Stuff to Spy For

by Don Bruns

  “Great. If you happen to run into him, please tell him I’d like to speak with him.”

  Her brown eyes sparkled. I tried to picture her in something other than the stiff officer’s uniform with the heavy, heavy belt, the gun, the tear gas, and all the other paraphernalia. There was a cute figure under there.

  “I’ll tell him. Can I give him a message?”

  She blushed. I could see the color rise in her cheeks. “We’re supposed to go out tomorrow night. Sort of a date.”

  “Yeah. He told me.”

  “Well, of course. I mean, you’re his roommate and all.”

  “Is there a message? A problem with the time? The date?”

  She shuffled her shiny shoes. “No, no. Nothing like that. I just wanted to tell him—”

  “Yes?”

  “That I’m looking forward to it. The date, I mean.”

  “So is he.”

  “Oh, good. Because he hadn’t mentioned it again, and I thought maybe he, well, you know.”

  God deliver us from insecure women. And thank God for men who are always very secure in their relationships.

  I clutched the brown box under my arm and walked up to the entrance. Wireman looked down from a ladder, giving me a broad smile.

  “Skip. Over there.” He pointed to the reception desk. There were two large packages on the counter, not unlike the one I had under my arm. “The new smoke detectors.”

  Not good. “How soon will they be installed?”

  “I’m thinking tomorrow, Friday.”

  We’d have one more day to use the one in Conroy’s office.

  “The sooner the better.” I just wanted this project to be over.

  “Well, I was thinking. We could start with the president’s office. You know, get him taken care of first—wire it in and—”

  “No. No. We’ve got the temporary detector already installed. That can be the last one you install.”

  “It’s up to you.”

  “Yes. It is.” Person in charge of the project or whatever. I started out to the parking lot, the brown package under my arm. This was a far better idea. Open this in private.

  “Mr. Moore?”

  “Yes, Eden?”

  “You’re not allowed to take anything from the building.”

  “This is personal, Eden. See?” I held up the remaining paper that was clearly stamped CONFIDENTIAL. Skip Moore.

  “Makes no difference. Once it is received here at S.S., it remains here. Sorry.”

  I couldn’t believe it. I didn’t even know what was in the package, and she was telling me I couldn’t take it outside. I felt like telling her that James was going to stand her up, but he probably wouldn’t agree to that. I think he wanted to see what was under that gray guard uniform too.

  I walked back to a corner in the computer room, sat on the floor, and stared at my package. Then, with a single determination, I attacked the box with my box knife.

  “Skip—”

  “Go away, James.”

  “But—”

  “I’m busy.” I sliced tape, ripped paper, and finally cut through the box itself. I sensed James still standing over me.

  “What the heck is that?”

  I ignored him. It was the worst part of my birthday. The worst part of Christmas. Ripping open the packages. Bending back fingernails, paper cuts, trying to untie ribbons that weren’t meant to be untied. Finally I could see inside the box. Another box. Damn.

  James had lowered himself, sitting on the floor across from me. “Dude.”

  I ripped the cardboard from the first box, finally making a tear wide enough to pull out the second box. This was the one with the printing on the side. But the envelope inside was what caught my eye first. I yanked it out of the box and shoved it in my shirt pocket. By now I was ready to put a match to all the paper and cardboard and tape.

  I looked up and James was staring at me. “Where did you get the package, Skip?”

  “Special D, James. No problem. Confidential to Skip Moore.”

  His eyes were wide, and he froze as I took the box knife to the tape that sealed the box.

  “Skip.”

  “What? Can’t you just leave it alone?”

  He leaned down, grabbing the box from my hand as my box knife went flying. James started down the hall, package under his arm, running as fast as I’ve ever seen him run. I struggled to my feet, charging after him, hitting my pace and in seconds feeling winded and weak.

  “James. Where are you—” Eden Callahan yelled as she jumped back from her post, and Andy Wireman staggered on his ladder as James ran by. Wireman held on as James hit the glass door with his shoulder and plowed on through, racing into the parking lot.

  I got to the door as he heaved the box twenty feet in front of him, fell to the ground, and buried his head under his arms.

  I stood in the doorway trying to catch my breath. The burning in my lungs wasn’t going away anytime soon. My roommate lay there for at least sixty seconds and I just kept gasping for air, thinking I was probably going to throw up.

  I watched him pull himself to his feet, staggering as he walked back to the building. As he got closer I could see him sucking in oxygen. We were a real pair.

  Finally he reached the door, and I pushed it open for him, barely able to move the heavy metal and glass. James walked in, leaning against the inside wall, eyes closed and his hand over his heart. I knew exactly how he felt. Finally he slid to the floor, slumping over, and breathing heavily.

  Eden stood on the far side of the entrance area, hands on her belt, not saying a word. Wireman had come down from his ladder and was just standing there, staring at James.

  Then my best friend opened his eyes, and saw the three of us. He also saw the two installers who were standing out in the hall, and J.J. who had walked in, looking very confused by the scene.

  “Well,” James paused, surveying the growing crowd. “If it had been a bomb, you’d all be safe.”

