Eye of the Burning Man: A Mick Callahan Novel (The Mick Callahan Series)

by Harry Shannon

  "If we can find them."

  "Because finding the website alone isn't enough, right?"

  "Right," Fields said. "In fact, that's just the beginning."

  "How does it work?"

  The second guy, Laurel, butted in. His voice was thin and reedy. "Let's say there is a website that has illegal content posted on it. We track it down, but then we find out it's just a mirror site, a relay point. There can be a load of them, in fact hundreds of illegal mirrored sites coming from only one source. Someone has hacked into a gated community and used the server that the residents use for shared bandwidth. Are you following this?"

  "Mostly." Jerry, where are you when I need you?

  "The residents get their own IP address and access the Internet," Hardy said. "The IP is a static domain, so the numbers don't change. This perv gets into their server and uses the resident's IP numbers to post his site. Since they only use the bandwidth for net access, and not hosting, chances are they don't even know anything is going on. After a few months, he folds his tent and goes somewhere else to do business."

  "What about collecting the money? Same idea?"

  "More or less." Hardy knew his stuff. "Any smart hacker can pull it off. They create endless dummy corporations to launder the cash, until it finally it ends up in the Netherlands Antilles or the Cayman Islands. There somebody skims maybe twenty percent and passes the rest on to our guy back in the States."

  "How much money?"

  "Multi-millions, each and every year."

  I was saddened by the amount. "It's that large a problem? I knew it was bad, but that's a lot bigger than most people realize."

  "Let me put it this way," Fields said. "In 1998 we had something like seven hundred cases of online pedophilia that we investigated. By 2000 there were nearly three thousand. As of 2001, five thousand, and so on. So this year we expect to be humping around twelve thousand open files."

  "Jesus," I said. "And any therapist will tell you that pedophiles are virtually impossible to treat."

  "He's been gone quite a while, Jack," the taller agent said. "Someone is going to notice."

  Fields looked away, then back at me. He picked imaginary lint from his sleeve. Fussy about his appearance, very vain. "I'm going to trust you," he said. "And we are going to share information. For the time being, we won't bother the girl. How much time does she need?"

  "A couple more weeks."

  "But when you are willing to let her talk to us, you will get in touch. Agreed?"

  "Agreed."

  "Here is my card." He handed it over. I verified that the ID number matched the one on the badge. "Keep it on you. Do you have any reason to think you will be hearing from Fancy in the near future?"

  I think I already have. "Let me put it this way," I said, carefully. "He knows who I am and where I live. I'm afraid he could still be after the girl. If he does contact me, I will call you at once."

  "Do you want protection?"

  I shook my head. "I have friends. Besides, he already found your camera. I think he'd spot you a mile away."

  "So much the better."

  "But if you're right about Fancy doing kiddy porn, then what do you think he will do to her if he thinks she is already talking to the FBI?"

  Fields sighed. "Point taken. We may be watching you anyway, Mr. Callahan, if only from a distance. May as well get used to it."

  "I already am." Because that explains a lot of paranoid feelings I've been having lately, doesn't it?

  Fields gave me a strange look, but let the remark pass. "Come on gentlemen, let's leave Mr. Callahan to the company of his fellow alcoholics."

  I stepped back with another Cheshire smile. "Hey, and don't let the door hit you in the ass on the way out."

  Fields turned away, but with a smirk. "Why delay, when we can go outside and enjoy so many carcinogens in the malodorous air?"

  "Yes, why delay?"

  Hardy slid the lock open. Fields went out first. I resisted a heavy temptation to repay little Laurel in kind for those two kidney punches.

  "Agent Fields?"

  "Mr. Callahan?"

  "Doesn't the FBI have a height requirement, or has that been suspended?"

  "Very fucking funny," the little man said.

  "Hey, I thought so."

  They left through the side exit. I took a deep breath and rubbed my sore back. I threw cold water on my face again, and waited for the tension to subside. Just when it can't get any worse, it does . . . and what the hell does Mary know that she's not telling me? Was Blanca's nephew taken because of her connection to me, and by Fancy's boys? But why, since we hadn't even met yet?

