by Dancer, Jack
“Christ,” I bring the cup up to my mouth and take another sip. It's still hot. "Okay. Done.”
“Are you still sitting down?”
“If you don't start telling me what you have to say right now you can take your invoice and stuff it,” I say.
“No problem. Okay. First, the courier we picked up yesterday is a woman by the name of Pau.”
My brain processes this like a delayed shot. You know; your eyes see the kick of the gun, but the blast doesn't reach your ears for a moment. Then the pain screams, HELLO!
Holy shit!
“You're kidding?”
“A friend of yours?”
“Yes. I mean, no! Not a friend but I know her . . . sort of."
“Then, if you have truly awakened your mind, you will have deduced Nanette Mieras to be the pivotal operator of this flight crew scam group, no?”
Oh, Christ. Just as I figured. “Yes. Wait, how do you know she's the pivotal . . . the leader of this group?”
“Based on corroboration from agents James Culpepper and the lovely Lisa Jones.”
“You mean Lisa. James is dead he can't corroborate.”
“Do you want to brace yourself again, Señor Blue, maybe have another drink of coffee?" he says.
"No, I would not. Enough games, Dick, just tell me how you're able to speak with the dead."
"Señor James has resurrected.”
“What? Resurrected? What're you talking about?”
“The man is alive. What you saw at the Fira yesterday, my friend, was a cackle bladder.”
“A what?”
“A cackle bladder."
"Okay, Dick, you've got me. What's a cackle bladder?" Jesus, this guy.
"A cackle bladder is a stunt used in the Spanish Prisoner scam to frame the mark with murdering the confidence man to discourage the mark from going to the authorities. However, more than that, it will usually drive the mark into hiding."
"And with the mark in hiding, there is no victim."
"And with no victim, there is no crime," he finishes.
"Ingenuous," I say.
"Yes, the cackle bladder is very ingenuous."
"And if this Spanish Prisoner scam is as popular as I understand it to be, there must be quite a few marks in hiding."
"Quite a few, yes, Señor."
"Where is it they hide?"
"In various places; anywhere the police are least likely to look. I would say, mostly in the sewers of Barcelona," he says matter-of-factly.
"Why is it called a cackle bladder?" I ask.
"It is called a cackle bladder because, in the old days, the confidence man would use a chicken's bladder, filled with fake blood and burst it to appear like a gunshot or knife wound.”
“No kidding?”
“I do not kid you, Señor. However, in your case with Señor James, there was more."
"What more?"
"There was the pistol next to the body which you had picked up and held.”
“My fingerprints.”
“Exactly, but do not worry, Señor Tucker, we have the pistol.”
“Thank God.”
“No, thank Dick's Dicks, Señor.”
“Thank you, Dick.”
“However, I must tell you there was one other problem we were not able to resolve.”
“And what's that?”
“You are familiar with IP cameras?”
“Internet Protocol cameras. They're video cameras that can be operated remotely through an Internet connection using the camera’s unique IP address.”
“Correct my friend. We found two IP cameras in the room, and it would be my conclusion someone has a video recording of you with the dead Señor James, and you are holding the pistol."
"Holy shit."
"There is most likely also a recording of my men entering the room and removing these James and Lisa and cameras.”
“Do you know who that someone might be? No, wait. You think it could be Nanette Mieras?”
“This is the woman you had dinner with last night?”
“Yes.”
“I hope you fucked her my friend because if it was her? She's going to fuck you well if those recordings are not retrieved.”
“Yeah. And if your men on those recordings, I'd say we both need them.”
“It would be best.”
“Let me think. Okay, it shouldn't be a problem. I have a date with Nanette tonight for dinner and dancing. While we're out, your men can go through her apartment and her computer and retrieve those files. In fact, it just might be helpful if you could have your guys copy her entire hard drive. There might be other stuff on it we could use. We've got to wipe those files from her computer. Better yet, why don't you have your guys just take her computer and any other electronic device, you know, cameras, cell phones; thumb drives any external drives? Make it look like a break in. Have them also check for any safes and file cabinets and take everything.”
“How long do you expect to have her out?”
"I could take her back to the El Raval apartment. Have her out all night." And I'll probably regret it too.
"That would be good, Señor."
“Dick, what about James and Lisa? Were you able to confirm if they're actual agents for Homeland Security?”
“They are not. Señor James attempted to make that claim but gave it up after his partner denied it.”
“So they're both frauds.”
“Correct.”
“At least that's good.”
“For you it is good, for them not so good.”
“Did you retrieve an identification card and badge from Lisa?”
“Yes, we did. Excellent counterfeits too. I may find a use for them someday.”
"I'd rather you not tell me those things, Dick."
"You are right, Señor, sorry. I will promptly send them back to America."
"Sure you will. Did James and Lisa happen to say who else is involved in this scam?”
“They did not. We know of only James and Lisa and Pau and this Nanette Mieras. One of the aspects of this group is, the participants are kept ignorant of the identity of the others. Unless they have a need to know of course. Señor James and Señor it, I mean Señora Lisa . . ."