  People were nodding their heads in agreement, and I had no idea why.

  We sat in the van, James just staring out the window. Andy Wireman had suggested a short break and I couldn’t argue with that. James reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette. I reached into my shirt pocket and pulled out the envelope that had been in the package.

  “Well, read it.” He held the cigarette without lighting it. I tore it open, unfolded the paper, and read out loud.

  Dear Skip and James,

  I’m always running across new “stuff” that people can use to spy on other people. I don’t always have a personal use for the equipment, but I think you may find a use for this particular item. We’ve talked about it before, but I’m offering it to you for a demonstration if you’re interested.

  I stared at the dented, broken box James held in his lap. The Sound Max. It was an infrared microphone recording device. The letter continued.

  This baby will pick up and record sound from 200 yards away, and all you have to do is aim it at a window. Is it legal? Probably not. So be careful. I’m offering it to you as a demo. If you get into trouble with it, you can’t come back on me. I’d like it back in two weeks with your thoughts and comments. Oh, and my regards to Emily.

  Thanks, guys.

  Jody

  Regards to Emily? It was a shot. But, he had sent us The Sound Max. I didn’t know why, but he had.

  Finally James lit his cigarette and looked hard at the match before he tossed it into the parking lot. Taking a deep lungful of smoke, he slowly exhaled and frowned.

  “Damn.”

  “The Sound Max, James. The Sound Max.”

  “Yeah. You know, if it wasn’t a bomb, that was going to be my next guess.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  “I understand there was an incident at Synco today.” The cold, harsh voice of Carol Conroy added to the day’s wonderful turn of events.

  “Yes, there was.”

  “Care to comment on it?”

  She wouldn’t take no
for an answer. “We’ve been a little on edge. With the suicide and your fear of being killed, I think my friend was taking some precautions.”

  “Mr. Moore. You and your friend acted like idiots today.”

  “Maybe. But I have a transcript of your husband’s phone conversation from yesterday. And that is what you’re paying me for.” The lady was paying me big bucks to be an idiot. Her idiot. I swallowed whatever pride I had.

  “Because of your actions today, there are a number of people in that company who are asking questions. I wanted to run this inquiry or,” she paused, apparently not sure what to call it, “this, this mini-investigation, quietly. Very simply, I asked you to record conversations from office one. Now everyone is talking about a bomb threat. It certainly adds to the confusion, doesn’t it?” The lady was obviously irritated.

  I drank my second Yeungling of the afternoon and listened to James rattling around in his bedroom. He should be the one dealing with this. If he hadn’t freaked out. “Mrs. Conroy, I have a transcript of the conversation. It’s what you asked for.”

  “An actual recording of the conversation would be infinitely preferable. I believe that’s what I asked for.”

  I thought back to our original conversations. “And I think I promised you notes.”

  “So I’m to take your word for what was said?”

  I’d spent three hours last night with the word processor trying to get it all down. And I had no idea how to erase the conversations with Sarah. So a transcript was going to have to suffice. I couldn’t possibly give her the video card without giving everything away.

  “We had a little trouble with the recording device. I mean, you only gave us a day to install the unit and—”

  “Audio? Or audio and video?”

  “Mrs. Conroy, I have the transcript if you’d like to see it. Printed out. It’s the best I can do under these conditions.” The conditions being that I didn’t want to play the original recording for her. Plain and simple.

  She was silent, but I could hear her breathing. Sarah had been right. The lady was a bitch. “I’ll meet you.”

  I thought about the money again. It’s all I could think about. I wasn’t born with an aggressive personality, but I was salivating thinking about the payoff at the end of this assignment. “Mrs. Conroy, I realize there may be more to do, but if I could just get an advance on what we’ve done so far—”

  “Mr. Moore. You’ve already done considerable damage on what you’ve tried to accomplish so far. The phony bomb scare, no actual recording of Sandler’s voice, just your transcript. I’m really unhappy with how things are going. Are you clear on that?”

  “Mrs. Conroy,” James was banging on something in his room, making it hard to hear on my cheap cell phone, “I will do everything possible to quiet things down and get you the information you want.”

  “And when your job is finished, then I’ll pay you. Not until then. Do you understand? I don’t want any misunderstanding.”

  Damn. And there were expenses I needed to cover. There was a moment when I thought she was going to refuse to pay. Now she sounded like I’d get my money, but who knew when? “And where would you like to meet?” Not the Red Derby again.

  “I know where you live. I’ll be there tonight at seven p.m.”

  “Fine.” She knew where I lived. That scared me.

  “And, Mr. Moore, there isn’t any chance that Sarah Crumbly will be at your apartment is there?”

  “Sarah?” Why would Sarah come to our dump? We couldn’t afford her. I quickly remembered why. “No. Nope. No chance. No way. We’re not seeing each other. I mean tonight. So, there’s no chance tonight. No chance at all. Nope.” I could have gone on, but it was time to shut up.

  “And your friend?”

  “James will be here.” Damn straight James would be here. I didn’t want to deal with this lady alone.

  “Ah, good. But I was referring to Emily.”

