BLACK in the Box

by Russell Blake

  “Who the hell is this?” he barked.

  “Larry, it’s Black. From your store. You said to call anytime? I hope I didn’t wake you.”

  “No, no. I was just getting ready to hit it. What have you got for me?”

  “I really need to talk to Bethany. Now, preferably.”

  “I’ll try to reach her. I did earlier, and she said she’d call.”

  “She didn’t.”

  “Let me see if I can fix that.”

  “I’m not going to be able to do a decent job if I don’t hear her side of it.”

  “Right. You already said that. I’m on it.”

  “I’ve got my phone with me at all times.”

  “Okay.”

  Black hung up and shook his head. Larry was lying. Black would have bet money he hadn’t told Bethany about his investigation. It was just a hunch, but for whatever reason, Larry didn’t want him to talk to her.

  Which made no sense unless she was guilty, and he was afraid to hear that ugly truth from Black. As long as it was the police, he could view it as a miscarriage of justice by lazy incompetents. But if his own investigator arrived at the same conclusion…

  “What have I fallen into?” Black murmured to himself, and went to find Mary, for whom he had some more questions before he continued his interrogations with the rank and file.

  Chapter 19

  When Black arrived at Mary’s station she looked up with wide eyes, clearly startled again by his sudden appearance. Black tried a smile, but got no love back from her. She closed the top drawer and locked it, and then cleared her throat.

  “No sign of Mugsy, I’m afraid,” she said, her voice tight.

  “That’s not why I’m here.”

  “Oh. Are you having some kind of problem with one of the staff?”

  “No. Everyone’s been forthcoming so far. I want to access Alec’s computer files. I figured you’d know how to do that.”

  “Oh, dear. No, I’m afraid I don’t. You mean on his personal computer or on the network?”

  “I don’t know a whole lot about technology, Mary. You’ll have to forgive me.”

  “I was going to say, there’s no point in trying to get into his office, because one of the company rules is that everything has to be stored on a common server.”

  “Why?”

  “Some sort of legal precaution. To keep…unwanted content off our computers, in case someone’s up to no good.”

  “You mean like kiddie porn?”

  “That would be one of the things.” She wiped her brow with a shaking hand.

  “Are you all right?”

  “I’m not feeling very well, Mr. Black. I think I’m coming down with something. Or it could be the stress of all this.”

  “You do look a little pale,” Black said sympathetically. “What about accessing the files he kept on the network?”

  “As one of the administrators, he had his own password. There are different security levels for different employees. I don’t know his.”

  “Wouldn’t Larry?”

  “Mr. Jacobs isn’t involved in the day-to-day operations at that level, Mr. Black.”

  “How about the day guy?”

  “He’s gone for Christmas vacation. Won’t be back until the twenty-seventh.”

  “Give me his number. I’ll call.”

  “We only have his home number, not his cell. He doesn’t carry one. Something about being tracked. Although it won’t do you any good – he’s out of town.”

  “But what if something critical is in Alec’s files?”

  “Then it will still be there on the twenty-seventh, won’t it?”

  Black got the impression she was blocking him, but couldn’t understand why. His tone took on an edge. “If you don’t have anyone, then I’ll have to bring in my own specialist, Mary.”

  “That violates company policy, Mr. Black. I’m afraid we can’t have just anyone snooping around our server.”

  “Jacobs said I was to get full cooperation. This hardly qualifies.”

  Mary looked shaken. Her face set in a frown, she pushed back from her desk and stood. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to say good night, Mr. Black. I’m leaving. I’m no use to anyone at this point, and I’m not up to arguing with you about the policies Mr. Jacobs and his people set up for security reasons. But don’t worry – I told Matt to give you every courtesy, short of violating the law…or company policy.”

  “If you can’t reach the day guy, I’m going to call my own computer person in and see if she can figure it out,” Black repeated.

  “I can’t tell you what or what not to do, but I’d advise you again that that violates company policy, which is in place for a reason. Besides which, the way I understand these things, there’s no guarantee that anyone beside Alec could access the files he really wanted to keep secure. He was a technology specialist, remember.”

  Black’s eyes narrowed. “I’m calling Jacobs.”

  “Do whatever you need to do, Mr. Black. It’s his policy, not mine. Now if you don’t mind, I really feel terrible. I just hope I can make it home safely.”

  “Can I get your cell number? In case I run into any other problems?”

  Mary rattled off a number. Black withdrew his phone, entered it, and pressed send. Her cell chimed in her purse. He hung up as she gathered her remaining things.

  “Mary–”

  “Sorry again about Mugsy, Mr. Black. I hope he turns up.”

  Black watched Mary walk away, confused by her sudden obstinate stance. It wasn’t like he was asking for the combination to the safe. And he had Larry’s full authority. Black slid his phone out and redialed Larry’s number. When the older man answered, he sounded annoyed.

  “Didn’t we just talk? I told you I’d try to reach her. I haven’t been able to yet.”

  “Mary just left. She went home.”

  “What? Why?”

  “She’s feeling ill. She looked pretty terrible, so I believe her.”

  “Fine. Why are you calling?”

