by Matt Hilton
‘Look guys,’ Toner tried, ‘if you’re after cash you’re outta luck! I haven’t been paid, and I’m up to my ass in debt.’
‘We know about your debts, Mike,’ said the first gunman. He was also stating he knew exactly who Toner was, and that this wasn’t a random mugging. ‘One of them’s why you’re coming with us.’
‘Which one?’ Toner demanded. ‘Is that it? You’re some kind of debt collectors or something?’
The two gunmen exchanged a knowing sneer. ‘We’re more like debt enablers. The debt is the one you’re about to owe our employer,’ the first gunman said, totally enigmatic, totally sinister.
‘Uh, what are you talking about?’
The bearded gunman opened the door, and parked directly outside it was a panel van, the side door already open and the engine running. A third member of the abduction team sat in the driver’s seat. It was a woman, as lean as a long distance runner with a dusky complexion, her hair woven in cornrows.
‘Get inside,’ said the first man.
‘Why? Where are you taking me?’
‘You’re going to meet your new employer. He’s the one you’ll owe for allowing your daughter to live another day.’
SIX
While Po and Pinky laughed and joked over some freshly brewed coffees in the kitchen, Tess took her cup through to the spare bedroom they’d converted into a home office. She sat at her desk. Two computers were running, one of them patched into Emma Clancy’s intranet system, through which she could access programs usually unavailable to the public. Emma Clancy, besides being her brother Alex’s fiancée, was also Tess’s main source of employment. Tess subcontracted jobs from Clancy’s specialist inquiry firm, which in turn was tied closely to the Portland District Attorney’s Office. Usually the jobs shoved in Tess’s direction through Clancy required adequate distance from the DA. Considering her partner and their best friend were both ex-convicts, and didn’t always obey the laws of the land in order to get the necessary results, it was prudent. Tess always tried to stay within lawful boundaries, though she wasn’t averse to stretching their limits on occasion. For instance, accessing Clancy’s programs to invade another person’s privacy might be morally questionable to some, but Tess considered it as for the greater good.
She brought up Jacob ‘Jakey’ Doyle’s social media accounts as before and with a few deft keystrokes had opened a secret gateway that allowed her to interrogate the metadata contained within his pages. She was no computer hacker, but she didn’t need to be as the program she set to analyze the data did the work for her. Before long it began streaming out strings of code that were fed back through the system in order to decode the previously blocked information she’d been refused access to. She interrogated Jacob’s contact lists but found nobody that jumped out as a possible pseudonym of Hayley Cameron. She switched focus to his messages and again found nothing that’d lead her to her quarry. It was possible that Jacob and Hayley were conversing via one of the private messaging boards of any number of sites they could access via the Internet, but without physically getting her hands on Jacob’s phone or computer she didn’t have the ability to find out.
She went over Jacob’s contact lists a second time. He was a popular guy, and determining if any of the hundreds of contacts was Hayley in disguise could take forever. Tess thought about Stacey. How would she feel if she discovered her boyfriend was still communicating with his ex? Not very happy, Tess would bet. So, it stood to reason that Jacob might conceal his activity from her, by having Hayley listed under a name that wouldn’t rouse suspicion should Stacey catch sight of it. With this in mind, she did away with all fully named contacts and concentrated instead on those with nicknames or user ID handles. One in particular caught her attention. It was registered simply as INS, and when she checked against the metadata she found that Jacob and INS had communicated at regular intervals over the past few weeks.
‘Who are you, INS?’ she wondered aloud.
Tess opened a search engine on the second computer and typed in the initials. The results threw up various examples of what the acronym could stand for – everything from International News Service through Immigration and Naturalization Service to an abbreviation for a computer’s insert key – none of which were helpful.
She stood from the desk, knuckling her lower back as she stared at the screen, hoping for enlightenment but receiving none. Sometimes technology wasn’t the answer. Good old-fashioned detective work involved putting your feet on the ground, knocking on doors and speaking with people. Tess had no intention of causing trouble for Jacob, but she was certain he’d lied to her, which meant if she had to press him harder for the truth, she wouldn’t hold back. Still, she didn’t wish to do so while the youth was at work. He might clam up for fear of incrimination if in possible earshot of Stacey.
