by Keith Hughes
Ness abandoned his darkly humorous reverie when his host, Detective Frank Sullivan, reentered his living room, holding a couple of beers. Off duty, his host wore a comfortable-looking University of Michigan sweatshirt with matching pants. Neither garment did anything to minimize his impressive size. Frank handed a bottle to Ness.
“Thanks,” Ness said and took a long swig.
Frank sat and drank from his own. “So what's up?” Frank’s curiosity appeared to be fully engaged. “Does this have something to do with the report of shots fired at your apartment?”
“Yeah, yeah, it's related,” Ness admitted. “But I can't get into the particulars now.”
“OK,” Frank said carefully, waiting.
Ness's silence did nothing to alleviate the scrutiny with which Frank regarded him. He could tell his friend was more than halfway into cop mode. No doubt Ness’s evasion made the long-time police officer suspicious.
“I need to call in the favor you owe me,” he said quickly.
Frank raised an eyebrow then nodded. Though Ness had only been doing his job, Frank had long acknowledged the debt. Several years before, Ness was in a woodsy area, shooting the scene of the fifth victim of the Bloomfield Tax Man, as the newspapers had dubbed him. The perpetrator had a penchant for killing female CPAs, and the police had few leads. Ness noticed an unusual set of parallel trails gouged into the soft earth, mostly hidden by a recent fall of leaves. He had snapped pictures of the odd tracks and pointed them out to Frank, the lead detective on the case. They had turned out to be from the wheels of a gurney, a key fact that led them to the killer. He was an ambulance driver who owed fifty-seven thousand dollars in back taxes, and as it happened, the first victim had been his tax preparer. Frank had gotten a nice promotion and a bonus for solving the case, but he had always credited Ness for the collar.
“What do you need?” Frank finally responded in a cautious tone.
“Thermite,” Ness answered.
Both of Frank's eyebrows rose. “You know, when I told you I owed you one, I never imagined you would be coming to me for this,” he said and took another swig of his beer. “Thermite?”
“Yeah. Look, I can't explain, but I need a lot of it, and I need it right away. I know the county bomb squad has some.”
“And your use for this is what? Will this be illegal?”
Ness shifted a bit uncomfortably. The legalities of the plan he and Angie had hashed out were questionable, but he did not expect that anyone at Intellisys would be keen to involve the authorities. “I am certain there will not be a police report filed from my use of it,” he said carefully.
Frank stared at him with an expression of wry disbelief, idly sipping from his bottle. Ness tried to maintain some semblance of doe-eyed innocence under his scrutiny.
“I don’t have a good feeling about this. You can do a lot of damage with this stuff. It could consume a body, now that I consider it.”
Ness sighed. “I’m in a real bind here. I’m dealing with some powerful people who have no trouble pulling the trigger when it suits them. I have no doubt that if I tried to get official help, all I would do is put Angie and me back on the grid, where we can be eliminated. Our only hope is to go after them ourselves, and the thermite is key to the plan. All I can tell you is I have no intention of harming anyone.”
After a few seconds of silence, his friend shook his head and grabbed his phone to dial a number from memory. “Mario, it's Frank. Look, do me a favor. I need your thermite.”
He paused a minute.
“Dunno, how much do you have? Five pounds?” Frank looked over at Ness, who nodded. “Yeah, bring it all. Yes, everything, and whatever is needed to light the stuff. My house, as soon as you can.”
Frank listened again.
“Yeah, I know it isn't cheap. The county will be reimbursed.” Frank looked pointedly at Ness, who indicated his agreement.
He listened for a minute, his forehead crinkling as time passed. Ness could hear a little of the voice on the other end but no words. The tone came through, a mixture of concern, doubt, and fear.
“I know. It’ll be my ass too. But I trust and owe him.”
After another brief bout of listening, Frank hung up.
“It'll be a few minutes. Want another beer?”
“Sure,” Ness said after realizing he had been trying to take a pull from an empty bottle.
