by Tom Keller
While I tossed the ball I was trying to make sense of the supernatural thing. Not to mention having shot and killed two alleged Witches, Warlocks, Mages, or whatever they were supposed to have been. The whole thing made no sense. Was I being played? But that didn't figure right either. Milagre and his folks had no reason to act that way with me. They could have taken me out like I had the two thugs and no one would have been the wiser. Could they really believe all this magic nonsense?
My grandmother had told me stories about Faeries and the Dryad who lived in the tree in her yard. I remembered those stories well. But Milagre and Meredith would have me believe it was all true. I was missing something here. I'll be damned if I knew what it was. Maybe it was their way to cover up the attack on him and my actions against the attackers.
I should have called the police the second I had gotten out of there. Hell, I was an ex-cop myself and now I was part of a conspiracy as well. Yeah, I should have called the cops. But here's the honest truth: I may be dumb at times but I'm not stupid. Calling the police wouldn't do me any good. Eddy Milagre had way too many connections for a guy like me to get in his way. Besides, there was no trace of those bodies when I left the place. I didn't like it but I was just going to have to wait and see what was next. I took another drink and sat back to think.
I opened my eyes to the bright sun beating down on my face and a very large dog licking it. I pushed Charlie away and took a moment to figure out where I was. Still in the backyard, I sat up from the lounger and checked my watch, 9:30. Well, at least it was still morning. I spied the half empty tequila bottle and several 'dead soldiers' of my favorite beer on the table. Expecting a hangover, I stood up slowly. You can imagine my surprise when my head was clear. Well, clear was a relative term. I needed coffee, now.
I went into the house and pressed the button on the coffee pot. I lived on the stuff so I was always careful to clean the pot and have it ready for the next time. Nothing is more irritating to a coffee drinker then having to empty the dregs of a forgotten pot and add those tortured minutes to the time one has to wait till that magical elixir begins to fill the house with its aroma. Be prepared, as the scouts say. Although I actually prefer the Coast Guard motto better, Semper Paratus, always ready.
As the coffee began to drip, I looked over my collection of cups and chose one that said Frak Me. Considering the events of last night, that one seemed to sum up my current state of being. With nothing to do now but wait I peeked out my front window to make sure the cops weren't already looking for me. With the coast clear and the coffee brewing I headed upstairs for a quick shower.
As I let the hot water wash over me I was starting to feel normal again, normal being a relative term. I don't know if anyone could feel that way after last night's events. Where the hell had all that magic shit come from? I had even dreamt about it last night.
I don't remember much of it, which was how I could recognize the difference between the dream and reality. I remembered everything that had happened at the Neptune but the dream was already fading. My grandmother and I were walking in the woods. She was telling me something about magic. Damn, that pissed me off. Bad enough I had to go through last night's debacle but now it had to invade my memories of the woman who had raised me.
I suppose I should mention that my parents died when I was seven. My father had been a pilot and my mother, who'd worked in the casinos, often flew with him on the weekends. One Sunday they just didn't come home. They'd sent me to my grandmother in Germany but she decided to bring me back to the States. She moved me back to Vegas and stayed to raise me. Telling me that this was where my mother had wanted me to be.
I stepped out of the shower and dried off. Finishing my morning rituals I put on a pair of jeans and headed downstairs for my long awaited cup of java. Feeling almost human again I filled my cup and sat down at the table. Ah, the aroma of fresh brewed coffee filled my nostrils as I took a sip. Wonderful, I thought to myself, and then I damn near dropped my cup. There on the counter next to my keys was the memory stick. I had forgotten about the thumb drive Siegfried had given me!
Grabbing the drive I went into my office and booted up my basic laptop. It's basic because I can put anything on it and I don't care what happens to it. If it's got a virus or something nasty I can just wipe it and reinstall it. Having some familiarity with computer systems and forensics I never attached anything unknown to my primary desktop. Once it had booted up, I inserted the thumb drive and burned a copy of it to a CD, then opened the files on the laptop.
