Fast and Loose

by Fern Michaels

  “He even gave me my cyber name. TRIPLEM. Means ‘Triple Mister Magic Money,’ or Triple M, as he put it, because at that age, all I thought about was money and being rich. The two of us have to use the cyber names he christened us with when we communicate with him. That’s all I use it for.”

  “Any clue where he actually lives?” Harry asked.

  “No. And don’t think I didn’t try to find out. He sent me a warning to cease and desist, and I obeyed. PIP did the same thing and got the same warning.”

  “So what you are saying is the man knows everything there is to know about you, but you know nothing about him. Is that right?” Fergus asked.

  “That’s it in a nutshell,” Abner said.

  “Did you ever go to any other of those conventions? Did you ever see him again in person?” Sparrow asked.

  “I’ve been to hundreds. All over the country over the years. And before you can ask, I think that PIP and I are the only two people who come slightly close to what he can do. I doubt we’ll ever reach his status, but that’s okay. Once you’re at the top, there is no one else to look up to.

  “But to answer your question, no, I never saw him again. Once I asked him if he had ever gone to any of the conferences, and he said he had not and did not plan on attending in the future. I took him at his word. I did ask him why, and he said the new generation of hackers coming up were pussies, afraid they’d get caught, afraid to believe in themselves. That’s all I can tell you. You can grill me for hours, and I can’t tell you any more than that. I know it is not very helpful, but that is all I know about RCHood.”

  “When was the last time you were in contact?” Sparrow asked.

  “A month ago. But . . . here’s the thing. He sent me an e-mail early yesterday morning, five o’clock in the morning, to be precise. Just a chatty note asking what I was doing, that kind of thing. I think the reason he sent it was that I sent out an e-blast telling everyone I was taking a road trip and to call instead of e-mailing for the next few days. I think the guy monitors my e-mails and my texts, too. Don’t look at me like that, you guys. I’m not dumb enough to put anything important in an e-mail or text. I always use Snowden’s phone when I’m in contact with you. RCHood cannot crack that.”

  “So that means he knows you’re here?” Jack said.

  “No, I don’t think he does, Jack. I told the people who asked that I was going to Jackson Hole, Wyoming,” Abner drawled. His shoulders sagged now that he’d unloaded his secret. It was such a relief, he thought he was going to black out.

  Chapter 7

  Philonias Needlemeyer looked down at his idle hands. What he saw was a first for him. To the best of his recollection, he’d never experienced a moment like this. A brief flurry of panic invaded his being. Another emotion he’d never experienced before. He, Philonias Needlemeyer, had made a mistake. And he never made mistakes. Not ever. He revised his crippling thought. Not really a mistake. No, he’d made an error in judgment. Everyone did that at one time or another. Didn’t they? And calling what had happened an error in judgment certainly sounded better than saying he’d made a mistake. Nonetheless, his massive shoulders started to shake. He didn’t know if he could handle having made a mistake. If he had made a mistake, he would have to admit to there being a blight on his perfect record.

  But he had to face it, an error in judgment was, all things considered, the same thing as a mistake, and only a fool would think otherwise, and whatever else they had done, his parents had not raised a fool. So he needed to own the mistake, correct it as best he could, and move on.

  What in the world had possessed him to go down to the Tiki Bar? He never went out in public. That was the mistake, the error in judgment, that he’d made. And an error he had compounded by not keeping quiet. By saying something to, of all people, Dixson Kelly. If only. In and of itself, going to the bar for lunch was not really a mistake. Not even an error in judgment. But opening his mouth, speaking to Dixson Kelly—that was a big mistake.

  Earlier in the day, he’d hacked into Bert Navarro’s and Dixson Kelly’s cell phones and listened to their conversation, something he did every day so he could stay on top of things. The truth was, he did it more to amuse himself than anything else, because he knew neither Navarro nor Kelly would ever figure out what he was doing. Referring, of course, to the daily withdrawals, where he helped himself to a portion of the deposits from the casino.

