by Tom Fowler
“I’m always available for the BPD,” I said as they left.
Once the police and paramedics pulled away, I went back inside. I had information to comb through. My calculation was Matty drove to wherever Esposito kept Chris and Brian. Even if he didn’t navigate there, his GPS would store the location. I logged into my laptop and got to work.
I had several locations to sift through. Eliminating some was easy: my house, for instance. I also eliminated Necker Avenue (the GPS gave me an address in the townhouses a block past the house where Anna died) because it would have been combed over by the police. The townhouse nearby was unlikely, but I needed to consider it a possibility.
Entries not corresponding to navigated directions were represented in coordinates. I used Google Maps, which happily took coordinates and matched them to real places I could work with. I filtered out things like gas stations and convenience stores. Other businesses remained possibilities until I could eliminate them. How did I know Esposito didn’t know someone who would stash (or could be strong-armed into stashing) two captives at a furniture store?
All of this could be made easier if Brian Sellers would use the burner phone I gave him. At this point, I wondered if some Esposito lackey discovered the phone. Even if it went undiscovered, the battery could have run out by now. I pulled up the phone mapper. Nothing. The blips at the port no longer registered. I went back to the navigation data dump and made more notes.
At the end of another twenty minutes of converting coordinates into addresses, I owned a manageable list, most of the addresses being in Baltimore County. The list would be more manageable if I could split it with someone. The excitement of the evening made for a late night. Tomorrow, I would recruit Rich. In the meantime, I took a guest parking pass out to Matty’s BMW, which had fortunately not been towed away yet. He had an orange 335i with an automatic transmission, a color and shifter I would not have chosen for myself. Still, it gave me another automotive option not on the blacklist of the entire Esposito organization. The tinted windows would allow me a certain measure of privacy as I snooped around possible hideouts.
It was late, but I wanted something to do. I could check out one or two addresses on my own. I set out to do a bit of light recon. The first was a sub shop I never heard of in Essex. I probably never heard of most sub shops in Essex, but the map did not show this one with a favorable location. It set a little ways off of North Point Boulevard, meaning road traffic might find easier parking lots.
Tino D’s was more of a shack than a sub shop. There would be no room to eat inside; this was only a carry-out operation. The building looked like a long wooden shed. The roof begged for replacement, and its cries went unheeded for years. But unless the small building hid a sprawling basement, this was no place to stash two captives. They would have a bathroom at least, but unless they were going to sleep in the walk-in cooler, I needed to look elsewhere.
I checked out one more place. A game store in nearby Dundalk popped up on the navigation roll. It sat at one end of an aging strip mall. I didn’t see any other cars in the lot. All the lights inside were off. Unlike Tino D’s, this was bigger than a shack, and I could see inside. Posters for games I heard of (and even tried in college) stared back at me. Like Tino D’s, however, this place would need a huge basement or warehouse area to house two captives. And even if it had those things, where were the goons who would need to keep an eye on things?
While I eliminated two possibilities, I didn’t feel very accomplished as I drove home. Rich and I could run down the other choices tomorrow. As I neared my house, an incoming text made my phone vibrate. At a traffic light, I checked the text.
It was from Brian Sellers.
Chapter 18
It’s Brian. We’re OK. In some industrial place, idk where. Will text again when I can.
I read the message a couple times. A car behind me honked. I looked up, saw the green light, and started driving home again. Brian and Chris were OK. He had kept the phone hidden and charged, and finally found a chance to text. Brian was a smart kid. Now I just needed to be able to use his communication to narrow down his location.
Another, darker thought occurred to me. Esposito or one of his goons found the phone and sent the text. They wanted to bait me into their trap. Chris and Brian had joined Anna in the choir invisible, and now I, the last credible witness against the Esposito gang, needed to join them. I thought about what the message said. It didn’t sound like bait. A baiting text would have given me a location counting on me to blunder into an ambush.
I had no intention of getting ambushed, and I did not blunder anywhere. When I got home, I would hope Brian left the phone on and try to track his location. Maybe he turned it off again to conserve the battery and avoid detection. If I texted back, I risked revealing the phone to his captors. I needed to wait for Brian. In the meantime, I would work on finding him.
At home, I fired up the phone-tracing program. Nothing. Brian’s burner wasn’t online. He had texted about twenty minutes ago. I checked the tower history of the phone. If I knew what towers it bounced off of, I could narrow its location.
Many things are great theories but don’t work so well in practice. This turned out to be one of them. The phone showed a bunch of locations. It was like someone drove Brian around while he texted. Was he in the back of a truck? The trunk of a car? Were they being moved from one spot to another so no one would discover them? This case got stranger and stranger, even when I thought I experienced a minor breakthrough.
I kept watching the phone app. Considering the hour, I didn’t expect it to come back online. If not staring at my screen with flagging hope, I would have been in bed. I considered making coffee and staying up to see what happened. As the clock struck one, however, I called it a night. Odds favored Brian being asleep wherever they were holding him, and if he left the phone off to maximize the battery, I wouldn’t find him anyway.
I would have to try again tomorrow.