Damn if it didn't look like everything was there. Images of the two guys I had killed still lying on the parking garage floor, surveillance video of 3 figures moving through the grounds and some docs of logs indicating when things happened. I slowly went through the files and stopped at the images of the rods that the bad guys had been carrying. Looking over the pics I saw what looked like miniature versions of something out of a bad imitation of Lord of the Rings or Harry Potter.
What the...? Was this some kind of a joke? These things were only about one inch in diameter and maybe 14 or 16 inches long. Just fancy sticks, they sure didn't look like something that fired a bolt of electricity. The tips had some sort of red crystal attached to them. One had been broken and thick red goo had oozed from it. I threw up my arms in amazement. These folks were taking this magic thing to the limit! What were these things supposed to be, magic wands?
I'd had enough; I started to pull the thumb drive out of the slot when the damn thing bit me. Then a light flashed. It started as a bright spot in the center of the screen and then burst out in all directions all at once and was gone. What the hell?
I reached over and gave the now removed thumb drive a quick touch and pulled back, nothing. I picked it up carefully but it was cold. My laptop was cold as well, the screen blank although the power was still on. I quickly pulled the battery out of the back to preserve it. Lesson one in saving damaged data, kill the power.
Although I had never seen a computer act like this before I had spent some time in the forensic lab when I was a cop. Whatever had happened to the thumb drive and laptop could hopefully be reconstructed and I wanted to prevent it from doing anything else until it could be examined. I grabbed the laptop, thumb drive and the CD I had made and put them all in my briefcase. Then I went back into the kitchen to make a call.
Malcolm Smitt had first worked for me when I was a rookie sergeant on the force. Then we had worked together again when I did a stint in the computer forensics lab. He had gone on to become the Department's leading expert in computer forensics and hacking until he'd retired last year to start his own business. We'd actually talked about working together for a while but I was tired of computers and he didn't want to do regular P.I. work so we settled on just being friends and referred business to one another. If I had ever known anyone who I believed had possessed real magic before this, it was Mal. He had a way with computers that was uncanny.
I poured myself another cup of coffee, the first one was cold, then grabbed my cell and dialed Mal's number.
"Bobby! Where the hell you been hiding? Got any new movies out?"
He knew I hated that name. Not that I had anything against Bob Hoskins, the actor. But ever since the Roger Rabbit movie he'd called me Bob or Bobby whenever he had the chance. It was all in fun of course.
"Malware, written any crappy programs lately?" I countered, using my nickname for him.
"As a matter of fact..." Then he just laughed.
"What's up, Rob, I thought you forgot about me."
"Never, my friend, never, just been busy. Hey, you gonna be at the office in a while? I just had the weirdest thing happen to my laptop while I was viewing some data. I pulled the battery and have a copy of the file I was running when it died."
"System crash?"
"Honestly, Mal, I'm not sure, never seen anything like it."
"Bring it on then. I'll be here all day."
"Great, see you in an hour or so."
I disconnected the phone and headed back upstairs to finish dressing. I threw on a collarless button down shirt and a pair of shoes and then went downstairs and filled a travel mug before I dumped the coffee and got the pot ready for next time.
Standing in my kitchen I thought about what I should do. If no one outside the Neptune knew about last night then I was just gonna have to see what played out. But just to be sure I grabbed my cell and dialed another old police friend. This one would confirm it, one way or the other.
Lieutenant Ray O'Malley was the man in charge of Metro's Homicide Bureau. He looked the part, too. A good looking Irishman with a full head of silver hair, tall and well built. He was also a whiskey drinking, cigar smoking old school cop. The kind you might expect to see on the screen of a classic film noir title.