"Leroy, Leroy Jones. I told you already."
"Yes, I remember. Okay. Señor Leroy . . . really? Leroy Jones? Ha, ha. You Americans are a very funny people."
Is this guy on drugs or something?
"Yeah, we're a riot. So, did they say who else is involved?" I press on.
"They knew of only Nanette Mieras.”
"They didn't know Pau?"
"They claimed, no. Nor did she know them, or so she says, but Señor, these people are all liars, so who really knows?”
"But, she knows Nanette,” I say.
“How do you know, Señor?”
“I had dinner with both of 'em last Friday night. They live together. They're roommates."
"Ah, yes. This would be the Nyotaimori?"
"What? You know about that?" I say stunned.
"Oops. I am sorry, Señor. I did not mean to . . ."
"How do you know about that Dick? Have you been spying on me?"
"No, Señor Tucker. Well, I mean, yes, we do spy on you. You asked us to follow you, remember? But, no we did not spy on you during your dinner last Friday evening."
"Then how do you know about the Nyotaimori?"
"Señor, it is all over the Internet."
"Holy shit! That bitch! She did post it," I say mostly to myself.
"How bad was it, Dick?"
"Señor, it is not for me to make such judgments. Things of this nature are personal . . . I mean, of personal tastes," he says trying to be diplomatic.
"Yes, well . . . It wasn't anything I had planned . . . I mean, I thought I was just going to a dinner, and it turned into something totally unexpected. I wouldn't have . . ."
"It is not necessary to tell me this, Señor."
"I just want you to know this was a highly unusual expe
rience for me. It is not something I normally . . ."
"I understand, Señor. You do not have to explain yourself. But, may I ask you something?
"What?" I ask suspiciously.
"Was the Nyotaimori . . . I mean, the woman as the Nyotaimori. This was, Señora Monica, no?"
"Yes, it was."
"She is a very beautiful woman, Señor. You are a lucky man."
"And this is why it is so important for me to rescue this woman, Dick. She’s very important to me."
"Is she important enough for you to give up the lottery ticket, Señor?"
"Yes, of course. I told you the lottery ticket is worthless. At least according to Rakim. You remember him? The guy with Paulo’s secret agent team who used the ticket to lure the anonymous Raven into the trap, I say.”
“And ended up crashing through your train compartment door and dying? Of course I remember,” he says. “But, if the lottery ticket is not a counterfeit would you still be willing to give it up for the Señora Monica?"
"Yes. I would."
"Then you must truly love this woman with all of your heart." And, for some reason, his words struck like a wake up call. Maybe because it was coming from someone else. A kind of validation from a disinterested source. Whatever the reason, I embraced it.
"I do, Dick. I swear to God. I do."
"Then we have no choice but to rescue her at all costs."
"Thank you, Dick," I say and for the first time, I really believe I have an ally.
"Do you have Pau's cell phone, Dick?”
“Yes.”
“Would you take a look at her calling activity and see if she made a call around 3:06 this afternoon?”
“Okay, give me a minute. Yes, the number was . . .”
“That's Nanette's cell phone. What is Pau's cell phone number?”
“Give me another minute. Her number is . . .” I write the number down in my Moleskine.
“That's what I thought. The number she called was Nanette's cell, and I found Pau's number on Nanette's cell last evening several times, the last call having been received from her at 3:06.”
“That's because we snatched Pau shortly afterward.”
“I know.”
“Dick, what about Captain, Pat? He was the second courier, the one who handed the bag off to Pau. Do you have any reason to suspect Captain Pat might be a member of the flight crew team behind this Spanish Prisoner scam?”
“At first James said yes, but James was lying. Captain Pat is not a member. He was a stooge set up by James.”
“How certain are you James is lying?”
“Lisa said the same and we polygraphed them both."
“Why did James set up Captain Pat?”
“To frame him for the kidnapping or at least as a participant in the kidnapping. I also think he just doesn't like Captain Pat.”
“He doesn't. Did you get any information about the kid who delivered the bag to Captain Pat?”
“Yes, he was hired by James and told to take the bag to Captain Pat.
“How would James know this kid?” I ask.
“Actually, I know this kid. His name is Angelo. He is a street urchin and an important one. He is influential.”
“Influential? How do you mean influential?”
“The other street urchins in Barcelona. He is what you might call a leader of one of the urchin familias.”
“There are street urchin familias?”
“Yes, of course. There are many. They are much like gangs. They have territories within the barrios. They engaged in begging, pick-pocketing, mostly petty crimes. They are well organized. They have to be because they depend on each other for survival. Unfortunately, many are prostitutes too. That is how James knows this boy, Angelo.”
“You're kidding.”
“No, Señor, I am not.”
“James is a pedophile?”
“Yes, a molester of boys.”
“That piece of shit."
“The worst kind of human trash, Señor.”
“Don't ever let him go, Dick.”
“Do not fret, Señor, we have places for these types.”
“Good. Say, while we're at it, do you think we could enlist the help of Angelo and his familia to do some work for us?”
