In the Red

by Lisa Libby

  The sound of footsteps gets closer, and they are so close I can hear their fast, heavy breathing. A sign this person is nervous, and inexperienced. He’s likely a larger fella by the sound of his heavy footsteps. I hear him stop in the doorway before opening the door. I switch the light on in the room. Before they can unload their gun into me, one of my guns is pressed between the eyes of this unlucky soul. With my other hand I smack his gun out of his hand, likely breaking his wrist from the blunt force.

  “You unlucky son of a bitch. Do you know who I am?” I yell so the others can hear me clearly.

  “No,” the man gulps.

  “You motherfuckers listen. I’m Jimmy ‘The Coroner’ Coonan. Mob’s one and only psychotic hitman, and you are?”

  “I… Stan,” he stutters.

  “I, Stan, that’s a strange name. I think you mean Stan. Stan, you just tried to kill me, so that means...?”

  I wait for Stan’s answer.

  “I’m dead,” Stan replies.

  “Well, that depends if you tell me the truth.”

  Holding Stan by the back of his neck I walk him into the room with the other men. I push Stan into the doorway of the room. Gun fire erupts, Stan is shot several times and takes off down the hallway limping. I let him get away for now, because I know he’ll probably pass out from the look of his wounds.

  I let them continue to fire their guns, and when I hear nothing I peek into the room. One is attempting to reload his gun. I shoot the inside of his wrist, and his gun falls to the ground. The other man is nervously holding a gun pointed at me. He would’ve shot already if it was loaded.

  “Drop your weapon and walk towards me,” I say to both men.

  They hesitate but do as I say.

  “Get on your knees.”

  “Jimmy, please, you remember me,” one of them says, holding his wounded hand.

  “I don’t know you, boy.”

  “It’s Bobby, I used to work at Mr. Cormick’s restaurant in the North End. Every Friday you came to the restaurant to get a pastrami sandwich with extra mustard.”

  “Mr. Cormick’s restaurant had the best pastrami sandwich in Boston, and you always made it just perfect. I’m sorry boy, I don’t recognize you as a grown man. Who’s your friend?”

  “That’s Larry, my cousin.”

  I pull up a chair behind them since they are facing the door. I can’t put my back to an open door just in case Stan decides to save his friends. With the gun still pointed at them, I use my free hand to grab a cigarette. I take a few drags staring at the back of their heads. Contemplate blowing their heads off at that moment. I confirm they are my daughters’ kidnappers.

  “Who paid you to hit Ava Madden?”

  Nothing but silence from them both. I can hear their hearts beat faster and can see their breathing pace increase.

  I shoot Larry’s left ear off. He screams then drops on the ground, grabbing the hole where his ear used to be.

  “Sean Cormick, he … put a hit on Ava for $100,000. He said she stole money from him.” Larry hides his head in his arms.

  Stole money from Johnny’s father? This doesn’t make sense.

  “How did Ava steal money?”

  “I think … um, something about a company she worked for.”

  I’ve heard enough.

  “Get up and start walking.”

  “Oh, my god he’s going to kill us Bobby.” Larry is sobbing like a child.

  “Jimmy, please let us go, we will kill Mr. Cormick for you. It’s his fault, plus Ava is safe, she didn’t die.”

  “Shut your bastard mouths,” I yell.

  We walk through the warehouse following Stan’s blood drops outside next to his car. Looks like he’s passed out from the blood loss.

  I kick him in his side.

  “Get up, Stan – we’re bringing you to the hospital.”

  He wakes up, scared and slowly rises to his feet.

  “Walk with them.”

  I bring them to the back of the warehouse where I left the cement truck running before I entered the building. It should be ready to pour any minute.

  “Turn around and line up,” I instruct them.

  I tie their hands behind them, attaching the rope to all three men. I wrap duct tape around their mouths, all around their heads. This will keep them from calling for help, not that they are remotely close to any residential homes, just businesses that will probably not reopen until Tuesday morning – most businesses are closed the day after St. Patrick’s Day.

