“We’ll see how she does today,” I cautioned.
“I think she’ll do okay,” Q said at length, a rare compliment from the big man.
I arched an eyebrow in response.
“Relax, I’m not getting sweet on her,” he said defensively, “but I see why you like her. She’s got focus.”
It was an interesting choice of words. For Q there were two kinds of people: Those who paid attention and those who didn’t. He could work with amateurs, he could work with angels or assholes provided they paid attention.
We sat there another few minutes, painfully aware that once we stood up shit would start rolling downhill fast.
“Well?” he said after a few minutes.
“Fuck it, let’s go,” I sighed, getting to my feet and heading downstairs. It was going to be a long day.
8
Q AND I made our way to the parking lot. Leaving the fat comfort of the Lily behind was a sad chore on such a nice day. The sun had finally made an appearance; just enough to color the sky blue and paint the tops of the palm trees with a hint of gold. Once we were in the car Q and I put our earpieces in.
“Good morning,” I announced as Q started the car.
“I got that number you were looking for,” Deek welcomed. “Anytime you’re ready.”
Deek had combed through the cell tower data to isolate Manuel Silva’s phone number. No small task that required the sorting capability of a large database and some very expensive server hardware. Deek claimed it was easy but it made my eyes bleed just watching him sort massive amounts of call records, pings and GPS data.
“Where are our friends now?” I asked, guessing they were enjoying watching Mrs. Meadows during her morning swim.
“Down the street from the Mrs.,” Deek confirmed. “All three of them.”
“Where’s Mack?”
“Right on schedule,” V cut in. “They had to divert around some weather but Mack thinks they can make it up on the way.”
“You two are...together at the office?” I asked cautiously.
“A-firmative,” Deek confirmed.
“And you’re alive?”
“Not funny,” V chided.
“Just checking.” I could see Q grinning out of the corner of my eye.
“When do you want to do this?” Deek asked.
“Might as well get it over with. Text me the address.”
My phone beeped a second later with the address of one our condominium towers. It was a good choice; the building was still mostly empty this time of year and, conveniently, another one of our companies owned the building across the street. It was easily more than 100 meters between the buildings but V wouldn’t have to worry about being interrupted and she’d have the light and wind to her back.
“We ready?” I asked.
“Here we go,” Deek announced. It would take a second for him to route the call over the Miami metropolitan area before my phone rang. I answered it in time to hear ringing on the other end.
“You’ll have less than a minute,” Deek informed as Manuel Silva answered his phone.
“Que?”
“Mr. Silva,” I began.
He paused. Obviously I wasn’t the person he was expecting. “Who is this? How did you get this number?” he asked suspiciously, no doubt stalling to give his associates time to turn their own electronics loose on the trace.
I ignored his questions. “We met the day you came aboard my boat in West Palm. If you want to discuss getting your merchandise back, meet me at this address at 10 am.” I read him the address.
He was quiet for a long moment. “You have the product?” he finally asked.
“Not yet,” I said honestly, “but we expect to have it by the end of the day.”
“Have you talked to the police?” he asked.
“I have not,” I confirmed. “You can bring your associates but Mr. Silva, this is very important, no guns. Are we clear on that?”
“Huh? Yeah, sure. But -” I cut him off before he could ask any more questions.
“That went well,” Q observed. “Think they’ll show?”
“Almost certainly,” I concluded.
“On my way,” V announced. Just like that the wheels were in motion.
“What are our friends doing?” I asked the air.
“Their phones all just went dark,” Deek informed. “These guys are really good.”
That was expected and it didn’t matter. We didn’t have the manpower to follow them and they would be watching for a tail anyway. They were a tiny bit sloppy but it wouldn’t happen again. These kinds of people were exactly why we got out of our old line of work.
“We have 90 minutes,” Q informed me.
“How about breakfast?” I suggested. “I’m hungry.”
“It is the most important meal of the day,” Q agreed.
“Pancakes,” Deek mumbled out loud. “Buttermilk pancakes with eggs.”
“We’ll have some sent over,” I added, knowing Deek would eat maybe three bites before getting distracted with something and abandoning them to decay. It was rare he ever ate much of anything.
“Howley’s?” Q suggested.
“Outstanding.”
“I’ll set up a valet,” Deek added.
I always wondered about the hundreds of people who worked for us with absolutely no idea why they were doing things, like the valet. He got a text to set up cones and stand around in a red vest at a certain intersection at a certain time and look for a specific car. He also worked at our motor pool but had no idea that it was anything other than executive company cars with some sophisticated communication features. We had drops in several area parking garages and he would also make sure those were always clean, gassed up and ready to go. Deek, our logistics wizard, kept tabs on all of it. Through the mechanisms of payroll services, text messages and email Deek could command and monitor a small army of support people, none of whom had any idea who they really worked for. Our front companies paid well, provided health insurance, tuition reimbursement and handed out generous bonuses. Happy employees led to profitable businesses. The best part was Deek could juggle it all from wherever he was in the world. It was awesome to have resources, even better to be able to direct them all from a smartphone.