“What kind of work?”
“Work during the night, putting up posters along the parade route, passing out handbills, stuff like that.”
“I'm sure he would like to make some money, Señor.”
“Good. Maybe I can work him and his familia into the plans for Thursday's march. We can talk about it later today. And before I forget, were you able to find anything on Juan, the bartender at Scruples, the one who kidnapped Ebba and Terry?”
“Like Angelo, he too was hired by James.”
“Okay, now for the most important question. Where are the girls?”
“The kidnapped girls you mean?”
"Of course, I mean the kidnapped girls. Are they still being held?”
“No one seems to have that information.”
“James hired Juan, why wouldn't he know where they are?”
“Because James didn't want to know where Juan would take them.”
“Back to the principle, the less any individual knows, the less chance for leaks.”
“It would seem so.”
“If Nanette's the leader of this ring, then she must know where they are.”
“I am not certain she would either.”
“Someone has to know.”
“Someone does.”
"Yeah, but who?"
"That is the unanswered question."
“Can you put a rush on the background check for Nanette Mieras?”
“How much of a rush?”
“Like by tonight or tomorrow morning - make it thorough, family, friends, everything.”
“I'll do what I can.”
“The place to start might be with everyone over there, including Tiber and Drusus. Say Dick, I know this might be a strange question but do you know about a place in the Spanish Pyrenees where one can look south and see France?”
“Where one can be in Spain and look south and see France,” he repeats and pauses a moment then, "yes, that would be Cerdanya.”
“Cerdanya? Where's that?”
“It's just across the border. It is a Spanish enclave surrounded by France. It dates back to the Treaty of the Pyrenees of 1659 when Spain and France were dividing up the Pyrenees. Cerdanya was like an island within France. The northern half of Cerdanya was seceded to France, but the southern half remained Spanish, but still, surrounded by French territory. It is the only possible place.”
“That has to be it then. Could your people do a little digging around for any medieval castles that might still exist in Spanish Cerdanya, and if they do come up with any, find out who owns them?”
“Consider it done.”
“Dick, we've got to get this woman, Libica, the Raven. I don't care what it takes. Last night when I returned to the apartment, a package had been delivered. It was given to Madame Bovarie, and she put it in the apartment for me with a note. It was a small package containing a jewelers box. When I opened it, I found a severed finger with a ring on it. It's Monica's finger. I know it's hers because I recognize the ring. There was a handwritten note attached that said, 'please save me.' ”
“Oh, no. I am very sorry to hear this, Señor. It must have been very upsetting for you.”
“It was. I've got to save this woman, Dick. I don't care what it takes, but I want to take down this Drusilla Libica too, and I don't care what it takes there either. We've got to find where these women are.”
“You think they’re in a castle in Cerdanya?”
“I don't know. It's just a hunch, but it's the only hunch I have.”
“And it's probably right, Señor. I have learned over many years to trust my instinct, and if this is what your instinct is telling you, then you should follow it. I will press it upon my research group to make this their
top priority.”
"Okay, thanks, Dick. Is there anything else?"
"Not at the moment, Señor."
"Then we'll speak again later today."
“Si Señor.”
“Oh, and Dick. I just want to say thanks for all the fine work you've done for me. I really appreciate it.”
“Gracias, Señor Blue. I hope you will continue to have a high opinion of us after you've received my invoice.”
“I hope so too.”
Just as soon as I've hung up with Dick, the cell rings again. I don't recognize the number.
“Hello.”
“Tucker, my man, its Pat.”
“Hey, Pat. You got my message?”
“Yeah, sorry, I didn't get back to you last night but I only just now turned my cell on. Oh, man, oh man, what a gift you sent to me yesterday. Do you know where I've been all night?”
“Snuggled up between Claudia and Ophelia?”
“You knew about Ophelia too?”
“Of course Pat. I'm Mister President, didn't you know that?”
“Ha, ha. I know. I couldn't believe it, you dog. How'd you manage to find this Claudia? She's the hottest thing since; I don't even know when.”
“I thought you might enjoy her company.”
“Oh, my God, Tucker, you have no idea.”
“Oh, I think I do.”
“Hey, listen buddy we've got to get together,” he says. “Are you going to be around today? You have any time? Hey, by the way, whatever came of the ransom payment you were going to make? Did you do it?”
“I did it yesterday.”
“And?”
“Nothing yet. I'll tell you about it when we get together.”
“Shit. I was hoping you'd have some news. Hey, listen; I'm just now walking to my room . . . Motherfucker! Wait, Tucker . . .” he whispers into the phone.” Holy Christ, Tucker, I just saw Terry go into her room.”
“What?”
“Yeah, I'm not shitt'n you man. It was Terry; I swear to God.”
“Did she see you?”
“No.”
“Listen Pat you need to go to her room and keep her there until I get there, okay?”
“Okay, but what if she wants to leave?”
“Sit on her if you have to. Just don't let her go anywhere. I'm on my way.”
fifty-three
08:22 Hours, Tuesday, 9 September.
The Fira Palace Hotel.