The next one will kill y.., p.6
The Next One Will Kill You, page 6
He agreed, and as we walked toward the Starbucks on Lincoln Road, I asked, “If you were looking for a weakness at the convention center, where would you target?”
“If I found a weakness, I’d strengthen it,” he said.
“Come on, Navillus. Work with me here. What’s the weak link in the system?”
We dodged traffic on 17th Street and walked down an alley next to the parking garage. The contrast between the glare on the street and the shade in the alley was startling, and reminded me that even in a sunny place like Miami Beach there could be dark corners. Sullivan sighed. “The weak link is not usually in the system. It’s in the human capital.”
I held the door to the coffee shop open for him and followed him to the counter. While we waited I asked, “What do you mean by human capital?”
“The people in the box office who sell the tickets. The security guards at the door. The delivery guys who bring in the merchandise and set up the displays. The models who show off the goods and look pretty. Each and every one of them is a point of vulnerability.”
We stepped up to the counter and I asked, “What can I get for you?”
“Grande iced skinny vanilla latte with two Splenda,” he said to the barista.
“And a venti chocolate chip frappucino,” I added.
Sullivan shook his head. “I wish I had your metabolism. Hell, I wish I had the metabolism I had when I was your age.”
We stepped down to the end of the counter to wait for our drinks, and I asked, “Do you get a list of all those personnel?”
He shook his head. “We don’t credential part-time and short-term employees before the show. And pretty much anybody in a uniform from a delivery company comes and goes at will. Ditto anybody in a police or fire uniform. We issue badges to the people who work directly for the center, and the people who get credentialed for the individual shows.”
We retrieved our drinks and sat down at a table in the corner. “Sounds like a lot of people to keep track of.”
He nodded. “Our focus is on prevention. Security cameras, metal detectors, credentialing, controlling points of access. A determined thief or terrorist is still going to find a way in. Look at 9/11. Who would have thought of commandeering a plane to crash it into a building before Osama bin Laden did it?”
I thanked Sullivan for his help and told him I’d be in touch, and as I drove back to the office I used the voice recorder on my cell phone to dictate everything that I had learned. When I got to my desk I transcribed it all, adding in details like a link to a map of the convention center. It was nearly seven o’clock by the time I was finished.
I drove home, hoping to talk to Jonas about Ricardo Lopez, but he wasn’t there. Figured. Just when I wanted to talk to the guy, he was off somewhere. When I wanted to be on my own, he was underfoot.
I was excited about the progress my case was making. I couldn’t sit still, so I vacuumed the living room and my bedroom, moving the furniture around, finding things we’d lost weeks before. I called Danny and left another message, asking if he’d seen the e-mail about the skimmer. By nine o’clock I was tired and sweaty but filled with a sense of accomplishment.
Then my cell phone rang. I didn’t recognize the number. “Green.”
“Angus? It’s Lester.”
My mood got even better with those couple of words. “Hey, bud. How’s it going?”
His voice was low. “That guy you were looking for? He’s here in the bar.”
“Ricardo?”
“If that’s his name. Skinny Mexican dude. I checked the parking lot just to be sure. That same SUV with the funky flag decal is there.”
“Shit. All right. Keep an eye on him. I’m on my way.”
10 – Hard Act to Follow
I RAN INTO MY BEDROOM, kicking off my shorts as I dialed Roly’s cell phone. I was tearing through my bureau drawers looking for something to wear when the call went right to voice mail. Shit.
“Roly, it’s Angus. That guy Ricardo, the one who picked up Paco at his apartment? He’s at Equinox, a gay bar on State Road 84. I’m on my way over there now. Call me when you get this.”
I pulled on skimpy shorts that showed off my legs, and a pair of sneakers without socks, along with an oversized Florida State T-shirt of Jonas’s. It hung loosely enough over my waist that I could slip my Glock into its quick-release holster.
It was wrong to go running into Equinox myself. I’d have to stake out the parking lot, keeping an eye on Ricardo’s Toyota, until Roly called me. Then I remembered Vito. I didn’t have his cell number, though.
