by Gary Land
Filner Street. He knew the store well. It had a back door that led to a small warehouse and loading dock that the other businesses lining the street all shared. Noly pulled into the parking lot, exited the car, and slowly headed towards the market. He watched the Taurus cruise by, make a u-turn at the next intersection, and pull to the curb.
“Boots--where you been?” Mrs. Yu asked.
The owner was named Kum Sook Yu. Noly often wondered if she understood the English pronunciation of her name. If she did, she never let on. Her husband died ten years ago, but she decided to keep the market and run it herself. Mrs. Yu was small, trim, and never had a hair out of place. Her store was similarly neat and well organized. And laid out like every other convenience market that Noly had ever been to.
Magazine rack up front, beef jerky near the cash register, refrigerators filled with soft drinks, water, beer. Stale chips and cookies. And, in this case, a freezer filled with ice bags. Got to have ice in the desert.
“Just passing through, Kimmie. Save some Ding Dongs for me.”
Noly ran out the back door, through the warehouse, and out the loading dock. He ran the length of the street, circled around the block, and across the street. He walked slowly up the street, staying next to the curb, and in the blind spot of the Taurus.
Glasser was still mad at Fuentes for screwing up the tail. Now Glasser had to waste his time following Noly. The men he had hired were all pounding the streets, passing money among the low life, trying to get a lead on the Trainor and Thomas murders. And anything else they could find out. He needed to feed information to van Leesle, and he didn’t want to go back empty-handed.
Glasser realized his mind was drifting, and he wasn’t paying attention to the market. He suddenly felt vulnerable and decided to drive around the block and circle back. His instincts were good, but his timing was bad.
Noly grabbed Glasser through the open window, pulled him out, and pushed him to the ground. He checked for weapons and then hauled Glasser back up and slammed him against the car.
“I’m not carrying, Boots.”
“Why the hell are you following me? Who are you working for?”
“Take it easy, Boots. I’m just trying to make a living here.”
“You picked the wrong guy to make a buck off of. I guess there’s no such thing as professional courtesy in your book.”
“Are you going to pay my mortgage for me? A gig’s a gig. And this one paid big money.”
“Who?”
“I can’t...”
“There have been two murders, and the two people I care most about in this world have been abducted...”
Noly grabbed Glasser by the collar. “I’m tired of talking.” He opened the car door, pushed Glasser’s arm in the opening and--
“Wait, wait,” Glasser called out.
“Only thing I want from you is a name,” Noly said.
Glasser looked at Noly’s face and saw the hard, cold eyes of a desperate man. He would break his arm, but he wouldn’t stop there. There was no point in holding out against someone like that.
“van Leesle.”
“van Leesle? You mean the son?” Noly said.
“Junior--he calls himself Junior. He’s got a real hard-on for you.”
“What did he want?” Noly barked.
“Just...information. He’s pissed off about you and his old man, and the twenty million.”
“What have you been feeding him?”
“Anything I could find--he just wants info, and he pays a lot of money for it. He’s crazy.”
“What did you tell him?” Noly growled.
“About the casino heist, Trainor, you going to the bank, about Sarah and Kacy--”
Noly lifted Glasser off the ground and threw him onto the hood of the car, sliding him over the side and onto the sidewalk. Noly pulled him into a sitting position and bounced Glasser’s head against the wheel well.
Noly’s face contorted with rage as he grabbed Glasser’s shirt. “What did you tell him about Sarah and Kacy? What did you do?”
Glasser’s eyes tried to focus. He limply held onto Noly’s arms. “No, nothing, shit...”
“Does he have them? Are they at van Leesle’s mansion?”
“No, I...not the last time I was there--I just told him what I heard, they were abducted, your wife and kid...”
“Where did you hear that?
“Wha?”
Noly let some of the rage dissipate. He released his hold on Glasser and helped him to his feet. “Who told you they’re my wife and kid?”
“A...a hooker, one of my guys does her, passed me the info.”
“Where does she work--the street, or a club?”
“Some strip club downtown, I think.”
“Listen to me, Glasser,” Noly started, “you no longer work for van Leesle. You now work for me. Find me that hooker. Find me the strip club.”
#
Noly met Collins back at the station, and updated him on Glasser. Collins’ office was little more than a walk-in closet. A desk, some file cabinets, and a broken chair propped in the corner. The only window was the one looking out over the “bullpen,” an area where the detectives reporting to Collins worked.
“Do you know how many strip clubs there are downtown?” Collins asked.
“What are you saying, we shouldn’t try anyway?”
“No...we’ll find them, Noly.”
“We’re running out of time,” Noly said. “The first forty-eight hours are critical...”
“This isn’t a kidnapping,” Collins reminded him.
“No, it’s worse,” Noly yelled back. “The only reason someone took them is because Sarah is Joey’s sister, they think she knows something.”
“Something about the chip,” Collins added.
“It has to be--there’s nothing else to go on here.” Noly’s hand automatically went to his scar. It had become a focal point for all the pain and rage. He tried unsuccessfully to rub it all away.
Collins gave Noly a moment. “van Leesle threatened you in open court--did your attorney ever tell you?”