With thirty-four years on the job he didn't worry about the brass, officials or the city's elite. If it involved a murder you were either the victim, a suspect or a witness. If you didn't fit into one of those categories then you'd best just get out of his way. I'd first met him when I was still a cook working my way through college. I probably would never have been a cop if it wasn't for him. Later he'd been my training officer and then my sergeant when I first made detective. If anything about what happened at the Neptune had hit the light of day, he'd know about it.
"O'Malley, Homicide," he said as the phone connected.
"Ray, it's Hoskins, got time for a cup?"
"Friggin' lovely! Here I was gonna take the morning off to play a few holes and all you got to offer me is coffee?"
"Yeah right," I said with a laugh. "No seriously, you got some time?"
"Ah, I wish, but some rich bastard got himself fried. I'm heading out to the scene as we speak. Hell if I know why CSI wants me out there, hold on..." There was a short pause, and I could hear him pounding the keys on the car's MDT, the Mobile Data Terminal. That was the official name for the laptop computer in his undercover car.
"Yep, that girl of yours is the crime scene tech. She called it in by phone. This better be good or you're gonna owe me a lot more than a coffee. I was going three whole days without a body. You could almost see my desk."
My daughter, Nikki, was a CSI at Metro and Ray had been there the day she was born. I wondered why she'd called it in that way and not on the radio. It had to be something out of the ordinary. Most calls didn't rate the lieutenant from the get-go, either.
"I'm sure I will...fried?" I asked, quizzically.
"E-lec-tro-cu-ted," he said, emphasizing each syllable.
"Better you than me," I offered, laughing again. "But you ain't got balls if you don't check out at a BBQ chicken place for lunch." It was a joke from our old uniform days. If you went on a particularly gruesome murder you had to go to lunch at a restaurant that served food that matched the crime. Call it a macho thing, or a coping mechanism, whatever you want.
"Chicken and waffles, my boy, chicken and waffles," he joked. "I'm almost arrived. I'll get back to you later."
"You got it," I said as the phone disconnected.
Three days without a body? That answered that. I strapped on my gun, grabbed my keys and started for the door. "The big one, sure," I answered without thinking.
This was it, it was official, I was losing my grip on reality. I could have sworn Charlie had just told me he wanted me to bring him back a bone, and not just any bone. I had distinctly had the impression of one of those big roast beef bones that you see at the buffets and, I might add, that they just happen to sell at the corner market.
I stopped and looked back at him. He was just sitting there next to the sofa where he always was when I left the house. He was watching me with his tongue hanging out and his tail wagging. It wasn't just answering out loud that was nerve wracking. When you live with a dog it's easy to think of them as a person. Hell, who doesn't talk to their dog? No, what scared me was that it was so specific
"You say something, boy?" I asked, half joking and praying that he didn't answer.
He stared at me for a moment, like dogs sometimes do when you talk to them. It's almost like you can see their brain trying to figure out what you said. Then, without a bark, or a word, thank God, he came over to me and jumped up, licking my face. Pushing him down, I gave his head a good rubbing and then headed out the door. Aw shit, I thought to myself, I'd better stop at the store on the way home, just in case.
Chapter 3
The drive to downtown was short; the early rush hour traffic long since subsided. I pulled into the alley off of Ninth Street, accessing Mal's office by the rear entrance. The offices in this part of downtown are mostly comprised of converted homes from Vegas' early days. While the buildings weren't necessarily small, some even had basements, they didn't have a lot of property so street side parking was always at a premium. I was being polite, as he would have been; my office was just a two blocks away.
Malcolm was bent down over a 32 inch flat screen monitor gazing at lines of binary code as I walked in. He was one of the few people I knew that could read it instantly. He drove me nuts when he sent birthday cards written in it, they took forever for me to translate.
"Ah! About time," he said, stretching as he stood up. "I need a break from this one. It's putting me to sleep. Whatcha got?"
I put the laptop down on one of the tables and held up the CD and thumb drive. "Here's the little beastie and a copy of the file I took off of it."
