Rebels and Thieves

by Russell Williams

  Chapter 40

  Jones walked through the Miami Police Department, aware he had to get his hands on the four computer hard drives from Tucker & Sutton Associates. He carried a brown duffle bag in his right hand. It was a race against the clock. Halfway down the corridor, he turned into the property and evidence room. The room looked like a large warehouse, equipped with many rows of metal shelves, each containing boxes, containers, and bags. Sitting behind a desk was Maggie Towers, the Property and Evidence Technician. She was a big woman with short blonde hair, a red face, and wide hips. Nothing came into the room or left without her knowledge. She made sure all the property items were packaged, cataloged, and stored.

  “I have big problems,” Jones said, his head pounding. “And I need your help.”

  Maggie gave him a worried look. “You look awful.”

  “I’m going to tell you something, personal and confidential. So, keep it between us.”

  “No problem.”

  Jones decided to take a leap of faith. More than anything else right now, he needed someone in his corner. “I can trust you, can’t I?”

  “Sure.”

  “You can’t tell anyone about this. Not a soul. It’s a life and death situation.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I have to be certain. Swear on your life that you won’t tell anyone.” Jones knew that she had a crush on him for a long time. Every time they ran into each other at the police department, she practically threw herself at him, even though she knew he was a married man.

  “I won’t breathe a word to anyone. You know how I feel about you, don’t you?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “We have a special connection. We’ve never discussed it. But it’s there, isn’t it?”

  Jones was more than happy to play along. “Oh, I feel it, too. But I’m married.”

  “I’ve been the other woman before. No biggie. Plus, you never know where it will lead.”

  “We’ll talk about it later, after you’ve helped me.” Jones winked at her. So far, Maggie had taken the bait, hook, line, and sinker. Convincing her to help him wasn’t going to be as hard as he’d originally thought.

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “I need to get something out of the evidence room.”

  Maggie’s face beamed. “Oh, is that it?”

  Jones felt his chest tighten. He wanted to get this over with as fast as possible. “I need the four hard drives from Tucker & Sutton Associates.”

  “They won’t be of much help to you, because they’re burnt to a crisp.”

  “Just find them for me, all right?”

  Maggie opened the evidence log book, flipped through several pages, and ran her finger down a long list of names. Hunched over her desk, she punched data into the computer and waited for the results. Squinting, she studied the screen. “That’s it.” She smiled. “I know exactly where they’re located.”

  “You’re a miracle worker.”

  Maggie raised her eyebrows. “Don’t count your chickens before they hatch.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “The hard drives are scheduled to be transferred to the crime scene lab for analysis.”

  “I need to see them first.”

  “That’s not a problem. But we have to act fast.”

  Jones couldn’t have been happier. Finally, something was going good in his life. “I don’t know how I’m ever going to repay you for this.”

  “Well, you can start by taking me out for a romantic dinner.”

  Jones winked at her. “You got it.”

  “Show me the official paperwork. And I’ll take you back there.”

  “I don’t have it. You see, that’s why I need your help.” Jones didn’t want to create a paper trail, one that would lead directly back to him. In his duffle bag were four brand new hard drives. Early this morning, he went to Best Buy and purchased them. On his back porch, he doused them with lighter fluid and set them on fire. For his family’s sake, he had to convince Maggie to go along with his plan.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I have some hard drives in my duffel bag. They’re also burnt to a crisp, too.”

  Maggie screwed up her face. “I … I don’t understand.”

  “I want to switch them for the originals.”

  “You can’t tamper with police evidence.”

  Jones knew she was worried about getting caught. Tampering with police evidence was a serious offense. “No one will find out, I promise. You have nothing to worry about.”

  “I want to help you. I really do. But it’s too risky.”

  “These hard drives are shot, too. Once I replace them, no one will know the difference.”

  Maggie sounded nervous. “You can’t be certain, though.”

  Jones had to put on the performance of his life. He hadn’t come this far to go down in flames. “The crime lab won’t be able to tell to retrieve any data from these drives, either. They’ll assume these drives were destroyed in the fire. No one will ever suspect anything.”

  “This has to do with Black Capital Investments, doesn’t it?”

  “I have to get the hard drives for Basov. Or he’s going to kill me and my family. I can’t let that happen. I know it’s a lot to ask, but I’m desperate. So, you’ve got to help me.”

  Maggie’s jaw dropped open. “How did you get mixed up in this?”

  “Listen, I don’t have time to explain it. You don’t want me to get killed, do you?”

  “That’s not going to happen. Come with me.”

  Jones followed her through the police evidence room. They walked down a long aisle, lined on both sides with rows of metal shelves. On the shelves were a lot of boxes, containers, and bags. Rounding the corner, they headed down another long row. Halfway down the aisle, Maggie stooped to her knees. She pointed at a box with an orange lid, labeled Tucker & Sutton Associates.

  “Thank you.” Jones knelt on the ground. “You really came through for me.”

  “This never happened, right?”

  “You don’t have anything to worry about. No one will ever find out about this.”

