He was amused. “And how should I check on them?”
“Call Dean up and see if he told Brenda about his plan to get me punched.”
“I can do that.”
“And, do you have Brenda’s home address?”
I heard him rustling papers and then he said, “Yes.”
“I can break in and check her place out.”
He laughed. “Interesting approach.”
“The word you want is ‘direct.’”
“And what would you expect to find?”
“Something linking Brenda to Devanter. Or a chunk of cash.”
“No.” He paused. “No. No one pays people in unmarked bills in public bathrooms anymore, or however it goes.”
It was my turn to be amused. “It happens often. Especially with amateurs and professionals. Cash has no conscience and no memory.”
Reese firmed up his voice. “No. If it happened she got paid electronically.”
“Wanna bet?”
He laughed again. “With you? I think not. Leave this to me.”
“Okay. Call me.”
“I can do better than that, how about lunch?”
We made a date for a downtown steak house and I went home where I found Elena waiting for me with Claire and Fred. She was talking cheerfully to Claire and scribbling on a notepad. As I came in she greeted me, “And the prodigal jogger returns!”
The note she handed me read, “Cops have your place bugged, be careful. They asked me to take Claire shopping on a prepared route to see if Shy comes out. We got 40 officers covering the route, snipers on the roofs and etc. and they wirred me too. Joke is the brass is pissed at you and hope S.M. takes you instead of her!”
She laughed and I said, “Just trying for efficiency since beauty is out.”
Then I wrote on her note, “Wired is spelled with one ‘r.’ And I know about the bugging.”
Elena read it and so did Claire and then Elena shredded the note and flushed it down the toilet.
While she was in the other room I took Claire in my arms. “How are you?”
Her face was lined and there were bags under her eyes. “Tired.” She leaned in close and whispered, “Terrified. Is there anything else we can do?”
I said, “I can’t think of anything.”
I didn’t like the idea of Fred as a decoy as he rode with Claire. I’d have to do something about that. The poet says that death takes the exceedingly young.
But he wouldn’t take Fred. I didn’t know how but I wouldn’t let that happen.
I did like the idea of forty cops watching my wife and son and ready to protect them. And I liked the idea of Elena being there. She would fight tooth and nail to protect Claire and Fred.
And if the Shy Man came for me, I’d take him apart. Quickly if I had a gun. Slowly if I had to use my fingers.
Claire closed her eyes, kissed me and left. When they were gone I shut all the doors and windows, changed the batteries on all the alarm systems and checked them out to make sure they were working. Then I cleaned and was unsurprised when Brenda and Dean phoned to cancel the day’s travels.
At one I was downtown in a plush chrome restaurant at a good table with Virgil Reese, who immediately ordered.
“Chopin vodka martini, three ounces of vodka, one big olive, no pimento, five drops of vermouth, clean glass rubbed with lemon peel, splashed with Shooting Sherry.”
The waiter didn’t even blink but turned to me. “And for you?”
I mocked Reese gently, “Coffee. In a thin-sided china cup. Medium roast. White processed sugar. Cream. And a spoon.”
The waiter left and I turned to Reese. “Chopin vodka?”
“Polish potato vodka. It’s fantastic.”
“So how did it go?”
He grinned but there was no amusement. “It was Brenda. She told me right away. Devanter bought her for $5,000.”
“And how did he pay her?”
The drinks came and I sipped the coffee and Reese took a mouthful and relaxed. “Cash. Like you said.”
I bowed to him. “No applause, simply throw gold and virgins.”
He grunted. “Out of both.”
The waiter came and we ordered blue, baked and tossed and he left. I drank some coffee. “So what did you do?”
“Offered her another five to keep us informed of what she was telling Devanter. Without telling Devanter that we knew about her. And I told her I wouldn’t sue her ass.”
“Good.” I knew from past experience that killing a spy or otherwise removing them rarely worked. A new spy would simply be introduced and then you’d have to waste time finding that one. Co-opting them always worked better. “And did she have any new data?”
