“Oh, and you forgot about the guy who busted into our hotel room, dropped a plug adaptor, and ran off. And he wasn't even a hotel employee, we found out.”
Two pairs of scrunched eyes silently looked at Andi and me.
“Larry, you know the gal who works the Wharf?” Rocko asked, his eyes not leaving ours.
“Sure, Rochelle.”
“Didn't she tell us she's got a cousin writing screenplays for some big studio down in Hollywood? Well, now we've got a story that could be her cousin's next blockbuster.”
Rocko elbowed Larry again, and they shared another chuckle.
I touched my ear then said, “Shards of glass embedded in my ear, when the sniper tried gunning us down through the window.”
Rocko gritted his teeth, and I noticed two in the front were missing.
“Wow, man. Didn't mean to dis you,” Rocko said.
“That's okay. If we hadn't experienced it firsthand, there's no way in hell I'd believe it myself.”
Rocko stuck out a hand and gave me a tight shake.
“Going to the cops not an option at this point?” Larry asked.
“I've been a guest at the police station, involuntarily, more times than I can count.”
Andi held up three fingers.
I nodded solemnly. “Yup, three.”
“If he knew about it, I'm sure Pop would be proud.” Andi patted my knee, and I gave a weak smile.
“I can't imagine how they'd blame this one on me,” I said. “Dozens of bullet holes, a trashed room. Hell, if they got their shit together, they might be able to trace the bullet, help us find the snipers.“
“Listen, I 'back the blue,'” Larry held up finger quotes. “But there's some shit the SFPD just can't comprehend. They're not really equipped for this kind of commando, mercenary bullshit.“
The term mercenary stuck in my mind, and I pondered what that meant for us.
“Michael's got a contact at the FBI,” Andi blurted out, then she covered her mouth, realizing that's not something I cared to share with every Larry and Rocko I met, even if they were becoming fast friends.
Rocko slumped back a bit, his eyes scanning the bottom of his cardboard home.
“Rocko's got a bit of history with the Feds,” Larry said. “Well, me too, but mine is more with the SEC. Rocko's had to deal with the folks residing in the Hoover Building. Kind of started his fall from grace, so to speak.“ Larry smacked his buddy on the back. “But he's in a better place now. We're both on our way back.”
A can scooted across the alley, and I whipped my head around, following the movement. Slowly, I rose to my feet, prepared for some type of confrontation. Maybe there was power in numbers, although the only weapon we had at our disposal was Larry's brass knuckles. Unfortunately, those wouldn't do us much good against automatic weapons.
"Is that a cat's tail? Andi asked, pointing toward a pile of newspapers.
I squinted and could barely make out a black and gray fur ball slinking low to the ground.
“Oh, that's Crinkles, our neighborhood cat. Little shit, sometimes gets to the food before we do. Crafty little sucker, and harmless, unless you're trying to snatch food from his paws.”
I noticed Andi's brown eyes glance away, then she ran her fingers through her hair, catching a few tangles along the way.
“Satish,” she said quietly to me.
“And what about this document he found? Said it was a 'must read.' I'm curious. I'm more than curious actually. I'm chomping at the bit to see it, read it.”
“Said his operation might be a target, and he had to scramble his trail,” she said, biting her bottom lip, thinking.
“Virtually,” I said. “That's the world Satish lives in. A virtual world. And if he's concerned enough to scramble his trail, then yes, I'm worried, but more for what he, Bogi and YY have developed, their business. There are people in this world, very smart people, who can take down financial institutions, even fuck with an entire country's infrastructure, just by the power of their technology.“
“You think all of this is connected?” she asked.
“Don't know how, but at this point we have to assume so.”
“Which means, even if it's indirect, Satish could be in physical danger. Hackers might be on the giving end of this technical assault, but professional assassins tried to take us out an hour ago.”
Hair stood up on the back of my neck, just as I heard the wail of distant sirens.
“It took a while, but I think SFPD's finest are about to find a trashed apartment, dozens of bullet holes, and one scared Chao Town employee,” I said.