  I arrived back at the AA meeting just in time to join hands for the finish. Larry Donato and Peanut were stroking each other on the arm during the prayer. I almost told the young policeman what had happened, but decided to keep silent. I didn't want him in trouble if things hit the fan.

  I drove my three friends to a nearby coffee shop for dinner. I kept looking over my shoulder for a plain sedan, but saw nothing out of the ordinary.

  "So you washed out while you were on probation?"

  I tore into my salad and spoke with food in my mouth. "Yeah, I did BUDS and jump school, made it through the whole deal by my fingernails. I still hate going anywhere near the beach."

  "Me, too."

  "So, I never got to actually wear the trident because they drummed me out while I was still on probation."

  Donato seemed amused. "What happened?"

  "I got in a fight with an officer," I said, weary of telling the tale. "It's a long story."

  "What are you guys talking about?" Peanut was toying with her food, staring at Donato. She's totally gone. Well I'll be damned. At least she's got good taste. For her part, Mary kept her eyes on her plate, ate mechanically.

  Surprisingly, Donato had no questions at all about the meeting. I found myself carrying the stilted conversation. Peanut and Donato seemed lost in one another, in a hurry to leave. When we arrived back at my house, Donato made a show of saying goodbye, but it was patently obvious he intended to see Suzanne again shortly. I felt another highly embarrassing and completely unwarranted twinge of jealousy.

  After helping her pack, I walked Suzanne out to the driveway. I had an absurd urge to try to compete with Donato but shrugged it off, settled for a kiss on the forehead.

  "Thanks for everything, girl."

  Peanut grinned. "Thanks for letting me be a part of this. I think Mary has a decent chance."

  "I hope so."

  "You're like my big brother," she said. "What do you think of Larry?"

  "I think Larry is a very nice guy. It's a tough world to be alone in. I wish you both well."

  She gave me a long, tight hug. She looked up. "You're a good man, Callahan. Do you know that?"

  "Sometimes," I said. "Other times it slips my mind."

  "You need to see a shrink about that neurosis."

  "Probably a good idea."

  Peanut whirled and trotted over to her car, a ragtop, white Ford Mustang. She waved, slid behind the wheel and drove away. I stood in the cool evening air, considering my options. There weren't many good ones. So, it seemed foolish to involve others until I knew more. I decided to wait for events to unfold. I went back inside, closed and locked the door.

  Mary was in the shower. I went into the office and took out the card Jack Fields had handed me. I punched the number into the telephone and waited. Since Baltimore is hours ahead of Los Angeles, I got an electronic message, which identified FBI headquarters. I punched in the extension number listed on the card. A man's voice came on, asking the caller to leave a message. It was the same voice. Jack Fields was legitimate.

  So, do I tell him about Blanca's nephew Loco now, or wait?

  I put the phone down and the card back into my pocket. I walked out into the back yard, whistled and clicked my tongue.

  "Murphy? You out there, Murphy?"

  No sign of the cat. I went inside, locked all the doors an
d windows and closed the blinds and shutters. I made some tea in the kitchen, put George Jones on the stereo, and sat down on the couch. Why would Fancy have it in for me? Have we met before, maybe when I was drunk? Did I do something years ago to injure him, something I don't even recall? And what will that mean for little Loco, assuming things are connected?

  Mary came out of the bathroom, wearing one of my over-sized robes, rubbing her hair dry with a white towel. She sat down on the opposite end of the couch. Somehow, she managed to be attractive and plain at the same time. I'll make the decision tomorrow. I pushed thoughts of Fancy to one side and composed myself; smiled and Mary smiled back.

  "She's nice," Mary said.

  "Peanut? Yes, she is."

  "Why do you call her Peanut?"

  "Tell you the truth, I don't really know. It just sort of popped out one day and she laughed, so I kept on using it as a nickname. It doesn't mean anything in particular."

  "Officer Donato is nice, too. Larry."

  "Yes. He sure is."

  "Thank you again, Mick," she said suddenly, impulsively.

  "You're welcome."

