Kill Code

by Joseph Collins

  The whole situation was refreshing. They got to talking and drinking, mostly he did the talking and drinking, while she nursed a glass of white wine.

  As he finished talking about his mind-numbing job, she asked him if he wouldn't mind doing some work on the side for her boss. She added off the books and paid in cash. Not caring about the implications, at that point he would have sawed off his right arm with a rusty knife and eaten it in front of her if that's what it took, he agreed. She left with his phone number and other contact information. He about slid to the floor when she kissed him gently on the lips before making her exit.

  Dorothy's boss turned out to be a minor mob boss who needed help in moving his assets around in ways that wouldn't show up on the tax rolls. The money was great—paid in cash as promised. He relished the challenge of outsmarting the IRS. He never did see Dorothy again, much to his disappointment.

  Being a mob accountant worked quite well for a couple of years. Then the whole thing crashed in on him with the FBI showing up at the accounting firm's office asking some hard and difficult questions. He didn't receive any jail time because he cooperated, and had covered his own ass quite well, but it still was very close. The partners in the company were furious. He was allowed to quietly resign.

  The good times over, he had to go, hat in hand, to beg his former roommate for a job. Nathan had agreed, but never, until his dying day, let him forget it.

  Unlocking the car, a battered Buick, Patrick tossed his purchases on the front seat. He could almost taste the porterhouse cooked medium rare on his grill. Get home, crack open the Chianti to let it breathe, fire up the barbeque—no gas grill for him, charcoal was the only way to go for providing the best flavor. He'd toss some water soaked apple chips in the grill to add a bit more flavor.

  He stuck the key in the ignition. There was a click and a roaring sound. He never finished hearing the explosion that blew his upper body from the waist up through the windshield.

  Chapter 9

  Jackie had a lot to think about. Had Nathan set her up to be killed? What had he unleashed?

  She was surprised that Leo was willing to talk to about what he had been. He used to kill people for a living and, according to him, he was decent at it. She couldn't imagine what it would be like to kill someone, close, far or whatever, but it was still very far outside her scope of experience. Give her a security system to break into, an unlimited supply of Cherry Coke Zero, and she was happy.

  The man sort of appeared enamored with her for some strange reason. She didn't have any feelings right now for Leo one way or the other. But he would probably clean up pretty well. And his loose clothing hid what she figured was a decent body underneath. The most important thing was that he talked to her face, not her chest, like most men did. His riveting eyes, when they looked at you, were unsettling and seemed to hide more than they revealed.

  She didn't really want to learn how to shoot, but she was afraid that she would have to do so to survive. She had spent her whole life fighting, starting from being a female hacker, being taken seriously by customers, dealing with the directions in which Nathan wanted to take the company and much more. She was an attractive—according to Nathan—woman trying to make it in a man's world. While she couldn't piss her name in the snow like most guys, she could hold her own against most men.

  For something to do, she fired up her laptop. Might as well see if she had made the news. As the page loaded, she saw that it was true; she had made it, but on page two. But there was breaking news: a Denver Building Inspector had burned to death in his car. Brian Case was his name. It was familiar. She dredged around in her head for the name. Then she recalled it with a shock of horror—it was the building inspector that Nathan had gone to war with over the construction of their current facility and had lost in a very bad way. They had to pay several large fines and had production seriously hampered on several big clients when the inspector had padlocked the door shut after having the police basically throw them out of the building. Nathan had vowed his revenge—was this it? Murder from beyond the grave?

  Leo must have heard the sharp intake of breath because he asked, “What's wrong?”

  She took a moment to gather her thoughts and then said, “It's the building inspector that Nathan fought against. He burned to death in his car this afternoon.”

  “Do you think Nathan had something to do with it?”

  She shook her head, and said, “I'm not sure. He could have. But I'm not sure as to how he would have done it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She looked at him and said, “Do you think Nathan could have arranged it?”

  “Heck yes. That settles it, you will learn how to shoot. There are probably some killers on our trail right now. In fact, turn off that computer, remove the battery and do the same thing with your cell phone.”

  “They can track us with that?”

  Leo shrugged. “I don't know. But it isn't worth the chance.”

  She considered what he had said. There had been rumors in the computer security industry for a number of years about the possibilities of remote tracking with a cell phone, it didn't even have to be GPS enabled, but could find a pretty good location based on the nearest towers and their signal strength. There was even an oft whispered rumor that the feds could install software on your cell phone that would allow it to listen in on conversations around the cell phone and the phone didn't even need to be on for them to work.

  Jackie did as she was asked, putting both devices in her duffel bag.

  Leo pulled into the parking lot of a large brick building. The weathered sign said, “Jack's Sporting Goods and Gun Range.”

  He turned to her and said, “Let me do the talking.”

  All she could do was nod. It seemed like everything that she had worked so hard for had been yanked out from under her.

  Leo climbed out of the truck. Numbly, she followed him.

  He grabbed the bag that held Nathan's, no, her pistol and the ear muffs that they had used. He also grabbed two pairs of safety glasses.

