Patel’s harem. Jeez!
…spreadsheets with numbers and initials…
Bankers. Sheesh.
…and one file with several TXT files.
Gabriel opened one. It was a saved instant message conversation. No identifying names or numbers. Just a lot of business chatter.
Is it done?
Yeah.
Any leaks?
No.
Security?
No sweat, especially with the cops’ help.
Complete the transfer. Pay the contractors.
Will do.
Gabriel paused. Cops’ help? “Hey fellas, do bankers use cops to for stuff? I dunno. Maybe security or something?”
Pablo responded first. “Yeah. All the time. Off-duty cops mostly.”
Raimy agreed. “For sure. Businesses use them all the time for security, traffic control, especially at events and stuff.”
Did Patel use police to help? He never mentioned it to me. But I’m new. I’ll have to check with his Board, Gabriel thought.
Suddenly, five successive electronic pings reverberated through the room, startling the trio into nervous laughter.
“What the heck?” Raimy jumped.
“I’ve got mail! Gabriel, here’re the files,” Pablo grinned and tossed the USB drive to Gabriel and tucked the memory chip into his pants pocket. He bounced off to check his hacker rig.
Raimy watched Pablo with amused curiosity. “Jesus, that guy…he’s something else.”
“He is,” Gabriel snorted, “and he’s probably my best friend.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. I’ve worked with him for years. We’re buds. He’s saved my life, literally and figuratively. When I got divorced, he did a few things…things on the edges…that really helped me out. And he kept me from drowning in my own self-pity. We’ve been really close ever since then. I owe him for that. Big time.”
“Maybe he can do some of those ‘on the edge’ things for me, too,” Raimy half-joked.
“Maybe…Pablo can do some wild stuff…and the stuff you can find out, well, some of it you may not wanna know. I’ll ask him to brief you. Want some fries?” Gabriel offered, and wrapped his hand around the other burger, so far untouched, ready to take a varsity bite, when a hollow knock sounded at the hotel room door.
“Room service!”
Gabriel walked over to the door, jerked it open and set his eyes on the shy teen who had delivered the food about half an hour ago.
“What’s up?”
“Sorry to botha’ ya, Mista. I fergot ya’ ketchup,” Lefty held out the red condiment bottle making a visual note of the burger in Sweeney’s hand and the half-eaten burger sitting on a plate atop the food cart behind the PR man.
“Oh, thanks. I think we have some. But thanks anyway,” Gabriel moved his foot to hold the door open and reached for the bottle. “Have a good night.”
“Yeah, okay, Mista. No probs. Goodbye…I mean g’night,” Lefty stammered, turned on his heel and walked down the carpeted corridor to the elevators. When he reached the ground floor, he quick-stepped through the kitchen and out the back door. Fumbling for a Marlboro red, he finally lit the smoke and drew heavily. He pulled out his phone and tapped a text to Nino.
Burgers dosed, delivered. They’re eating.
And with that, Lefty walked over to the bushes lining the rear parking lot. He took another long drag off his cigarette and exhaled. Then he vomited violently, projecting several mouthfuls of bile and chunks of partially digested turkey club sandwich across the boxwood hedges.
Upstairs, Gabriel ambled back toward the food cart and placed the ketchup bottle down.
“Who was that?” Raimy wondered.
“Room service. They sent up some extra ketchup.” Gabriel put the hamburger into his mouth.
“Woo-hoo! I got something,” Pablo bolted into the small living room with his hacker laptop, parked himself on the couch.”
“Awright. Whaddaya got, my man?” Gabriel put down the burger without taking a bite and edged onto the couch next to Pablo. Raimy scooched closer to see the screen.
“Raimy, whatever your note said really struck a chord. Listen to this,” Pablo pulled up a few messages from his hacker contacts.
I’ve seen some chatter on this. Word is it’s some new, classified, toxic substance. Not much corroboration. May only be a rumor.
“That’s from Trail. She’s big on bioscience. Spends time hacking bio-gen companies and big pharma to see what crazy shit they’re working on in R&D. It’s huge that she responded. Look at this one.”
I heard that shit kills and it’s undetectable. Could be bullshit. I gotta admit I think it’s like the Loch Ness Monster – often discussed but never seen.