  That was when he’d put two and two together, when he’d learned that TRIPLEM’s sudden road trip was here, to Vegas, and not to Jackson Hole, Wyoming, as TRIPLEM had told his informants. He recalled how he’d almost collapsed when he realized that not only was TRIPLEM a personal friend of Bert Navarro’s, but he was also on his way here, to Babylon. Along with the current director of the FBI. His gut had started to churn at the thought of what it could all possibly mean, and he didn’t like where his thoughts were taking him.

  Philonias looked down at his hands. He could see and feel the tremor in them. He grew light-headed at what he was experiencing. Then a second paralyzing thought hit him. He’d made another error in judgment by contacting TRIPLEM. Abner Tookus was no one’s fool. By now he’d probably finished working on the same math problem and realized two plus two equaled four. Two mistakes. Two! How was he going to live with that?

  Philonias felt a sourness start to build in his stomach. Maybe he needed fresh air. He needed to do something to clear his head. He made his way from the computer room, across the vast living room, to the French doors that led to a long, narrow terrace filled with colorful spring plants. He gripped the handrails and struggled to take deep breaths. He did it ten times, then another ten times, until he felt reasonably calm.

  His thoughts all over the map, Philonias wondered if his errors in judgment could be corrected. You could always rectify a mistake. At least, that was what he’d been led to believe. But since this was a first for him, he had no way of knowing for certain. He’d read somewhere, many times, in fact, chapter and verse about people who made mistakes and were not only forgiven but also given the chance to correct their mistakes.

  But how in the name of all that was holy was he to do that and not bring attention to the error in judgment? He needed to decompress. What he needed to do was think outside the box.

  Lighter fare. He needed to do something amusing. Something that had nothing to do with Navarro, Kelly, or TRIPLEM. Impossible. Right now, those three names consumed his entire being. Well, that wasn’t quite true. He could tap in to Dixson Kelly’s nine burner phones, which Kelly thought no one knew about. It was always amusing to read the various texts his women sent him.

  Genius that he was, it still boggled his mind how the security chief managed to walk a tightrope while simultaneously carrying on affairs with nine women and make it work for him, with none of the women being aware of each other. Speaking strictly for himself, Philonias had had a hard time keeping all of Kelly’s machinations straight, even when he made a chart to follow the progress of the lothario’s romantic endeavors.

  Another set of ten deep breaths convinced Philonias that he was good to go, so he headed back inside. He made his way to his inner sanctum and sat down. He looked at his hands. Steady as a rock. A sigh of relief escaped his lips as he concentrated on Dixson Kelly’s nine burner phones.

  From time to time, he found himself smiling; twice, he even laughed out loud at the sexy messages. That is, until he switched gears and hacked into a phone registered to a showgirl named Kitty Passion, who appeared to be Kelly’s most recent conquest. Well, almost a conquest. He hadn’t scored as yet, but he was working hard at it. He scrolled down through the list of texts she’d sent to two of her friends. That was when the fine hairs on the back of his neck started to move. Kitty danced and tended bar at Luxor. What set the fine hairs on his neck moving was one of her outgoing texts, which read, To all Dixson Kelly alumnae! Listen up, girls! I have news. We need to talk. Let’s meet at the Cat & Cradle on Friday. Noon. My treat. I think we got good old Dix
right where we want him, and no, he doesn’t suspect a thing. And before you can ask, the answer is a resounding no. He’s throwing everything he has at me to get me to take off my clothes, but I’m making him work for it, just like you all instructed.

  “Well, well, well! What have we here?” Philonias muttered to himself. He moved the chair he was sitting on across the room and placed a big X on Friday’s date. Normally, he didn’t eat lunch out on Fridays or any other day, but two days from now, he would make absolutely sure that he was dining at the Cat & Cradle downtown. Because, as everyone knew, information was power, and Philonias Needlemeyer was all about information and power. Information and power were his two best friends in the entire world.

  * * *

  “We need a plan,” Jack said. He looked over at Charles, their in-residence plan maker, as Cyrus scoured every inch of the suite for all the strange scents he was picking up.

