My phone rang. I held up my finger, prompting a dirty look from her as she endured another bout of taleus interruptus. I looked at the phone and cringed. “Oh, shit! I forgot to call the abatement guy.” I was tempted not to answer it, but I knew I would only be prolonging the inevitable, and Marsha would get angrier the longer I waited, and she’d been waiting all day.
“The what?” Rachel asked, baffled.
“He’s the guy who came for the bodies last night.” I answered, trying to ignore the blank stare Rachel held on me. “Hi, Marsha!” I said brightly.
“WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO TO MY GAMBLING HALL?” I winced and pulled the phone away from my ear.
“Curiosity got the best of you, did it?” I asked her quietly and a bit nervously.
“Don’t tell me about fucking curiosity!” she hollered. “My place is demolished!”
“I’m really sorry, Marsha. But it wasn’t my fault.”
“Yeah, sure,” she accused. “Trouble follows you like stink on shit.”
“It’s not like I invited them in. They followed me. And besides, they started it.”
Rachel had to cover her mouth to keep from laughing out loud. She was clearly enjoying me on the defensive way too much. And she knew as well as anyone that someone else always started it, and someplace usually got demolished afterwards.
“It looks like a football team came in and wrecked the place. And there’s blood everywhere! I mean everywhere!”
“Well, actually, it was more like a Russian baseball team,” I corrected. “There were eight of them.”
“Eight?” she said, stunned. “Are you okay?” she asked, genuine concern in her voice.
“Yeah. I’m fine. And thanks for asking,” I said, delighted to hear the calm, loving Marsha again. “Xen’s okay, too. He’s had a little trouble, and he wanted to meet there. He picked your place, not me. But he had no idea people might be following me. If you need more money to cover the damage, I’ll cough it up gladly. Tell me how much.” I paused, and an idea popped into my head. “How about we really renovate the place? Do it the way you always dreamed. On me.”
Her tone changed to friendly, “You sure know how to sweet talk a girl.”
“I try,” I said and smiled at Rachel. “Look, I’ve even found an abatement guy for you. He has a designer and everything. I was just about to call him when you rang me. Honest.” I crossed my fingers at the fib, and Rachel slapped my arm. “I’ll have him call you either tonight or tomorrow. The deal is, you want it, you get it, okay?”
She didn’t even hesitate. “Deal,” she said firmly. And by her tone I could tell I was in for a pretty big bill.
“Hey, something just occurred to me,” I said.
“What?”
“The lot next to yours is still for sale, isn’t it?”
“As far as I know,” she asked with a curious tone.
“You want a business partner? I might be able to scrape up some investment capital, and you could double your square-footage or more. Build whatever you want. How does that sound?”
“I don’t know. Let’s talk about it.” I could tell she was interested, but she was also smart enough to be cautious, even with friends.
“You’re on,” I agreed. “I have to sort a few things out over the next few days, but we’ll work out a deal when things calm down, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Oh, and we’ll start training in the next few nights. You and Rachel still have your showdown.”
“Don’t worry,” she said, “I haven’t forgotten. The leg is just about ready for some action, and I’m jonesing for it,” she added eagerly and with a bit of an edge.
“Good. Oh, and this abatement guy … He’s sort of an oddball. When I first met him, he had on a clown suit, so don’t be surprised. He’s quite the entrepreneur.”
“I’ll wait for his call.”
“Thanks for understanding, Marsha. And I’m sorry about the hassle.”
“We’ll work it out, mister.” We hung up. Realizing I had left Stanley’s card on my desk, I handed Rachel the phone. “Dial 411. Ask for Stanley-Fast Catering and Clowning.”
“The guy who picked up the bodies also runs a catering service?” she asked, appalled. I laughed as she dialed, but I didn’t answer. She said “L.A.” when asked by the 411 system, following up quickly with the business name. She paused for a minute and then handed me the phone. “It’s ringing.”
I waited for an answer. “Hello?” said a recognizable voice.