  Her robe opened slightly, revealing a shapely breast. A long, uncomfortable silence followed. Finally I downed the tea and got to my feet. "I need to get some sleep. I'll see you tomorrow morning. We'll go to the gym."

  "Okay," she said, shyly. "Good night."

  I tossed and turned for two long hours. It was a hot, sultry night, and I was suddenly fearful and tormented by ambivalent feelings. I wanted Mary. I'd tried not to think about Jerry, but couldn't help myself. I came up with some decent excuses: She doesn't seem to want to see him anyway. She's not a client of mine so there are no rules, here. And I've been alone for a long time.

  But I knew better. I understood both intellectually and emotionally that Mary would never be able to perceive me as an equal. My status as a celebrity and participation in her early recovery gave me a highly idealized image, and therefore an unfair advantage. I understood these things well; I just didn't want them to be true.

  This would have been a good telephone call for my show. Hey, Mick: Is it loving to sleep with a girl a good friend of yours has a thing for?

  No.

  Well, how about someone who is lonely when you're under extreme circumstances like this? Hey, you both could use a little comfort and consolation, right? Huh?

  I don't know.

  Well, how about this one, then. Is it loving to withhold your love from someone who wants you, just because she might regret it later and doesn't know any better?

  Well . . .

  What would be the best thing to do, or not do, Mr. Callahan?

  At about two-thirty, I finally began to nod off to sleep. Only a few moments later a smooth, naked female body brushed up against me. I felt warm feathered breathing on my neck, light and experienced fingers creeping down under the covers.

  For a few moments I swelled, gratefully succumbed. This is wrong, this is wrong . . . When her lips touched my sex I arched my back and moaned but forced myself to push her away. Her mouth tried to reach for me again but I pulled her up next to me on the pillow. Mary began to shake and to cry.

  "Why not?" she asked, whining plaintively.

  "We can't. It wouldn't be right."

  "Because of Jerry?"

  "That's one pretty damned good reason."

  "Yeah, but it's those things I've done, too, and because I did porn for Fancy. No, man is ever going to want me, now."

  "That's not true at all." But in truth, I wondered, in a place so buried it could barely be acknowledged, if that was part of the reason. I didn't like the thought.

  "Why?"

  "Look, people need to leave newcomers alone in the beginning. Like I said before, sex can be a fix, too, just like drugs. In a way it's even messier. This is a line a man and woman can't retreat from, once they've crossed over."

  "We don't have to tell Jerry anything. Who would be hurt?"

  "You would," I said, truthfully. "And me, because I know better."

  "Saint Mick." She giggled and pretended to grab for me. I twisted away, but this time she was just joking. "Hey, I felt some evidence that I did turn you on."

  "Trust me, you have nothing to worry about on that account."

  "Your loss, then." She spoke lightly but her voice had gravel in it.

  "That's right, my loss. Now go get some rest."

  Later, when I checked on her, she was snoring. I went back to my room and sat in the dark, pondering a pimp, a burning man symbol, a little boy gone missing, a FBI agent I couldn't trust, and an enemy I did not yet understand.

  EIGHT

  . . . Crouched in the darkness, unable to see. I smelled something rank nearby, something rotting away; didn't know where I was but my hands were balled into fists and my heart was hammering at my rib cage. The metallic taste of adrenaline filled my mouth. I was waiting for something to happen, but did not know what. My right leg had fallen asleep, so I shifted position in the dark. I could hear someone struggling nearby, and the ragged breathing of a frightened woman. Mary? Part of me wanted to comfort her, but I was too afraid to move, so I reached out in the blackness and touched her shoulder.

  What was that?

  Footsteps, someone approaching from above.

  I swallowed, sat back on my heels and waited. Suddenly the sky seemed to burst open with the sound of cracking wood and a massive pair of doors swung up and away. A gigantic shape stood there, a young man with a Mohawk haircut. He was roped with muscle, marked by tattoos and multiple body piercing. Donny Boy whispered "Oh boy, oh boy . . ."

  I woke up. Someone was moving around in the house.