When Frank disappeared into his kitchen, Ness looked around the small room. A flat-screen TV a bit too large for the room dominated an otherwise empty wall. Still, a football game would look spectacular on it.
A patina of dust covered the furniture except for the table next to Frank's chair. A tray of jellybeans had usurped the former location of an ashtray, a testament to his friend's constant battle to wean himself from cigarettes. A cuckoo clock on the wall had stopped at one twelve, although Ness suspected it had happened a long time ago. In the quiet, Ness could hear Frank opening the fridge door and rummaging inside.
He mused on how Angie was doing. It had seemed foolhardy to split up, but she had argued that it made no sense to do it together. He had protested, but she had ultimately convinced him. After all, she could hardly charm her smitten coworker with Ness right there glowering at the guy. And though he hated to admit it, the conversation with Frank had gone easier man-to-man. Angie's presence would have changed the whole dynamic.
Frank returned and handed him another bottle of beer. Ness took a long swig of the beverage. It tasted amazing, reminding him of summer picnics, barbecues, and happier times. Those were much better to contemplate than his fears for Angie's life and what might be waiting for them at Intellisys.
“How's Angie doing?”
“She's good,” Ness said, hoping he was telling the truth.
“Is she involved in this too?” Frank acted as if Ness had gotten her into trouble.
Ness just regarded his friend without expression. The less he knew, the better.
Frank leaned forward and stared intently at Ness. “Whatever you're up to, or up against, make sure you protect Angie,” he said seriously. “She's a good woman.”
“I swear that everything I am doing is to keep Angie safe. No harm will come to her.”
Frank examined Ness again, but evidently, he had exhibited enough conviction to allay his concerns. He sat back in his chair again with a grunt, apparently satisfied.
For a few minutes, they were quiet and sipped on their beers. Finally, the silence was pierced by a knock. Frank opened his front door and ushered the new guest inside. The wiry man did not look happy and carried a small duffel.
Frank closed the door behind him. “Mario, this is Ness,” he said. The purposeful exclusion of his last name seemed extremely clandestine to Ness.
Mario gave Ness a sharp look before turning back to Frank.
“What's this about, Frank? This is dangerous stuff, and it's not cheap. I don't know how I'm gonna cover the cost with all the budget cuts going on.”
Ness pulled out his wallet and took out a sheaf of bills.
“Will four hundred cover it?”
Mario looked at him again, clearly surprised. “Yeah, yeah, it will. Probably leave a little left over.”
“Keep it,” Ness said, handing him the bills. “Buy yourself a beer for the trouble.”
Mario took the bills and shuffled through the pile of crisp twenties. “Are you sure about this?” he asked Frank.
“Yes, I trust him.” Frank’s utter conviction surprised Ness.
Mario’s gaze swung between Frank and Ness, then he shook his head. “All right. Come on.” He laid the duffel bag on the dining room table and unzipped it then rooted around inside for a bit before pulling out two white plastic bottles, one taller than the other, and a small coil of dark string.
“Thermite doesn't explode. It burns,” Mario said to Ness. “At temperatures exceeding forty-five hundred degrees Fahrenheit, it can melt through most metals in a matter of seconds.”
He gave Ness a shar
p look.
“That's why I need it,” Ness said.
Mario frowned at him, obviously wanting to ask what he needed the thermite for, but he resisted the urge. Instead, he lifted the larger of the two bottles for his view. “This is a half pound of thermite. There are nine other bottles of this in the bag. Thermite is extremely hard to ignite due to the high temperature required, which is why you have this.”
He switched to hold the smaller bottle. “This is igniter powder. Put about a quarter teaspoon in the thermite and run your fuse to it.” Mario put the bottle aside and grabbed the coil of string, pausing to see if Ness had absorbed all the information.
It looked simple enough to Ness, even dealing with the slight complexity of the various components. “Okay.”