  Charles picked up the ball. “Abner, on a scale of one to ten, how sure are you that your friend RC is the one helping himself to the casino money? Based, of course, on what little we know at this point in time.”

  “As sure as I know I need to keep breathing to stay alive,” was the snappy reply.

  “Then we need to up our game and set a trap for Mr. RCHood. What are the chances that you could enlist the aid of your fellow hacker, PIP? How could you go about that without RCHood knowing what you’re doing?”

  “Almost impossible. Short of a face-to-face with her, I wouldn’t know where to start. Even if we made that happen, there’s no guarantee she would help us. Like all the others, she’s afraid of RC.”

  “Then how did your pal RC ferret out your own background? How did he do it? Is there a program? I’m not up on this hacker stuff, but if he did it, then as his almost equal, you should be able to do it,” Ted said.

  “Yeah, you would think so, but I tried. These people use encryption, double passwords, and sometimes they change them hourly. Their servers are all over the world. I know for a fact that RC can and does use satellites to aid him. I told you, the man has no equal. Everyone is fearful of him, including yours truly. His reach is limitless.”

  “No one is that good,” Dennis snorted. One look from Abner made him clench his teeth.

  “I have an idea,” Snowden said out of the blue. “Do you think you could describe PIP? Espinosa is a good sketch artist. If he could get a good sketch, we could run it off some face-recognition software and see what we come up with. Maybe we could track her down that way.”

  “Yeah, sure. It’s been a few years since I’ve seen her, but I don’t think she would have changed that much. But I have to ask, to what end? How do you think she could help us?”

  “At this moment I don’t know,” Snowden said, “but checking it out is better than doing nothing. She might have paid more attention to RC than you did. As you well know, women have a different mind-set than men. You focused on RC’s hands. Maybe she focused on his smile, his eyes, or his nose. I think it’s worth a shot, since we have so little else to go on.”

  Espinosa pulled a small sketch pad from his duffel bag and moved back into the main part of the suite, with Abner in tow. Snowden moved off to Charles’s computers and sat down to check out his software. Thirty minutes later, he was satisfied with what he had done, just as Espinosa waved a picture under his nose.

  “It’s the best I could do, Mr. Snowden. It’s been a few years since I’ve seen her, but what you’re looking at is as good as it’s going to get,” Abner said as he stared at a plain-looking woman he thought of as PIP.

  “Let’s see what we come up with. It might take a few hours, or it might take a few minutes, or somewhere in the middle,” Snowden said, his eyes glued to the screen.

  Twenty-three minutes later, Snowden’s fist shot high in the air. “Got it! Abner, is this your friend PIP?”

  Abner peered over the top of his reading glasses. “Yep, that’s her. A younger her, but it is PIP. Younger, I’d say, by ten years. Where does she live?”

  “Gilbert, Arizona. Not that far from here, as the crow flies.” Snowden looked over at his people and nodded. They left the room immediately.

  “Where are they going?” Dennis asked.

  “Probably out to heist a vehicle so they can drive to Arizona. That’s what I would do if I were them,” Jack said.

  “Why not just rent a car or truck?” Dennis asked.

  “Paper trail, kid,” Ted said. “Don’t worry, Mr. Dudley Do-Right. They’ll leave money on the seat when they return it. They’re just borrowing it for now.”

  “What if the owner calls the police?” Dennis persisted.

  “What? You think this is those guys’ first rodeo? They know what to do and how to do it. They’ll go into the garage, look for a car with dust on it, one that looks like it hasn’t been driven for a while, and hot-wire it. When they return it, no one will ever know. Does that make you happy, kid?”

  Dennis didn’t know if it did or not, so he clamped his lips together and crossed his arms over his chest, disapproval written all over his features.

  Harry moved next to him. “Get over it, Dennis. Like now. Do not ever question what we do again. Are we clear on that?”

  Dennis swallowed hard. “It’s crystal, Harry. Really, really crystal. I’m over it. I am so over it, you wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” He eyeballed Harry and was rewarded with a smile that sent better men than him running for cover. “See, see, I’m loose as a goose. You want fast and loose, I’ll give you fast and loose.” Harry walked away, to Dennis’s relief. His knees started to buckle, but Ted caught him just in time.