After breakfast and a fresh round of no results, Rich called. “Haven’t heard from you in a few days,” he said.
“Been busy trying to save the world,” I said.
“How’s your quest working out?”
“Not so well,” I was forced to admit. I told him about finding Anna Blair dead in the house on Necker Road in the county.
“Jesus,” he said. “I wonder why they killed her.”
“They didn’t need her. If they wanted Chris to sit down and crank out code, Brian’s life is all the motivation they need to provide. He’s the brother. Keeping Anna around becomes more trouble than it’s worth.”
“And you found her?” Rich said.
“Yeah.”
“You OK? I know you don’t have a lot of experience with dead bodies.”
“I hope I never do,” I said. “I’m OK. The cops questioned me, of course. Gonzalez knows I didn’t do it.”
Rich said, “You playing straight with him?”
“I think you and I define ‘playing straight’ differently. By my definition, yes.”
“But probably not by mine,” Rich said with a chuckle. “I guess it’s time Gonzalez got used to your charms.”
“If I crack this case and bring him in on the arrest, I’m sure he’ll like the perks he gets,” I said. “It works well for someone I know.”
Rich changed the subject. “What are you doing now?”
“I gave the younger brother a burner phone. He’s turning it on when he can. I’m trying to track it when he has it on. He texted last night, but I haven’t found the phone yet.”
“That the first time you’ve heard from him?”
“Yes,” I said. “Until I can find the phone, I have to wait to hear from him again. Maybe he can give me some more info this time.”
“What are you going to do when you locate him?” said Rich.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean I don’t think you’ve thought this through. Esposito is careful. He might be moving the kid and his br
other around so they’re never in one place too long. Means he’s resourceful, too. You can’t just walk in there, take those two with you, and walk out.”
“I’m not expecting to,” I said.
“So what’s your plan?” Rich said.
“I figured I would call some reinforcements. And maybe some strategy help. You’ve done this a lot more than I have.”
“At least you’re thinking about it.”
“See?” I said. “I’m learning.”
“We might make a real detective out of you yet,” Rich said.
“Don’t wish such a fate on me,” I said.
Later, I still worked on trying to find Brian and Chris. The phone didn’t come back online. I still had Matty’s list from his navigation system. Based on how Brian’s phone moved around while it was online, I presumed Esposito kept Brian and Chris in multiple places. Maybe a regular (or irregular) rotation. If the phone didn’t come back online soon, I would have to go back out and survey the places Matty visited.
My planning, such as it was, got interrupted by a knock at the door. I wasn’t expecting any visitors. Maybe Gloria got tired of me not answering and not talking to her much. If she came by to distract me, I could live with it. I walked to the front door and looked through the peephole. A woman stood with her back to me. All I could see was dark hair. I opened the door.
The woman turned around and showed me a tentative grin. I gasped.
“Gabriella?” I said.
Gabriella Rizzo was Tony Rizzo’s daughter. We were the same age (technically, she was a week older) and grew close after we first met at age ten. As we got older and moved through high school, it became obvious she liked me. And I liked her. She wanted me to take her to both our proms senior year. While I wanted to, I couldn’t. At the time, I showed no interest in a long-term relationship—a view I still held—and didn’t want to break Gabriella’s heart, and then have her mob boss father order my death. A vengeful, murderous father is always a factor.
“Hi, C.T.,” she said with a smile giving my knees a twinge of weakness. Gabriella had always been tall, standing about five-eight. In heels, she pushed six feet. She possessed a tan Italian complexion, coal black hair, and eyes as green as grass. Her shirt and jeans went well with her complexion and figure. I’d not seen Gabriella since before I left for Hong Kong. In the intervening four years, she managed to get even prettier. I reminded myself her father still ran organized crime in Baltimore.
“It’s been a while,” I said.
“Too long,” she said, wrapping me in a tight hug. I smiled as we embraced. She held the hug longer than I expected. I didn’t mind. Holding her close felt good.
“What brings you by?” I said. “How do you even know where I live?”
“Your parents told me,” she said. “And I came by because I think we need to talk.”
“Uh-oh, I’m getting ‘we need to talk.’ Don’t we need to be dating or something first?”
Gabriella smiled again. It had the same effect. If she stood in my doorway much longer, I might marry her. “We need to talk about Alberto Esposito,” she said.
“You know about him.”
She nodded. “Can we get some lunch?”
“Your father’s place?” I said.
“No,” Gabriella said. “I don’t want to have this conversation with him around.” She paused in thought. “Or in public at all. Can we get some carry-in or delivery?”
“I’m sure we can find a good spot. Come on in.”
Gabriella entered my house. I wondered, not for the first time with this case, what the hell I was getting myself into.
We walked a few blocks to Maria D’s on Light Street. A while passed since I indulged in sub shop food, and Maria D’s always proved itself worth the indulgence. Gabriella spent her formative years in an Italian restaurant, so I knew she wouldn’t object. She opted for a turkey burger. I took the plunge and got a pizza steak sub. We each ordered fries, and based on being in for a penny and in for several pounds, I got us a fried mushroom appetizer to share.
