The Red Files

by Lee Winter

  “Take care of what?”

  Lauren spun around to see a policewoman in a green uniform picking her way up the path to the front door. Her patrol car had Carson City Sheriff down its side.

  She wanted to groan. Just how many police departments were they going to tangle with in one day?

  “Nothing important,” Lauren replied casually. “We were just leaving.”

  The deputy slid her gaze over the reporters in a manner she probably thought she was intimidating. Lauren almost laughed.

  “You those two LA reporters sniffing around town?”

  “I see there are no secrets in Carson City,” Lauren said. “How’d you know?”

  The woman flicked an assessing glance toward the door and noticed Della standing on the stoop. She gave Lauren a sharp look. “You bothering the lady? Harassing her maybe?” She sounded hopeful, as if she was itching to charge them with something obnoxious. Lauren sucked in an annoyed breath and straightened up to her full height.

  “We were invited,” Ayers inserted. She placed her hand lightly on the small of Lauren’s back and steered her toward their car. “And now we’re on our way.”

  “You here for the burglary?” Della suddenly called out, drawing the deputy’s attention. “I called over an hour and a half ago!”

  “Ma’am, we have many calls to attend, and a B&E is not…”

  Lauren took advantage of the distraction and picked up her pace for the car with Ayers literally breathing down her neck. A not so small part of her brain wondered why the woman had to be so damned close. It was not good for her concentration.

  She hefted the laptop again—it was an awkward size, just that little bit too wide and fat to sit easily in the hand—and something niggled in the back of her brain.

  And then she realized.

  Damn thing was rattling.

  * * *

  Lauren lay on her stomach on the floor of Ayers’s hotel room, armed with a tiny screwdriver as she tried to pry the back of the laptop open which was held together by even tinier screws. Ayers sat regally on her bed, one eye checking her cell messages, the other flicking to Lauren sprawled on the floor.

  “Did you buy Della’s line that the car being on the border is a coded message?” Lauren asked as she focused on the final screw.

  “Could be,” Ayers said. “Or could be that it’s too hard to accept the truth that you’re not important enough to live for. To quote Rankin.”

  “That’s a bit harsh,” Lauren argued. The screw gave a little as she twisted harder. “It’s not that a loved one is not enough of a reason to stop someone killing themselves; it’s just some crap’s too much to handle.”

  Ayers paused from scrolling through her messages and looked up. “Well, I think it’s an unlikely coincidence that one man’s property would be ransacked twice in a week. What does he have that someone’s after? Answer that, and the rest of it might make sense.”

  “How about industrial espionage,” Lauren suggested. “He’s working with some pretty sophisticated tech at SmartPay. What if he stole some of it to sell?”

  “A corporate theft,” Ayers mused. “But SmartPay should have been onto the police the instant they suspected. And Della would know if the cops were investigating him.”

  “What if he wasn’t the criminal? Someone knew Sands had the tech and wanted to steal it from him. A rival company? Hence the break-in?”

  “Then you’d go after some pivotal SmartPay employee, not an unknown government IT worker. This doesn’t smell corporate at all. It’s just a gut feeling, but it seems, maybe, political.”

  “Okay,” Lauren said, thinking. “So let’s look at Sands and politics. We know the Nevada government bosses chose to smear him with the SmartPay party crap. Barry thinks it was because he was an easy target and had conveniently disappeared. Do we buy that?”

  Ayers studied Lauren’s frustrated attempts to remove the battery cover. “There are really only three options,” she said. “One is Barry’s theory—Sands didn’t do it, and they want to cover up who really did. Or they don’t know who did it and chose Sands as an easy scapegoat either way.

  “Or two, he did do it.”

  “And three?”

  “That none of this is related to anything. It could just be an odd series of coincidences and one eccentric, runaway husband.”

  “Don’t say crap like that,” Lauren groaned. “No, come on, this has to be a story. This stuff doesn’t just happen on its own. Bus drivers getting scared off to Mexico? Uptight IT guys in weird possible suicides? Thugs in suits in booze shops? Pallets of cheap champagne disappearing? Hookers at business launches?”