“Is this Stanley?” I asked.
“It is.”
“This is the guy from last night.”
“Oh, hey! How are ya? Those packages have been dropped off. They’re a memory.”
“Perfect, and thanks. I love working with professionals.”
“Me too,” Stanley agreed.
“Look, you still interested in the abatement gig?”
“Hell yes!” he said enthusiastically.
“Okay. Here’s the deal. Got a pen?” There was a pause.
“I do now.”
“I want you to call Marsha Callahan.” I gave him the number. “She’s expecting your call, either tonight or tomorrow. Get hold of her and work out the details.”
“You bet.”
“One other thing,” I added. “She was pretty pissed off about her place.”
“I bet she was.”
“Yeah. Well, to keep her from killing me, I’m paying the tab. Carte blanche. She asks for it, she gets it, okay?”
“You got it. I’ll need half in advance, once we spec it out.”
“No problem. She’s got seventy grand on her for that. Get me a shopping list on an invoice. I don’t want to pay more than about ten percent over wholesale for materials, okay?”
“Deal. I’ll call her tonight.”
“Thanks, Stanley.”
“Hey, I didn’t catch your name.”
“Case. Justin Case.”
“Like in the movie?”
“Yeah, you saw it?”
“I own it,” he said matter-of-factly.
“Now that’s funny,” I said, smiling. “I didn’t think anyone even remembered it. Look, I gotta go, but I’ll get hold of you in the next few days. Call me if you have any questions.”
“You got it. Ciao!” We hung up.
“Eight?” Rachel asked, a bit of awe in her voice.
“Mmm-hmm,” I replied quietly.
“So,” she hesitated, “what does a caterer do with dead bodies?”
“You know, I asked that same question.”
“What did he say?”
“He said he knows a guy who’s a pig farmer.”
“Hunh?”
“Apparently, pigs really will eat anything … even dead Russians.”
She got a disgusted look on her face. “Ewwww …”
“He also said it was the best bacon he’s ever had,” and I grinned viciously as she turned green. “Come on … let’s get to Yvgenny’s.”
***
Stolen Identity
Rachel and I walked into Yvgenny’s teahouse to find the dining room full despite the early hour. We got past Alisa with a quick hello, stepped through the curtain, and headed for the stairs to the patio.
“I’m sorry, but the patio is closed until eight,” Galina called to us from the kitchen. She and another waitress were putting together a large order for a table of eight who sat laughing and drinking on the far side of the room.
“It’s us, Galina! Justin and Rachel,” I said, waiving my finger at both of us.
Galina peered at me closely and then finally recognized our faces. “Nice outfits,” she said, laughing lightly.
“Thanks!” we both said as we continued up the stairs.
As we reached the top, the door opened and a young, skinny kid around Galina and Alisa’s age stepped out. He had on bicycling gear and a satchel over his shoulder. “Excuse me,” he said as he passed by us.
I walked through the door and saw Yvgenny
in the right-hand corner of the patio. A last patch of evening sunlight shone brightly on the old man. He wore flip-flops, cut-off jean shorts, a clean white t-shirt, and the same dingy blue shirt over that. His pipe stuck out the corner of his mouth, with a lazy stream of smoke drifting over his head. He had a crossword book in one hand and a pen in the other. His glasses were perched on the end of his nose. A brown-paper-wrapped package sat on the table in front of him.
Yvgenny watched us walk onto his patio and pushed the glasses from the tip up onto the bridge of his nose. He set the crossword book down and took the pipe out of his mouth. “Good evening. How am I being able to help you? We normally don’t open …” His voice trailed off, and he narrowed his eyes, examining us closely as we wordlessly walked up to the table. Yvgenny put the pipe back in his mouth and puffed thoughtfully, a smile growing across his face. “Halloween is being in October, yes?”
We all laughed.
“How could you tell?” I asked.
“The eyes, my friend. One never forgets your eyes.”
“That’s true,” Rachel added thoughtfully.
