Hacker For Hire (Ted Higuera Series Book 2)

by Wallace, Pendelton

  “Stand back. I want you both to get out of the elevator.”

  The guards looked scared. Good. Maybe they’d get out of her way. She could still get out of the building.

  She looked at the taller guard’s eyes. He was looking at something behind her.

  Before she could turn around, she felt the rough hands grab her wrists. The pistol clattered to the floor. She stomped back with her foot, hoping to step on her attacker’s foot. She missed. She kicked and struggled. She broke free for an instant. The two guards were on her.

  She was face down on the floor. All she could see were black Oxford shoes. She felt a knee in her back and her wrists pulled behind her body. She felt the plastic tie cutting into her wrists as her hands were secured.

  “Hello, Mrs. Harrison.” The voice was deep and rough, like gravel being poured down a chute. “It’s so nice to finally meet you. We’ve been wondering when you would commit breaking and entering.”

  Donna struggled to get free. She tried to turn her head and see who was talking. A black hood was fastened over her head.

  “Don’t feel bad. When you try to break into Millennium Systems, you have to drop your amateur standings. You’re in the big leagues now.”

  The unseen hands jerked Donna to her feet.

  “Get her cart.” Gravelly voice was obviously talking to the security guards. “Search it thoroughly. Frisk her”

  Rough hands searched through her pockets and over her clothes. She felt things removed from her pockets. Oh fuck, the flash drives!

  The hands took a little too long, lingering on her breasts, squeezing. She felt hands run up and down her legs, patting her crotch.

  Donna was shoved forward into the elevator. She heard the cart move and the elevator doors close.

  “Well, Mrs. Harrison, let’s have a little chat.”

  Chapter 9

  Ted pulled his battered Mitsubishi Mirage off of Lake City Way into the parking lot of a Seven-Eleven, a block from the Dirty Bird. He didn’t want anyone to see his car.

  Mama would have a fit if she could see me now. It wasn’t that Ted was an innocent. When you visit strip clubs with the football team it's one thing. But when you go by yourself, you're a pervert.

  He shrugged. Oh well, he had a job to do. When he called ahead to make an appointment with Mr. Caglione, the girl said that Rico insisted that they meet at the Dirty Bird that night. Meeting a mob boss would be an experience that he wouldn’t tell his grandchildren about.

  “Hey, taco bender!” A tough looking dude with a shaved head and muscles bulging out of his T-shirt shouted at Ted. “You can’t park there.”

  “It’s okay.” Ted didn’t like the look of the guy, or his buddy. “I’m here to meet Mr. Caglione. I’ll only be a few minutes.”

  “I don’t think you heard me, asswipe.” The tough flipped his cigarette away. “We don’t allow wetbacks here.”

  “What, you work here?” Ted stalled for time as he looked towards the Seven-Eleven.

  “Nah, we just protect Lake City from illegal greasers like you. Now move your car.”

  Ted’s spider sense tingled, his heart beat off the charts. He ignored his tormentor, turned and walked towards the club.

  The Dirty Bird’s windows were all sealed off. Black silhouettes of naked women adorned the buff-colored walls. The large sign read “Girls, Girls, Girls” with a giant arrow pointing to the building.

  Ted walked into the litter strewn parking lot. It was obvious that the club’s clientele was protective about their identities. The building was in the front of the lot, the parking behind the building. The main entrance, in the back of the building, was shielded from the street. Anyone entering or leaving would be unseen by passersby.

  At this time of day, there was only a scattering of cars in the lot. Pickup trucks mixed with muscle cars, BMW’s and Mercedes.

  It took a moment for his nerves to settle down and his eyes to adjust to the light.

  “Hey, handsome, can I help you?”

  He didn’t need to adjust to appreciate the gorgeous redhead in a black leather bustier that met him at the door. She had to be at least six-feet tall. In four inch stilettos, she towered over Ted. Look at the knockers on that lady; they poke clear into the middle of next week.

  His eyes adjusted as he looked around the room. The walls and ceiling were painted black. A moldy smell wafted up from the cheap shag carpet under his feet. The aromas of beer, tobacco and vomit assaulted his nose. Loud techno-rock blared from speakers on the walls. A stage with four stripper poles dominated the room, circled by a bar and chairs.