  I rolled out of bed onto the floor, drenched with sweat. Damned dreams. As my mind cleared, I recognized the small footsteps. She'd cleaned up her share of messes during my drinking days. She was family.

  "Good morning, Blanca."

  "Hello," she replied. "You like coffee?"

  "Please."

  I stumbled into the bathroom and splashed cold water on my face. The bulk of the nightmare was always the same. I would be back in that potato cellar in Dry Wells facing Donny Boy, or brawling somewhere drunk, or up against my stepfather, but always fighting for my life and just about to lose. I shook the dream away and went back into the bedroom. There's no point in telling Blanca anything about Fancy, not yet. I don't want to get her hopes up, get her more upset.

  The sun had just come up and the sky was shifting from pink to blue. I changed into tattered gray jogging clothes, stretched out on the floor and limbered up. I stopped in the kitchen to grab some bottled water and started out the front door. Blanca was on a stool, dusting the mantle over the fireplace. I wanted to tell her I'd stumbled onto something and almost opened my mouth, but froze. There's no proof. And she would flip out if she knew anything about pornography or Fancy.

  I tried to smile, but Blanca looked away. She had been crying.

  "Blanca, you okay?"

  "It's nothing," she replied, in her heavily accented English.

  I moved closer. "Still no news?"

  The tears flowed. Jesus, should I let her know? Blanca shook her head. "No news, they say little hope."

  "There is always hope, Blanca, always. Is there anything more I can do?"

  "Oh, no, you have done so much for my family already."

  "Not enough." I have something else in mind. I wish I could tell you about it. "I really thought my talking about Loco on the air would stir something up, but there are so many missing kids . . ."

  "Si."

  "Well, I'll think of something else. I'm working on it."

  Blanca sniffed. "He is such a good boy." Her sister, an addict from the barrio who had since overdosed, had given her son Loco over to Blanca's care. Blanca had brought her intense, handsome little nephew to my home on a couple of occasions.

  "Are you sure there's nothing else I can do to help out?"

  "No, no," Blanca said. "You have made that reward already, from your
own money." I'd offered five thousand dollars over the air, the week the boy was taken. Nothing much had come of it. Blanca straightened up and returned to work. Said: "It is now in now the hands of God."

  "I guess it is."

  It must be nice to believe that. Just saying it seems to calm her. I patted her shoulder, threw the gym bag over my shoulder, and turned to go. Blanca moved into the kitchen and began to wash some dishes. I stopped at the front door. I'm going to tell her that I have a lead. Give her just a little hope to go on. What could that hurt?

  "Blanca?"

  "Si?"

  Damn it, I'd be opening a Pandora's Box of questions, most of which I wouldn't dare answer. Again, my nerve weakened. I reversed direction and went to check in on Mary in the guest bedroom. "Nothing, I was just wondering why Mary wasn't up."

  The bed was neat, the room empty. She was gone.

  I swore under my breath and Loco left my mind for a moment. "Blanca?"

  "Como esta?

  "Have you seen the young woman staying with me?"

  "Not this morning, senor."

  I ran to my room to get the keys and cell phone, trotted out to my car. The day was already warm. I got in, slammed the door, started the engine, and dialed Peanut. She answered, sleepily, on the third ring.

  "She call you?"

  "Who, Mary? No."

  "She's gone."

  "Oh, shit."

  "She's on foot, so I'm going to drive around a bit. Maybe catch up with her before it's too late."

  "Take it easy, Mick," Peanut said. "Remember, you can't force this." Her accent made it 'caint.' "Mary has to want it. She has to be willing to do the work."

  "I know. Sorry I woke you."

  I shut the phone, squealed around the corner, heading towards Fulton. Impulsively, I drove down one of the side streets. Someone had cut down a large tree, and several bundles of wood were piled beside a bright green rubbish container. I cut over to Coldwater Canyon, shading my eyes against the rising sun. I saw someone running, a young girl who looked away and then back again.

  Mary was jogging down the sidewalk. I drove up to pace her. She saw me, grinned and waved. I pulled over, feeling foolish. She came towards the car willingly, opened the passenger door and hopped in.