I stopped halfway out the door, took a deep breath. Lester was keeping an eye on Ricardo. I had to take things slowly. I scrambled over to my laptop, turned it on, and logged into the FBI database. My fingers shaking with nervous energy, I scrolled and clicked until I found Vito’s information. Fortunately, he lived in Fort Lauderdale himself; if I could get hold of him he could meet me at Equinox.
I dialed his home number. “Hello?” The voice was young and babyish.
“Can I speak to your dad, please?” I asked.
“You mean my husband,” the voice said, with an unpleasant edge. “Hold on.”
“Mastroianni. Who’s this?”
“Angus. Angus Green. The guy we’re looking for is at the bar. I got a call. At Equinox, in Wilton Manors.”
“Slow down, rookie,” he said. “Take a deep breath. What guy are we looking for?”
I did as he said, taking the time to formulate my thoughts. “I got a call from the bouncer at Equinox. He’s at the bar now, and spotted the guy who picked up your informant Paco Saturday afternoon.”
“Good work. I’ll meet you there. Fifteen minutes? What’s your cell?”
We traded numbers, and I hung up. I jumped into my car and headed toward Equinox. As I was pulling into the parking lot, looking for Ricardo’s SUV, Danny called me.
“Danny, this isn’t a good time. I’m working,” I said.
“Shit, man. You’re always blowing me off.”
“I’m sorry, Danny.” I looked around and spotted Ricardo’s SUV. That meant he was still in the bar, and I couldn’t do anything until Vito showed up. “Did you get my e-mail?”
“Yeah. But I’ve never seen anything like that. Angus, a cop came to my dorm this afternoon.”
“What happened?”
“He kept pressing me, like he was sure I was the one responsible, and he was going to find out eventually, so why didn’t I just tell him and get it over with.” He started to cry. “I didn’t do anything, but he’s going to arrest me and put me in jail.”
“He can’t arrest you without evidence,” I said. “And if you didn’t do anything wrong, there won’t be any evidence for him to find. Right?”
Danny didn’t say anything, just sniffled.
Christ. Was there a chance Danny was involved in this?
I was a hard act to follow. Schoolwork had come easily to me, and it was rare for me to get anything less than an A. I was so busy covering up my attraction to other boys that I never got in trouble. Never got detention, was never sent to the principal’s office. I started working at sixteen, making my own money.
Danny was smart too, but he was lazy, and sometimes he did poorly in school just to differentiate himself from me. He was such a cute kid, and then a good-looking young man, that he got away with the occasional cheating on a test or adolescent prank.
Could he have stolen credit card numbers, though? I didn’t think so, but I couldn’t let my love for him blind me to the possibility.
“You know you’re my dawg,” I said. “Nothing you do or say can ever change the way I feel about you.”
“I know, Angus,” he said, still sniffling.
“So if there’s something you need to tell me, just say it. I’ll take care of you. I always have and I always will.”
Guys were passing where I sat in the car, on their way into the bar to have fun. I wanted to be like them, instead of working a case and trying to handle my brother at the same time.
I took a deep breath. I hated to ask, but I had to. “Did you steal those credit card numbers?”
“Fuck you, Angus,” Danny said. “You think I would do something like that?”
I didn’t like the angry edge to his voice, but I forced myself not to respond to it. “I don’t think you did. But I want you to know that if you ever get in trouble, real trouble, you can come to me.”
“Whatever.”
Vito’s black Toyota hybrid pulled up in the parking lot.
“Listen, Danny, I’ve gotta go. But I want you to look around the restaurant for a little machine like the one I sent you the picture of. Keep your eye on the other servers.”
“You want me to spy on my friends?” His tone was still angry.
“If someone at that bar is stealing from customers, he’s not your friend,” I said. “Call it spying, or call it paying attention. But it’s your ass on the line, bro. Do what you have to do to protect yourself.”
Danny didn’t sound convinced, but he said he’d look around. I ended the call and got out to meet Vito beside his car. “Your guy still inside?” Vito asked.