I smiled. “Is that my package?”
“Da.”
“I owe you one.”
“You owe me many,” Yvgenny said slowly.
“Hard to argue with you,” I said a bit sheepishly.
“It would being foolish to try. I’ll probably breaking your bank when I collect.”
“That’s about the size of it,” I agreed. “What do I owe you for this?” I asked, hefting the package.
“Two hundred.”
I reached into my pocket, pulled out my wallet and handed over the money.
“Would you like to stay for tea and supper?” Yvgenny offered.
“No thanks. We have to get back and do some research.”
“I understand. It is too bad. I would love to knowing where both of you have been in such costumes.”
I reached up and pulled off the hat and wig, scratching my scalp in a few places. “Whew! That’s better. It’s actually a short story, for a change.”
“What a pleasant surprise. You normally rambling like senile old woman,” Yvgenny said, prompting a wide grin from Rachel.
I rolled my eyes at him. “I wanted to go digging around the VeniCorp office and find a way to go back when it was empty. I found out they’ve got an internal network, which isn’t surprising, and what I’m after is on it. I could always crash the place, but there’s a greater likelihood I’d leave a trace going in blind like that. This way I’ll be able to make it look like business as usual as far as they’re concerned.”
“So, when do you go back?” Yvgenny asked.
“Not sure yet. Maybe tonight, maybe tomorrow. I’m still sorting details.”
“As always, be careful,” the old man warned.
“I will. Thanks again. We’ve got to head out.”
“It was pleasure to seeing you again, Miss Rachel.”
“Good bye, Yvgenny. Good to see you, too.”
We walked out as Yvgenny went back to his pipe and crosswords. When we hit the street, we turned right and walked down the block. The pay lot across the street had been full when we arrived, so we parked in a parking garage a few blocks away.
O O O
I swung down the visor and hit the remote button as I entered the alley. The garage door rolled up, and we waited for the lift to come down. Rachel shifted a bit nervously in her seat, adjusting the bag of Chinese food we’d picked up on the way home. I could almost feel her anticipation. I pulled past the entrance and then backed onto the lift.
“Look, it’s just my loft. It’s not that big a deal,” I said smoothly. I hit the remote again and the lift rose.
“I’ve waited over two years to see this place. I never thought I would.”
“It’s still just my loft. You know, kitchen, living room, desk, bathroom, like everybody else …” I paused, thinking for a moment. “In fact, that’s something you should really keep in mind. I’m just like everybody else … well … mostly.”
“You’re pretty exceptional, Justin. I’ve seen some of the things you do. You’re far from normal.” As the lift stopped, she saw that it was mostly dark inside. The setting sun cast an orange haze that soaked into the dark interior. She started to get out, but I placed my hand on her arm and shook my head.
“That’s not what I mean. All I’m saying is that you need to always think of me as just another person … like everyone else. Okay?”
“Of course,” she said confidently. I smiled gently at her. You have no idea what you’re in for, I thought.
We opened our doors, I grabbed Chinese food, and Rachel grabbed the package from Yvgenny’s. “Where’s the light-switch?” she asked. “Damn! It’s hot in here!” she added.
“All lights,” I said to the darkness. The lights came on, and Rachel got her first look at my real home. “And I like to keep things warm.”
“Apparently. And that light thing is nifty.” She walked behind the car and looked around.
“The bathroom is through those doors.” I pointed towards the big double-doors at the back of the loft. “The door inside on the right.”
“Okay,” she said and walked towards the middle of the loft. “You’re right. It’s no big deal,” she turned and smiled at me, “but thanks for bringing me here.”
“See, I told you. A loft like anybody else’s. Hungry?”
“Famished!” she said and headed for the kitchen table.
“Let’s eat.” I followed her to the table and tore the bag open.
Rachel laid everything out.
“I’ll get us some plates,” I added.
“Okay,” she said, and bit off the end of an egg roll.
“Beer?”