  “Get in the bed of the truck.”

  I see the fear build in their eyes; they know they’re going to die.

  “Sit.”

  They sit with their backs to the bed of the truck. I take a rope and tie them to the truck, so they can’t move.

  I tie a rope across their chests and lean them against the wall bed of the truck, closest to the back window.

  “You’re probably wondering why I’m here, how I found you, and what will happen next? Ava Madden, who you kidnapped, tied up, and tried to drown in Boston Harbor is my daughtah. Of course, I don’t expect you to know that because it’s been a secret. I guess the old saying, ‘What you don’t know won’t hurt you’ is a lie.”

  Danny and Larry are crying, but Stan just glares angrily into my eyes, like he’s prepared to die.

  “I’m going to hop in this truck and pour cement to cover the bottom half of your torsos. Do you boys know how long it takes to set?”

  I pause as if expecting them to answer with their mouths bound with duct tape.

  I raise my hand. “I know: it takes 24 hours give or take, so I suggest you boys put your heads together and try to get loose and out of this truck. You’re all probably curious why I don’t fill it up to the top. Well, I want you to panic just as my daughter did when she was drowning, her hands bound behind her back, struggling to swim to safety in the dark cold harbor, unsure what direction to swim.

  “Larry, STOP your sobbing and listen with that one ear. Have either of you heard of Tycho Brahe, a scientist from the 16th century? He was a strange man who had a silver or gold nose, I can’t remember which or how he lost his nose, anyway, doesn’t matter. It’s how he died that is fascinating. His bladder burst from not relieving himself. Such a strange way to die for an intelligent person. The story goes along the lines of this. He was attending a banquet and didn’t leave to relieve himself, got home and couldn’t piss, and sometime later he died when his bladder exploded. That can happen to you if this cement sets and you don’t urinate or pass a bowel movement. A bladder takes just ten hours to fill, that’s on average 1,500 ml of urine. Not to mention your bowels; shit can back up in your system and the shit can literally come out of your mouth.”

  I laugh in their faces.

  “Now that you have all the information you need, let’s get this party started, shall we?”

  I climb in the truck, and hit the lever to begin the pour, hopping back out of the truck to make sure it fills just past their waists. When the pour reaches the right height, I shut off the truck.

  “Well boys, it’s been a pleasure meeting you all, and I hope God chooses to give you the strength to get out of your harrowing situation and saves your souls. Well, go on, try to get loose, don’t wait on my behalf.”

  I walk away listening to them swoosh their legs around in the cement. They will soon tire themselves out because there is no possible way, they will be untying a double fisherman’s knot, unless they cut it, but that won’t happen. Also, I know there is only a two percent chance their bladders will burst, because Tycho Brache likely died from infection, not his bladder erupting. Larry and Stan will probably bleed to death from their gunshot wounds. Danny could survive, but likely won’t because once the cement hardens it will cut off circulation below his torso, killing him. I can’t wait to hear about the outcome in the ne
wspapers. Before I leave, I take all their video footage, computers, and the small safe in the office. I check myself in the bathroom mirror, not a spot of blood on my suit. This calls for a night out at the bar, and some lucky whore will have her opportunity to take me home tonight.

  PAUL

  CHAPTER 32

  Adios

  It was effortless picking up my life and leaving Boston without a trace. My hacking capabilities have outclassed any FBI specialist, software developers who work for the most prestigious technology establishments, politicians, or any hackers I’ve met on the dark web. Anyone can be a hacker; all they need to learn is how to program a computer and be secretive. Not everyone can keep a secret. Inexperienced hackers brag about their riches online. They become overly confident fast, and poof they vanish without a trace, never to be found in the dark web again. The majority of hackers are killed because they brag in chat rooms to others. Inexperienced attributors brag online which puts a price tag on their head. If other hackers can find you, and physically get access to your computer, they will drain your funds – and sometimes, even with all the money at stake, they hire a killer online faster than ordering a pizza. It’s a simple ten minutes, and several murderers will offer their services. Especially criminals that know they’re going to jail on different charges anyway; they may kill just to have money for commissary. It’s a dangerous place to play when you are new to hacking. You can never be too sure who you are talking to online. I’m constantly quizzing my other hacking buddies just to make sure I’m chatting with the right person.