Carrying her coffee, she wandered through to the kitchen. Pinky was seated at the table while Po had struck a regular pose, his hips against the breakfast counter, ankles crossed, arms folded on his chest. His sleeves were rolled up and old puncture wounds on his forearms shone silver against his duskier skin. They’d both fallen silent at her approach.
‘My ears are burning,’ she announced.
‘Sorry pretty Tess, but your pugilistic escapades are old news,’ Pinky announced. ‘We’ve moved on, us.’
‘I’m glad to hear it. So what are you two plotting?’
Po stirred, settling his feet, but otherwise didn’t move far. ‘We were just kickin’ back, waitin’ for you, Tess. You get anythin’ we can act on?’
She shook her head. ‘I’ve managed to dig up some activity between Jacob and someone listed as INS, but have come to a dead end identifying what it means.’
‘Insurance,’ said Pinky, the word tripping off his tongue unbidden. When Tess looked at him, he shrugged his sloping shoulders. ‘I’m lazy, me. When I enter names into my cell I use abbreviations. I use “ins” as a shortcut to my insurance provider.’
‘D’you even abbreviate my name?’ Po had a snarky twist to his mouth.
‘You are no exception, Nicolas.’ Pinky still fully hadn’t come to terms with Po’s nickname, a derivation of Po’boy, given to him when he’d first relocated to the north by those who’d demean his Cajun heritage. ‘You I have listed as BUB. It stands for “Big Uncouth Brute”, but you already know that’s what I think of you.’
‘I daren’t repeat what I have you listed as in my cell,’ said Po.
Her guys were happiest when disparaging each other, something that Tess was fully used to by now. It was testament to their depth of friendship that even the snarkiest of insults brought forth laughter and swiftly an equally stinging rejoinder. To most they were the epitome of chalk versus cheese: a white, heterosexual, deep southern Alpha-male, was the best of pals with a black, flamboyant and decidedly eccentric homosexual with chronic health difficulties. They’d formed the inseparable bond as inmates at Louisiana State Penitentiary after Po had taken the young Jerome Leclerc under his protection from the resident white supremacists that would’ve otherwise made his life hell. Po had physically defended Pinky’s life, and Pinky had reciprocated in more recent years. They were more than friends, as close as brothers, and it occasionally surprised her that either man had room in their hearts for her, but they did. She loved them both, for differing reasons of course.
She had to wonder if Pinky was onto something important. Perhaps INS was a shortcut for Jacob; perhaps it had nothing at all to do with Hayley Cameron though. She relegated the conflicting notions to the back of her mind. ‘I’ve decided I need to speak with Jacob again.’
‘I tried being good cop last time,’ said Po, ‘want me to twist his ear this time?’
‘Yeah,’ Pinky joined in. ‘I could twist his other ear and we’d have him squealing like a piglet in no time.’
Tess clucked her tongue. ‘Yeah, good idea, guys. Why not put him in a burlap sack and drag him behind the car for a few miles while we’re at it?’
Pinky laughed, clapping his hands, and Po said, ‘It’s great to see she’s comin’ around to our way of thinkin’ at last!’
With unvoiced consent, coffee cups were set aside, and after donning jackets, the three returned to Po’s Mustang. Before setting off to Cooper’s Bar, Tess explained her desire to get Jacob alone, where there was no fear of him being overheard by Stacey and might be more forthcoming with the truth. As they drove into town Po noticed they had picked up a tail. Through the steady downpour, it was difficult defining anything of its occupants beyond the beating windshield wipers of the truck, but two dim forms could be made out. Tess had to wonder if those following them were as a direct result of her previous discussion with Jacob, or his brothers. Or maybe this was because of something else.
SEVEN
Mike Toner was shoved down into a chair. His coat was rucked up around his ears, and a hot waft of air expelled from the collar. His face was fire hydrant red, and sweat trickled from his hairline. He shifted uncomfortably, the leather squeaking beneath him as he glanced around. In his bulky, stained waterproof clothing he was totally out of kilter with his plush surroundings. At least, in his estimation they were plush, despite the layers of dust: although mostly devoid of furniture it reminded him of one of those Gentlemen’s smoking rooms sometimes featured in old black and white movies.