“If he survived,” Andi added.
I released a tired breath, a what-else-can-go-wrong breath, a breath so deep I couldn't fathom where to go from here.
Larry rested the palms of his beefy hands on his knees. “I can see you guys are stressed. Not surprising, given the shit storm you just survived." He glanced at Rocko for a quick moment then wiped a bloodshot eye. "I've got a friend...well, we've got a friend, who has helped us in the past.”
I looked up and down the alley, wondering where this guy might reside and what kind of help had been required. I gestured for Larry to continue.
“He's been around, if you know what I mean,” Larry continued. “But in a good way. I'd trust him with my life.“
“You have. We both have,” Rocko added, nodding.
Another siren howled through the crisp, nighttime air.
“Look, I don't want to get us involved in any type of illicit activity.” A smile formed on my lips before I finished the words. The other three paused then let out a laugh. “Okay, you got me on that one. But I think you know where I'm coming from,“ I said.
“We're not drug dealers. I quit meth two years ago and haven't touched it since. This guy's on the up and up. Trust me.” Larry's eyes looked tired but resolute, his back now straight.
Andi shrugged her shoulders. "Unless you think we can run a marathon, this is our best choice. Maybe our only choice at this exact moment." Another siren wailed, this one a lot closer than the others.
I popped my hands on my legs. “Okay, we're in, for now. Where do we meet your savior?”
Larry and Rocko hid our bucket seats and stashed the cans of food out of sight.
Larry glanced at Andi's leg. “He's about six blocks. Think you can make it?”
“I'm strong, not a problem for me,” she said, shaking out her wounded leg.
Larry led the entourage, the rest of us following in his path. "We're going to take a couple of shortcuts. It will cut the time a bit and keep us out of sight from whoever is looking for us, whether they're wearing blue or black." He waved a hand like he was a leading a troop of Army Rangers into enemy territory.
Outside of two more cats and a homeless buddy sleeping under a bridge, our path the first two blocks was clear. We approached a warehouse that looked to be a half-mile long.
Walking with more purpose with each step, Larry strode past the main entrance to a small recessed area, likely an opening for employees or security, if the place was still in use.
“Larry?” I asked.
He didn't respond, and I'm not sure he heard me. Andi glanced at me, then Rocko spoke up. “We've done this a few times, remember.”
Larry reached on the other side of a cinderblock wall and picked up a thin, metal pole. He walked back to the narrow door and stuck the pole inside a hole—where a keyed padlock would normally be. Using both hands and a fair amount of lower body leverage, he flicked his wrists up, then left twice, and the door opened as if he'd waved his magic wand.
“Ladies first,” he said. Andi took the first step in, standing on a landing about ten feet above the main floor, followed by Rocko, me, then Larry. Not much light, only yellow street lights shining through at ground level.
“Careful. The place is mostly empty, but people leave all sorts of crap in here,” Rocko said.
Just then, my running shoe crunched what felt and sounded like broken g
lass on the concrete floor. I cringed a bit, my eyes not able to see exactly where I was stepping. Part of me—my cynical side—wondered if Larry and Rocko had purposely led us to this warehouse to...what could they do? They knew we only had a single cell phone, no money. I did have on a good pair of shoes. Or maybe they meant to harm us, starting with the lean and, I had to admit, attractive girl to my left?
I took a breath and set those negative thoughts aside. From what we'd seen, Larry and Rocko might be the two most authentic people in San Francisco.
“Exit is just across this room, then up those steps,” Larry said, now leading the way. Two minutes later, he jimmied open a door, and we breathed fresh, salty air. We'd moved closer to the wharf.
“We just saved about thirty minutes. A lot of time to be on the street, open season for whoever is looking for you.” Larry nodded and marched onward.
Five minutes later, we approached an apartment complex, which was outlined with a wrought-iron fence. The gate was electronically secured. Larry walked right up and entered four digits, which told me he knew this guy pretty darn well. Still, I didn't know what to expect.