About ten minutes later, we walked back to my house. Thus far, Gabriella hadn’t said anything about Esposito or why she decided to visit. She was her father’s daughter in several respects. Tony preferred not to talk business in public. He demonstrated an uncanny ability to lower his voice so you could hear him across the table, but no one nearby could.
“Didn’t you go to China?” Gabriella said when we were back inside. She sat next to me me on the couch, and I spread the food out on the coffee table.
“For about three and a half years,” I said.
“Why?” Gabriella put a few fried mushrooms and a spoonful of ranch on her plate. “Why would you go all the way over there?”
“I wanted to see the world,” I said. I munched on a mushroom. “I was in Europe for six months seeing some things, collecting passport stamps.”
“Did you stop in Italy?”
“For a few nights. I think I have a picture where it looks like I’m holding up the Leaning Tower.”
Gabriella chuckled and gave me a light shove on the shoulder. “Oh, my god, you’re such a tourist,” she said. “Everyone takes that picture.”
“So you did, too?” I said.
“Sure . . . when I was like, six.”
“OK, so I was older than six. But I saw a lot of Europe.”
“And then you went to China?”
I nodded. “You know I’ve always been into computers?”
“Sure,” said Gabriella.
“I knew some people who lived in Hong Kong.”
“Hackers.”
“Hackers,” I said. I ate another mushroom. So did Gabriella. “I learned some things in classes but taught myself most of it. A book here and there but a lot of trial and error. They were doing some real cutting-edge stuff, and they were doing it against the Chinese government.”
Gabriella said, “So they were . . . what’s the word . . . hacktivists?”
“More or less. They did some good things, but they tended to have an angle of personal gain. Doing good things for maybe some not-so-good reasons.”
“I can see how you would fit right in,” Gabriella said with a grin.
I grinned, too. “Yes, well . . . guilty as charged, I suppose. I got there and started working with them. They showed me a lot of things, things I’d never done or learned. In return, I paid for a bunch of upgraded equipment.”
“You financed their operation?”
“Basically. I also worked on helping Americans who were being targeted by the government and a few dissidents.”
“Did they help you with that?” Gabriella said. She ate her last mushroom. There were a few more in the container, but she eschewed them for her sub. She put half the burger and a handful of fries onto a different plate.
“Here and there,” I said. “They were mostly into embarrassing the government. If helping me would make it happen, they were in.” I grabbed the last few mushrooms. Added to at least half the sub and a bunch of fries, I would need to run an extra lap or two tomorrow. My mind flashed to running with Bobbi, and I banished those thoughts. I would do my laps alone.
“What happened, then?” Gabriella said. “My dad said something about your parents getting you out of China.”
I told Gabriella about the Chinese government discovering us, the police arresting us, my nineteen days in the Chinese prison, and my eventual release. “They said they didn’t want to see me again, and I assured them the feeling was mutual.”
“Wow,” Gabriella said. She rubbed my forearm a few times, then picked up her sub. I took the chance to start eating mine, too. Both barbecue sauce and ketchup were on the table for the fries. Gabriella disappointed me by selecting ketchup. I, of course, opted for the superior barbecue sauce.
After a few minutes of eating in silence, Gabriella said, “Alberto Esposito.”
“The bane of my recent existence,” I said around a mouthful of fries.
“You know he wan
ts to take over from my father.”
I nodded. Gabriella frowned. She must have thought I didn’t know. “He came out and told me,” I said. “He wants to modernize the operation.”
“He told you,” she said. “Wow.”
“He did.” Now I frowned. Gabriella’s surprise struck me as more than normal. “Gabriella . . . you’re not working with Esposito, are you?”
“Of course not,” she said. “I just happen to agree with him.”
“Really?”
“I don’t want him to push my father aside. But Dad is stuck in the old ways. He’s still messing with things like protection and construction. This isn’t the ‘eighties and ‘nineties anymore. Everyone is online. Everything is online. People’s refrigerators can tell them when they need eggs, for Christ’s sake. And Dad doesn’t want any part of that. It’s . . . I don’t know. It’s weird.”
“Because he should want a piece?” I said.
“Yes,” said Gabriella. “There’s a lot of money to be made online. People like my dad all over the world are using ransomware to make money. Why not him?”
Her words forced a smile. Gabriella was her father’s daughter in many ways, and may have even surpassed him in business acumen. “Why doesn’t he have you running the show?”
“Ugh.” Gabriella shook her head. “This is no business for a broad,” she said, mocking her father’s voice. She did a creditable impression. “He doesn’t want to turn his operation over to me. My dad’s great disappointment is that he never had a son.”
“He’s crazy,” I said. “He has to know you’d do a good job.”
“I think he does. He sent me to college. Got my MBA. I know money. I know how to make money. My dad . . . doesn’t think I’d be good at the parts of the job that don’t involve money.”
“He doesn’t think you’d want to kill people.” I picked up a couple fries. They grew tepid while we talked.
Gabriella leaned back on the couch and nodded. “That’s the part he doesn’t think is right for ‘a broad.’”