“Apparently Devanter’s freaking out because you’re gaining ground on Illyanovitch.”
“Am I?”
“Not really. You’re just solidifying a block of disenfranchised voters.”
I stared into the distance and asked, “Can you still enter another person into the race?”
Reese stared at me. “Sure. Why?”
“We need a dummy. Someone right wing, further right than Illyanovitch. Someone to bleed off votes.”
Reese leaned back. “I can do that right away. But who?”
I grinned. “Tell Dean to get the blond guy. Also tell him not to tell Brenda anything about the plan. And wait until the last possible day; I don’t want Devanter to steal the dummy idea from us.”
Reese looked at me intently. “You are pretty good at this kind of political infighting.”
“Yep.”
“Ever done it before?”
“Nope.”
The food came and we ate. Near the end of the lunch though he got quieter and finally I asked what was wrong.
“I’m wondering why you became a thief. It seems like such a waste. You have a good mind. You’re flexible and creative.”
I started to laugh and Virgil got offended so I held up my hand. “Sorry. It’s just a question I’ve heard all my life. I’ve honestly got no answer. I could tell you that it had to do with childhood abuse. Or that it’s genetic. Or that everyone steals; Raymond Chandler used to say that no one ever made a million dollars honestly. I could tell you that no one puts up statues to nice people. I could list off famous thieves. But I won’t tell you any of that. I’ll just tell you that it’s what I was at the time and I’m something different now.”
Virgil smiled and it was unpleasant, then he paid the tab and was gone.
#35
I knew that Claire and Elena would be out late and I knew Veronica would take good care of Fred so I stayed downtown. I also knew that many cops would be busy watching my house and keeping a cordon around Claire, which made it a good night to commit crime. So the first thing I did was count the money in my wallet and I found I had over $400—more than enough.
Cheerfully I went to work. First a quick stop at a bargain shop for cheap runners, dark sunglasses, oversized track pants and a matching hooded jacket, a baseball hat and a pair of canvas gardening gloves. At a newsstand specializing in pornography I bought a $20 selection of cheap tools; screwdrivers, needle-nose pliers, a wrench, a women’s compact mirror and a disposable carpet cutter. At a pharmacy beside the library I bought a small box of surgical gloves, a pair of women’s sheer stockings, a little key light, a roll of clear packing tape and a bottle of rubbing alcohol.
Then I went to visit Reynolds and Lake, Alastair Reynolds’s law office, which occupied a high floor on a newish office building right on Portage Avenue. I treated it like a regular burglary and circled the building slowly, checking out the view from other buildings and angles first. Then I checked out the routes into the place and there were three —ground floor, attached garage that connected to the officebuilding at six levels, and an underground walk system. The last was part of the rabbit warren that ran under most of the downtown businesses, survival tactics for the subarctic winters.
I wrote off the ground floor (it went directly through a bi
g lobby with security guards and a jewellery store). And I wrote off the underground because it was patrolled by other security guards who spent a lot of time rousting people who wore hoodies and track pants, the very disguise I had in my bag. I made a note to dress like a lawyer next time.
That left the parking garage, so I checked that out. Lots of expensive cars, an irregular patrol by a fat chick who didn’t get out of her pickup truck and many, many cameras. In other words, not a bad way to break in. Not a bad way at all.
I pulled on the baseball cap and dark glasses and walked through the lobby of the office building and took the elevator up to the seventeenth floor. There were two security guards behind the big desk in the lobby and they didn’t look twice, at me which made me feel pretty safe. I was wearing the disguise because if things went wrong the cops would run video tape and look for anyone doing what I was doing. Which was casing the joint by walking through it and around it over and over.
On the seventeenth floor there were investment firms, an executive job search agency full of men and women in suits and, in a nice corner office, Reynolds and Lake, Attorneys. I wandered up to their door and found it a solid slab of oak with brass inserts and two Medco Maxum deadbolt locks. Those were serious pains in the ass to pick, break or disable.