“The fuse is rated to take sixty seconds to burn thirty centimeters, which is a bit under a foot,” Mario continued. “It's not an exact thing, but it'll give you an idea of how long you have to move a safe distance away.” He gave Ness another sharp look to ensure he understood.
“Got it.” Ness had no intentions of getting anywhere near the stuff as it burned.
Mario returned the supplies to the duffel and zipped it up then pulled something out of his pocket. “Here's a lighter for the fuse,” he said as he handed it to Ness, pausing again to give him one last piercing gaze. “I hope you know what you're doing.”
“I do,” Ness said, lifting the duffel from the table, but Mario did not look entirely convinced.
Mario shook Frank's hand before seeing himself out the door with a dubious shake of his head. Ness turned to his friend but hesitated to put out his hand. After the unusual request, Ness feared he had damaged their relationship. After a tense second, though, Frank gave him a lopsided grin and held out his hand. Ness gripped it gratefully.
“Take care of yourself. And Angie,” Frank said.
“I will,” Ness said and turned toward the door.
“I have one more condition,” Frank said.
Ness's hand had been about to grasp the doorknob. He turned to look back at him.
“Promise me that someday we'll have a few beers, and you'll tell me the whole story.”
“Friend to friend or citizen to cop?” Ness asked.
“Friend to friend.”
Ness smiled. “It's gonna blow your mind.”
“I sure as hell hope so.” He grinned back.
They shook hands again before Ness departed. “Be seeing you.”
Leaving Frank's house, Ness prayed he would live to fulfill his promise and that the ending to the story would not be a tragedy.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT: Hacker Heaven
Tuesday, June 8, 2010, 7:22 p.m.
Making the transformation from harried prey to wanton seductress would not be easy with the limited resources at Angie’s disposal. She had only the clothes on her back, the body beneath, and the ability to produce a saucy attitude.
As Angie evaluated her appearance in the mirrored walls of the elevator, she frowned. Running her fingers through her hair, she longed for a brush. Her shirt appeared rumpled but clean. She brushed at the fabric and tucked it in to stretch out the wrinkles then released one more button. Angie did not make a habit of showing herself off, and the amount of cleavage visible made her more than a little uncomfortable. Though Ryan obviously already liked her, and she wouldn't need to do much to convince him, it could only help to put in extra effort. All's fair in love and war, she told herself. And this is war, without a doubt.
The lights glinted off Angie's wedding rings, and she pulled them off and put them in her jeans pocket. With what she had in mind, reminders of her marriage would not be welcome. She checked her image in the mirror again and gave a mischievous smile. I make a pretty good slut.
Her grin faltered as she remembered a time travel movie they had watched once in which several alternate realities were explored. In one of them, the female lead had been transformed from the wholesome girl next door to a drug-addicted prostitute. Angie considered her previous life, the one Ness had taken her from when he changed the past. For all she knew, he could have saved her from a reality as bad as the character in the movie had endured. She had taken to deliberating the marvelous things she might have done in that alternate reality — places she might have gone, whom she might have married, and the children she might have had. But for the first time, she considered the flip side of those idle musings — the pain she had been spared, the hurt she had not endured, and the heartbreak she would never know. She might not have become a prostitute, but she might have had an abusive husband, or she could have given birth to a child only to see it die. They were sobering notions. She could indeed be better off in the life she knew.
The elevator came to a stop at the twenty-second floor, drawing her back to reality. The doors opened, and she ambled along the hall to apartment 2206, the residence of her coworker Ryan Jamison. She took a deep breath to calm her racing heart and queasy stomach before knocking on the door. At first, she heard nothing, but then a door shut, and footsteps approached. Metal rattled. Ryan must have an impressive number of locks. Finally, the knob turned, and Ryan stood before her with an expression of equal parts joy and panic.