  The last screw flew up suddenly. Ayers dropped any pretence of indifference, tossed her phone aside, and moved to the edge of her bed. She peered over Lauren’s shoulder just as she clicked open the battery compartment.

  “Huh.” Lauren plucked a white plastic card out of the compartment and held it up to the light. “Any guesses?”

  “Security pass?”

  “To where?” Lauren turned it over. The numbers “127/285” were inked on it in felt-tip pen. “An address? Apartment 127 of 285 Something Street?”

  “It’d have to be a tower complex then. Not many of those around here. If any. Maybe in Las Vegas though? Some of those casino hotels are pretty big.”

  As Lauren was pushing the battery cover back into place, she heard something else. She froze. “Hey! Hear that?” She gave the laptop a soft shake. “Something’s in the CD drive, too.” She put it down. “Can you hand me the power cable? Let’s boot her up and hit eject.”

  A minute later, Lauren sat back and punched the power button. A cursor appeared and just sat there, blinking against the black screen.

  Lauren frowned and stomped her thumb on the eject button. The CD tray didn’t budge.

  “Sort of feeling out of my depth here,” she complained.

  Ayers studied the screen, puzzled. “So…know any friendly neighborhood hackers?” she asked. “We need what’s in that tray, not to mention whatever’s on that laptop.”

  “As a matter of fact I might know two someones. Acquaintances of Josh. They’re not entirely on the right side of the law. Might be what we need?”

  “How good are they?”

  “They hacked into some designer’s website before it was even online. They also got a copy of a new documentary on Anna Wintour before it was in the theaters.”

  “Fashion hackers?” Ayers said. “Terrifying. Watch out, FBI.”

  “They’re not into fashion at all actually. It was a favor for someone, okay?”

  “I can’t possibly imagine who.” Ayers gave her a knowing look.

  “Well the point is they did it without blinking. Unless you have a better idea?”

  She waited and, when Ayers said nothing further, grabbed her cell and punched in Josh’s number. It switched through to his voicemail.

  “Damn, Josh’s still avoiding me,” she muttered.

  “Why?”

  Lauren groaned inwardly. No way was she touching that grenade. She waited for the message beep and said, “Hi Josh. It’s Lauren. I need to borrow your two new BFFs for a top-secret project. And, yes, we will still be talking about your Facebook page. But this is really important. Call me. Thanks.”

  As she hung up, Ayers’s cell phone shrilled.

  “What can I do for you, Neil?” Ayers switched into ultra-pleasant mode. Had to be their editor.

  Ayers listened, and her face gradually lost its color.

  “He can’t do that,” she said coldly. “We had a deal. He can’t just come in and…”

  Ayers’s lips clamped together. “Understood.” She flicked a dark look at Lauren. “I’ll tell her. Yes, she’s right here. See you soon. Bye.”

  “It seems,” Ayers said as she dropped her cell phone to the table, “that our illustrious publisher got wind of our road trip and has ordered it be shut down. We’re to return home now. Not even first thing tomorrow.”

  La
uren glanced at her watch. “But we’d get in just before midnight!”

  “Neil’s well aware. He pointed that fact out to the Boy King, and it earned a care factor of nil.”

  “Why? What’d we do wrong?”

  “I’d say it’s what we’re doing right. Certain people in various powerful positions have been calling Harrington, complaining about us sniffing around this story, and they want him to intervene and spike it.”

  “That’s censorship!”

  “That’s politics,” Ayers countered. “It happens all the time, pressure calls to editors. Usually publishers don’t get involved at all, and editors just tell whoever it is to shove it.

  “So now Harrington is either being his usual weak self or he’s getting his kicks sabotaging me by making it as difficult as possible to finish our investigation. Or both. It doesn’t matter. At least he hasn’t killed the story altogether, just ordered us home. Anyway, let’s get packed.”

