by Rickie Blair
An open concrete channel snaked away from the concrete drain through the field beyond, on its way to the next link in the network of underground channels that divert flash floods and runoff from the city. The drain itself was eight feet high and its interior completely black.
As Zeke approached, the group around the nearest campfire looked up. He counted three men, an elderly woman, and a large black mongrel. The dog growled at him. Zeke took a quick step back and held up his hands.
“I’m not looking for trouble. Just a place to crash.” Zeke brandished his duffel bag. “I have food.” He held his breath.
“Sit down,” one of the men said, gesturing at an empty spot.
Zeke sat cross-legged on the ground. He opened his duffel bag and pulled out bread, peanut butter, and three bananas, laying them on the ground with a shrug.
“It’s not much of a breakfast, but you’re welcome to help yourself.”
One of the men brandished a hunting knife and Zeke jumped, his heart in his throat. The others laughed.
“It’s for the peanut butter,” the man said, twirling the knife in one hand.
Zeke swallowed, tossing him the jar and forcing a laugh.
“I knew that.”
Soon all of them, including the dog, were munching on peanut butter and banana sandwiches.
“Have you guys been here long?” Zeke asked after a few mouthfuls.
The man with the knife grunted and looked up from his sandwich. He had a large purple birthmark on his cheek and his stringy hair looked as if it hadn’t seen a shampoo bottle in quite a while.
“I been here two years. But Norris and Millie here,” he waved at the man and elderly woman seated beside him, “only arrived yesterday. They got a nice spot inside.” He pointed at the entrance to the drain and grinned. His few remaining teeth were crooked and gray.
Zeke nodded and turned to Norris.
“I’d really like to see your place, if it’s not too much trouble.” He didn’t want to use his laptop out in the open. His new companions were likely harmless, but why take the chance?
“Sure,” Norris said, swallowing the last of his sandwich. He stood up. “We were just going to bed, anyway.” He bent over to help Millie up. She staggered to her feet with a groan. “This is my mother,” Norris said. “She’s not staying here long.”
“Hi, there. I’m Zeke.” He held out his hand.
A small fraying bandage was stuck to Millie’s forehead.
“You look like a nice boy,” she said. “Are you friends with Norris?”
“I hope so,” Zeke said.
They walked slowly to the entrance so Millie could keep up, and stepped inside. Zeke shuddered. The drain was dank, smelly, and dark. Norris pulled a flashlight from his hoodie pocket and turned it on. The beam flashed off graffiti on the walls as they walked about fifty feet and turned into a side drain. They stopped at a mattress placed on packing pallets. Norris helped Millie onto the mattress and wrapped a bath towel around her shoulders.
“All the comforts of home,” he said over his shoulder. “Pull up a chair.”
Zeke gingerly sat on the mattress and managed a weak smile.
Norris settled in next to his mother.
“Why do I get the feeling that when you woke up this morning you didn’t expect to spend the night in a storm drain?”
Tears pricked Zeke’s eyes. He blinked, embarrassed.
“Is it that obvious?” he asked with a nervous chuckle. Hell, why not tell him? “Gambling debts.”
“Who do you owe?”
“Dragos Luca.”
“That’s not good.” Norris grimaced. “I’ve heard of Luca. Never met him, though. Hope I never do.”
Zeke stared at the puddles on the floor. He felt sick.
“So what’s your plan?” Norris asked.
Zeke didn’t reply for a moment because, even to him, his idea sounded ludicrous.
“Luca is involved in an auction site on the dark web that sells stolen information. Credit card numbers and stuff. If I can find the site and link him to it the police would arrest him.”
Norris scratched his cheek while scrutinizing Zeke.
“Wouldn’t that just piss him off?”
“But I’m not going to the police,” Zeke said, racing through the words. “I’m going to give the website location to William Watson, the Starlight’s owner.”
“Why?”