His male abductors from the van stood either side of him, as silent and menacing as they’d been during the drive here … wherever here was. He had no idea, because the instant he’d been pushed inside the panel van, the bearded man had yanked a bag over Toner’s head, effectively blinding him. He’d been forced belly down while he was searched. His knife was taken away, plus his wallet and a few loose coins and the keys to his truck from his trouser pockets. The woman with the cornrows had gotten the van moving, but other than it leaving the harbor front Toner had no clue where he had been driven since. It seemed an eternity while he’d laid belly down, gasping for air and terrified, but perhaps his confinement in the van had really been for minutes at most. He wasn’t confident he was still in Rockland, but again could be wrong. Still wearing the bag over his head, he’d been pulled from the van and ushered through a door. He’d been manhandled up a narrow flight of stairs and through some kind of workroom, a short hallway and then into here, where he was jostled to a halt. The bearded man took command of the bag. Blinking in surprise as it was wrenched off, Toner wasn’t given a second to orient himself before he was pushed into the chair.
His first instinct was to take in his surroundings, checking exits, seeking a way to make a bolt for his life. There were no windows in the room, only panels of some rich wood, on which were hung paintings so dark in hue they must be centuries old. Placed around the walls were a couple of low leather couches and tables and little else. The only door he was aware of was the one he’d entered by, and that was behind him. There was no chance of getting past his guards before being brought down. He searched the face of the person directly in front of him. An antique table separated them. The person rested their elbows on the table and their chin in their hands as they returned Toner’s scrutiny. Toner was surprised to find a pleasant looking woman staring back. Having caught his attention, she flicked him a smile, then sat back, adjusting her body for comfort in a ladder-backed leather-cushioned seat not unlike the one he was seated on. Her fingers spread on the table, and Toner noticed her long nails were immaculately shaped and polished, in keeping with the rest of her appearance. It would be a few years since the flush of youth had left her, but neither was she old, maybe fifty at most. Her hair was light red, streaked with blonde to blend with the natural incursion of grey. Faint wrinkles surrounded her lips and eyes, but her cheeks were plump, and set off her twinkling blue eyes. She was dressed, he supposed, in a corporate style – a pristine lilac colored blouse, open at the neck displayed a thin gold chain, but whatever else she wore remained a mystery, concealed by the table – and he could imagine her as the head of human resources at a reasonably sized blue-collar company. He had no idea who she was, but he wasn’t fooled by her pleasant demeanor.
‘What the fuck do you want from me?’ he demanded in a voice he barely recognized as his own.
The woman tilted her head on one side, admonishing him with an equally lopsided twist of her mouth. She ignored his question, instead turning her attention to the guards behind him. She shook her head as if now scolding them. ‘I hope you obeyed my instructions and treated Mr Toner with due respect?’
Toner answered for them, his voice strident. ‘They jammed a bag over my head and made me lie face down in the back of a fucking van!’
She cocked her head to the opposite side. Then she raised a single finger from the tabletop. Without warning a fist slammed Toner’s jaw. A flash of agony exploded in his skull, and blackness followed. Before it could completely enfold him, he was shaken and a rough palm slapped lucidity back into him. He blinked in dismay at the architect of his misery: her smile had returned.
‘Due respect,’ the woman stated once she was confident she had his attention, ‘is a matter of perspective. I don’t believe you’re exhibiting the respect due to me, hence your punishment. Act like a potty-mouthed lout and you will be punished further. Do we understand each other, Mr Toner?’
Toner touched fingers to his mouth. They came away bloody. His teeth however all felt in place. He was fortunate that the unexpected blow had been dealt without much power – he’d received a short jab from the first man that’d showed on the pier. He was weirdly thankful that the man hadn’t wound up his arm and smashed him with full force. Through lips that were beginning to swell, Toner said, ‘Please, there’s no need for violence. I … I don’t know what’s going on, or what you want from me.’ He glanced back at the one who’d punched him, and received a nonplussed expression. ‘All I was told was I was being offered a new job and it’d—’
‘Save your daughter’s life?’ the woman finished for him. She again held up a finger, and Toner flinched, anticipating another blow. But this time her raised finger wasn’t a command, but to clarify a point. ‘Let’s get this straight from the get go. It was never an offer of employment; there is no negotiation, you will take the job. Refuse and the next person in the back of the van will be your daughter. She won’t, of course, be brought here to these comfortable surroundings. I can assure you of that.’