“Mmm-hmm,” she said around a mouthful.
I got plates, two beers, and spoons for the rice. We sat down and wordlessly wolfed through pork lo mein, sesame chicken, and Mongolian beef. We washed the last of the rice down with the last of our beers. I got up and grabbed two more, twisting the tops off each and handing Rachel one.
“Let’s get to work,” I said, grabbing the package. She took a pull from the beer and followed me over to my desk.
“Hey! What’s in the tank? Are those snakes?”
“Yeah, a couple of king snakes … a scarlet and a California. That reminds me. I have to feed them.”
“What do they eat?”
“Mice.”
“You keep mice?”
“Sort of. These are frozen.” I walked towards the kitchen. “Hey, open the package, will you?”
“Sure,” she said and tore away the brown paper. I opened the freezer and took out two small plastic bags. I grabbed a bowl from the cupboard and filled it with hot water. Tearing open the packages, I dropped two small, frozen, white rodents into the steaming water to thaw them out. Then I headed back to the desk. Rachel laid out the card imprinter and a stack of ten Prox II card keys.
“USB, right?” I asked.
“Yep,” she held up the long white cord.
“Open the door there beneath you and plug it in,” I said as I came around the desk.
She opened the door and saw a small panel with a series of different inputs on it. She pushed the jack into a USB port as I sat down.
I moved the mouse, and the monitors came to life. The desktop on each screen was identical to the one displayed on the computer in my bedroom: green logo, strange green characters and all.
“Interesting desktop,” Rachel said. “What are those letters, Klingon?” she asked sarcastically.
I smiled. “Something like that,” I said and put the circlet over my head. I caught her giving me a curious look. “Search: VeniCorp.” The VeniCorp site came up on the far left screen. An access-point box appeared in the middle. “And bring up the access ping from this afternoon on the right, maximum security protocol.” An instant later a standard operating system desktop appeared with the login prompt in the middle of the screen. The username field had the
letters PETRIR, and the cursor blinked in the password field.
“Holy shit,” she said.
“You ain’t seen nothing yet,” I replied mischievously. I pulled the keyboard to me and typed in Ricky Petri’s password, having seen him type it upside down, and hit the ENTER key. I pushed the keyboard away and went to work.
While the website didn’t change at all, Rachel stared in awe as I raced through data on both screens. My head shifted back and forth between the two active displays. She could tell from glimpses of the images and words screaming by that I was digging into Ricky’s files on the right while simultaneously hammering through all sorts of network and user data on the left.
The middle screen stopped flickering, and a small box of data in the lower left-hand corner came up. “Stat max user login by hours, past two weeks,” I commanded. A graph appeared in the middle monitor with a list of about sixty names across the bottom. She could see that the left-hand margin indicated the number of times users had logged in. The graph looked fairly level across the top of the screen, fluctuating between eighty and a hundred times, except for one noticeable trough.
I turned to her. “This is the number of logins at the corporate office for the past two weeks. Look,” I said and pointed to the name below the valley.
“SHAOJ,” she said. “Jackie.”
“Yep.” I turned back to the monitors. “Stat user login past eight weeks by hour for SHAOJ.” The screen flickered, and I saw what I’d hoped. “What does that tell you?”
Rachel looked at the report. The left hand margin went from seven a.m. at the bottom to six a.m. at the top. The bottom had the date, and scattered across the screen were numbers of logins. Although the numbers were all over the place, the middle of the report had the highest concentration of twos, threes, and fours. Almost ninety percent of the logins had occurred between seven p.m. and one a.m., and they were scattered across every day of the week without a pattern. “Jackie goes there at night, and there’s no telling what night he arrives or leaves.”
I smiled with admiration. “Exactly. That’s our in.”
“How?”
“Easy. Watch,” I said and looked at the screens. The middle screen flickered with data again.
Rachel picked up a list of names, the same names that had been on the first report. One flashed green with SHAOJ in the user field and stayed lit.
Chemical Burn Page 23