“His car’s still here, and my contact didn’t call to tell me he was leaving.”
Vito looked me over. “You’ll blend in there a lot better than I will. Go inside and see what he’s up to, then call me.”
11 – Les is More
LESTER WAS STANDING just inside the front door when I walked in. “Hey,” I said.
“Hey yourself. Your guy’s over there by the pool table. In the blue shirt.”
I looked across the room. The guy he pointed to was tall and skinny, with what looked like a deep tan. I pulled the photo out of my pocket and compared him to it. Yeah, that was Ricardo, though the camera had washed his skin out and made him look sallow. It had also exaggerated the acne scars, which didn’t look so bad in real life.
His face was nothing spectacular, narrow like a fox’s with a pointed chin, but he had a killer body, which hadn’t been visible with other guys in front of him. Slim chest, narrow waist, and hips that were made for dancing. His tight jeans accentuated a big package.
But I wasn’t there to fuck him—just to observe him and see how he fit into my investigation.
He was playing pool with an older guy, forties maybe, trim in a tough-looking way, with military-short hair and a twirly handlebar mustache. I stepped over to a quiet spot by the wall and called Vito. “He’s here. How do you want to play this?”
“Let’s see where he goes when he leaves the bar. There’s two of us, so we should be able to tail him.”
“Speaking of tail, what if he gets some? What if he doesn’t go home?”
“Then we wait, rookie. Call me when he’s starting to move.”
I stuck the phone in my pocket and went back to Lester. “So I guess it’s true what they say,” I said.
“What’s that?”
“That Les is more.”
He smirked. “Took you all this time to make that one up?”
“Hey, I had a lot on my mind,” I said. “Protecting the country and all.”
“And who protects the protector?”
“I’m thinking it would take a big man,” I said. “You up for the job?”
“We’ll see. You leaving with me, or with him?” He nodded toward where Ricardo was still playing pool.
“Sadly, with him. For tonight.”
“You should get a drink,” Les said. “I think he’s gonna be here for a while.”
I ordered a virgin strawberry daiquiri, though I wouldn’t have minded a little alcoholic relaxation. It was a pain to hang around a bar and be on duty, watching everybody else have fun. It was even more of a pain to know that I could be going home with Lester if I wasn’t working.
That was not a piece of information I shared with Vito.
I realized as I waited for my drink that I was familiar with almost every gay bar in Fort Lauderdale, but I’d never been to a drinking establishment outside my own neighborhood, or one with a primarily straight clientele.
Was I ghettoizing myself? Did I need to make some straight friends? Make more of an attempt to socialize at work? I’d been living in a kind of bubble, first in college, then in Philadelphia, and now in Florida, where I surrounded myself with people like me. Was that the kind of life I wanted?
I picked up my drink and walked around the room, ending up back near the door with Lester. “So what’s your story?” I asked. “How did you end up here?”
“You mean here by the door?” he asked. “Here at Equinox? Here in Florida?”
“All of the above. Though I figured out the door part by myself.”
“Smart guy.” He looked sideways at me. “Cute, too. I’ve always had a soft spot for redheads.”
“Gee, last night it was pretty hard,” I said.
He laughed. “Born in Lexington, Kentucky. My pop worked on a horse farm. Used to come home every night smelling like manure. That wasn’t for me.”
“Good call.” I looked over at Ricardo. He had gotten a fresh beer and was drinking it pretty quickly. Turning back to Lester I said, “Football or basketball?”
“Both, in high school.” He smiled. “Football was my favorite, though. The quarterback and I had a thing going.”
I laughed. “Jeez, you’re like a walking wet dream, aren’t you? Handsome, sexy, and a jock to boot, with some hot locker room stories.”
“Never in the locker room.” He crossed his arms over his chest and looked away from me. I thought he was angry until I saw he was watching a drunk by the bar. “Back me up,” he said.
He walked toward the bar. As we got there, I heard the bartender say, “I’m telling you, dude, I have to cut you off.”
