“Henry Kurtzenberg, age thirty-six,” Zian told me. “Public works supervisor for Cold City of ten years’ standing, no criminal record, and yet he winds up in another one of those buildings we’re talking about, cut down in what the cop called ‘a mob-style execution’.”
“What do you call it?” I asked him.
“A murder case that went cold as of a week ago,” Zian replied. “No motives, no suspects, no leads … so no progress.”
The precision of the hit as described in the report I was reading made me think of the De Sotos. Just the same, I decided to keep that suspicion to myself.
“Any buildings other than the Cinema Leone that Fairwinds don’t have their hands on?”
Zian pulled up another screen but the data was flashing too fast for me to keep up with it. It didn’t seem to bother Zian. “A couple, but it’s just a matter of time. Still, they’ve not been able to do any groundwork on what they have.”
Time for me to raise my eyebrows. “And why is that?”
“Well, there’s the move by Councilwoman Thricin to get the Cinema Leone historic landmark status. That slowed things down. And there’s also been pushback from the city itself on the other buildings, a real shit-storm of lawsuits and injunctions that’s turned Fairwinds’ progress to a crawl.”
“So,” I reasoned aloud, “even if Fairwinds got the cinema tomorrow, all this would keep them from being able to do anything with it?”
“Bullseye,” Zian said with a grin. “The most they’d be allowed to do is change the light bulbs.”
I nodded, leaning against the desk. “Sounds like we’ve found the people behind the Orion project.”
Zian snorted. “Did you read that last file I gave you? Orion’s a project that the city wants to have happen. They farmed it out to an outfit called Arete.”
“Hold it,” I said, holding up a hand. “Since when does Cold City endorse the building of a luxury apartment complex at taxpayers’ expense?”
“Since now, apparently,” Zian said, with a shrug. “Arete’s been the city’s favorite no-bid contractor of choice for a while now.”
“So maybe this is a kickback.”
An old-fashioned telephone ring issued from my smartphone. It was my ring tone for anyone whose number I didn’t have saved. I picked it up. “Vale Investigation.”
“Hey, it’s Kennedy,” my caller said on the other end. “Got any new leads on our story?”
“Just got a major info dump from your new best friend from last night,” I admitted. “Adds a few details to the picture.”
“We should meet up,” Kennedy said.
“Know Sundowner’s Café on Canal Street?”
“Sure, practically lived there when I first got here. Meet you there at noon?”
“Sounds good,” I said, pushing myself off the desk. “See you there.”
I rang off and turned to Zian, “I’m going to need—”
Zian was already holding a flash drive up in his hand. “Just plug it into a smartphone and you’ll see what I’ve seen.”
I took the drive from him. “First time I dialed your number this morning, I ended up having a little chat with your dad.”
Zian’s face darkened.
“It’s okay,” I added quickly. “I squared it, at least for the time being. Saving your life last night probably had a lot to do with that. He should stay out of our way for the rest of the investigation.”
“Yeah ... about that saving-my-life thing,” Zian said, looking sheepish. “I called you on the carpet for being ungrateful last night and I never got around to saying thank you myself.”
“I don’t know, Z, given what we’re hunting, you may not be thanking me when this is over.”
Zian grinned. “Well … I’m thanking you anyway. You’ve more than earned that.”
I returned the smile. But a part of me was still wondering if I wasn’t making a huge mistake dragging my friend deeper into this mess.
Chapter sixteen
Match made in hell
The Sundowner’s was hopping when Kennedy met me at the door. The lunch crowd was piling into the rather tight space, getting their quick fixes of coffee, tea, and other drinks that would have been at home on Tommy’s menu in the Tombs. Once upon a time, the place had been a corner grocery store. You could still see a trace of that with the front window, where the only change over the years seemed to have been what was written on the glass, and the wearing off of the limestone tiles. But as long as I’d been living in this town, it was a coffee shop that gave the local Starbucks a run for their money.
I was downing my usual green tea (served up here with some all-natural lemon for flavor) while Kennedy was sipping a cappuccino blend. We were parked in the back left corner of the place, facing the door. I watched people going in and out the narrow oak front door, going by on the street, chatting away to each other at the tables and near the counter. Nobody looked like they wanted to plug me with a submachine gun, but why take a chance?
Kennedy’s eyes were glued to her smartphone, the flash drive plugged into it. She hadn’t looked at anything else in the last ten minutes or so. Once she was finished, she looked up at me and asked, “Can I keep this?”
“Don’t see why not,” I said with a shrug. “If I need another copy of the info, Zian can hook me up.”
“I have to say I don’t recognize either company Zian was talking about,” Kennedy admitted as she pulled the drive out of her phone. “But they’ve got names, so I’ve got a place to start.”
“You might want to check on the current ownership status of the Cinema Leone too,” I added.
Kennedy snorted with contempt. “Like those kids aren’t going to dump that place like a bad habit the second they get the right offer …” Then she registered the look on my face and laughed. “All right, all right, I’ll do my due diligence on that one too.” She took another pull of the coffee and shook her head. “Not sure I’m buying all of what you’re selling me, by the way. For all I know, you’re about to pull a double-cross on me that’s gonna leave me looking mighty stupid.”