“That’s from Liquid Guard -- He’s a DoD weapons procurement intelligence officer. He likes to surf the dark web to see what’s moving on the black market. When he says, ‘often discussed but never seen’ that means there’s a lot of organic sourcing on this, and not just one source getting passed around.”
Raimy was more interested in the message than the messenger. “He also said it kills and it’s undetectable. Sounds like the anomaly.”
“Read this next one,” said Pablo.
It’s not public and only talked about in quiet terms. Hackers seem to be very nervous about this stuff.
Pablo explained. “That’s from Big Teaz. She’s Indonesian. I think. She’s an expert on crypto currency, so she sees a ton a chatter about anything that needs to be bought or sold using non-traditional money.”
He sat back and smiled. “Five responses in less than thirty minutes. A couple are from chump-ass dilettantes, looking to grow web-cred by having an opinion on every piss-ant thing.”
“Good Lord!” Raimy looked stunned. “Do you trust this? Is this real?”
Pablo tapped the screen. “These three I trust. I know their work. And they know me. Their reputation is solid. Yeah, I trust what they’re saying,”
“I knew it! I knew I was on to something!” Raimy crowed. He jumped up and started pacing the room. “This is amazing!”
“Slow down, Doc,” Gabriel warned. “Earlier you said this Martian Heroin didn’t exist. It’s not organic, synthetic…not anything on earth. But now you found it in two dead bodies, and Pablo’s dark web hackers are saying this substance is toxic, undetectable…classified…you need to be careful.”
“But I found it. I found it. It is detectable. I’ve got the lab tests to prove it.”
Gabriel was worried. “Pablo, what does Big Teaz mean, ‘hackers are nervous’?”
“I’m not sure. Hackers don’t get nervous. They make other people nervous. I think we should drop it. Move on. Who knows what kinda shit we’re falling into?” Pablo said.
“Raimy, sorry, man. I’m with Pablo. This is freaking me out a little. I don’t mind admitting it. I’m kinda spooked. I can’t go down a rabbit hole right now. I need this job and I need the money,” Gabriel said.
“No! Not yet. This is big. Lemme go to the lab and get the tox screen reports,” Raimy pleaded. “Maybe you can upload it to the dark web and get more information.”
“I dunno, Raimy,” the hacker said. “If Big Teaz says hackers are nervous then there’s a reason for that.”
“Then maybe just send it to the bio-science hacker, Trail, right? She would know what my lab reports mean, I think? C’mon. Do this. I found something. We can’t ignore it. Please!”
Pablo gave in. “Okay. I can do that. But I leave tomorrow morning, so just send me the information when you can.”
“Are you kidding? Look at me. I’m so juiced right now. I can’t wait. I’m going to the lab now. I’ll be back on 45 minutes.”
“Fine by me. I’m not going anywhere,” said Pablo.
“Raimy, I’ll walk out with you,” Gabriel announced.
“Sure. Where you goin’?”
“I told you, man. This bank job is crucial for me. I need the money. Badly. I got a ton of shit to do ba
ck at the bank. Should take me about an hour.”
“Whatever, man. Do what you gotta do.” Raimy was disappointed that his friend didn’t share his excitement, and a little surprised that he was being kind of a puss.
Gabriel read the look on Raimy’s face. “Look, I get it. This is exciting stuff, but I’m seeing red flags everywhere. I think you’re playing with fire.”
“Whoa! Hold on there, man. Wasn’t it just a few weeks ago you told me about giving the middle finger to fear? Wasn’t that you?”
“But this isn’t a jump off a bridge. This is two fishy deaths, alien toxins, dark web schemes, secret phones, booby-trapped memory chips, and a hot mystery woman slipping me a roofie. It’s different.”
“Hang on, buddy. You never said anything about women drugging you. What’s up with that?”
“I’ll explain later. My point is that is I think you should back off. You’re moving too fast with this chemical thing. You should leave it alone. My spider-senses are tingling. Too much weird shit going on. Honestly, I’m kinda shook.”