Entering the building on the south side, we climbed two flights of stairs. The five-story building looked like it had gone through a recent remodeling job to blend in with the contemporary buildings surrounding it, making it more relevant in the rental community, no doubt. At the same time, there was something about the vibe that seemed more subdued, less open. Perhaps it was the series of corridors we went through, or the darker pallet of colors, only with a hint of chrome splashed on certain architectural edges.
At the end of a hallway, right next to an EXIT door, we came to an apartment at a dead end.
“This must be it?”
Larry nodded then knocked three times, glancing back at us.
“This guy's not going to be expecting you two, especially us, at this late hour,” Andi said, her arms crossed, seeming a bit apprehensive. I reached over to touch her arm, hoping she'd feel more comfortable, even though I was having my doubts about this whole thing. While I felt momentarily safe from the commandos and the cops, I was praying we weren't amplifying our trouble by walking into some drug lord's nest.
Rocko moved in front, the two of them shoulder to shoulder in their oversized coats, blocking the view of the door. A few seconds later, it opened, but all I could see were feet in sandals and the bottoms of gray sweatpants.
Larry leaned closer and spoke in hushed tones. He must know this guy. I made out only a word here or there. Sounded like he was explaining our predicament. No raised voices, which was a good sign. Then I heard it...possibly a pistol being cocked. Sweat beaded on my forehead, and I took a step in front of Andi, my heart now racing. I eyed the red EXIT sign just a few feet off to my right, pondering for a second if we should slam through the EXIT door and try to find our way outside, on the run again.
Something told me to wait another few seconds...that, or my feet had been poured in concrete.
Suddenly the wall of coats split in two, and I saw a short, stocky Chinese man.
“Michael, nice to see you.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
YY Chang squeezed the front and back tires of his twelve-speed road bike, then cranked the front and rear brakes. He shuffled back a step, his tennis shoes sliding on the slick concrete in his mom and dad's garage, and carefully inspected the chainstays and crankset, the cable housing and gear pulley system, then he measured the distance between the brakes and tires—one millimeter. Perfect. His eyes spotted traces of mud on the back of his silver seat. He rubbed a wet thumb on the seat until the stain disappeared.
The bike looked and rode just the way it had when he purchased it three months ago. It cost him almost two grand, but it was the best investment he'd made as a quasi-independent adult. He couldn't afford a car, plus insurance, gas. Too much responsibility for a guy just a year out of college anyway. He popped his thigh muscles and smiled. The daily ride back and forth to the garage that housed the hi-tech business that he co-owned with Satish and Bogi had also allowed him to be in the best shape of his life. On the rare occasion he actually socialized, maybe a special lady would notice his physique and he'd score.
Who was he kidding? The closest he'd come to scoring with a girl was at his eighth-grade dance when he had both of his hands on the hips of the big-boned girl he'd been forced to ask to slow dance. His fellow computer-club buddies had essentially framed him, saying they'd reveal all of the love notes he'd written about his Spanish teacher to Mrs. Gonzalez herself unless he asked Gretchen the Whale to dance.
It wasn't the worst moment of his young life, but it certainly ranked in the top ten. He recalled the only time he'd ever gotten to second base—on accident. He'd joined most of his fellow graduating seniors for an end-of-year campout on the Pacific shore, near San Jose. Feeling a bit nervous about the social event that brought together all of the eclectic, and at times polarizing, high school clicks, YY hung back, blended in with the crowd. He even attempted to drink a beer. But it was full of foam, and the warmish liquid tasted oddly bitter—he nearly barfed. He wondered how any of them drank beer like it was water, but he didn't say anything. More and more people showed up, and YY realized everyone had worn their bathing suits, except YY that is.
Finally, after taking in as much scenery as humanly possible without participating in a single conversation, YY was asked to join a coed volleyball game—they needed a fill-in since someone had twisted an ankle. Not exactly a natural athlete, YY reluctantly took his spot on the back row.