“Why?” I asked. “What do I get out of humiliating you that won’t cost me more?”
Kennedy pointed a finger at me. “Which is why I’m willing to trust that you’re telling me the truth.”
“Well, if you can’t trust me, trust Zian,” I said, gesturing with my tea mug. “He’s where I got this info.”
Kennedy sighed. “Yeah … and you gotta figure that them guys were shooting at him for some reason, right?”
“Yeah,” I said. “So …?”
Kennedy shrugged. “So, okay … but I got to ask. How did a sweet little computer geek like him ever hook up with a scoundrel like you?”
“It’s a bit of a long story,” I answered, hedging my bets. “But you and me aren’t there yet on those kind of stories. So ask me again later.”
“Can’t help it, I guess,” Kennedy admitted as she drank more of her cappuccino. “Chalk ’er up to me being a reporter to the bone.”
“You know, you sound a lot more Texas in real life than you do on the air.”
She gave me another little laugh. “Yeah, I guess I do. When I’ve got a live camera on me, I’m doing everything I can to shove that hillbilly accent into the background. Kind of nice to let it out when the camera’s off.”
“I imagine that talking that way doesn’t win you points for intelligence with some people,” I deduced.
“God, don’t get me started.” She tossed her head in a way that sent her wavy blonde hair flying. “Add my kind of pretty to the way I talk and most of my bosses think I’m the valedictorian of dumb blondes.”
“Even without a Southern accent, they said the same thing about Marilyn Monroe,” I told her. “But no matter what other mistakes she made, one thing she was never dumb about was business. She died hard but sh
e didn’t die poor.”
Kennedy grunted. “So she’s why you don’t assume every pretty girl comes standard with a single digit IQ?”
“Partly,” I admitted. “The other part is that making assumptions in my work can put you on the wrong track in a hurry.”
I got to the bottom of my tea mug. “Before we go any further on this … partnership, there’s something I got to know upfront.”
She gave me a “go on” gesture.
“How much of what we’re going to do is going to be splashed across a news site and how much is going to stay in the shadows?” I asked, looking her squarely in the eyes.
“Worried about the law, aka Detective Lieutenant Morgan, getting the better of you?” Kennedy inquired, smiling.
“Always,” I said with a little chuckle. “But the bigger problem for me is that I’ve got to live in this city alongside everyone else in it, and there are certain … people I’ve got to keep happy if I want to keep on living, period.”
“You do walk a fine line, don’t ya, hoss?”
I gave her a rueful nod.
“All right, just tell me what you need me to keep quiet and it’ll stay under wraps,” she said.
“Mind doing some digging for me on an unrelated job?”
She pursed her lips. “What’s in it for me?”
“Another story to tide you over while we’re working on the big one.”
“Well, why didn’t you say so?” she responded brightly. “What’s the skinny?”
“Tracking down a dealer for a client,” I said, figuring that there wasn’t any need for me to tell her which client that was. “They’re selling stuff that you can only get from Smoke & Mirrors.”
“Didn’t peg you for DEA,” Kennedy teased.
“Nah, I’ve got a problem with authority figures, or so I’ve heard,” I said. “No, this is just about money and a favor, like it usually is in my business.”
The waitress came by to ask if I wanted a refill. Seeing as I had money to burn, I gave her the okay.
When she had gone, Kennedy picked up where we had left off. “It’s got some possibilities … got any info?”
“Still got to chase down some leads first,” I admitted. “Mind running some background on them when I see how they pan out?”
“As long as I get first dibs on the story,” Kennedy said, pointing at me with her mug.
The waitress came back with my refill. She was just going away again when I saw Ramirez walk through the door. I had just enough time to think “Oh, shit” before she spotted us in the corner … our corner. Hells—how could I have forgotten that this was always our special spot back when we were dating?
Kennedy must have seen me looking over her shoulder because she turned around to get a good look at the absolutely furious Ramirez, who was staring daggers at the both of us. I’ve faced down my share of frightening characters and bad men in my time, but let me tell you … Melanie Ramirez is scary when she is angry. She held our eyes for a couple more seconds then stormed right back out the door.
While I was remembering how to breathe again, Kennedy asked me, “Your ex?”
I didn’t quite trust my own voice, so I nodded.
“Saw her at the scene of that second murder the other day,” Kennedy went on. “She’s a cop, right?”
“Batting a thousand so far,” I told her.
“Better than what you’re doing in the romance department,” she observed. “I can’t imagine why an upstanding, law-abiding citizen like you could lose a girl like that.”
“I don’t know,” I replied with another shrug. “The same way that a perfectly ethical journalist like yourself can do a little B&E at the morgue the same night I did.”
Kennedy laughed in my face. “What, you think that I was there just because of that video I mentioned?”
“That and the person I ran past on my way out was a blonde who just happened to be wearing the same lily scent you are today.”
Kennedy grinned in appreciation. “Guess you do know how to do your job.”