“Because the data that Luca sells on that site was stolen from the hotel’s customers. And because Watson has the resources to deal with him,” Zeke screwed up his eyes, “I think.”
Norris folded his arms.
“And then?”
“And then Watson will pay me, I hope. Thing is, I need your help.”
“My help? I don’t even know who you are. And your plan involves finding something on the dark web—whatever that is—and then proving Luca knows all about it. I’m sorry, but I don’t see how I can help.” Norris glanced at Millie. “Or even if I should. We have our own problems.”
Zeke opened his duffel bag, pulled out his laptop and opened it.
“I know it sounds crazy, but, listen, please.”
“There’s no fancy Wi-Fi here,” Norris said, pointing at the laptop. “You can’t even use a cellphone. No reception.”
“I want to show you some screen grabs and I don’t need Wi-Fi for that.” Zeke clicked on the keyboard. Letters and numbers, in white text on a black background, filled the screen. “See? This is the portal where you enter the auction site. But you need the password. Not only that, but the location site changes every two weeks. They move it to another address on the dark web.”
Norris peered at the screen.
“The dark web? So, what is that?”
“Parts of the Internet that can’t be found by Google or other search engines. You have to use a special browser, Tor, to access it, and you have to know the exact address.”
“Who would use that?”
“People who don’t want to be found.”
“Like you, maybe?”
“Yes, but it’s not what you think,” Zeke said with a grimace. “Luca’s men are looking for me,” his throat tightened, “because I killed one of his enforcers.”
Norris drew a sharp breath.
“Holy shit.” He eyed the sword hanging from Zeke’s shoulder. “With that?”
“I didn’t mean to, honest. He came after me with a gun and it just … happened.” Zeke screwed up his eyes as an image of Petru’s severed head flashed through his mind. “I thought you should know.” When he opened his eyes, Norris was nodding at him with his arms crossed.
“I figured it was more than gambling debts that landed you here.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Ruby leaned over the examining table in the veterinarian clinic as Dr. Salgado explained Tinks’s injuries.
“There’s no internal damage, but the X-rays showed three cracked ribs on one side.”
“How would that happen?”
“Someone kicked her, I suspect.”
They both looked at Tinks, who placed one paw on Ruby’s arm while gazing up at her with big black eyes. Her tail gave a tentative wag.
“Will she be all right?” Ruby asked.
“She’ll be sore for a few weeks, but cracked ribs will heal on their own. Try to keep her from jumping or twisting too much.”
Ruby scratched Tinks behind her ear and the little dog licked her hand.
“Can I leave Tinks here for a few days?”
“Sure. Check in with the desk on your way out.” Dr. Salgado looked as if she wanted to say something else.
“Is there a problem?” Ruby asked.
“You’re Ruby Delaney, right? The actress?”
“Yep.”
“I thought so,” the vet said, clapping a hand to her chest and grinning. “I loved Family Album.”
“Thank you.”
Dr. Salgado beamed at her. Ruby gestured at the door.
“Can I—”
/>
“Oh, sorry,” the vet blurted. “Yes, we’re done here.”
Ruby left her cell number with the receptionist and slid behind the wheel of the Audi. Tinks needed her owner. Maybe Millie’s bank had another address for her. Time to visit that bank manager, Mr. Greaves. He must be back by now. But what if Greaves recognized her, as the veterinarian had? How would she explain Ruby Delaney’s interest in a total stranger?
Ruby tapped a finger on her chin, mulling over possible disguises. She had her makeup kit and colored contact lenses back at the hotel, and a quick trip to a clothing store would take care of everything else. She smiled. This was going to be fun.
* * *
Juliana Edwards sat patiently in the Federal bank branch in Henderson with her back held ramrod straight, her hands clasped in the lap of her navy polyester suit and a briefcase propped against her chair. Her black hair was swept up in a bun and tortoiseshell glasses covered her blue eyes. Her no-nonsense appearance bore no resemblance to the flighty green-eyed actress some called Ruby Danger.