  “How can you be so calm about this?” Lauren demanded. “We’re this close to solving an incredible mystery. I can feel it! It’s like we just have to pull one thread and it’ll all come apart. We just need to find the right thread.”

  Ayers’s understanding gaze fell on her. “And there it is,” she said softly.

  “What?”

  “I knew there was a real journalist in there somewhere. It’s that feeling—so hard to explain, isn’t it? Impossible to teach, but it’s there. When you’re about to crack a great story, and you just feel it in your bones. You just know. There’s nothing quite like it.”

  “Then how can you be so relaxed about our boss trying to rip that away from us now?”

  “Because the imbecile won’t succeed,” Ayers said. She pointed to the laptop. “Because what’s in front of us could hold the key to everything. Or not. But we don’t need to be in Nevada to find out. I’d been about to suggest we head home now anyway. This is not the end of our story. Not even close.”

  “But Harrington—”

  “Is not half the man his father is. Like most arrogant young men, he makes the mistake of assuming everyone is motivated by what motivates him. And right now, he’s trying to tell senior editors, men who have ink in their blood, who live and breathe the news, to bury a potentially huge story. He might have the title, but it isn’t earned. And I believe our Boy King is about to discover the limits of his control.”

  “Are you seriously going to fight the publisher?” Lauren asked in astonishment.

  A Cheshire cat smile spread across Ayers’s face.

  “No. I’m going to destroy him.”

  CHAPTER 10

  Gorillas in the Midst

  Lauren watched the streaks of street lights coming toward her and suppressed a yawn. It was almost midnight; the trip had taken an extra hour due to a couple of rest stops and one flat tire near Water Spout Gulch.

  Uncharacteristically, Ayers had offered no biting commentary on that incident even though the tire blowout had been entirely Lauren’s fault. She’d lost concentration and the car had strayed onto the road edge and sliced against a jagged rock.

  She glanced at the sleeping woman beside her, her face partially lit in the inky night by the dash. Lauren was struck again by how peaceful Ayers seemed in repose. There was nothing soft about Ayers by day, beyond the slope of her smooth neck and those wicked lips.

  And therein lay the contradiction. It was hopeless even trying to understand the push-pull Lauren felt toward Ayers. She was both everything and nothing Lauren thought she desired.

  Casual cruelty usually repulsed her. Yet in Ayers she found that biting tongue and sharp mind addictive to be around. Nonetheless, it was unsettling to realize that much of Ayers’s appeal lay in her prickly edges.

  She exhaled heavily as she realized what that meant—what she wanted.

  Who she wanted.

  * * *

  It was 12:13 a.m. when Lauren saw the signs for Ventura Freeway and knew they were getting close to Ayers’s turn-off. She softly said, “Hey, wake up.”

  Ayers’s eyes fluttered open. “How close?” Her voice was thick.

  “Not far. Can you give me directions to your place?”

  Ayers sat up to get her bearings. “I’m on Oakshire Drive. You need to come off the 101 at—”

  A blast of ringtone cut her off, and Lauren blinked in surprise given the hour. She turned on her Bluetooth receiver and took the call.

  “King,” she said.

  “Lauren!”

  “Josh? Is everything okay?”

  “Honey, I hope you’re sitting down.”

  “I’m driving.”

  “Then pull over. I don’t want you rear-ending someone.”

  “Okay,” Lauren replied, unsettled. She took the next exit off Hollywood Freeway and, not liking the immediate area, drove a little bit farther, looking for a well-lit area. She saw people milling outside a squat building across the road and pulled over.

  “Stopped now,” she told him. “What is it?”

  “Where are you anyway?” Josh asked. “I thought you’d be tucked up in some cushy hotel at this time of night.”

  “Uhhm,” Lauren peered at a street sign over the road. “Studio City, I think. Some oil can place? On Ventura Boulevard.”

  She heard a sputtering noise. “Oh my god! You’re hitting that old gay club? Well I suppose Thursdays are She-nanigans night. A little lovin’ with the ladies…”

  “Josh! Come on, I’m out with Catherine! And you’re on speakerphone.”