There were two bathrooms on the floor as well. So after I scouted the floor I visited the men’s and found it had three stalls, two urinals and a locked closet.
I stared at the closet for a minute and then checked the lock. It was a Mastercraft combination lock on a hasp and I smiled to myself and went to the garbage. In five seconds I had an empty can of root beer I washed out in the sink and then took with me into a toilet stall. Six cuts with the carpet cutter got me a piece of aluminum about one inch by two inches with two half-inch cuts in one side. Then I made two more slices so my piece of aluminum looked kind of like an M and folded the two outside legs in. I pocketed the empty can until I could find a recycling bin and went to the closet and wrapped my little lock around the left arm and then pulled it down so the point went into lock mechanism. At the same time I pulled down on the lock itself and it popped open instantly.
The closet was full of shelves of cleaning supplies, a couple of big aluminum pails on wheels, some mops and brooms and miscellaneous equipment. It was certainly big enough to hide in easily, but once in there was no way I could lock it behind me, so its use was limited. And, once inside, there was no way to get out.
Ah well.
I went outside and found a coffee shop called the Fyxx where I could rest and relax until night fell. Then I changed in an alley, leaving my clothes, pocket knife and wallet in a pile of garbage (except for the cash) and went around to the back of the parking garage, which was open, with many thick concrete pillars. With my back to one of the pillars and the surgical gloves on my hands I opened the compact and checked around the corner.
Nothing. No people and no cameras.
I did the same on the other side of the pillar—still nothing and no one.
So I went in, bypassing the man in the pay booth on the basement level.
The only downside of my whole plan was that I looked like a thief. Dark track pants and jacket, hood up, black baseball cap worn down low over my face covered with pantyhose. Dark glasses. At a distance I’d look strange, up close I would look like a thief or a rapist. Period.
Oh well.
I moved slowly, keeping to the shadows, scanning with the mirror for people, cameras and anything moving. Listening for conversation or music or breathing. I even sniffed repeatedly for the smells of cigarettes or perfume that might alert me to someone nearby.
On the third floor I found the entrance to the office building, a glass door that led right into the office building. The lock was a good one, a Schlage five-pin sucker that I could pick in about three minutes if I had my tools.
However, I had gotten rid of most of my tools when I’d gone straight and they weren’t easy to find. Claire had insisted I lose all of the tools I’d collected over my life of crime; the lock picks, the clean guns, a few pounds of commercial grade explosives, the lock pick gun, my selection of skeleton keys, my cell phone jammer, my radar detector, the big fishing case of makeup for disguises and so on.
All gone when I’d gone straight.
And the stuff I had acquired over the past year. That stuff I’d used once and then destroyed, trying to leave as few traces behind as possible.
And I didn’t have the time to improvise so I stared at the door and tried to come up with something subtle but nothing jumped into my mind. Then I realized the idiot who had put the door on had left the hinges facing out.
Two minutes with the screwdriver levered the hinge bolts out. Then I pulled the door out entirely, fiddled with the deadbolt to open it (easy enough when you can reach the face plate) and put the door back in place. I opened it and walked into the office building, leaving the door lock jammed open behind me. I knew anyone who used a key would find the door unlocked; as long as they didn’t look too closely it would be good.
And back to my skulking—thirteen floors worth of stairways, checking every few feet with the mirror. The odds of running into a security guard were pretty low, they probably patrolled once an hour or so and as long as I was quiet I should be safe. By the time I reached the seventeenth floor I was bored to tears but I went into the bathroom, jimmied the lock again and climbed into the closet.
When I’d been there earlier I’d noticed that the seventeenth floor had hanging ceilings like most office buildings did and that meant I didn’t have to worry about the doors to Reynolds and Lake with their serious locks.
It was a personal motto—over, under, around or through. I kept trying to translate it into Latin with no luck.