“Miss Edwards?”
Juliana turned her head and stood up, grasping the outstretched hand of a tall black man with a gleaming bald head and a warm smile. His suit jacket hung loose from his shoulders and his wingback shoes were scuffed.
“I’m Kingsley Greaves, the bank manager. You’re here about Millie Havelock?”
“Yes, I’m Mrs. Havelock’s accountant.” Not quite true, but she had Millie’s checkbook in her purse, so, close enough.
“Come in, please.”
She followed Greaves past the tellers into a corridor along the side wall. They walked by several small glass-walled offices into a large bright corner office at the end. Greaves sat behind the desk, rested his elbows on its edge, tented his fingers and smiled at her.
“How can I help you?”
Juliana placed her briefcase next to the chair facing Greaves’ desk, sat, and regarded him with a grave expression.
“Mrs. Havelock, my client, has been evicted from her home. There’s a foreclosure notice on the door. Do you know anything about it?”
“That’s too bad.” Greaves shook his head. “Poor Millie. I can’t say I’m surprised, though. She was warned numerous times.” He untented his fingers and leaned back in his chair.
“So you’re familiar with her case?”
“Oh, yes, she’s been our customer for decades. It was her son who talked her into buying that house.”
“Norris?”
“That’s correct.” Greaves tapped the desk, lost in thought. Then he looked at Juliana and shrugged. “All we can do is give advice. We can’t make them take it.”
“When did she buy the house?”
“Some years back, before the bottom dropped out of the real-estate market. She hasn’t been making her payments for nearly two years now. We tried to help her, but we have shareholders to answer to. We can’t let that go on forever.”
“Does this happen often?”
“All the time. Too many people living in homes they can’t afford. And since prices have dropped, they can’t sell them, either. Not for enough to cover the mortgage. So, the inevitable happens.” He sighed heavily, as if foreclosing on clients was painful for him. “It’s hard on our staff, you know.”
Juliana stared at him. Who approved Millie’s mortgage then, if Millie couldn’t afford it? She reached for her briefcase and set it on her lap to pull out Millie’s checkbook. She placed it on his desk.
“Mrs. Havelock made payments on her mortgage every month. She made the last one two weeks ago.”
“Oh?” Greaves reached for the checkbook, riffled through the pages and handed it back. “I don’t know what those payments are, but they’re not mortgage payments. Not to us, anyway. Her required payments were nearly three times that amount. And like I said, she hasn’t made any in nearly two years.”
Juliana clenched her teeth. Three times that amount? Millie could never have afforded over two thousand dollars a month. She held up the checkbook.
“Then what are these payments for? Any idea?”
Greaves shrugged, then leaned over the desk and lowered his voice.
“Unscrupulous types prey on people like Mrs. Havelock. Who knows what they told her?”
“Are you suggesting that she paid seven hundred dollars a month to total strangers?”
“Maybe they’re not strangers. Maybe—” He winced.
“Her son?”
“We did hear that he had a drug problem.”
“Do you have an address for him?” She tucked Millie’s checkbook back into her briefcase.
“The only address we have is the house in Henderson, the one Mrs. Havelock was evicted from.”
Juliana leaned back, momentarily stumped. She glanced at a photo on Greaves’s desk of a young girl, about ten years old, holding a field hockey stick and wearing a sports uniform. The girl’s mischievous grin held the promise of a lively sense of humor. Juliana pointed at the picture.
“Is this your daughter?”
Greaves nodded without looking at the photo.
“She’s lovely.” Juliana picked up the picture. “Does she still play field hockey?”
“No.” A shadow crossed his face.
“But she goes to school nearby?”
“Not at the moment. She’s in Mexico, with her mother.” He cleared his throat. “They’re at a … clinic.”
Juliana glanced up. One look at Greaves’ face told her everything. She recalled his scuffed shoes and the jacket that looked as if it had been made for a man twenty pounds heavier. She thoughtfully put the photo back on his desk.
