and handed the officer a driver's license with the name Jennifer Kimball and the address of an apartment in New Town. The cop copied down the info and asked for a phone number. Chloe gave him one for a throw away cellular she kept back at the house. Meanwhile, Cassie was stripping off her skates, and suddenly the whole area around her smelled like feet.

  "You know what," said Hurley, leaning back away from the stink. "Why don't you keep those."

  "Are you sure?" asked Cassie.

  "Yes, go on and keep those on," agreed Gutierrez. "But you head right back home with Ms. Kimball here. We won't see you again tonight, right?"

  "Right," said Cassie.

  "Absolutely right," agreed Chloe.

  "All right then," said Hurley. "You folks have a good night."

  "You too, officers," said Chloe.

  "Yeah, you too!" Cassie chimed in.

  The cops had made their deal and seemed happy with it. As long as they didn't see Cassie bothering anybody for the rest of the night, they were willing to let things go. Cassie and Chloe stood and watched them saunter back up the street toward the main tourist areas.

  "So we're going to your house?" asked Cassie once they were out of earshot, her voice full of hope.

  "No. You're going to go somewhere out of sight for the night. I'm going to go back to doing what I was doing."

  "Oh," said Cassie, disappointed. Chloe felt a pang of guilt - Cassie sticking up for me though."

  "I'll have you over some other time, Cassie, ok?" said Chloe. "It's just really crazy right now."

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  "That's me," she said. "Crazy. Crazy Cassie they call me. I know."

  "Yeah," said Chloe. They did in fact call her Crazy Cassie. Everybody did. "But you know..."

  "Ok, thanks. Bye-bye," the homeless woman said as she strapped her skates back on. "Thanks, thanks." She gave Chloe a big hug and then pushed off into the street, skating north into the shadowy streets of Old Town before Chloe could get in another word.

  Christ, Chloe thought, she was such a fucking softie. Time to get back to work. She found her scooter a couple of minutes later, right where she'd left it. She disengaged the security system with a fob on her keychain and thumbed the ID pad. The engine started right up and she zipped away, heading toward the beach hotels along Atlantic Boulevard.

  CHLOE moved as fast as she could through the chain hotels. Her Crew didn't have anywhere near the contacts in these corporateowned places that they did in the scores of guest houses and small inns that blanketed Old Town. She started her search at a small motel down the street from the Southernmost Point marker; a massive, brightly colored concrete tourist magnet that marked the beginning (or end) of the highway that ran from Miami down through the keys. As you drove that stretch (which she'd done many times now) the miles counted down to zero until you ended up here, with no road left to travel. Mile zero was the end of the line, and more and more she was worried that it was a dead end for her and Paul and the crew as well.

  She showed Raquel's picture around, pretending that she was looking for her sister-in-law, whom she was trying to surprise. Most of the hotel clerks seemed to buy this story, especially when she slipped them a $20

  bill for their help. Unfortunately, there was no hint of recognition in any of their faces, and when they checked their reservation computers they didn't find any Raquels. Chloe would've been surprised to find her at any of these places, but you had to be thorough.

  A little over an hour after she'd started, Chloe got a reprieve from her fruitless search when Paul called. "I think I've found her," he said, breathless. "Or at least where's she's staying."

  "Where?" asked Chloe.

  "The Weaver House."

  "Off Grinnell Street?"

  "Yep."

  Chloe knew the place. Off the main roads, small, quiet, cheap. A good place to lie low, although a little ratty.

  If she were Raquel she might've picked a place much like it. "Are you there?" she asked Paul.

  "Down the street. The day desk clerk's name is Carlos. He's dating Kyle, who's on our housing plan right now."

  "Do we know the night clerk?" asked Chloe.

  "No. She's new. Even Carlos doesn't know her."

  "Fuck. Ok, well, I'll be there in a few. If you could scope the place out..."

  "Already done. Just the one entrance in front. A little pool area along the side where there's a gate to the alley behind, but it's locked."

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  "Fuck again. Ok. I'll be there in a minute."

  Chloe mulled over plans in her head. The sister-in-law line might or might not work, depending on this new clerk. Anyone working a nightclerk job at a small guest house in Key West obviously needed money, so maybe they could just bribe her, although she'd definitely remember that if it happened, and Chloe didn't like being memorable in that way. It was possible the place had its computer reservation system online, but Chloe doubted it, and without a skilled hacker, they didn't have time to break into the system anyway.

  She found Paul standing on the corner, talking on his cell phone. She pulled up next to him and said, "How much for a quickie?"

  He smiled and hung up the phone. "$15 around the world."

  "Damn, you're cheap!" Chloe said, climbing off the Vespa.

  "My pimp believes in volume discounts. She's weird that way," he said, giving her a kiss.

  "Yeah, she must be. Who were you talking to? Has Bee or San scared up anything new?"

  "I wasn't talking to anyone, but I thought it looked better if I had a reason to be standing around on the corner.

  In case you're wondering, the time is now 10:47, and the temperature is a balmy 70 degrees."

  Chloe was pleased with Paul's improvisation. He'd come a long way in their year together, and thinking like a paranoid was now second nature for him. For a moment she considered the possibility that this transformation was not actually a cause for celebration, but she pushed such doubts a
side. There was work to do.

  "So," she said. "How're we getting in? Do you have any angles on this night-clerk woman?"

  "I thought we'd just get a room," said Paul. "They're only half-full, so we should have our pick."

  "Well sure," said Chloe, mentally kicking herself for not thinking of the obvious. "If you wanna do things the simple way."

  "Sometimes, simple is best. This hot chick I know told me that once."

  She took his arm in hers and they started down the quiet street to the guest house's front entrance. "Come on lover, let's get a room for the night."

  "I thought you'd never ask," said Paul.

  The Weaver House was like most of the guest houses in Key West - a converted old Key West house that had been added onto, subdivided and re-subdivided over the past five to ten decades. It was independently owned and operated, and odds were that the proprietors lived in the building or next door. The small front porch had two comfortable looking bench seats and a rocking chair. Inside, the small foyerturned-lobby had just enough room for the receptionist's desk and the door leading into the interior rooms. Behind the desk sat a thin, middle-aged woman with reading glasses who looked up from her crossword puzzle as Paul and Chloe entered.

  "Hi!" said Chloe. "Can we get a room?"

  "Oh... yes, of course," the woman said with a distinct French accent. "For how many nights?"

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  "Just the night," said Paul.

  "Maybe only a few hours," Chloe added, giggling. They didn't have luggage and it was almost 11:00 p.m. The only legitimate excuse they had for getting a room was to fuck, or do something unusual. Chloe wanted to leave no doubt in the French woman's mind that they were here for the fucking.

  The receptionist, wanting to be professional, tried to stop herself from smiling but failed. "Of course," she said. We have one room left with a king-size bed," she said, looking over the register in front of her.

  Apparently the place didn't even have a computer for registrations, so hacking wouldn't have been an option anyway.

  "Actually," said Paul, "the bed doesn't matter so much." He seemed embarrassed. Paul leaned over and looked down at the register himself. "We might be better off with a room that was sorta private. I mean away from..."