  Black laid out the situation for him. When he finished, Larry was silent for several seconds.

  “You really think there could be something on our servers?”

  “I don’t know. But doesn’t seem like anybody else does, either. Look, if there’s something there that would clear Bethany, you’re paying me an awful lot to find it. Let me do my job. As of now, it’s not looking great for her.”

  “You found something that incriminates her?”

  “No, but I haven’t heard anything that exonerates her, either. And the clock’s ticking. Morning will be here before we know it, and then things will be out of both of our hands.”

  “I don’t like a stranger in our systems. The people that set them up warned me…”

  “It’s our only option. But I need the go-ahead from you.”

  More silence. When Larry finally spoke, he sounded tired. “All right. But if they do anything to damage our data, it will be on your head, Black.”

  “Don’t worry. She’s the best.”

  “She?”

  “My assistant. Roxie.” Black hesitated and checked the time. “Assuming she answers her phone.”

  Chapter 20

  Larry looked up from where he was lying in bed as Bethany emerged from the bathroom clad only in a towel, her hair wet from the shower, smelling like vanilla and flowers. She moved to the dresser, where her half-drunk glass of tequila and grapefruit juice rested, and lifted it in the air in a toast.

  “To the most incredible man I’ve ever met,” she said, her voice a purr, and tossed the rest of the drink back in two swallows.

  Larry reached for his own glass of Scotch and returned the gesture. “To the most amazing woman I ever set eyes on.”

  Bethany had come over half an hour earlier after checking her messages. Larry had called and told her that he was alone, which was her signal to drive to his home – a trip she’d only made twice before; usually their trysts were held in an apartment he
kept in Long Beach.

  “Want a freshener?” she asked with a coy smile.

  “Why not?” Larry said. She sashayed over and did a small dance for him before taking his glass and moving to the great room.

  Larry stretched like a contented cat, the heavy gold chain around his tanned neck gleaming in the warm light. He hadn’t shared with Bethany the information about her being charged tomorrow, or that he had Black investigating on her behalf. He’d get to that when the time came – when she’d have to digest that her life was about to change dramatically. Larry saw no reason to trouble her with that harsh reality right now, especially when she was in frisky form.

  She reappeared with their drinks and set his down on the end table before taking a long pull from her own. He could smell the distinctive aroma of tequila on her breath as she bent over him and gave him a lingering kiss. Then she straightened and pouted.

  “You don’t like what I made for you?”

  “It’s not that.”

  Bethany had been agitated when she arrived, and it was obvious to Larry that she’d been numbing herself all day with her two favorite drugs: alcohol and marijuana. Her eyes had the half-asleep cast that he found so beguiling and a certain charming vacancy that was a powerful aphrodisiac, hinting at a primal, uncomplicated appetite he knew from experience was her nature. Bethany was a girl who was good at sex, more so than anyone he’d met, and she was willing to try anything and do anything, no matter how shaming or degrading. She seemed to revel in shocking him, which was a far cry from the lackluster lovemaking he had with his wife once a week, with the careful rules and scheduling of a negotiated truce between two warring nations.

  “I know. I’m totally freaked by it, too,” she said.

  Larry was more than willing to overlook her surfer vocabulary and stereotypical SoCal blonde demeanor. Physically, she was a stunning specimen, with no more than eight percent body fat, artfully sculpted fake breasts, a few provocative tattoos, and flawless, sun-kissed skin. If she was hard-pressed to tie her own shoes, he viewed that as unimportant. He wasn’t with her to discuss world affairs or verbally spar.

  “We should talk about it, Bethany.”

  She pounded the rest of her drink and then dropped the towel to the floor with a seductive moue.

  “Later.”

  Chapter 21

  Roxie watched the band onstage with slim interest – another manufactured group backing one of an endless stream of ex-Disney starlets that dominated the charts. This one was enjoying her fifteen minutes of fame due to dating a basketball icon with a bad-boy reputation, in a highly publicized attempt to break from her goody-two-shoes legacy on family television. She could sing well and had all the right moves, but her performance struck Roxie as about as soulful as white guys trying to bump and grind to the blues – which was to say difficult to watch with a straight face.

  Carl was off somewhere pressing the flesh and being a famous producer, which seemed to largely consist of sucking up to cynical label executives whose gym-toned bodies were topped with Wall Street haircuts and dead eyes.

  A wave of bitterness washed over her that the industry had plumbed new depths for her, and that anything even approaching real rock and roll was viewed as a quaint anachronism with limited commercial appeal. Which she knew from her performances, sparsely attended by mostly wannabe musicians and counterculture lowlifes whose existences revolved around drugs and a punk rock ethos that had peaked before most of them had been born. She found the whole thing depressing as time went by, but she was too stubborn to quit. In quiet moments of introspection, she admitted that her identity was so wrapped up in the life that she couldn’t give it up – if she did, then what was she besides the administrative assistant to a failed has-been with a Bogart delusion?

  She edged to the side of the bar, where her favorite bartender was standing, watching the band with a rapt attention that made her heart sink. If he starts singing along, I’ll break a bottle over his head, she thought glumly, and was jarred from her violent reverie by her phone vibrating in her pants pocket.