I nodded. “So ... while I can’t imagine that you saw anything I didn’t on the corpse, I’m thinking that what you did see told you that it wasn’t an animal.”
“Not even close. And the damn ME ought to have known that too,” Kennedy said with a little disgust. “Back home I was around all sorts of wildlife, not counting the men I dated. No animal I ever heard of made those cuts. You showing up at the same time told me that you were thinking the same thing. It’s why I’ve been tailing you. You’re the only guy on this case who’s smart enough to see what I’m seeing.”
I gave her a dumbfounded look as I sipped my tea.
“What, you’re not used to a girl giving you a compliment?” Kennedy quizzed, clearly amused.
“Not used to being called smart,” I admitted as I put the mug back down.
“Well, I gotta run,” she said, standing up. “Even though the station said I could take an extra day, I’m not getting paid for the privilege.”
“Hey, Kennedy,” I muttered, a serious, concerned tone in my voice. “Be careful on how far you push this. Last night may not be the worst thing that could happen.”
She patted her purse in reply. “My friends Smith and Wesson might have something to say about that.”
“Still …” I let the word hang there.
Kennedy’s face assumed an expression I couldn’t decipher. Then she turned around and went out the door.
***
After I finished my tea, I spent the rest of the day putting my hard-earned cash to good use elsewhere. I paid off my utility bills and got in a month’s supply of groceries, at long last. Once I had all the food put away, I asked Zian via text to send me a copy of the data I’d given to Kennedy. I stared at it for a couple of hours without coming to any new conclusions.
Dinner rolled around and I decided a visit to the Tombs was in order. The early evening is when that little place is at its most packed. Customers were having to park outside the apartment building next door. Every seat, be it booth or counter, was taken. Luckily, just as I came in, the couple installed in my corner booth settled their bill and left.
A cute college co-ed took my order. I figured the mention of my usual order would let Tommy know that I was there. If he had anything to share, he’d bring it with the meal.
I wasn’t disappointed. Tommy brought the fresh, steaming burger and fries to me, navigating his way around the crowd to get to my booth. Once he was there, he leaned in close and stage-whispered, “Bran Connor … don’t know if that’s a boy or a girl or even the right person you’re looking for, but they got spotted trying to do some business in the Indigo last couple of nights.”
“Bad idea,” I said. And it was. Drugs were forbidden at the Indigo for a wide variety of reasons, ranging from legal to ethical. But that didn’t stop the occasional candy raver mistaking the place for a nightclub … ditto some of their dealers.
“Sure is,” Tommy agreed. “Somebody should tell Zian about it.”
And that’s what I did, the minute I finished up my meal.
Chapter seventeen
Wordplay
From what I could see on the surveillance monitors, the Indigo was hopping just as much as the Tombs had been. A lot of people coming and going or staying there. Some of them were using the in-house computers, which ran better than almost anything you could get retail, or their own custom laptops. The laptops were tattooed with various stickers of brand names, slogans, and whatever struck the fancy of their owners. They were a good match for the people using them, who were just as colorfully decorated with fashion styles that ranged from neo-punk to post-goth.
Zian was pacing up and down the space behind me. He’d been doing that since he’d let me into the Indigo Below Security Department. He was wearing a black T-shirt with six yellow PacMan figures an
d the text “Six Pac” on it. Half of it was tucked into his dark jeans, while the other was hanging around his bony hips. His business suit vest had long since been abandoned on the back of a desk chair.
Dealers are nothing but trouble, but Zian had a bone hatred of them that I usually associated with family vendettas. His security people and the other operatives went about their business as normal, doing their best not to notice the agitation of their boss.
“You know, you’re going to wear that carpet or those shoes out if you keep doing that,” I said, glancing over my shoulder.
“I don’t care,” Zian growled, his pacing just as furious as ever. “I want that little Arcadian freak out of my space after tonight … no excuses, no exceptions.”
I shrugged and went back to looking at the screen. Every face was getting a flash of pixel mesh go over it every few seconds, part of the Indigo’s facial recognition software. It didn’t matter how deep their records were buried, scrubbed, or hidden. If they were on a computer somewhere the Indigo would pull it up in conjunction with whatever matches the system pulled on the faces.
“Hey, boss,” said a rather plain Asian girl with glasses that did wonders for her face. “I think I got something.”
Zian stopped pacing and walked over to her station. I was right behind him.
“No hit on the facial recognition,” she went on to say, tapping her screen, “but I heard this customer call this other guy … or girl … ‘Bran’ on the mic.”
I couldn’t make much out of the figure Zian’s girl was pointing out. It was almost like the shadows were swallowing it whole. But somebody was definitely handing a pasty kid with a shaved scalp something, and I doubted it was aspirin.
“The buyer’s name is Luc,” Zian said. “Not a smart cookie, but he’s a regular.” He turned to another of his employees. “Text him. Tell him to meet me in the office. We’re going to need to talk.” He registered the look I was throwing him and added for my benefit, “Not down here … upstairs office.” He jerked his head at the screen in front of us. “Think you can handle our other visitor?”
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