  She followed him into the store. It was wall to wall guns, rifles hanging on the walls, cases full of handguns and racks of ammunition. Holsters, slings and other gun related things occupied the aisles. The place was a gun-nut's dream.

  Leo stepped up to the counter. A hawkish looking man with a thin black mustache and a shaved head nodded at Leo. “What can I do for you?”When she got close, she saw that he had a well-worn holster holding a shiny pistol on his right hip. On the other side of his body were pouches holding something like what Leo had pulled out of her pistol that held bullets.

  “I need to rent some space at the range, a .22 pistol and a hundred rounds for it, and the same in 9mm.”

  The guy looked her up and down like he was grading meat. She did her best not to sneer at him.

  “Taking the girlfriend out shooting? Could find a cheaper place to have a date.”

  Leo ignored the man. “A Browning Buckmark in .22, if you have it. If not, one of the new Ruger Mark III's will do just fine.”

  The man said, “Sure. I've got a Ruger here that will do quite nicely.”

  He then quoted a price that caused Jackie to start. The man was right, this wasn't a cheap date by any means.

  Leo paid without comment out of a roll of bills that would choke a boa constrictor.

  The clerk said, “When you get inside, I'll bring the ammo in. You have your own ear and eye protection?”

  Leo nodded. They followed the man towards the back of the store. Through a thick plexiglass window, she could see that there were other people on the range—one was a woman shooting a small pistol. A couple of guys were at the other end, and she couldn't see what they were doing.

  The clerk unlocked the door and motioned them inside. Leo said, “Put on your eye and hearing protection.” She did as he asked, still overwhelmed by what she had found herself doing. When she had gotten up this morning, she had no idea that her car would be blown up in fr
ont of her, that her dead boyfriend was probably killing people from beyond the grave and that she would be trusting her life to an ex-assassin.

  Leo led her to a booth that was away from everyone. The room smelled of gun smoke. Selecting a circular target from a rack by the door, Leo put it on a clip that was connected to a wire that ran from the booth down to the end of the range.

  “We won't be shooting any live ammunition for a bit so you can get used to the feel of a pistol. Then, when we do shoot, you'll start with the .22 and work your way up.”

  She nodded. He opened up the case containing her gun on the bench and then pulled back the metal piece on top. He quickly named all the relevant pieces. Then he had her hold the pistol, pointing it at the target. He had her practice her aim, trigger pull and hold with the empty gun. Leo corrected her with gentle touches and a calm voice.

  She hardly noticed that the clerk had bought them in a pistol and some ammunition.

  When she felt comfortable with the pistol, a Beretta, they switched to the Ruger and started shooting. It was fun! There wasn't much recoil and the pistol seemed, after her training with Leo, to almost aim itself.

  Then they switched to the Beretta and the man silhouette target. It kicked more, had two different trigger pulls, and when she didn't hold it right, it spit the empty shell into her face.

  By the time she had shot up most of the ammunition, she was feeling much more confident and comfortable.

  But she was starting to get tired. Leo seemed to sense this and said, “Why don't you step back and let me have a go at it?”

  She was more than happy to do so. It was interesting to see the way he loaded the Beretta without even looking at it, settled down into a stable stance, picked up the pistol and carefully squeezed the trigger. There was a hole in the center of the head on the target. He looked at the target and then said, “Watch this.”

  He started shooting so fast that it sounded like a machine gun. The head part of the silhouette was completely shredded. Glancing over her shoulder out the window, she saw the clerk had been watching them. His face was expressionless and she wondered what he was thinking.

  Dropping the clip free from the Beretta, he said, “You feel comfortable?”

  “Yes. But I'm really starting to get hungry.”

  Leo gave her a satisfied look and said, “Me, also. But we need to get you a holster, some more ammo and magazines.”

  “You said you'd teach me how to shoot; I didn't hear anything about you making me carry it. Besides, I don't have a license.”

  He shrugged. “You are going to have to carry it in order to be able to use it, the laws be damned.” He flipped up the front of his untucked shirt and she saw the butt of a pistol tucked into the front of his waistband.

  Her shocked expression must have surprised him because he added, “Someone who isn't armed is merely a victim waiting to happen. While I'm only carrying a .22 pistol, I can probably pick someone's eyes out with it across the room.”

  His voice softened. “I like you too much to have you become a victim. These people after us will continue until we or they are dead.”

  She nodded.

  Packing up their things numbly, she followed Leo out to the front of the store. They turned in the pistol he had rented—there was no ammunition left. Leo had made sure to pick up the empty ejected shells from the Beretta and she wondered about why he had done that. He put them in a bag he took from his gun case.

  The same sneering clerk helped them. Leo built a stack of supplies by the cash register including two boxes of 9mm hollow points, more .22 ammo, target loads, the box said, and four magazines for her Beretta. Leo spent quite a while searching through a box of mixed magazines before finding the one that he wanted. It was for a small pistol and she wondered if it was for the one that he was carrying.

  Then it was time to pick out a holster setup. First was a thick belt. She picked out a black one as black can always go with anything. The store, surprisingly, had quite a selection of feminine oriented firearm supplies including purse holsters.