  A couple of patrons sat at the bar, salivating over the skinny blonde in platform stilettos that strutted naked on the stage to Nine-Inch-Nails. In the harsh glare of the klieg light, Ted could see that her neatly trimmed pubes didn’t match her hair.

  The rest of the room held tables and chairs. A few men sat at the tables, usually accompanied by young women in lingerie. A slightly plump woman with enormous breasts twirled tassels in her customer’s face. Ted stared openmouthed as she held her hands over her head and flexed her muscles. Her giant breasts bobbled and the red tassels rotated first to the right, then to the left. Then she got them going in opposite directions.

  “What can I do for you, honey?” The redhead rubbed her hands over Ted’s shoulders.

  Jerked back to reality by her touch, Ted remembered to his task. “I’m here to see Mr. Caglione. I have an appointment.”

  “Come right this way.” She turned and walked towards a door at the back of the room. Ted nearly tripped on his tongue as he followed her perfect round bottom. Somehow, he managed to notice the other women in the room.

  There’s enough silicone in these chi-chis to fill Malibu beach.

  “Mr. Caglione, we have a young stud here to see you.” The redhead opened the door and stepped aside.

  Ted didn’t know what he was expecting, but this wasn’t it. Caglione’s office was the height of good taste. Carpeted, with dark wood paneled walls and walnut furniture, the walls covered with English hunting pictures like an expensive gentlemen’s club, someone had spent a lot of money on an interior designer.

  “You must be Ted.” The silver-haired man wearing a diamond pinky ring and a three-thousand-dollar suit stepped forward and extended his hand. “Nice to meet you. Justin said you were one of his best.”

  “Oh, I don’t know about that.” Caglione seemed like a nice guy. “I have the reports for you.” Why wasn’t Ted’s spider sense tingling? This dude was bad, but he came across like someone’s abuelo.

  “Okay, whatcha got for me, kid?” Rico settled down into the red leather swivel chair behind his large desk.

  Ted reached into his backpack and produced two bound copies of his report. “We ran a suite of eighty tests. You look pretty good in most areas. You’ll see in the summary, on page seven, that we found vulnerabilities to cross-site scripting on five pages on your web site and were able to break the password on your SQL Server. You need to harden all of your passwords. We recommend using password generating software, but at the minimum, they should be at least eight characters, have at least one capital letter, one number and one symbol. It’s best if you don’t use any words that you can look up in a dictionary. You might want to use acronyms like ‘Ntt1sto#’. That stands for ‘Never take the first offer.’”

  Caglione browsed through the report. “This stuff looks good, kid. You do good work.”

  The meeting really wasn’t that bad. Ted expected seedy body guards with bulges under their jackets picking their teeth with silver toothpicks. He got total professionalism. He might as well be meeting with IBM. It ended on a creepy note though.

  “I’m impressed and it’s not easy to impress Rico Caglione.” Caglione put down the report. “You’ve found some holes we need to plug. That’s good. It’s better to find your own weaknesses before your enemies do. Let me give you a little bonus. Take one of my girls for the night.”

  Rico stood up and o
pened the door.

  “Take Elsa. She’s my favorite.” Caglione smirked. “She can give head like nobody.”

  “Ah, thanks, Mr. Caglione. But I gotta go.” Ted stuffed his papers into his backpack and stood up. “I have another appointment. Maybe another time.” No sense antagonizing a mafia don.

  “Yeah, sure. Another time. Don’t forget: I owe you. Ricco Caglione never forgets his debts.”

  Suddenly Ted felt like he needed a shower. He couldn’t wait to get out of that dump and dashed for the door.

  Outside, he breathed in a lungful of fresh air. A weight was lifted off of him. He never had to do business with Caglione again. He was done.

  Ted walked back to his car and froze. The passenger’s side was bashed in. The door was so mangled that metal rails poked out through the torn sheet metal. He looked at the dents on the rear panel. Boot marks. Someone had not only hit his car, but the baboso got out and kicked it.

  “Son of a bitch.” Ted’s temperature rose.