"What exactly happened?" Mal asked, taking them from me while twiddling the thumb drive between his fingers. Moving to another workstation, he plopped down in a chair in front of another monitor.
"It was weird, man, let me tell you. First, I inserted the thumb drive in the laptop and burned a copy," I answered, knowing he would want a blow by blow description. "Then I reviewed the files on the thumb drive. There was nothing special, (Ok, I wasn't gonna tell him everything, at least not yet) just a folder, some spreadsheets, movies and pics. No hidden files present that I noticed. Anyway, I took a look at the files and everything was fine. Then, I go to pull the drive from the PC, and WHAM, it shocks me."
"Shocks you? What do you mean...shocks you?"
"I mean like an electrical shock. What'd you think I meant?
"You know better, Robert, USB only pulls 5 volts and there isn't enough amperage for you to even notice. Must have been static electricity."
"Mal," I retorted, "I know what a USB's voltage is and it wasn't static. I was sitting at the desk and had already touched it several times. I'm telling you that the damn drive had a live current. That or the PC went haywire."
Mal looked at me like I was a kid who just told his teacher the dog had eaten his homework assignment. "Ok, ok, let me take a look, go on," he finally conceded, inserting the thumb drive in the computer. He tapped the keyboard but nothing happened. The thumb drive didn't register.
"Well, it's dead now. I'll have to pull it apart to see what's up." Mal looked around the desk for a moment. Locating the CD I had given him, he reached over and picked it up and then inserted it into the computer as well. Once again, nothing registered. The CD appeared to be blank. "Are you sure this is the right CD?" he asked, looking over his shoulder at me.
"Yes, I'm sure," I answered, getting irritated. "Let me see that a minute."
Mal ejected the CD from the computer and handed it to me.
I looked at the back carefully. I could tell that the disk had been written to, the telltale coloration was clear around the center. "Do I look like an idiot? Look here," I said, pointing to an area on the disk, "you can see that it's been written to."
Taking the disk, he put it under a light on the table and examined it. "Okay, you're right, I forgive you. I'll have to play with this one as well. Hand me the laptop. Maybe we can find something there.
I picked up the laptop and handed it to Mal.
He flipped it upside down and located the hard drive slot. After rummaging around in a drawer he took out a small screwdriver and within seconds he had removed the computer's hard drive.
I watched as he attached the drive to a hardware blocker he had hooked up to the PC. This was a device that would allow him to see the contents of the hard drive but not let his computer do anything to it. Once hooked up, he could examine the drive and make an exact duplicate or just look at it without worrying about modifying anything. In this way he could perform any further examinations on the copy, rather than on the original drive, which could be used as evidence. In my case it didn't really matter and I watched as he fired up his forensic software and began looking at the data on the drive.
"What the...?" I heard him say as he looked at the data on the screen. "These files are all shredded; nothing is in a logical manner. Chunks are just...missing...what happened to this thing?"
I looked closer at the screen. The forensic software projected a graphical representation of the data on the hard drive. One thing to remember is that unless you use special software, just because you delete something doesn't mean it actually gets erased. The computer's operating system merely flags the area that that file is located as writable but leaves most of the data intact. Assuming something else hadn't written over it, the right person, or the right software for that matter, can easily recover it under most circumstances. That wasn't going to happen this time. It had been a while since I'd worked in the forensic lab but the data left behind was mangled.
Mal shook his head before continuing. "Some kind of advanced wiping program, maybe? Where did you say you got the thumb drive you were looking at from?"
"I didn't, but it's from a client," I offered, not wanting to explain further. I wasn't ready to tell him that I got it from someone claiming to be supernatural. "Can you tell anything else?"
"Not with this machine. But let me play with this stuff a while. If a program did this, I want to know how, and I want a copy!" He declared, pushing back his chair. He ran his fingers through his hair, his eyes never leaving the screen. "Let me pull this stuff apart in the clean room. Maybe I can find something it left behind." He turned to me with a suspicious look.