“I’m sorry. That must be hard.” She picked up her briefcase and stood. “I should go. Perhaps the police can shed light on Mrs. Havelock’s case. Thank you for your time, Mr. Greaves.”
He held up a hand, shaking his head.
“Wait. Why don’t I call the officer who handled her case so we can clear this up?”
“That’s very kind.”
“Not at all. I’d like to know myself what’s going on.” Greaves picked up his phone, punched in a single number and waited with the phone to his ear. Juliana sat down again, watching with interest. He had a police officer on speed dial. Interesting.
“Tobias?” Greaves said into the phone. “I have Millie Havelock’s accountant in my office and she’s been asking questions about the foreclosure that I can’t answer. Havelock, correct.” He held out the phone to Juliana. “Officer Ulrich wants to talk to you.”
Officer Ulrich? She stood again, taking the phone from him with a quiver of trepidation.
“Hello?”
“To whom am I speaking?”
“Juliana Edwards. I’m Mrs. Havelock’s accountant. I have information showing that her mortgage payments were up to date.”
“According to the bank, she hasn’t made a payment in nearly two years,” Ulrich said with a snort of disgust.
“But—”
“Mrs. Havelock was given the standard thirty-day notice to vacate the premises, which was followed by two certified letters which attest to same, and then the court issued an unlawful detainer to allow the eviction. It’s all by the book.”
“Yes, but—”
“No buts. She didn’t pay, so now she’s out. Her choice. Any other questions?”
“I guess not.” The line went dead and Juliana handed the phone back to Greaves.
“I’m sorry I can’t be more help, Miss Edwards,” he said, replacing the handset.
“Mr. Greaves, I’m convinced that Mrs. Havelock has been the victim of a fraud. She was making payments every month and recording them as mortgage payments. She doesn’t own any other properties, does she?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Can you check her account to see where her seven hundred dollars went every month?”
He looked at her for a moment, his face blank. Juliana inclined her head at the computer on his desk. Greaves sighed and turned to the screen, clicking se
veral times. He turned the monitor in her direction.
“Here’s Mrs. Havelock’s check, the last one, anyway. You can see who it’s made out to.”
Juliana stood up to lean in and peer at a cancelled check for seven hundred dollars, drawn on Millie’s account and signed Millie Havelock. On the line, pay to the order of, there was one word. Cash. At Juliana’s insistence, Greaves called up the two previous checks, with the same result. Millie had made them all out to cash.
“This is a fraud,” Juliana said, “I’m certain. I think you should inform the police.”
Greaves crossed his arms, leaning over. “And tell them what? That an elderly woman has been withdrawing seven hundred dollars from her account every month? She could have been paying for groceries, or sending money to her son, or almost anything. Where’s the evidence of a fraud?”
He uncrossed his arms and straightened up, indignant. “Where, for that matter, is Mrs. Havelock? Why isn’t she making this accusation?”
“I’m not accusing—”
“If Mrs. Havelock isn’t concerned,” he shrugged and held out his hands, “why are you?” Juliana opened her mouth, then closed it. From working fraud cases with Hari, she knew that Greaves was right. She had no evidence. Not yet, anyway.
Greaves pulled a business card from the brass holder on his desk, stood up and handed it to her over the desk. “Please call me if you have any more questions.” She took the card and turned to leave. Greaves walked to the door and held it open for her. “Why don’t you leave me your card, Miss Edwards, and I can contact you if anything comes up.”
Juliana flipped open the briefcase and stuck a hand inside. She looked up at him and flashed her eyebrows.
“Darn. I’m all out. Sorry.” She snapped the briefcase shut and walked through the door.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Luca had been asleep in an armchair with his head back for hours when Roman walked over and held out the phone. There were still a few people passed out on chaises around the pool while the servers were cleaning up in the kitchen. The day’s first rays filtered through the eucalyptus leaves above the front windows.