However, it gave me the answer to the kickass locks Reynolds and Lake had. I would just go over.
There were strong shelves on the sides of the closet. I moved most of the cleaning supplies and then I used the shelves to climb up to the ceiling and push through the sound-dampening panels into a three-foot-high crawl space full of dust, hanging wires and other junk. The key light served to light it up quite well and I looked around and tried not to sneeze.
I reached down and picked up one of the industrial rolls of cheap garbage bags and started to lay them out in front of me in the general direction of the offices. It took a while but I had to move slowly anyway and laying the bags down encouraged precision and silence. The bags served three purposes: they kept me fairly clean; they allowed me to measure the exact distance, as each bag was thirty inches long; and as a bonus they gave me a route back to the bathroom. As I went I taped them together.
Throughout I was very careful to stay on the iron supports that held up the panels themselves. Those were wired into the ceiling and as long as I spread my weight over three of them I’d be fine so I placed my weight on toe, knee and hands and moved along.
In thirty minutes I covered the 120 feet and reached the corner of the building which meant, in theory, that the offices of Reynolds and Lake had to be beneath me.
I pulled open the last panel and held the mirror down so I could see.
I expected to see a room full of cops with drawn guns.
But there was nothing.
#36
The ceiling was two feet above a bookshelf, which gave me a nice route down to the floor, almost like a ladder. It only took a second to wrap tape around my hands and pick up most of the dust off my clothes and then I climbed slowly and carefully down and went to work.
There was lots of light streaming in through the windows to let me work and the first thing I did was check the whole office out, an inch at a time. It was a nice space, oak furniture and bookshelves, dark leather on the furniture, good quality bindings on the books and a nice thick-weave carpet. The desk was huge, oak as well, with a green felt blotter protecting the top and an expensive-looking laptop on top of that.
“Qosmio X305-Q708?” I said quietly. It looked fast and pricey and
I ignored it and opened the drawers, looking to find out whose office I was in. Most of the drawers were locked but one that wasn’t was full of boxes of business cards I recognized, ones for Alastair Reynolds.
Past experience told me I should check out the rest of the office before I started work so I did and found a central waiting room with a desk for a receptionist, a nicely appointed bathroom, a second office almost as nice as Alastair’s and a tiny kitchenette with fridge, microwave and a complicated machine that seemed to make coffee. It had an Italian name I couldn’t read so I assumed it was for coffee and left it at that.
While I was in the second office the security guard came by—I heard the elevator door open and froze in place and watched through a door open a crack while a large kid in a white shirt and black pants checked all the doors by the light of a big flashlight. Then he left and I went back to Alastair’s office.
The desk was ticking me off. I hate locked doors and drawers, unless I lock them. In all other cases they’re just a professional challenge.
I found a pair of brass paper clips in one of the open drawers and used my needle-nose pliers to straighten them out. Then I flattened one end of one of them and bent it. That went into the tight grip of a big-jawed spring clip and I had my tension bar. The second paper clip I bent two or three millimetres from the end and I had my very own rake.
First I inserted the tension tool into the base of the keyhole and turned it to the side to put pressure on the pins. Then I slid the rake back and forth across the pins, pointing upwards and shuffling them into position. After about five brisk passes I pulled the rake out and finished twisting the lock with the tension bar and it was open.
I was disappointed in its contents; it was full of random legal papers I had no time to read. The second drawer held marginally more interesting stuff, notebooks and address books. However, I still had no time to read them so I put them back and checked out the third.
In that drawer was a heavy-framed, multi-barrelled pistol. The gun was a four-shot monstrosity from some American company called a COP, which stood for Compact Off Duty Police. It was made of blued steel with black rubber grips and I lifted it out cautiously and cracked it open to find it loaded with four .357 magnum hollow point rounds. Also in the drawer was a box of sixteen extra shells.
A Criminal to Remember (A Monty Haaviko Thriller) Page 16