Three points into the first game, the blond-haired jock who starred for the high school volleyball team, sent a spike in YY's general direction. Eager to prove he could hold his own on the field of play, YY reacted with the quickness of a drunken cow. He lunged right at the exact time a voluptuous schoolmate jumped backward, losing her balance. She fell to the sand just as YY closed his eyes and dove for the dig. When the sand settled, his face was buried in her crotch and his hand covered a jelly-like boob that had escaped the captivity of her bathing suit.
Suave he was not. But he had a genius-level IQ. His parents had told him this for as long as he could recall.
The Cal-Berkeley grad walked his bike out onto the driveway, the light wind barely moving leaves on the trees. It was still dark outside, a few minutes before six in the morning. An owl's garbled hoot broke the early-morning silence.
YY had only been home about seven, eight hours tops. The long work hours were pretty typical, but he felt damn lucky to be in this position, partnering with Bogi and Satish—a true visionary. YY wasn't as seasoned and didn't possess the trait that looked at the world through a marketer's eyes, like Satish, who constantly searched for that edge, the difference between them and the competition. YY truly looked up to Satish.
Late yesterday evening, YY was happy to support Satish's efforts in researching the backgrounds of a few folks tied to particular IP addresses. In fact, it was a nice break from some of the monotony of performing code reviews with Bogi, documenting the code, checking it in, assembling it in a format they all agreed upon. All part of building the foundation of their new company, FailSafe.
The side research project turned a bit sour when Satish informed his partners that he'd been spotted on Camila's network, and they needed to be on the lookout for a virus attacking their operation—a potentially devastating blow to a startup company like theirs. Satish must have run his bony fingers through his thick locks twenty times during the last hour that YY had assisted his partners.
In the end, Satish told them they were probably in the clear, since he'd yet to see any attempts to enter their firewall, at just before eleven p.m. He only offered one more piece of guidance: “Make sure you stay off our internal network, especially from your home. Don't want to give anyone any openings into our network. Just need to let things chill, and I'm sure they'll go fuck with someone else.”
YY only felt a smidge of guilt. He loved his work so much that when h
e got home last night, he jumped on the network for less than five minutes. He ate a late-night snack of pistachios and orange juice while he verified that no one had touched his code on the development server. That was his puppy, and he'd protect the code with his life, if it came to it.
He zipped up his jacket and slung the backpack over both shoulders, then snapped on a blue and white helmet—his mom still insisted that he wear a helmet. He used to push back, but now at age twenty four, he wasn't as resistant to her input. Then again, he'd be glad when the school year ended, along with it his obligation to tutor his younger brother in AP physics and AP calculus. His sibling was intelligent, maybe as smart as YY, but he just didn't give a shit. Not at age seventeen, anyway.
Regardless, come May, YY would have his parents' blessing to move out. The extra time at home did have its benefits. He'd been able to save a few dimes and avoid a family generational rift that would have lingered until someone passed away. Funerals had a tendency to clear the air, he'd observed while growing up. Confrontation wasn't his strong suit, so he took the path of least resistance. When he agreed to stay at home another year and help his younger brother, his mom actually pulled him aside and quietly thanked him. "You're a good son, YY." Admittedly, he was a bit of a momma's boy.
“Four point seven miles. Can I break my all-time record?” he asked out loud to no one. The current record from door to door stood at fifteen minutes forty-three seconds.
The owl hooted just above his head, and YY glanced upward. He rested a foot on the bottom pedal, then tapped his arm band once, a nifty little tool he picked up at a conference last month that tracked all of his physical activity—and even had a timer activated by a simple tap.
Damn, he loved little gadgets.
YY cranked the pedals while using the handlebars as leverage, and the bike went from a slow crawl to a quick pace by the end of the driveway, zipping over a patch of pebbles. Without bothering to look either direction, YY leaned left then dipped into an aerodynamic position for his first descent down a sloping hill.
GREED Box Set (Books 1-4) Page 88