  I felt a chill go down my spine. I had no idea what she knew. How she knew. But I had the presence of mind to keep on going as if her question was perfectly normal. “No. Just James and me. A quiet night at home.”

  Again, she was silent.

  “Mrs. Conroy?”

  “I would think that after the ruckus you caused this afternoon, a quiet night would be just what you need.” She hung up the phone.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  “Dude.” James walked out of his room. “I’ve got something to show you.”

  “James, I just talked to the ice queen.”

  “Ah, the lovely Mrs. Conroy.”

  “Yeah. She wants to come over tonight at seven to pick up the transcript.”

  “I’ll be sure to disappear.”

  “No. I don’t think so. She’s upset with you—and with me, and we both need to be here to take some wind out of her sails. Got to calm her down, James.”

  “Then I’ll have about five beers just before she shows.”

  “It might not be a good idea.”

  James walked to the refrigerator and opened one. Something smelled spoiled, and I couldn’t imagine what it was. We use it primarily for beer. Maybe that leftover crab James brought home last week. Sometimes it doesn’t stay as fresh as it should.

  “I can hear her now, Skip. ‘Mr. Lessor, I smell alcohol on your breath.’ ”

  I knew the Will Smith comeback from the movie Hancock. “That’s ’cause I’ve been drinkin’, bitch.”

  Neither of us cracked a smile. It had been that kind of a day.

  “Let me show you. Just stay there.”

  James walked back into his room, then reappeared with a tripod and what appeared to be a short telescope. It was wired to a box he held in his hand.

  “Ta-da.”

  I shook my head. “So not only will it pick up sound at two hundred yards, but it will withstand a throw of twenty or thirty feet.”

  “You got it, pard.”

  “Jody would be proud.”

  “It still works, Skip. Must be the Lord’s will.” He gave me that charming smile. “And by the way, amigo, can you check on Feng’s car? Track that little sucker and see where he is right now?”

  I flipped on the laptop and watched as the Miami map came into view. I scanned the screen, looking for Feng’s little blip. It was still surprising to me that he hadn’t figured out we were tracking his car.

  I found the Honda. “It’s sitting still at the moment. It’s right near that day care center.”

  “Maybe the guy’s a pervert, hanging around a school yard.”

  “We’ve got nothing on this guy, James. Nothing. I say we drop it.”

  “Humor me.”

  “I think I do that every day.”

  James ignored my sarcasm. “What time is it?”

  I checked the computer. Five thirty.

  “The dry cleaners is what, ten minutes from here?”

  “The dry cleaners?”

  “The one Feng stopped at when we first started tracking him.”

  “About ten, yeah.”

  “Let’s jump in the truck. Take the laptop, and let’s see if he goes there next.”

  “And what’s that going to prove?”

  “Probably nothing. But we’re taking along The Sound Max. Maybe give it a test run.”

  “What?”

  “I asked you to humor me.”

  “You’ve already got us in trouble once today.”

  “I can do better than that. You know I can. What’s my record?” He folded up the tripod and started out the door. “Grab the laptop, pard.” He walked out the door. Over his shoulder he yelled. “Five times in one day.”

  “When?”

  “When we were fifteen. I’ll fill you in on the way.”

  Feng moved while we were en route.

  “Following his ritual?”

  “He’s headed toward the dry cleaners. It may be a quick stop. Honestly, James, he’s probably just dropping off laundry.”

  “We’ll soon find out, amigo.�
�

  “When we were fifteen? You set a record for getting into trouble? Why don’t I remember this?”

  “You probably weren’t paying attention. Yeah. That must be it, because for just one day I set a personal record for doing things I shouldn’t have done. Mind you, Skip, I’m not saying I’m proud of all the things I did, but …” He hesitated. “Ah, what the heck, I am proud of them. If I remember right, I started that day in Miss Naab’s class, glued her grade book to the desk and she blamed you. I think you almost got a couple days off on account of that one.”

  “Damn. I knew that was you, but you never admitted it.”

  “So gluing the book was number one. I got you in trouble, which was number two, and for number three I skipped track practice. Number four on the list, I ‘borrowed’ Mom’s car and picked up Janice Richards. Being fifteen years old, I obviously didn’t have a license. We parked in back of the old mental hospital, you remember that old decrepit place, and number five and last on my infamous list, I got to second base with Janice. All in all, a pretty good day.”

  “You’re a nutcase. Do you know that?”

  He just beamed and kept on driving.

  “Feng stopped.”

  “Was I right? He stopped at the cleaners?”

  “It would appear.”

  “We’ll be there in three minutes. There was a parking lot for a deserted gas station across the street. We can pull in there. Think he’ll recognize the truck?”

  “I still have no idea what you have in mind.”

  “Just be patient. All will be explained, Grasshopper.”

  I watched the screen and Feng’s Honda didn’t move. James hit a pothole on Bianca Drive and I thought we were going to lose the muffler. He turned onto Bonita Boulevard and there it was. Chen’s Laundry. He pulled up beside the cleaners. A gray Honda Accord was parked directly in front of the establishment.

  “There’s an office in the back, and those big plate-glass windows in the front. Where do you think he is?”