“You fucking prick,” the drunk said. He was probably forty-something, but the cracked red veins in his nose and his general pallor made him look older.
“Time for you to go,” Lester said, looming up next to the guy. Lester had six inches in height on him and a hundred pounds of muscle, but the drunk was already too far gone for rational thought.
“Fuck you, you muscle-bound, pin-dick moron,” the drunk said.
Right on only one count. Lester was muscle-bound. But he was no pin-dick, and no moron either.
Lester took the guy gently by the arm. “Let’s go, Paulie. Come on, I’ll walk you out to the street.” To me, he said, “Paulie’s a good guy, just drinks too much. Fortunately he lives a couple of blocks away, so he doesn’t have to get behind a wheel.”
Paulie started to struggle, but Lester wrapped his beefy arm around the drunk’s shoulders and pulled him close.
“Oh, Jesus, don’t nobody ever hold me like that anymore,” Paulie said, and he started to blubber.
“It’s okay, Paulie. Come on, you’ll feel better outside.”
I watched as Lester steered Paulie through the crowd. Then I turned back toward the pool table to check on Ricardo.
He was gone.
Shit. I pulled my cell out and dialed Vito. “Ricardo come outside?” I asked.
“What, you lost him?” Vito asked. “Haven’t seen him.”
“All right, he must be in here somewhere.” I ended the call before Vito could bitch at me. The bar was packed, and it was tough getting around, but I made a full circuit and couldn’t see Ricardo anywhere. I squeezed over to the men’s room and walked inside, assailed by the smell of urine, ammonia, and male sweat.
There was nobody at the urinal, but one of the stalls was occupied. I walked over to the urinal and started to pee, then heard something slam against one wall of the stall, followed by a moan.
I finished, shook off and zipped up. Then I peered under the door of the stall.
There were two pairs of feet in there. I recognized the suede cowboy boots as belonging to the older man Ricardo had been playing pool with. The other guy worn green flip flops and had an Aztec tattoo on one ankle, but I hadn’t noticed Ricardo’s footwear or body art so I couldn’t be sure it was him.
A young guy pushed open the door of the men’s room as I was looking under the stall door. “Not cool, dude,” he said.
I straightened up quickly, blushing. “I’m not... it’s not...” I stammered.
“Yeah, right.”
He stood there watching me as I washed my hands, waiting for me to finish before stepping over to a urinal himself. “Go on, you’re done here,” he said. “This is not some kind of zoo where you can watch the animals.”
I considered flashing him my badge, but that might make things worse, especially if he started yelling about entrapment. So instead I walked out of the men’s room and looked around for either Ricardo or Lester.
No Ricardo. But Lester was back at his post by the door.
“Where’s your guy?” Lester asked when I reached him.
“Not sure. Maybe the men’s room.” I told him about the two guys in the stall.
“Ricardo was wearing shorts,” he said. “Didn’t see what kind of shoes he had on.”
We looked back to the men’s room. “What the fuck are they doing in there?”
Lester laughed. “I could show you.”
For the second time that night I felt my face redden. It’s a curse of the fair-skinned, constant blushing. Or maybe it’s just that I seem to do and say dumb things.
My phone rang. “You find him?” Vito asked.
“Not sure. I think he’s in the men’s room.”
“What do you mean, you think? Go in and see.”
“He’s... uh... occupied,” I said.
Lester nudged me, and I looked up. Ricardo was coming out of the men’s room, pulling the belt on his shorts tight. “Got him,” I said to Vito. “He’s still here.”
“Yeah, well, keep your eye on him,” he grumbled.
“Will do.”
I stuck the phone back in my pocket. Almost immediately, it rang again.
“You’re a popular guy tonight,” Lester said.
“It’s just my brother.” I felt guilty, but I let the call go to voice mail. “So. Last I recall you were fooling around with the quarterback, but not in the locker room.” I had to admit the thought was making me hard, imagining a younger Lester with his football uniform around his feet, naked as he’d been the night before.