We found our valet right down the street from the restaurant and the pickup was nearly seamless. It was a great trick when working in urban areas where parking was limited.
Howley’s was a vintage diner with authentic decor. Outside it was brick and glass with the generic label RESTAURANT in big letters on the neon sign. Inside it was all art deco with cozy tables. It was slow this morning and there was no hostess. A busy waitress with an arm load of food nodded over her shoulder and told us to sit anywhere we wanted. We selected one of the small tables in the back. The crowd was light, a retiree reading the paper, a couple at another table trying to work their way through an awkward conversation, and a scattering of students from the nearby university. Overall it was a pretty typical downtown crowd.
We ordered coffee and I slipped the waitress a twenty and asked her to put in an order of buttermilk pancakes and eggs to go on the front counter and someone on a delivery scooter would be by to pick it up shortly. Just then V decided she wanted a waffle with extra syrup and Deek decided he wanted an omelet instead of eggs, which confused our waitress who couldn’t hear the conversation going on in my head. I peeled off another $20 for her trouble and told her to keep the change. Amazing how a trivial amount of cash can smooth over almost any confusion.
Q and I ordered and watched as the to go boxes appeared on the counter just as a red delivery scooter pulled up outside and whisked them away. Timing is everything.
“It’s like a ballet,” Q observed. “A ballet with gears,” he added after a moment.
“And we can move the gears with text messages,” I added.
“Plus email and video conferencing,” Deek amplified.
“Where’s my damn waffle?” V demanded.
“Two minutes,” Deek confirmed. “He got held up by a train.”
Using their GPS positions Deek had a master overlay of all our corporate resources and monitored company phones, email and security cameras to keep tabs on operations. With his access to traffic cameras we no longer needed air resources. Funny how the government’s fixation with monitoring people served our ends and, since we also owned the company that installed and managed the cameras, that made things convenient for Deek. By linking to their maintenance system Deek knew which cameras were down for repairs and could plot routes accordingly. When I thought about all of what Deek knew and did I was really glad he was on our side. All the tech stuff made my head hurt.
Our food came just at the time Deek announced it was waffle time for V. I’m sure it freaked out the delivery driver to have the door fly open just as he walked up to the building a fierce 5’ 10 vision of Amazon death grab the bag and stuff a $10 in his pocket, slamming the door a second later. I smiled at the thought.
Q and I enjoyed a leisurely breakfast and tried to talk about anything but work. I kept looking over at the couple at the far table.
“She should just spit it out,” I said, frustrated at the glacial pace of their conversation. “It’s plain as day what’s going on.”
Q looked up from his pancakes long enough to glance over. “Apparently not to him,” he observed.
“It’s so stupid,” I concluded. “It’s such a luxury to be able to tell the truth.”
“People who lie have something to lose,” Q observed.
“Whoa, the Columbians got themselves an RV,” Deek cut in.
“Going dark,” V announced. A second later her earpiece clicked off and I could picture her taking her phone battery out with waffle crumbs still sticking to her long fingers. She had to shut down everything that radiated radio waves risk being picked up if the Colombians had scanning equipment in the van and it was probable they would.
“They’re scoping out the neighborhood,” Deek informed us a couple minutes later.
“Think they picked up on V?” I asked.
“Unlikely,” Deek concluded. “I wouldn’t mind getting a look inside their van, though.”
“I can only see two of them,” he added as Q and I finished up our breakfast and waved for the check.
My phone beeped text messages and the images were video frames of a black Mercedes Sprinter cruising down the side street near our condominium.
“Anyone else?” Q asked, looking at identical pictures on his phone.
“Not seeing any,” Deek observed. Even though V was offline we all knew she would be scanning the adjacent apartments and office buildings for another sniper.
“They’re cruising the parking garage...oh, they’re putting up stick-ups!”
Those were disposable wireless video cameras, the Colombians were setting up their own ad hoc surveillance.
“I can hack them or burn them,” Deek offered. He could hack in and loop the video feed for them or using one of the lasers in our own security cameras to burn out the image sensors.
“Don’t bother,” I ordered, “let them think they’re running things.”
I mulled over the possibilities for a moment. “You should go in with the cleanup crew,” I suggested to Q.
“In the laundry truck?” Q groused. “It always smells like ball sweat.”
“Just think of the surprise.”
“Rerouting the laundry truck,” Deek announced. “ETA three minutes.”
I handed the waitress a hundred and told her I didn’t need any change. Her smile cycled through surprise, embarrassment and finally joy. She was a student and no doubt needed the money. I waved off the thanks.
“One more job,” I said, standing to leave.
“Ah, no,” Q pleaded as I headed to the table on the other side of the restaurant.
“Excuse me,” I interrupted the couple, still struggling with their uncomfortable conversation. They were a cute couple, maybe early thirties. He was tan and clean shaven, not quite chiseled but he stayed in good shape. She had shoulder length brown hair with kind of a willowy Bohemian vibe. They looked up with a predictable mix of surprise and annoyance.