“Yeah, he told me, but that was a long time ago. Why now?”
“Do you think there’s a connection?”
“I don’t know--I don’t see it. We know about the bank scam, but nobody knew about that until after Joey was dead. Thornton and Morelli were only concerned with their offshore accounts, but Hutchinson and Shepherd deny any knowledge of Sarah and Kacy. And I believe them. We’ve got that turd Buckley wanting in on the action with Joey and Jennifer on some fraudulent loans, but that has nothing to do with the girls either. There’s got to be another side to this.”
Collins nodded and flashed his badge to the officer on duty, who buzzed open the security door. Noly followed Collins through the door as they made their way towards the evidence room that Johnson had secured.
Johnson ushered them into the room. Boxes containing evidence from both crime scenes, along with boxes from each apartment sat on a long table in the center of the room. Investigators labeled each box with an index of the contents. Each item within the box received its own label indicating where the item was found. At the end of the table a thirty-something man with glasses, wearing what looked like pajamas, sat typing on a Dell laptop computer. Johnson introduced him.
“This is Brad Williams. He’s our tech guru--we go to him when we have something like this. He’s been working on Joey’s laptop.”
“What did you find?” Noly asked Johnson.
“We found the plan--the whole thing was right there,” Johnson said.
“What? Why would he leave--”
“He wasn’t planning on leaving anything--he got himself killed before he could pack it all up and leave. He was probably leaving that night.”
“Then the media get hold of it, and put it on the news. Sarah must have seen it and panicked--she wouldn’t take a chance with Kacy...”
“Somebody grabs them before they can lay low, and wait for you,” C
ollins said, finishing Noly’s analysis.
“That somebody is a dead man.”
“Noly, you’re in a frickin’ police station. Try not to threaten someone with murder, okay?”
“Brad, you want to walk them through it?”
“Okay,” Brad said, “Well, once I got past the primary security, everything was wide open. I have access to all his email, documents, and, of course, the program code.”
He looked up to make sure everyone was still with him. He saw three sets of eyes staring back at him. Johnson nodded at him, telling him to go on.
“So, there are several emails between Jennifer Thomas and Joey Trainor--nothing explicitly explaining the plan, but hints and ideas. Little jokes that only they would understand--that sort of thing.
“He has word documents, flowcharts, spreadsheets calculating how much money they could make using different scenarios. This guy was really anal.”
“Can the therapy crap, and get to the point,” Collins demanded.
Williams looked hurt at the rebuke. He adjusted his glasses and cleared his throat before continuing.
“Well, apparently, the casino makes two deposits every day. Trainor modified the cash handling program to...redirect nine thousand dollars from each deposit to an account controlled by Jennifer Thomas.”
“Redirect?” Collins asked.
“Okay--here’s how it goes down. The staff at the casino put the money through cash counting machines that send the total to the casino computer. Let’s say they counted a million dollars--just as an example. Okay?”
They all nodded.
“Okay, so they load the million dollars into the armored truck, and take it to the bank where it is counted again by the bank’s cash counting machines. And, what do you know, they got the million dollars. So the bank computer holds the million dollar deposit awaiting instructions from the casino computer on what to do with it.”
“So no people are involved in this at all?” Collins asked.
“No,” Brad said getting excited. “That’s obviously what makes it work. The casino computer, which Trainor modified, now tells the bank computer to deposit nine hundred ninety-one thousand dollars to the casino account, and nine thousand dollars to the account that Jennifer already opened.”
“Nobody notices there’s money missing?” Collins asked.
“Well, they’re dealing with too much money. They do get monthly statements from the bank, but, again, they’re electronic statements in Adobe PDF format. Trainor intercepted the statements, modified them, and then sent them to the accounting department like nothing happened.”
“What do you mean ‘modified’ them?” Noly asked.
“You can basically edit the bank statement and change any text or value you want. So Joey, smart guy that he is, changes everything so it looks normal.”
Collins shook his head. “And nobody realizes anything is wrong?”
“They won’t really know until they are audited--once every six months,” Brad said.
“The money is still at the bank, then? The money they redirected to the other account?” Johnson asked.
“I doubt it,” Williams said, “they probably wire transferred it out to some off-shore, numbered account. Probably more than one account. That’s what I would do.”
“That’s what Jennifer Thomas was doing for Joey,” Collins said.
“Well, there you go.” Williams smiled and leaned back in his chair.
“Is this everything else?” Noly asked, indicating the boxes on the table.
Johnson sat down on the edge of the table. “Yeah, this is it. We’ve been through it all--not much of interest besides the laptop,” he said.
Noly sat down at the table feeling tired and depressed. This wasn’t getting him anywhere. He was no closer to finding the girls then when he started--they could be anywhere by now. It wasn’t even thirty-six hours since they disappeared--were abducted--but it felt like the longest week of his life.
“Is that the stuff from inside the car?” Noly asked, flicking his head at a box sitting on the floor.
“You mean the box marked ‘car’?” Johnson answered sarcastically.
Noly stood up, and Johnson almost slid off the table. “Do I look like I’m in a good mood to you?”
“Uh, no...sorry.” Johnson went over and retrieved the box, and put it down in front of Noly.