Angie had called him half an hour earlier to ask if she could come over, and he had evidently prepared for her arrival. His stringy hair bore evidence of being brushed hurriedly, still wet in an attempt to tame some of the unrulier strands. He was wearing a light-blue dress shirt, which she counted as a major upgrade by itself. Until that moment, she had never seen him in anything other than a T-shirt. Unfortunately, he had buttoned the shirt wrong, causing the collar to hang awkwardly. The tails were tucked into a faded pair of mostly clean blue jeans.
“Angie,” Ryan said, nearly gasping. She could imagine the frenzy of cleaning Ryan had spent the last half hour on. “You made it.”
She simpered at him. “Can I come in?”
“Oh! Oh, sure,” he said self-consciously, backing out of the way so she could walk past him into the apartment. The main living area was sparsely populated with a ragged-looking couch and not a whole lot else as far as furniture.
The sofa looks like something a Michigan State student would burn in a victory celebration. Angie did a double take to make sure it had not already suffered that fate. The mottled gray-black of the fabric had likely not been the original color. It was the best piece of furniture in the room but did not look like anything she wanted to sit on. The other side of the room housed a flat-screen TV and an Xbox 360 game console with a small pile of DVDs and a larger pile of video games set alongside. Zombie hunting seemed to be the dominant theme. Heavy drapes covered most of one wall, undoubtedly hiding a door to the balcony.
Her host closed the door and latched the multitude of locks again. As Angie had surmised, he had a great deal more than usual, including three deadbolts and a rod propped against the middle of the door with its other end fitted into a receptacle set in the floor. The additional security gave her hope. She had come to the right guy for her favor. Once Ryan's security precautions were finished, he turned back to her, and she gave him her brightest smile.
“Thanks for letting me come over on such short notice.” She tried to keep her tone friendly and playful.
“N-no problem,” he answered with a shy grin.
She crossed over to the sofa and forced herself to sit, though it looked a little better when she got closer. She beamed at him and patted the seat next to her. Ryan nervously strode to the couch and hesitated before sitting. She was amused that he deliberately kept a bit of space between their bodies. Angie turned to him slightly, and as if by accident, her fingers briefly slid across his thigh. Ryan's hands tightened on his knees as if they were threatening to fly off his legs.
“I've heard some rumors about you at work,” she said.
“Ru-rumors?” Her proximity was obviously distracting him. “Like what?”
“Oh, that you spend a lot of your time on the computer,” she said, letting her voice go
slightly deeper and huskier. “Doing things.”
She looked at him coquettishly and gave him a knowing smile.
“Things?” Ryan repeated, clearly off-balance and trying to keep up.
Angie contemplated how many of his fantasies she had fulfilled just by being there. It had been years since she had seriously flirted with a man, although she tried to keep in practice with Ness. This seemed almost too easy, however, so either Ryan was hopelessly smitten with her, or he had never had a woman in his apartment before. Could be a little of both.
“Naughty things.” She gave him a wide smile, swathing him with her approval. “Like a little hacking, perhaps? I've heard you were the one who made all the traffic lights in Troy turn red last year and made the big screen at Ford Field say, 'Lions Suck' during the big game on Thanksgiving.”
Ryan grinned sheepishly before catching himself and looking away. “Maybe,” he admitted.
Is he blushing? “Maybe?” Angie responded in a breathy contralto. “Then maybe you're the type of man I need.”
She brushed her arm against his. As she pulled away, he shuddered.
Ryan cleared his throat and glanced at her, clearly under the influence of inflamed hormones. “Yeah, maybe. I mean, yeah, I'm the type of man you need.” He looked away again, and his face flamed an even brighter red.
“So you did those things?” Angie probed as she rested her hand lightly on his arm. She gave it a little squeeze, and he faced her again.
“Yeah, I did.”
Angie gave him an approving smile, like a proud mother might.
“I’m impressed. Was it hard?” She accented the last word rather unsubtly.
“Naw. The traffic system gave me the greatest challenge,” Ryan said. He relaxed as he related his successes and become more animated. “The Lions' security sucks, just like the team.”