  “Okay, people, here is PIP’s profile, thanks to Google. She’s thirty-nine years old. This proves she does have a personal life aside from her . . . ah . . . other life. Her name is Mary Alice Farmer. She sells organic plant seeds online. And she makes a living at it. Has a small specialty shop in Gilbert. She owns her own house, no mortgage. She drives a vintage Ford Bronco. According to her credit-card history, she travels five or six times a year by plane. Odd places, so I assume those trips are to attend hacker conventions. She doesn’t charge a lot on her credit cards—gas, drugstore purchases, Home Depot stuff. Single, never married. No pets. Dates maybe once a year. However, she has a very robust brokerage account at Wells Fargo. High, high seven figures. She must sell a lot of organic seeds to account for her bottom line. Even a fool could look at this and realize she has an outside income. Hard to tell from this report. Mode of dress is sneakers, jeans, T-shirts. No fashion plate. Abner, does this sound like the PIP you know?”

  Abner shrugged. “I don’t know anything about her personal life. I’m hearing this all for the first time, just the way you are.”

  “Okay, okay. I get all that, but based on the picture here on the screen and what I’ve just told you, do you think this is PIP?”

  “Yeah, yeah, I do.”

  “Okay, that’s good enough for me. Hold down the fort, people. When you see me next, I will have Ms. Mary Alice Farmer in tow. We won’t be coming back here, however. We’ll take her to The Venetian. Someone call and reserve a room in the name of Zack Hammer. Here’s a credit card to charge the room to. Not to worry about returning it. I have a duplicate card for when I check in.”

  “They’re going to kidnap her, aren’t they?” Dennis squeaked.

  “Yes, Dennis, they are,” Charles said.

  “Well then,” the young, intrepid reporter said, knowing that all eyes were on him, “that is exciting. You know, being part of a kidnap escapade, with no worries of federal intervention.”

  “I like the way you think, young man,” Sparrow said as he eyeballed Dennis.

  Dennis managed a sickly grin as he imagined himself in a federal penitentiary, sporting an orange jumpsuit.

  “Now what?” Maggie asked as she sent off a text to Snowden, who had already left. She gave him the room number and the amount of the charge.

  “Now I think we should all call it a night and get some sleep,” Ch
arles said. “We’ll meet up on the concierge floor for breakfast at, let’s say, seven thirty.”

  No one argued as they left Charles’s suite and headed for their own rooms. It had been a long, stressful day. Tomorrow was another day, and they were three hours behind, with jet lag kicking in.

  No one seemed to notice that Sparrow lagged behind and closed the door. He looked over at Charles. “We need to talk.”

  “I think I know what you want to discuss. Dixson Kelly, right?”

  Sparrow nodded. “I’d like to take a look inside his room. I think someone said Kelly is staying in Bert’s apartment, and Kelly keeps a room here for his late nights. A perk. He also has an apartment or condo in town. We need to find out where and visit it, too. There’s something about that guy that isn’t sitting right with me, and no, it’s not that jab he took at the FBI. For obvious reasons, I can’t do the breaking and entering. But as soon as Snowden gets back here, I say we put him on it. He’s the pro here. Your thoughts, Charles.”

  Charles stroked his chin as he stared first at Sparrow, then Fergus. “I agree with you that there is something off about Kelly. I’m just not sure it has anything to do with why we’re here. For some reason, I think the man is ticked off that Bert called us all here and hasn’t really told Kelly why. He sees us as invading his turf and taking over. Bert swears by him, and that’s good enough for me.”

  Sparrow’s head bobbed up and down. “I hear you. He might have a gig going on, something that has nothing to do with any of this, which he’d just like to keep to himself. First thought off the top of my head is his life with the ladies. Right there I am seeing a dozen red flags going up. Just wanted to mention it, Charles. We can’t do anything until tomorrow, when Snowden gets back. I’ll say good night now.”