  “Taco boy. You didn’t listen to us.”

  Ted turned to see the tough that had tormented him earlier standing in front of seven other equally bad looking dudes.

  “I’m not looking for any trouble.” Ted remembered Falstaff from his Shakespeare class. Suddenly discretion seemed the better part of valor. “I just want to get in my car and get out of here.”

  “You hear that, boys. He’s not looking for trouble. Well, shit face, trouble found you. We told you we didn’t want your kind hanging around here. I think we need to teach you a little lesson.” The baldheaded man stepped to within inches of Ted’s face.

  His breath, smelling of decaying teeth and old tobacco, nearly knocked Ted over. For the first time, Ted noticed that there was something on the man’s eyelids.

  “Yeah, that’s right, you sub-human scum.”

  The man closed his eyes and Ted saw the swastikas tattooed on each lid. Oh shit, I’m gonna take such a beating.

  Ted didn’t so much think as react. His right fist lashed out, meeting the tough’s face squarely on the chin. The tough went down in a heap. Ted wasn’t a big man, but he was no pushover. Endless hours in the weight room training and running the track had him in prime shape. He had to be to survive on a football field where the linemen outweighed him by a hundred pounds.

  Everything seemed to go into slow motion. He landed a couple of solid blows. It took an hour for the asshole’s head to snap back. He connected with a left to one guy’s face, he smashed a nose. The blood hung in the air. He took a step back. “No crowding, boys, you’ll all get a chance to be slapped silly by Spidey.” He was beginning to feel like he might get out of this, then someone took his feet out from under him. He watched the pavement rise to meet him.

  He slammed into the blacktop and felt the blood running down his face. A boot landed in his gut, then another one on his chest. He heard a loud snapping sound, like a dry stick breaking. When the kick landed on his chin, he saw a flash of light, then everything went fuzzy.

  Ted curled himself into a ball and covered his head with his hands. The blows came quick and hard. He had no idea how long he took the pounding.

  “Freeze. Hold it right there.” A woman’s husky voice cut the air.

  The blows stopped. Ted opened his one eye that was still working. He saw a maze of jeans and boots and, through a pair of legs, he saw two slim legs in black pants.

  “Well, well, what have we here?” one of Ted’s assailants asked. “The little lady wants us to stop.”

  “I’ve already called 9-1-1. The police’ll be here any minute. You might as well take off before they get here.”

  Ted could get a better look at her now. She seemed tall, nearly as tall as some of the men. No stick girl, she looked solid. Dressed from head to foot in black, there was a slender black man standing next to her, also dressed in the same outfit.

  “Look, she’s brought her nigger with her too.” A man with tattoos on his bald head moved towards the woman.

  “Freeze. Step back.” She flicked her wrist and suddenly held what looked like Harry Potter’s magic wand.

  “The little lady likes to play rough.” The tattooed man reached in his hip pocket and produced a switch blade. “I think we can accommodate her.” The click of the switch blade opening was almost deafening in the sudden silence.

  In a blur of motion too fast for Ted to follow, the woman flicked her wrist and her magic wand expanded into a police baton. She stepped forward and swatted at Tatoo’s wrist. The switchblade went clattering along the pavement. Before he could react, she planted her foot deep in his crotch. He doubled up, hands on his cajones.

  She stepped back and kicked him again, this time squarely on the chin. He melted into the pavement.

  Two men charged the black man. He flipped his wrist and produced a police baton too. He smacked the first across the face, then delicately sidestepped the second charging man like a matador. As the man passed, he brought the baton down on the back of his neck. The man went down.

  Somewhere in the distance, Ted heard sirens. The last thing he remembered was looking up into the woman’s face, ringed by blonde hair and a halo from the street lights.

  “Are you an angel?”

  ****

  Chris felt his heartbeat quicken. He swallowed as the elevator stopped on the sixty-fifth floor. Chris had been in this lobby a hundred times, but it never felt this intimidating. The bank of elevators opened to granite, dark wood and brass. A reception area sat at the end of the lobby. He stepped out of the elevator car and walked quickly to the restroom. Nerves always made his bladder seem full.