  He made a strangled noise, and she flushed at how bad that sounded.

  “What’s so important?” she ground out.

  “Oh right,” he said. His voice changed to anxious. “Well someone’s broken into your place. Like, a little over half an hour ago. I saw them leaving when I was getting home. Those bruisers were big. In a neckless quarterback kind of way. I ducked out of sight, and I got a pic for you. It’s a bit blurred, but my hand was shaking on account of me being terrified they’d see me and use me for a toothpick.”

  Lauren shared a startled look with Ayers.

  “Hon, are you still there?”

  “Yeah Josh. That was brave of you. You okay?”

  “I’m being comforted by some tall, tanned, and nameless hunk. Well, okay, his name rhymes with egad.”

  Lauren winced.

  “I have to call the police,” she said.

  “Done and done. All part of the neighborly service. They had a patrol car in the area, so they’ve been and gone. They just checked it out, wrote some notes, and left. I gave them a copy of my cell phone photo, and they said they’ll want to talk to you later about what’s missing.

  “But hon, I had a peek around, and I couldn’t figure out what they took. All the expensive stuff’s still there.”

  “Can you email me a copy of the photo?”

  “Sure. Two neckless gorillas coming right up.”

  Lauren’s phone beeped. She scrolled to her emails and studied the photo. Two burly men in dark sweaters and black pants were leaving her apartment. Josh had to have been hiding in the stairwell given the angle. She examined the shadowed faces trying to work out why they looked familiar.

  She tilted the phone toward Ayers.

  “Why do I know them?” she asked, puzzled.

  “The thugs from the bus company,” Ayers said, her voice low. “They scared the driver off to Mexico.”

  Lauren flipped the phone back around and realized Ayers was right.

  “What the hell is going on?” she muttered. “Josh, I’m almost home. I just have to drop Catherine off, and I’ll be able to—”

  She felt a stilling hand on her arm.

  “Joshua, this is Catherine. Can you tell me whether you’d be able to secure Lauren’s door tonight? Prevent anyone else from accessing her apartment?”

  “Sure,” Josh said. “No problemo. Leave it to me.”

  “Excellent,” Ayers said. “I think it would be safer to stay away for now since it seems that certai
n people know where she lives.”

  “Gotcha. By the way, Snakepit and Duppy are really excited to help with your top secret project. Come around tomorrow morning, and I’ll introduce you to the whiz kids. Don’t mind their attitude. They’re like that with everyone.”

  “Thanks Josh, we’ll be there,” Lauren said and leaned over, about to end the call.

  “Oh hey, and hon,” Josh suddenly added urgently, “about Tad…”

  Lauren punched the End button and cut off his words.

  Ayers pricked up her ears. “Tad?”

  “We have more important things to discuss,” Lauren said quickly. “Like what were those men looking for? And where to now?”

  “We’ll go to my place,” Ayers said. “It has gated security and alarms. I also pay a security company a premium to maintain my privacy.”

  Lauren didn’t respond at first, astonished that the guarded Ayers would offer her home to Lauren. As if reading her mind, Ayers turned to look out the side window. “I’m merely protecting our story.”

  “Oh, okay,” Lauren said, feeling foolish. “’Course.” The story always comes first. Nothing else matters. Not even Ayers’s vaunted privacy, it seemed.

  “As for what those gorillas want,” Ayers continued, “it’s interesting Joshua said the break-in only just occurred. Why now?”

  “Opportunistic? I was out.”

  “Actually I suspect they thought you’d be in. I have a hunch they were well aware of our departure from Carson City and expected you to have been home an hour ago and fast asleep by now. Which you would have been if not for the flat.

  “They likely wanted to look at what you brought home with you. And, if I was them, I’d be rather afraid that whatever you had on you would leave your hands soon, so they had no choice but to move now.”

  “They wanted our notes?” Lauren asked, perplexed.

  “It could be any number of things. The Booze, Booze, Booze invoice, transcripts of our interviews, the security footage from the bus company. Or they may just be worried about what we might have.”