  Maggie kissed him on the cheek. “You have to make it up to me, though.”

  Jones was relieved he had pulled it off. Even though he didn’t have feelings for her, he thought it was best to keep leading her on. “I owe you, big time. I’ll make it up to you.”

  Maggie toyed with a lock of her hair. “We’re going to start seeing each other, right?”

  “I’m going to take you out to dinner soon, right after I get this mess straightened out.”

  “Thanks.”

  Jones opened the brown duffle bag and switched the originals with the four hard drives he’d brought with him. Anxious to get out of there, he got up and left the police evidence room. Sitting in his police cruiser, he saw Malone and Peterson get out of their unmarked police car and head into the Miami Police Department. He’d just made it out of there in the nick of time. Now, that was too close for comfort. One or two minutes later, they would have probably caught him, red-handed. Wiping the sweat from his forehead, he breathed a deep sigh of relief.

  Chapter 41

  Jones pulled into the Development Partners of Miami Beach. Set far back from the highway, surrounded by many palm trees, was a long rectangular building. All of the offices looked the same, with glass doors and large storefront windows facing the parking lot. He got out of the police car, grabbed the brown duffle bag, and went inside. Sitting behind the reception desk was an old man, with a wrinkled face, curly gray hair, and intelligent, probing eyes. He was wearing a tan suit with a white button-down shirt and a bright yellow tie.

  “Basov gave me this address,” Jones said. “Let him know I’m here.”

  “Did you bring the merchandise?”

  “That’s my business, not yours. But tell him I came through for him.”

  The old man’s tone was sharp. “Everyone says you’re a hotshot.”


  Jones cursed under this breath. He couldn’t believe he’d got himself into this mess. “I want to get this over with, that’s all. Let’s try to speed things up a bit.”

  “We both want the same thing.”

  “Well, snap to it, will you? I don’t have all day.”

  The old man looked annoyed. “You should work on having respect for your elders.”

  “Just tell him I’m here, all right?”

  “Have it your way,” he said, as he walked through a curtain archway.

  Jones looked around the room. Great, this place is definitely a cover for criminal activity. There were framed prints on the walls—sailboats and sunsets over the ocean. The furniture was really old and probably purchased at a flea market. The room had beige carpeting, stained with black and brown spots. Overhead, a single white bulb lit the room. How did I get mixed up in this anyway? The old man came back into the room and sat down behind the desk. He lit a cigarette and blew out a cloud of smoke.

  “I just talked to him,” the old man said. “This must be your lucky day.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “Basov is having a bad day. So, I’d watch my mouth around him, if I were you.”

  Jones didn’t want to make matters worse. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “Leave your gun on the desk. I’ll take good care of it.”

  “No, I’ll take a rain check on that offer.”

  “I was wrong.” He took another drag on the cigarette. “You’re not that dumb, after all.”

  Jones felt his hands trembling. He hoped he was going to make it through this ordeal alive. “Well, we’re not going to keep him waiting, are we?”

  “No, we’re not,” the old man said, and gestured Jones in.

  Basov was sitting behind a large desk, his hands clasped in front of him. He wore a dark suit with a white button-down shirt, a black and gold tie, and gold cufflinks. Four body guards stood next to him, two on either side of the desk. They held nine millimeter pistols in their hands, barrels pointed at the floor.

  “These are my associates,” Basov said. “They’ll make sure everything goes smoothly.”

  “That’s fine with me,” Jones said. “I don’t want any trouble, either.”

  “For your sake, I hope you’re telling the truth.”

  Jones’ mouth went dry. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something bad was going to happen to him. “I brought the merchandise with me. It’s in the duffle bag.”

  Basov grinned. “So far, we’re off to a great start. Let’s keep things rolling along.”

  “How do you want to play it?”

  “Put the duffle bag on the desk, along with your gun. Make sure you do it nice and easy.”

  Jones laid everything on the desk, right in front of Basov. Two body guards, one on either side of the desk, marched over to him. One of the men pointed a gun at his chest. The other body guard spun him around, shoved him against the wall, and told him to spread his legs. He frisked him, making sure he wasn’t wearing a wire or concealing any weapons. When the body guard was finished, he spun him back around and then nodded at his boss.

  “The hard drives better be genuine,” Basov said. “Not from someone else’s computer.”

  “They’re from Tucker & Sutton Associates.”

  “I have a lab set up in the back, through the glass door. I have staffed it with the best and brightest computer specialists in the country.”

  “You don’t have anything to worry about. I’m telling you the truth, I swear.”

  Basov gave him a curious look. “How did you get your hands on the hard drives?”

  Jones tried to keep his bearings. There was so much adrenalin shooting through his veins that he felt like he was going to jump out of his skin. “I bought four computers early this morning. And I removed all the hard drives.”

  “Go on.”

  “On my back porch, I doused them with lighter fluid and set them on fire.”

  “That’s creative.” Basov leaned back in his chair. “I like it so far.”

  Jones could tell he was interested in hearing more. So far, everything was going according to his plan. “In the police evidence room, I switched them for the originals.”