  Then there was quite a discussion about a holster for her between Leo and the clerk. Finally, they both settled on a holster that rode high over her hip. It fit comfortably. A couple of extra magazine pouches on the other side helped balance out the unaccustomed weight.

  With permission from the clerk, who patted his pistol as a reply, Leo loaded up her Beretta and the extra magazines. It was a strange feeling, being armed, and way the hell beyond what she felt was comfortable. Everything was easily concealed by pulling her shirt out. When she realized that it was one of Nathan's old shirts, there was a pang of pain that ran through her.

  Leo paid for everything in cash. The clerk looked at her again, but it wasn't as a piece of meat any more, but more with respect.

  After collecting his change, Leo said, “Ready to get something to eat?”

  She caressed the pistol on her hip and nodded.

  ###

  It took a great deal to impress Leo, but Jackie had managed to pull it off. She was a natural shot to the point that made him happy that she wasn't a rifle shooter as she'd probably out shoot him every damn day of the week.

  And when he touched her, guiding her actions while shooting, he felt his pulse start to pound in his head and other places that hadn't seen blood in a while.

  When they had gotten out to the truck, Leo said, “You have any questions about what you saw or did?”

  “No.” She had probably been quite overwhelmed with all that happened today. From having her car blown up, barely missing her, to spending three-plus hours at a gun range watching him shoot and then learning how to shoot a handgun along with learning the need for carrying a concealed weapon. The hard part would be if she could really use the pistol, and the training he had given her when the time came.

  “So, what would you like to eat?”

  “Almost anything.”

  Leo drove around for a while until they found an Italian restaurant. The place was overdone and included a fresco showing a country scene as they walked in and candles in straw wrapped Chianti bottles. But the smells emanating from the kitchen were enough to make his mouth water.

  They settled down in the directed booth—Leo had made sure that they were seated where he could see the exits and the rest of the room. He was almost comfortable, sitting with his back to a wall.

  He ordered the same thing that Jackie did, minus the wine. He had never developed a taste for alcohol, never drank anything with caffeine in it and had never touched tobacco products. The alcohol would degrade his health and shooting abilities over time. Caffeine and nicotine would raise his heart rate artificially—something that wouldn't work shooting at the distances that he did because the trigger squeeze needed to be done between heartbeats. He didn't run five hard miles six days a week to stay in shape just to have it blown by drinking a Coke. As a result, his resting pulse was in the high forties.

  In the candle light, Jackie looked even better, though she kept reaching down and touching her holstered pistol.

  “Don't do that. Cops call it a tell.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “By the someone acts and walks, you can tell if they are carrying a concealed weapon. Constantly touching it is one of the obvious ones. In a while, you'll get used to the weight and then it'll seem strange when you aren't carrying it.”

  They quickly polished off their meal without talking much. When they were done, Jackie settled back with a satisfied sigh and said, “What's next?”

  He thought about it for a little while. Up until this morning, he had been reacting, not being ahead of the game. Now it was time to make the bad guys start to react to his actions.

  “We find some place to hang out tonight. Tomorrow, we see if we can get that information that your accountant has stashed away so we can start rolling up the organization that is doing this.”

  “You think it's an organization?”

  “Yes. There has to be some sort of suppor
t structure. The assassins may be working solo, but someone is sending them their assignments and paying them.”

  Jackie didn't speak for several minutes. Then she said, “Is that something—the contacting and payment—isn't that something that could be done by computer?”

  “How do you mean?”

  “At the company I own, some of my contractors I've never met nor talked to on the phone. Everything is done via e-mail. And payment is also done online; most people don't want the hassle of waiting for a check to show up in the mail, depositing it and waiting for it to clear. Usually, it's done via PayPal or deposited in an online gold account. We don't care one way or the other, but it does simplify the paperwork.”

  “What about taxes and such?”

  “They are independent contractors, so we don't have to pay Social Security, unemployment insurance, etc. At the end of the year, if they've earned a certain amount, we issue a 1099.”

  “Is this how you think that the company bank accounts were plundered?”

  Taking a sip of wine, she swallowed and said, “It's a possibility. There were supposed to be tight controls on how the money was dispersed. In theory, two people had to sign off on any transaction. Patrick, Nathan and I were the only people authorized. Usually, it was Patrick and Nathan that did it. I'm a hell of a programmer, but didn't really have much sense as to how the business was run. As long as there was money to pay the bills, buy new equipment as needed and pay the contractors, I really didn't care much about the money. Heck, I haven't even looked at my own checking account in a couple of months—the money is deposited, and all my bills are paid automatically, rent, utilities, credit cards.”

  Leo considered what she had to say. Personally, he only had a checking account that held a little money, no credit cards and preferred to do all of his transactions in cash money. The less of a trail he left, the better.

  The IRS was always interested in anything involving large amounts of cash and he thought he was pretty skilled at moving things around in the coin store to at least present a facade of normalcy. He took most of his profit percentage from the store in cash and gold and silver bullion. Sure, he got a proper salary that was properly taxed and dutifully scrutinized by the IRS, but the vast majority of his assets were liquid and not easily tracked down.