“Sorry to bother you but she’s been trying to work up the courage for the last hour to tell you she’s having an affair,” I informed him.
“What!?!” the man objected.
“How dare you!?” the woman added.
“With her…” I mulled over the possibilities, “...yoga instructor,” I concluded.
She managed a weak “Wha-a-a-at?” before lapsing into silent surprise.
Puzzlement and annoyance competed for dominance with him. “Her yoga instructor is a--”
“A woman, yeah,” I finished for him.
“Boo-ya!” Deek blurted. The lady blushed but remained silent.
“She didn’t want to tell you because she really likes you and was afraid you’d go all butt-hurt alpha male on her. In fairness that is what’s rolling around in your head right now.”
Now they were both surprised into silence.
“So, here’s how you play it...pay attention, this is important.” I had to get through the fog of surprise while he was still processing it all.
“You put your foot down on no other men but let her have the other women and don’t ask for anything in return, like a hall pass of your own. Don’t try to change her and don’t try to fix her. Let her be herself and, one day, she’ll have a couple glasses of wine and bring one of her playmates home with her.”
He looked over at his partner, still bewildered but catching up.
“It’s kind of ironic but, even though she’s bisexual, she really doesn’t like the idea of you with another woman. So, stick to oral with the play dates and, once she’s more secure about your relationship, she’ll eventually let you stick your dick in one.”
“Who are you?” she finally blurted.
I put my hand on his shoulder, he looked up. “Play it like I told you and you’ll be the most envied of all men; happily married and still getting regular strange pussy and three ways on the side. Say what’s running through your head right now and you’ll lose her. What comes out of your mouth in the next 15 seconds will make the difference.”
“Married?” he mumbled.
“Well, there it is. You two obviously have a lot to talk about. Bye now.” I walked off.
“Do you always have to do that?” Q asked as I caught up with him.
“Can’t stop it,” I reminded him.
“Jesus fuck it’s creepy,” he shuddered.
“How do you think I feel?”
“Is she hot?” Deek asked.
“Not bad,” Q answered. “Looks...bendy. I’d give her a 7.5 outta 10.”
“Nice boobs,” I added.
We pushed our hurried way out into the midmorning sunshine. The laundry truck was already waiting.
“Don’t forget to--”
“Shut off my earpiece and pull the battery on my phone,” Q finished for me. “I got it. It’s not my first trip in the back of a laundry truck.”
The driver opened the sliding door for him and Q stepped up on the gate. He wrinkled his nose at the smell.
“Keep telling yourself how much you love your job,” I reminded him.
He extended a defiant middle finger as the door came down, shutting him inside. He would ride to the room across the hall in a laundry basket. Our laundry baskets were specially designed for heavy loads.
The truck pulled away and the valet pulled up with my car which, fortunately, didn’t smell like dirty socks but I hated driving it myself all the same.
I tried to slip the valet a $20 even though he was pretty well paid, it just seemed like the thing to do but he held up his hand.
“Sorry, senior, but no tipping,” he said with a smile. I had forgotten that was a rule throughout our company, though we make an exception for the couriers just for appearances.
“Good man,” Deek applauded. “By the book.”
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I slipped in behind the wheel and the valet closed the door for me and headed off on his scooter.
“You want me to review the pedals for you?” Deek asked.
“You’re hilarious,” I deadpanned.
“How come you can’t read us like you did that couple?” Deek asked absently as I pulled out from the curb.
“Doesn’t work like that,” I reminded him. “Can’t read you guys.”
That was true. While I couldn’t turn off the flow of information about other people, my own team was a mystery.
“Maybe it’s a defense mechanism,” I said out loud, glad that traffic was light that day. “I’m kinda glad not to know what you’re thinking most days.”
“You should turn off your earpiece in about four blocks,” Deek reminded me.
“Copy that,” I replied, nearly running into a parked car while digging it out of my ear. We would turn the units back on once the Columbians left their truck. Deek would send me a text message and ring the landline in the condos for V and Q when it was clear. Funny how in the modern age of communications we kept finding uses for a good old fashioned hard wire telephones.
The quiet was suddenly lonely. As much as I complained about Deek and the team the times we were disconnected there was a vague empty feeling. We had been together so long and were the closest thing to any of us had to family. Even a dysfunctional family was better than none at all.
I waited out the slowest traffic light in Palm Beach County and made the turn past the building where V was waiting. I could picture her in the room upstairs, laying on a table by the sliding glass door, cracked just enough to accommodate the suppressor on the end of her customized 7.62mm fitted with a sniper scope. She would have the curtains draped over the table and would be hard to spot, even by experienced eyes. Plus she was further away than most people would have been looking for snipers.
At this moment V would be using the custom laser interferometer to measure the thickness and composition of the glass of the meeting room. Somewhere in between would be one or two small plastic American flags to gauge the wind. There would be a foam box with a half-eaten waffle on the table next to her rifle.
The Rogue Horse Recovery: Book One of the Recovery and Marine Salvage Inc Series (Recovery and Marine Salvage, Inc.) Page 11