  “You’re a smart kid, do you know that?”

  Basov looked at one of the bodyguards, pointed at the duffle bag, and nodded. A large man lifted the bag from the desk and walked away. He opened a glass door and slipped into the back room. Cracking his knuckles, Basov put his feet up on the desk. He crossed his legs, placing his right leg over his left. Two bodyguards grabbed Jones, one on either side of him, each one placing a firm hand on his shoulder.

  “You made a good decision,” Basov said. “I don’t get off on killing people’s families.”

  “I know what you’re capable of doing,” Jones said. “I’ve complied with your wishes.”

  Basov sighed. “Sometimes, I have to do bad things. It’s just business, nothing personal.”

  “You’re still going to hold up your end of the bargain, aren’t you?”

  “It all depends on what the computer specialists find on the drives.”

  Jones felt weak at the knees. It seemed like time stopped, like he’d been waiting there for hours. “What if they can’t do their jobs?”

  Basov grinned. “They’re the best in the business, the best money can buy.”

  “But what happens to me—”

  “Shut up. Don’t say another word. Not until my associate comes back.”

  Jones watched the bodyguard as he came back into the room. He stopped beside Basov, bent over, and whispered something in his ear. What the hell did he say to him? Take it easy, he told himself. Nothing is going to go wrong. He forced himself to remain calm.

  “I did everything you asked me to,” Jones said, nodding. “I kept my word.”

  “You did a good job for me. No doubt about it. The hard drives are legitimate.”

  “So, I’m free to go?”

  “People break deals all the time, you know that.”

  Jones took a deep breath and tried not to panic. His worst fears were being realized. “I brought you the evidence, though. No one else could have done that for you.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I’m still going to give you a break.”

  Jones heart was pounding in his chest. “I ...I don’t understand.”

  “I’m not going to kill your wife and son, I promise. But you have to go. No loose ends.”

  “Please don’t do anything to me.”

  Basov got to his feet, picked up a baseball bat, and headed toward Jones. He turned sideways, slung the bat over his right shoulder, and swung it with all his might. Jones felt a terrible pain in the side of his head, followed by warm blooding gushing down his face. He collapsed to the ground, his arms and legs flapping against the concrete floor, and then his eyes fluttered shut.

  Chapter 42

  On the corner of Third Avenue and Townsend Street, police officers were taping off the crime scene, escorting bystanders behind the yellow tape, and waving the crowd of onlookers away. Malone pulled into the Development Partners of Miami Beach. He parked behind several police cars, all with their red and blue lights flashing. Damn, this isn’t going to be easy. He wasn’t looking forward to going inside the building. Malone unfastened his seatbelt and looked over at Peterson, who was sitting in the passenger seat.

  “Take a deep breath,” Malone said. “It’s not going to be a pretty site in there.”

  “You can’t prepare yourself for something like this,” Peterson said. “It’s impossible.”

  “You’ve got a good point.”

  “So, there’s no point in trying.”

  Malone was silent for a moment. No matter how rough the job got, you had to summon the strength to go on. “You can’t walk in there and throw up your lunch, either.”

  “This city is like a disease. All the crime is slowly eating away at me.”

  Malone knew exactly how she felt. “It’s all pa
rt of the job, isn’t it?”

  “It still doesn’t make it any easier, though. It doesn’t make me feel any better.”

  “It goes without saying, I guess.”

  “Jones was a little rough around the edges, but he was a still a good kid. He deserved to have a long life to look forward to.”

  Malone felt a wave of guilt wash over him. He regretted asking Jones to get involved in the investigation. “I feel terrible he’s gone, too. It’s not going to be easy for me to get over it.”

  Peterson’s eyes grew thoughtful. “What did he get himself mixed up in?”

  “I don’t know. But let’s go find out.”

  Malone and Peterson got out of the unmarked police car and headed for the building. They stopped in front of a uniformed police officer, a tall man with a potbelly. It was his responsibility to monitor the outer perimeter. He took down their names, badge numbers, and allowed them under the yellow tape. They walked through the glass door, into the old building, and stepped through a curtain archway. The rookie police officer lay on his back, his hands at his sides—a dark pool of blood underneath his head. The right side of his face had been beaten to a bloody pulp. Dan Henderson, the Crime Scene Unit crew chief, stood next to the corpse. He had a solemn look on his face, as if he was in deep thought. On either side of him, his crime scene techs were working the scene, collecting evidence, dusting for fingerprints, and taking pictures.

  “It’s a shame,” Henderson said. “I hate to see this happen, especially to a young cop.”

  “It doesn’t make our job easier,” Malone said, shaking his head. “That’s for sure.”

  “On top of it, he just got married. So, someone has to notify his wife.”

  Malone took a moment to collect his thoughts. He never got used to telling a spouse that her husband had been killed in the line of duty. “I’ll handle it.”

  “I don’t envy you, Sergeant.” Henderson hesitated. “She’s going to be devastated.”

  “Bring me up to speed.”

  “It looks like someone took a baseball bat to the right side of his head and body.”

  “No one deserves that.”