“I don’t care. All I know is I found something strange and new. I can’t let it go. Maybe it’s nothing. But I can’t stand still. It could be a disease. It could be some new bioweapon. It could be…”
“…Martian Heroin.” Pablo deadpanned.
Raimy and Gabriel froze momentarily, then slowly turned to look at Pablo, kicked back on the couch, munching his burger and French fries and streaming an old episode of Desperate Housewives on his super-charged laptop.
Both men burst out laughing. “Fuckin’ Pablo. I can always count on you for goofball wisdom, Caribbean machismo, and brutal truth,” Gabriel praised.
“Yeah, well, that’s nice. Why don’t you two take your love-spat outside. I’d like to have a private moment with Gaby Solis here.”
“Okay, Pablo. See you in about an hour.”
Pablo nodded, his attention already riveted on his computer screen as Gabriel closed the door and made his way with the doctor to the elevator.
“Need a ride?” Raimy asked.
“No. Thanks, man, it’s literally across the street.”
In the elevator, the pair started to exchange contact information since Gabriel was set to fly out of Boston the next day. They were still tapping data into their phones when the elevator reached the lobby and the doors opened. Gabriel started to get out.
“Gabriel, I’m parked on P2. Ride down with me so we can finish this up. I’ll drive you out and drop you across the street at Pilgrim Trust.” Raimy was head down, absorbed in his smartphone.
“Sure thing.” Gabriel stepped back into the elevator. He looked up briefly and recognized Officer Gerardi even though he was out of uniform.
What’s he doing here?
The elevator doors closed. Officer Gerardi never saw Sweeney. The young, fit rookie cop was too busy chatting up a comely flight attendant in town for a quick layover.
Gabriel chalked it up to coincidence.
Probably off-duty and on a date. Lucky man.
He hopped out of Raimy’s car after the short drive, made his way to the top floor of the Pilgrim Trust Bank and was quickly absorbed in the ongoing PR work related to Patel’s sudden death. Raimy drove to his office at the morgue.
Chapter 34
“Mr. Souza? It’s Detective Paolucci. How are you this evening. Are you still in Boston?”
Pablo sighed heavily. “Yes, detective. I’m still here. What’s up? Is there another dead body you need me to identify?”
“Ha-ha! No, Mr. Souza. Nothing like that. But I do need you to come to the station right away. It’s a simple matter to clear up. Administrative bullshit. But you need to be here in person to do it.”
“Now? Jesus!”
“Mr. Souza, I’m actually glad I caught you while you’re still in town. Otherwise we would have to bring you back to Boston. And, frankly, with budget cuts at the department you would probably be on a bus courtesy of the Commonwealth, and not a plane. I promise. You’ll be in and out in less than five minutes.”
“Awright, awright. Jesus Christ. If it wasn’t for the Doña Mantanzas Restaurant, I wouldn’t have much good to say about this trip to Boston.”
“I understand, Mr. Souza. You’ve been very helpful under very disturbing circumstances. Thank you. How soon will you be here? I don’t mean to rush you, but I’d like to go home, too. I can send a squad car if you like?”
“It’s nice out. I’ll walk over. I should be there in about 10 to 15 minutes. Bye.”
Pablo shut down his laptop, locked away his hacker gadgets in the Pelican 1637 Air Case, and made his way out of the hotel. As he stepped onto Cambridge Street and started walking east toward the police precinct, Officer Gerardi tapped out a text.
The Cuban just left on foot, eastbound on Cambridge.
Minutes later, Det. Keeler called Gabriel Sweeney, but he only got voicemail. Gabriel was atop the Pilgrim Trust Bank listening in on a live, west coast Fox Business News broadcast interview with Neil Cavuto and Pilgrim’s Acting CEO Marco Malanga. He had silenced his phone several minutes earlier, and it would be much later before he turned it back on.
Chapter 35
Joe “Jo-Dubs” Wehrle read the message about the ‘Cuban on foot’ and eased the stolen 1997 Honda Civic up to the southeast corner of Temple and Cambridge Streets. From there, here could see both sides of the thoroughfare. It wasn’t crowded, and traffic was light. He waited for Pablo.