  Roxie moved to the bathroom area as she answered.

  “Yeah?”

  “Roxie, sorry to call so late.” It was Black.

  “Hang on. I’m at a show.” She made her way into the bathroom, where the amplified music was dampened by the door and walls. “What’s up?”

  “I’ve got a problem.”

  “I’ve known that for a while.”

  “Seriously. I need your help.”

  “Are you drunk?”

  “No. I wish. Worse. I’m in Long Beach.”

  “Did you finally decide to admit you’re more DC than AC? West Hollywood’s closer. Although they have a certain fashion sense there…”

  “Roxie, I’m serious.”

  “So am I. What’s-her-name’s going to be devastated when you break the news. You are going to tell her, aren’t you?”

  “I need you to come down here.”

  “Or are you going to let her find out on her own? Come home to Roberto in bed wearing only a smile and your hat?”

  “Please. It’s a computer thing.”

  “Oh, wow. Like The Matrix? We’re all living in a holographic reality created by machines for our subjugation? Damn. I was betting on zombie apocalypse. Oh well.”

  “I need to get into the system here, and nobody’s got the password.”

  “Don’t you watch the movies? You’re supposed to have a super-nerdy hacker buddy you pay in porn or bitcoin or whatever who tells you it’s impossible for everyone…but him!”

  “Are you almost done?”

  “In geological time, we all are.”

  “So can you come down here?”

  “I’m at a party. Big names. Shakira and I are trading cupcake recipes.”

  “I can offer two hundred bucks cash.”

  “It’s almost midnight. That’s your best shot?”

  “Three hundred.”

  “Five hundred and I might get interested.”

  “That’s extortion.”

  “Hang on. I think Bieber wants to see my tats.”

  “Fine, Roxie. How long will it take you to get here?”

  “Long Beach? What part?”

  “I’m at a Home World store on Santa Fe Avenue.”

  “West Side!” Roxie said in her best Snoop Dog impression.

  “Does that mean something?”

  “Oh. I forgot that you only listen to big-band music.”

  “Roxie…”

  “What the hell are you doing there? That’s gun town, isn’t it?”

  “Investigating a murder at the store.”

  “Even the cops are afraid to go in there?”

  “No, they were here all yesterday. The owner asked me to nose around.” Black paused. “It’s not that bad.”

  “What do you need me to do?”

  “I want you to look in the system and see if the victim had any files stored that might give us a clue as to why he was killed.”

  “Oh, hey, was that the axe thing? I saw it on the news.”

  “That’s the one.”

  “And you’re there axing questions?”

  “Very amusing, Roxie.”

  “Oh, wait. Axle Rose is here!”

  “Are we about done? Clock’s ticking.”

  “Take something for that axeiety, boss.”

  “I’m sure you’ll think up more on your way.”

  “You bet your axe.”

  Roxie returned to the floor and searched for Carl. She spied him near the entrance in an earnest conversation with a tall, spectral man who looked like the grim reaper with a bad perm. She beelined toward him and offered them both a wide smile before leaning in and planting a kiss on Carl’s sagging cheek.

  “Got to run. An emergency at work,” she said.

  “No! Come on. You just got here!” Carl protested.

  “Two hours ago. You’ve just been so busy the time flew by.” She waggled her fingers at him. “Be a good b
oy.”

  “I’m always good, Roxie,” he crooned.

  “I think I just wet my pants, Carl,” she deadpanned. Both Carl and his companion laughed heartily and exchanged knowing glances. Roxie left them to their enjoyment of her bon mots, glad to be rid of the superficial crowd and the annoying plastic music.

  After all, five hundred cash was walking-around money for the holidays, whereas all the party had to offer was an airhead bartender who was probably broker than Roxie, and Carl’s repellent advances, which were sure to get clumsier as the booze flowed.

  Chapter 22

  Anaheim Hills, California

  “Who was that, Larry?” Bethany asked sleepily from the bed. Larry was standing in the bedroom doorway, phone in hand, lines of displeasure etched deep into his face.

  “Business stuff.”

  “At this hour?”

  “That’s how it works.” He moved to the closet and pulled on a pair of jeans and a Versace silk shirt.

  “You’re leaving?” she asked, sitting up.

  His gaze lingered on her naked breasts, as perfect and firm as the best surgeons in town could make them, and nodded. “I’ve got to go to the store. Something’s come up.”

  “Right now? Can’t it wait until morning?”

  “I wish. Shouldn’t take too long.”

  Bethany pouted. “I thought we’d have all night together. It’s been so long… I hate the hour here, hour there thing, Larry. I’ve told you that.”

  “I know, baby. But duty calls. I’ll come back as soon as I can.”

  She shrugged and played with the tips of her sun-streaked hair. “Then I’ll make myself a margarita or something.”

  “You know where the tequila is.”

  She swung her legs from beneath the sheets and raised one knee. “You sure I can’t talk you into staying?”

  But Larry’s mind was already elsewhere. “Not tonight, Bethany. Like I said, I’ll be back in a snap. Have a drink, and save some energy for me.”

  Her eyes lit up. “You got it.”