With an irritable grunt, he deleted the text.
I don’t have time for this crap. The little shit will get the code when I decide to send it.
Wednesday was drawing to a close, and the hours ticked by in excruciating agony. He had tried to dissuade January from going forward with their plan, but she was adamant they must continue, despite her injury.
He paced the living room. Contemplative and sullen, he could focus on little beyond January readying herself for an evening of coders and executives using her body.
A clatter of glass falling against a porcelain sink brought a flood of expletives.
Dothan stood at the bedroom door. “You okay?”
January entered wearing a simple, but elegant, iridescent gown the color of midnight which gathered the light and enhanced her perfect body.
“Yes,” she said, “though I’m all thumbs tonight. What do you think of this dress?”
“You look gorgeous.”
She pushed a flowing sleeve above her forearm, exposing the length of gauze and tape. “I thought it best to hide the bandage under long sleeves.”
“How are you coping with it? Are you still in pain?”
“It’s much better, though it stings now and then.”
She retrieved a pair of high stilettos from the closet. As she lowered herself beside him, a slit along the side of the shimmering garment fell open, exposing the shape of her long, dark legs. Dothan slid to the floor and lifted her foot, kissing it as he slipped on the dagger-like heel. After buckling one thin, jeweled strap, he repeated the process on the other.
With a sigh, he embraced her leg and pressed his cheek against her calf. “I wish we didn’t have to do this.”
Her cool fingers drifted through his hair. “I hate this as much as you, but just keep reminding yourself tomorrow we start our new life. Do you have everything ready? We can’t risk any mistakes.”
Dothan raised himself to his knees and took her hands. “The building codes and invitation will be in my jacket. I’ll arrive before any of those losers have time to speak to you. No one will know I’m not an invited guest. I’ve even rigged up my pocket to keep my phone from falling over, so when it records, we’ll have a clear video to identify these assholes.”
“Perfect. Remember, when I’m sure we have enough evidence, I’ll nod twice to you, and we’ll leave. My suitcase is by the front door. Do you have everything you need packed?”
Dothan smiled and nodded. “No reminder needed for that part. My bag is next to yours. The minute we get back to the apartment, I’ll get a ride-share to take us to the airport.”
“Did you make reservations at the Spokane Broadmoor, using that fake name?” she asked.
“Yeah. Mr. and Mrs. Murakha, spelled just as you told me. Don’t you think John Smith would have been a better choice?”
January laughed. “We don’t want something so obvious.” She stood and smoothed her dress with a sigh. “I’ll be so glad to breathe again. I wish I could be sure Joseph won’t push back.”
“If Harrington doesn’t want to play, we’ll expose his crime-lord of a wife.”
She nodded and caressed his hands. “I hope you don’t think I’m crazy, but afterwards could we head straight to Las Vegas and get married?”
“Um, duh.” He grinned. “Are you sure that’s what you want?”
She nodded. “More than anything.”
“Then fuck, yeah,” he said. “I’d do it right now if I could talk you out of tonight.”
A text arrived on January’s phone. She stood to read the message. “I have to go.”
He walked her to the door and kissed her cheek. “I’ll be there soon. Just keep thinking to yourself, by this time tomorrow our problems will be over.”
January smiled and squeezed his hand. “Yes, and all thanks to you.”
He watched her descend the creaking stairs toward the same limousine that twice before had collected her. Dothan moved away from the window, unconcerned. It made no difference how she got to the playpen. This was the last time January would involve herself with that filthy company or ride in their pimp cars.
He dug through his closet, throwing shirts and jackets on the bed.
Now to look like a billionaire nerd.
Dothan threw on a pair of dark chinos, oxford button-up, and jacket. He trembled as he styled his hair and put in his contact lenses. Satisfied by his entrepreneurial image, he slipped on his watch and waited for the appointed time to leave the apartment.
He cupped his freezing hands, blowing warm air between his palms as he paced from room to room. As the familiar tightness gripped his chest, Dothan stared at the bottle of whiskey on the counter, longing for a drink, but dismissed the thought.
No matter what, I have to stay together. My entire life depends on tonight. I can’t get it wrong.
He removed the invitation January had given him for his false identity as Mr. Kevin Hardcastle, and placed it, along with the codes to the building and the playpen, in a side pocket of his jacket.
Two hours left. January insisted he use a city bus instead of a car. It was absurd, but if that was what she wanted, he would oblige her.
As he opened his laptop to search the transit timetable, his phone vibrated.
Text from John Barclay:
Narrowed down the list to this auction house.
Thank god, he didn’t see the text from January after all.
Dothan threw his head back in relief and unlocked his phone to read the rest of the message.
Ainsley Bennett Auctions
http://ainsleybennettauctions.com/
I went to see Bennett. I think he knows more than he gave me, but he won’t show me the sales lists without a warrant. You’re the computer genius. Is there any way to have a look, outside of breaking the law?
Dothan smiled. While he had no intention of breaking the law, he planned to bend it a bit.