  There are places you can walk into to hire services you can only find on the dark web. These people are called internet bookies. You tell them what you need, they request payment for your service plus a twenty percent service fee, cash only of course, and the bookie will put your order in on the dark web.

  I still refer to myself as a hacker, or that I’m hacking, but once you graduate from tinkering around on the dark web and cross over into hacking for malicious reasons, you are no longer referred to as a hacker, but rather a cracker – or instead of hacking, you’re cracking. What a strange word. It’s quite possible I’m the best at what I do unless I’m put against a full team of hackers. That’s really a disadvantage but still I’d like to think I could succeed. When other hackers find out how good you are, they want your help solving their own puzzles. The most common service request I receive is for assistance getting through the backdoor of a website. When you go through the front door, you are entering with a username and password, but the front door is a bore, and limited.

  Recently, I’ve been getting multiple “chore” requests; what the dark web defines as a job offer. I have so much money that I choose only the high rolling chore requests. The money we skimmed from Atlantic is enough for both of us to live lavish lifestyles and stay off the grid for the rest of our lives. Ava and I are greedy; we both want ultimate power to control our surroundings, and we must have the money to make it happen.

  I do feel homesick here in the Dominican Republic. There are only so many men I can sleep with to comfort my need to feel loved. It’s Ava I miss. I’m in love with her. Even if she did kill Thomas, I feel I need her in my life. If Ava was a man, I would dive into a relationship with her or at least try. I believe we are soulmates. I would do anything she asked. She’s the first person I came out to as gay. Her response? “I know, I love you, and I don’t care.” That night she cuddled me a little tighter and closer than ever before. She made me feel like being gay didn’t matter. That’s how much of a good friend she is. She’s the only person I love and that loves me back. I hate that I left her to clean up the mess, but I don’t blame her for killing him – he was an asshole and rapist. I feel bad leaving her behind in Boston with all those dangerous people following her, trying to kill her, and now her father’s popped up. I express all the time how much I don’t trust

  Johnny or her father. I just hope I’m right when I think she’s capable of handling herself.

  I miss my cat and regret not taking her along. I got attached to the fluffy creature. I tried not to because I used my cat to test a new military tracking device. The military has been testing this new technology on their enemies for years and finally the device was beginning to make progress. I purchased several testers from a biohacker, a real mad scientist. This tracking device is practically invisible to the naked eye. It’s as thin as a sticker, a quarter of the size of your pinky fingernail. It is programmable to connect to the home host DNA, but once it gets the taste of a new DNA it is programmed to disengage with is home host. When you want to track someone, you stick it on the palm of your hand or tips of your fingers, and when you shake their hand or touch them, the tiniest needle fiber attaches to their skin pulling away from their host. It absorbs under the skin of its new host, so it’s no longer visible to the human eye. Once this bug is imbedded, it logs into the nearest Wi-Fi network and sends messages to the home host. And just like that you are tracking the individual’s every move; although they’re still working out the side effects, and they are at about seventy-five percent success rate for transfers to host. Recent military reports I found on the web show that the longest time the bug has lived on a host is for about a month. I tested this device on my cat, and a few times on myself. It feels like a static shock when it attaches itself, but not enough to be suspicious. I can still track my cat – she’s either with her new adoptive family on Ava’s street or she’s just living outside.