Wehrle, a Quincy native, didn’t like what he was about to do but he didn’t have a choice. He’d sidestepped federal gun-running charges in 2016 after Detective Nino Paolucci convinced him to wear a wire to rat out the gun-trafficking ring leaders. Ever since then, Jo-Dubs had done periodic dirty work for Nino…like tonight…under threat of exposure to the thugs he turned on. A certain death sentence.
“Better to kill than be killed,” he muttered.
Two minutes ticked off and Jo-Dubbs saw Pablo strolling along the north side of Cambridge Street. No one else was near him. The streets were mostly clear of any cars. He eased the two-door Honda through the intersection and turned left onto Cambridge. Staying in the left lane, Jo-Dubs increased his speed as Pablo came into clearer view.
Just 75 feet from Lynde Street, Pablo heard the high-pitched engine whine of a four-cylinder car. When he looked up, Pablo was blinded by the bright headlights of a car coming directly at him. He made a futile attempt to leap to the right and dodge the oncoming vehicle.
He had no chance. Jo-Dubs smashed into Pablo, pinning him against the stone wall in front of the Otis House Museum.
Wehrle detached his seatbelt and pushed the airbag away from his face. He started to abandon the car but stopped, moved over to Pablo, and whispered in his ear.
“Sorry, man. I don’t know you. But I had no choice.”
Pablo, slumped over the engine hood with his thighs pinned to the stone wall, grabbed Jo-Dubs by the wrist and pulled him close.
Surprised, but not scared, Wehrle assented, and leaned over.
Pablo rasped, “When life…gives you a s-song…you better dance…because…the s-song is going to…end for everybody.”
Chapter 36
Raimy pulled off I-93’s exit 23 and waited at a red light. “Let’s go…let’s go…let’s go,” he muttered impatiently.
After dropping off Gabriel at the bank, Raimy had zipped back to the morgue. He didn’t have a flash drive, so he printed PDF copies of the tox screens from his computer and tucked them into an envelope. He was eager to get the toxicological reports from Lohan and Patel into Pablo’s hands, and hoped that the bio-science hacker would help move things along.
“C’mon, c’mon...!” Raimy drummed his fingers on the steering wheel waiting for the light to turn green.
Relax. Don’t count chickens, my man.
But he smiled. He couldn’t help it. He was giddy at the possibility that he had discovered a new chemical element. He envisioned himself taking part in the scientific investigation. H
e caught himself being unashamedly smug at the possibility of personal fame.
Finally!
The light turned green and Raimy drove the final eighth of a mile to the hotel, parked close to the same spot he had less than an hour earlier, made his way to Pablo’s room, and knocked.
“Pablo? Are you there?”
No answer.
Raimy waited a few minutes and knocked again, with no luck.
What the heck?
He returned to the hotel lobby and asked the concierge to ring Pablo’s room. Still no answer.
Raimy asked if Pablo had gone out, but neither the concierge nor anyone at the front desk remembered one way or another. He checked the Dean’s List bar. Not there, either.
Raimy called Gabriel’s mobile, but that smartphone was still silenced and rang straight to voicemail.
Where is the guy? he wondered.
The only person who was certain about Pablo’s location was Officer Gerardi, who diligently remained on the lookout for Gabriel Sweeney and took no notice of the impatient medical examiner.
Raimy borrowed a hotel pen, dashed off a quick note, and tucked it into the envelope with the tox reports. He went back up to Pablo’s room and knocked again, just in case. When no answer came, he slipped the envelope under the door, and left. Somewhat deflated, but not hopeless.
Chapter 37
Done.
Detective Paolucci smiled as he read the one-word text from Jo-Dubbs that confirmed Pablo had been run over by the Quincy thug.
It would be a few hours before the dead Cuban showed up in the morgue where Tanzler, the overnight pathologist, would conduct an autopsy and report the cause of death as injuries related to the accident or some such nonsense.
The other text was from Keeler, and it irritated the demanding, corrupt cop.
I can’t reach Sweeney. Calls go straight to voicemail.
Paolucci cleared Officer Gerardi from the hotel lobby, but not before learning that the young cop had not seen Sweeney leave the hotel.
Did that fuckin’ cocksucker Sweeney just die in his room?
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