He assured the detective that he would try everything above-board to find out more about the auction company’s sales and send him the results.
After browsing to the site, Dothan scanned the web page. It was obvious from the images and prices presented that the auction house worked in very high-end merchandise. The web design and the third-party software they used, though, were bargain basement.
They had placed a logo and a link to their ecommerce providers at the bottom of the main page: Powered by SillyMeringue
“Gotcha,” said Dothan.
As with so many inexpensive or complimentary software companies, SillyMeringue was well-known for their bugs and glitches, making it easy for hackers to get past most of their safeguards.
With over an hour before he had to leave to catch the Seattle bus, he decided it might prove an excellent distraction to try a hack into the auction site’s administrative account. If he got in, he could search for records of their sales.
Dothan browsed to the Help page of SillyMeringue and searched for “lost admin password.” It took him to the step-by-step instructions on retrieving the credentials, along with a last resort suggestion to reinstall the software and use the default “admin” for both the user name and password.
Using an anonymizing browser, he covered his tracks through various VPN hops and returned to the website. After adding “admin” to the end of the URL, he clicked return, opening a log-in page.
It just can’t be this easy, he thought. Nobody could be dumb enough to leave the credentials at the default.
He typed “admin” into the log-in blanks and chuckled as the administrative dashboard appeared.
“Un-be-freaking-lievable,” he whispered.
He dug through the index and found a directory entitled “Sales”. A subdirectory of images listed forty-five pictures, each titled with a number. A check of his watch showed he still had an hour and a half, leaving plenty of tim
e to go through each image.
Dothan opened the first picture, showing an old sideboard covered in gold leaf and enamel work. Undeterred, he continued to move through the photos, but none of the extravagant pieces came close to the flamboyant table in Sibella’s retina.
After forty minutes, he was nearing the end of the list. He assumed the venture had been of no value, and while it made sense to finish viewing the remaining images, he was becoming bored.
One more and then I’m out of here.
He clicked the next file and sat straight in his chair. Awestruck, he enlarged the picture within the viewer.
“Oh, my god. That’s it!”
Sibella’s table shone from the monitor. Its intricate gold inlays swirled throughout a dark wood top above the delicate feathers carved onto its legs, and inset gemstone claws sparkled against ornate lion paw feet.
Grinning, he copied the picture and sent it to his phone.
Now to find the name of the son of a bitch who bought it.
Dothan opened the sales database and input his query using the title of the image. Within seconds, it was returned.
Number: MSS4442 /
Item: Ivan VI Rococo Table /
Type: Private Sale /
Amount: $673,250 /
Date: 17/2/2017
Dothan stared at the name of the purchaser in disbelief. “Oh, fuck, no,” he whispered.
Buyer: J. Kinsie
It has to be a mistake.
His hands were shaking as he grabbed his phone and dialed January. She did not answer, and her sultry voice requested him to leave a message. He ended the call.
There was no point in losing his cool over the information. It was possible January had arranged the transaction for someone else over the phone. All he had to do was confront her when he arrived at the playpen. It would horrify her to learn she had helped purchase a table
for Sibella’s killer.
Dothan prepared to leave the apartment. As he twisted the plastic wand to close the living room blinds, he caught sight of the sunlight gleaming against the dark metallic gray of a van parked at the edge of the lot.
Shit, oh shit.
Its tinted windows closed, the oversized vehicle sat in a direct line with his front door. Dothan ducked below the windowsill.
How the fuck did they find me?
With just one entrance to the apartment, he had no way to escape.
He pressed his palms against his throbbing temples and paced the room.
What am I going to do? Are they here to kill me like they did Gilmore?
As he turned toward the sofa, he spotted the edge of a golden vial gleaming beneath its torn skirt. He dropped to his knees and grabbed the bottle. His heart raced as its two small pills rattled along the bottom.
Oh my god.
Bekkii had not stolen them. The ripped lining must have caught the vial, and in his panic he missed it.
He grabbed an open can of cola and placed a tablet on his tongue. After he had swallowed it with a gulp of the sweet, flat liquid, Dothan congratulated himself for not giving in to his desire for the whiskey.
He stared at the remaining pill. Everyone at the playpen had to believe he was a regular attendee of Conscentiam orgies. It was important to portray a confident demeanor.
One pill won’t be enough. I’ll need them both to get through this, he thought.
He swallowed the last tablet along with the soda and slipped into his jacket. Everything was ready. He just needed to get out of the apartment without attracting the attention of the assholes in that gray van.
A gentle summer breeze blew against the flimsy mini-blinds at the bedroom window. Dothan slid it open as far as it would go. After removing the aluminum screen, he stared into the empty alley below which fronted the main road. If he could lower himself to the ground, a quick run past the row of garages would take him straight to the bus stop.
The descent required solid support. A fall could break his legs. He remembered the terrible TV shows where comic jailbirds escaped using bedclothes as a rope. Dothan grabbed his entire collection of sheets and towels and tied them together. When he had a sturdy length of fabric, he calculated the length needed to get him to the ground.