Noly moved some boxes out of the way, and slid the car-box over to the right so he would have room to examine the contents. Johnson had bagged and labeled everything except the two purses, which were now empty.
Noly looked at each bag in turn: wallet, checkbook, lipstick, keys. Chips. The label read, “Sarah Benson - $168 casino chips - purse - car.”
Noly pushed the chips around in the bag to see them better. Eight whites at a dollar each, seven reds at five dollars each, a twenty-five-dollar green. Plus the hundred-dollar black chip Noly had in his pocket made up the difference. He picked up the wallet and opened it knowing there was nothing inside to help the investigation, but he wanted to see the pictures that Sarah kept there. Sarah, Kacy, the three of them together. When he was done, he took the plastic holder out of the wallet and slipped it in his pocket. Collins and Johnson pretended not to notice.
Noly didn’t register that his cell was ringing and he almost missed the call. The readout said “SMITH, JOHN” and for a moment he almost ignored the call, but he flipped it open.
“Boots.”
“Boots, I need your help.”
Noly recognized the voice. It was Paul Thornton.
“Thornton--where are you?”
“They tried to kill me,” Thornton said. His voice sounded rough, tired. “Morelli.”
“Yeah, well join the club,” Noly said.
“That was my fault, I guess. I’m sorry. I kept a copy of the microchip and printout and gave it to Morelli. I thought I was just doing my job.”
“That wasn’t Joey’s scam money on the chip--it was Morelli’s slush funds in those accounts. You weren’t supposed to know about it anymore than I was--or Joey.”
Thornton didn’t sound good. “Noly, I’ve been shot...”
“Tell me where you are--I’ll come get you,” Noly said.
“Are you coming to help...or get even?” Thornton asked.
“I’m coming to help,” Noly promised, “but if I find out you had anything to do with Sarah and Kacy, you’ll wish you never called me.”
Chapter 28
Noly parked two blocks away from the address Thornton gave him. It was closer to Henderson than Las Vegas. Noly didn’t ask who owned the house, or what the circumstances were--he didn’t care. He would have preferred to wait until after dark, but his patience was gone. He wanted to end this. Now. And Thornton was the best and fastest way to Morelli.
At six-foot-five, it was impossible for Noly to be inconspicuous unless he wore a disguise, and that would only happen if, well, it would never happen. Thornton holed up in a one-story stucco house on the closed end of a cul-de-sac located on
Apache Road. Noly checked the neighbors on either side first and was glad to see both houses were empty. He didn’t want to have to worry about collateral damage. To the rear of the house sat an undeveloped piece of dirt separated by a stone wall. A dog barked on the next street over. Sounded like a Chihuahua--yappy-yap-yap. Noly hunkered down behind a small pool house and watched the windows for any sign of movement. The house had heavy curtains drawn across the sliding patio door. Smaller, thinner curtains across the kitchen window. There were no lights on and no movement that Noly could see.
He made his way around the pool, across the well-trimmed lawn, and stood under a pergola attached to the house. Noly told Thornton to leave the side door open that led into the attached garage. He made his way down the shaded walkway and tried the door. It opened easily and Noly slipped inside. Light bled through the small windows at the top of the garage door. No car, just tools, an old freezer, and enough junk to keep someone busy selling on Ebay for
several months. Noly took off the light jacket he wore to conceal his gun rig. He slipped the Sig-Sauer from the holster and went inside.
Thornton sat under a heavy oak desk in the only room without a window. He had closed the door, but not locked it for the simple reason that there was none on the interior door. The house had an alarm system, and he gave the code to Noly. He began to wonder if Noly was going to come when the alarm gave a warning tone and a series of button beeps as someone keyed in the code.
“Thornton, its Noly--where are you?”
A muffled voice said, “Back here.”
Noly pushed the door open, but stayed in the hallway. He whipped his head around for a quick peak. “Are you under the desk or in the closet?” Noly asked.
“Desk.”
“Throw your gun out, Paul.”
Thornton hesitated. “Why?”
“Why do you think? I don’t want to get shot--you want my help or not? You called me, remember?”
After several seconds, Thornton flipped the gun into the middle of the room. Noly kept his aim on the desk as he came into the room, bent down and looked at Thornton. Noly didn’t like the way he looked. His left arm hung loosely at his side, and his hand shook. Blood seeped through his shirt.
Noly holstered his Sig. “How bad is it?”
“You know, there’s no degree of bad--it’s either bad or its good. This is not good.”
“Yeah, you’re a philosopher now, huh?” Noly pulled Thornton forward, and looked at the wound. “This isn’t that bad, Paul--it’s clean, through-and-through.”
“Oh, not that bad?” Thornton chuckled. “It’s a fucking hole. In me. I have a hole in my shoulder. Do you know what a hole is? It means I’m missing muscle and shit that used to be there. Blood vessels? Any of this ring a bell?”
“I didn’t know you were such a funny guy, Paul. I’m guessing you’ve never been shot before,” Noly said. “While you’re feeling sorry for yourself, think about this--you told Morelli about me, and the chip. He tried to kill me--twice. I’m not forgetting that.”