  I decide to forgive Ava and assist her with her trial and any monetary purchases, since I oversee her funds from the Atlantic job. I need to take care of myself first, or I’ll be useless to Ava. Before the Mac incident, we both agreed on telling the Irish she was skimming from Atlantic, leaving me completely out of the picture. Even though she doesn’t want to admit any wrongdoing altogether, they need to know the Irish accounts were not touched; maybe the Italians’ funds, but that’s not where she wants them to home in on. This was the only way to get their attention before the trial. They’ll want more information about the how’s: How did you do it, how much did you skim and how did we not catch you? We hope this will give her a get out of jail free card. However, if Ava isn’t indicted on charges, the FBI will demand someone be charged in her place. Ava wants to put Johnny in her place, he’s the only one that makes the most sense since he worked directly under Susan. We’re predicting the Irish will be angry with Johnny because Ava was able to skim funds right under his nose. He wouldn’t fight the decision because he cannot undermine Claire.

  A man that has everything to lose is the most fearful. Johnny’s fiancé is about to give birth to his first child, so I assume he will play nice to keep his new family safe. Ava claims she truly loves Johnny and I have witnessed her obsess over him but can’t understand how she can throw him in jail when he is having a child. Sure, I understand she’s just thinking of herself, but if you truly care for someone you wouldn’t want them behind bars. I’m not judging, but maybe she’s upset that Casey’s pregnant.

  Ava made a promise to me that I would remain anonymous, and I trust she will not break that promise because if she does, I’ll have to rat on her about killing Mac. Her laptop recorded the entire event; I installed a live video feed on her laptop before I gave it to her. I have proof that she killed him, so if presented with this data, she won’t try me.

  This FBI investigation into Atlantic has screwed up our opportunity to take the biggest paycheck home in hacking history. Atlantic has so much money that I bet they wouldn’t even have noticed a billion dollars missing. There is nothing better than getting someone inside a company to assist with hacking. Plugging into their office computers is like playing yourself at a card game. The guarantee to win is right there, no doubts. Not to mention the bonus you take home from selling Atlantic’s financial stock purchases and sales. Financial analysts get a hard-on learning inside information because it gives them the psychic ability to predict the market to know the rig
ht times to buy and sell stocks. Who doesn’t want to be a fortune teller for a day?

  I feel one can never be too careful when you’re a criminal hacker. Any documents or emails I send to anyone I automatically delete. This is hacker 101, but sometimes in the dark web, hackers get lazy and comfortable. They think they’re safe and the next thing you know, you never hear from them again. I assume they’re dead because hacking is more addictive than heroin. If you have a successful hack, it’s impossible to not return to the scene of the crime, just as a murderer likes to visit the murder site or keep a souvenir from the kill. Most people refer to the hacking world as the dark web, and it’s fitting because a lot of dark shit happens.

  Picture the internet as a body of water. On top of the water the boats that float are the search engines that everyday people use. If you go snorkeling, you’re safely floating on top of the water looking down – those snorkeling are the more intelligent people that can use the web to find some leaked government or company information available to the public; stuff that takes some digging to find. Now, if you go diving in that same body of water, you are encroaching on new discoveries, things you’ve never seen; new fish are discovered. This is the part of the ocean the government controls, but just below the non-diveable depths of the internet are sharks, and you need special equipment to safely dive that deep down. It takes serious money to get that far down in the water of the dark web.

  When I enter the dark web, I can be in there for a full day, and it can feel like just hours, like a gambler in a casino – it’s as if oxygen keeps pumping into the room to keep the gambler playing tables. The dark web has so many windows that you can get lost, and not know how to get back to where you began without starting over. Sometimes I just need to x out of everything and shut down my computer because too many windows keep popping open, dragging you in deeper. I have developed several software prototypes to block the things I don’t want to see on the dark web. The first popup blocker I developed was to block child porn. It utterly disgusts me, and in the beginning, like every rookie hacker, I thought I could take down all the porn sites and save the children and the world. It’s like a cop, fighting never-ending crime, but never, never will there be enough cops to keep up with the corruption, just as there will never be enough hackers to take down all the child porn sites. As soon as you shut down a porn site, a new one pops up.