Satisfied with the number of connected sheets, he had to secure the open end with something strong enough to hold his weight. After rolling the office chair to the outside of the bedroom door, he laid it on its side and knotted the sheet around the cheap metal base. While he had little confidence in the chair’s stability, he just needed a minute to drop to the ground.
Dothan leaned out the window, checking there was no one in the alley. The path was empty, and he threw the end of the homemade rope outside. With careful movements, he sat on the edge of the sill and placed his feet against the cement siding. Holding fast to the bunched and knotted fabric, he lowered himself by inches downward.
As he eased past the neighbor’s window, a groaning creak wailed inside his apartment. The metal base of the chair was giving way.
Please don’t break. Please don’t break.
The noise escalated to a squeal combined with a loud cracking sound, and he froze. A sudden drop told him of his fate. Dothan closed his eyes and held his breath as the makeshift rope gave way.
He hit the ground with a thump and shaft of sharp pain. Despite an agonizing ache throughout his right arm and hip, he could take no chances with the gray van parked around the corner, and remained as quiet as possible.
“Damn, that hurt,” he whispered.
He rolled onto his back and checked his arms and legs. Relief flooded over him. Outside of a few future bruises, he was intact with nothing broken. Dothan stood and dusted off the bits of leaves and dirt. He checked his reflection in the neighbor’s window. There were a few smudges on his jacket, but he could take care of those later.
To keep would-be thieves from climbing into his apartment, Dothan tugged on the sheets until the pile fell around him in a cloud of fabric. After gathering the makeshift rope into a large ball, he stuffed it all behind a scruffy shrub outside his neighbor’s window.
He ran along the edge of the back alley with a sense of smug satisfaction. It amused him to think of the gray van waiting for him to leave. It might be hours before they realized he had outsmarted them.
Still smirking upon his arrival at the bus shelter, a sudden wave of nausea overcame him. He grabbed his stomach, fighting the urge to vomit. Had he sustained a concussion from the fall? Maybe his body was retaliating against the pills. Whatever the cause, it was of little consequence at the moment. He could not stop now, no matter how rough things got.
The bus pulled into the stop. As the doors whooshed open, Dothan climbed the steps with labored breathing and attempted to swipe his pass. His hand missed the machine on the first try. He failed a second time, and a third. The driver sneered, and other passengers behind him murmured insults until the fourth proved successful. He hobbled along the aisle, clinging to the vertical poles.
He shook his head as his heartbeat descended into the sound of a pounding, rhythmic chime reverberating in his ears.
The fuck is that noise?
The strange, soft clangs slowed his movements, making it difficult to lower himself onto the slippery PVC seat. Dothan grabbed the metal bar beside him and rolled his shoulders. It must have been those pills he took earlier. Maybe it had been a mistake to take both, but the side effects would pass.
He tried to escape the strange occurrences by gazing out the window, but the passing trees and buildings became blurry, and he gasped as long articulated wings burst from the sides of the bus. Dothan held onto an undulating armrest as the world turned sideways and the airborne vehicle flew along the road toward the downtown corridor.
Terrified, he closed his eyes, but the inside of his lids exploded with the light of alien worlds. He traveled on the blood vess
els in his head within the strange universe, unsure if time was passing or halted. A woman stretched out her hand from some ethereal plane and, as he went to greet her, his body thrust forward.
His eyes flew open. The bus had stopped. Was this where he got out? He could not remember, but he joined a variety of weird creatures jumping and slithering through the door onto the street. As he shuffled toward the quivering opening, he grabbed what he believed to be a metal bar, and it changed into a writhing silver snake.
He screamed, and the bus driver turned around.
“Dude,” said the driver, whose face contorted into peculiar geometric shapes orbiting his skull. “Wassup wit you? You havin’ a bad trip? You want me to call EMS?”
Dothan shook his head and tumbled onto the sidewalk. As the bus doors closed, he rose from the pavement and tried to get his bearings, but the shrieks of the escaped creatures muddled his sense of direction.
“Leave me alone! Stay away!”
Dothan ran from their terrible cries. If they would only shut up and let him think. He stopped, holding his hands against his ears as he tried to determine his location, but the awful squeals and whispers
ripped through his brain.
Unable to go any further, Dothan leaned against the side of a shuttered storefront and pressed his face against the cool bricks. His breath surrounded him in a glowing red vapor. He tried to fan the eerie mist away, but he could tell the creatures were getting closer by the sound of their claws scratching against the sides of the buildings.
As he stumbled along the street, trying to escape the screeching horrors, he kept his eyes on the pavement to avoid the ebb and flow of waving streets.
“What’s happening to me?” he said.
This was more than a concussion or even a side effect from the pills. Maybe he was losing his mind.
Exhausted and confused, he clung to a bright streetlamp which sighed a melody. The street heaved, bouncing along with the tune, and Dothan calmed, moving his head in time to the music. As he held fast to the pole, the street name drifted past his eyes.
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