Toner’s mind was a heaving whirl of emotions and confusion. What in hell was going on? Who were these people? What kind of job demanded death threats to ensure he’d take it? Why were they threatening his daughter? How did they even know about his daughter? He was both horrified and perplexed. Toner had never been the bravest of souls; in fact he was aware of his own cowardice and though it shamed him he couldn’t change his nature, though he tried. Faced with these questions unanswered, he responded with a level of outrage he could rarely muster.
He thrust up to his feet, stabbing a finger at the woman. ‘This is bullshit! You’ve no right to treat me like this, and no fucking right to threaten my child! So here’s what’s going to happen, y’hear? You can take your job and go fuck yourself with it.’
Before he was halfway through his tirade, hands were on him, grasping at his elbows and forcing him down into the seat again. His final shout was delivered with a spray of exhaled saliva. Opposite him the woman hadn’t moved, though she lost some of her cool when dabbing a droplet of spit off her cheek. Toner, held in check by his guards, glared at her, shivering with the endorphins rushing through him. She returned the look, her glare icy. The tableau held for protracted seconds. Finally the woman leaned forward and spread her fingers on the tabletop again; she drummed a staccato beat with her fingernails while coming to a decision.
‘It seems to me that Mr Toner isn’t taking this situation seriously enough,’ she announced, as if he wasn’t in her hearing. ‘I’m going to step out of the room. When I return I want him fully on board with the plan.’
She stood, moved around the table. Toner watched her closely,
almost as if she was the one about to deliver punishment. She wore tailored trousers, and pumps. She wasn’t tall, and she carried a few extra pounds on her hips. She was unremarkable, but undeniably she frightened him. More so than his surly abductors had done so, because he knew they were only dogs obeying their sadistic mistress’s commands. He wondered briefly what she held over them that they obeyed her without question, if they had children imperiled by her too. He couldn’t bring himself to hate either man, even as they loomed over him, bunching their fists.
EIGHT
‘Are they still behind us?’ Deliberately – after one seemingly nonchalant check earlier – Tess had avoided turning to look again, and from her position in the rear of the car she had no view of the mirrors.
‘Yup,’ said Po, nonplussed.
The most direct route from Presumpscot Falls into downtown Portland encompassed several leafy suburbs before reaching any of the busier highways around Back Cove. They were on Allen Avenue, approaching North Deering. The downpour meant there were few vehicles on the roads. It had been a simple task for Po to spot their tail, but not to easily shake it without making the attempt obvious.
‘They’re keepin’ their distance,’ he added after a moment, ‘and seem content to follow wherever we’re goin’.’
‘That truck,’ Tess pondered, ‘I didn’t notice it earlier when we were at the Doyle place.’
‘Wasn’t there.’ Po had obviously given more attention to the siblings’ cars than she had. He glanced at Pinky for clarity.
‘If they’re after me, I haven’t spotted them before now,’ he said. ‘Besides, if it’s me they’re interested in, wouldn’t we have noticed them back at Cumberland Avenue, us?’
Proclaiming there might be some interest in him wasn’t due to ego or paranoia. Only months before Pinky had slipped out of Baton Rouge with a price on his head after abandoning his previous life as an illegal arms trader. Some of his criminal contemporaries didn’t want to see him go, many were more determined he would never return. Before he’d gotten his feet under the table in Tess’s old home, hired gunmen, Frank and Carlo Lombardi, had come after Pinky. Ironically the pair of cousins dispatched to end his life had fallen into the midst of Tess’s latest case involving a rogue DEA agent and violent mercenaries. Faced with greater enemies, and after his younger cousin was murdered, Frank’s loyalties changed and he’d become a valued ally. That wasn’t to say that different hitmen hadn’t been sent after Pinky since.