  Returning to the lobby, he took a deep breath and walked up to the reception desk at Hardwick, Bernstein & Johnson.

  “Good morning, Mr. Hardwick.” The receptionist flashed a pretty smile. “Mr. Hardwick, I mean your dad, is in a meeting with a client right now. If you’ll take a seat, I’ll let him know you’re here.”

  “That’s okay, Cheryl. I’m not here to see him.” The tie around his neck suddenly felt like a noose. “I need to see Kelly Mason from HR.”

  “I’ll let her know you’re here.”

  Chris sat in one of the overstuffed love seats in the reception area and studied the old-time photos of Seattle and the Puget Sound area. Architectural Digest, Sunset and Conde Nast Traveler magazines were carefully arranged on the glass coffee table. A large ficus plant sat at one end of the loveseat, a banana palm at the other. Chris leafed through a coffee table book about major league baseball parks.

  So this was it. Dad had finally gotten his way. It really wasn’t so bad, was it? Chris needed a job. Being a paralegal for a year before he started law school would be good experience. He just had to be careful not to take advantage of his position as the boss’ son.

  “Mr. Hardwick? It’s good to meet you.” Kelly Mason stepped into the reception area. “I’m Kelly.”

  Chris eyed the gorgeous woman with long, curly brown locks. Chocolate eyes glowed above a perfect smile. She wore a frilly white blouse whose ruffles failed to conceal the curves underneath and a snug black skirt. His eyes followed down her legs to the matching black pumps.

  She’s as good looking as all of Dad’s employees. “Hi. I’m . . . uh . . .” There it was again. His tongue was tied in knots. “. . . Call me Chris.”

  Chapter 10

  Ted lay back in the hospital bed and looked at the ceiling. The antiseptic smell assaulted his nostrils. He had no interest in the old-fashioned analog TV hanging on the wall. His jaw hurt, his ribs ached and the ringing inside his head drove him crazy. He just wanted to get out of there.

  He wanted to rip the IV tube out of his arm. Each drip of the IV sounded like dollar signs. I’ll never be able to pay for this. His health insurance at work hadn’t kicked in yet. Would it be covered by Workman’s Comp? After all, he was delivering a report for his boss when he got jumped.

  The bandage around his head was a humiliating reminder of the beating, but worse yet, the incessant
drool from the corner of his mouth made him feel like a baby. He didn’t mind the pain in his rib cage so much. Yeah, it hurt like hell, but four years of college football had left him used to pain. What really hurt was that those babosos beat him up for nothing, just because he was Mexican.

  What could he have done differently? Was there a lesson to be learned in this? Was this cosmic justice? Is this what he got for working for a crumb-bag like Caglione?

  “We’re going to release you today, Mr. Higuera.” The skinny nurse took his vital signs. Her accent sounded Eastern European. “Do you have someone come to pick you up?”

  “Yeah, Sarah’s coming to get me.” Ted spoke through clinched teeth.

  Chris offered to let Ted stay with them for a few days while he recovered, but Ted just wanted to be alone with his humiliation. He wanted to go back to his apartment, crawl under the covers, cuddle with Oscar and forget that this had ever happened. He’d be eating out of a straw for a while, he’d have a hard time getting around. He didn’t want Chris or anyone else to see him helpless.

  “How are you doing today?” A tall woman stepped through the door as the nurse left.

  “You’re. . . “

  “Catrina Flaherty. I thought I’d come by and check on you. You took a pretty bad beating.”

  “You saved my life.” Ouch. He forgot to clinch his teeth when he spoke. “You’re the angel.”

  She laughed. “I hardly think I qualify as an angel.” Catrina took off her Navy blue wool coat, neatly folded it, and placed it, along with her purse, on the chair at Ted’s bedside. “I wanted to make sure you were all right.”

  Ted took a closer look at her. She must be in her mid-forties. She wasn’t heavy by any means, but she was solid. Short blonde hair, gray eyes, a great set of hooters. She was one hot mama despite her age.

  “I think you’re really hot.” He guffawed slightly. “Oops! Did I say that out loud?”

  “It must be the drugs. I’d hate to hear what you really think when you’re sober.”