Chapter 18
Alex recognized Agent Constantine Striker the moment he walked through the door. Or at least she thought she did. The man who practically stumbled into the office stinking of hard alcohol was either her new partner or his much older and alcoholic brother.
She watched Con intently as he sat down at his desk only to be promptly called into Agent Allen’s office.
The latter looked furious, very different from when they’d met over an hour ago.
And then the real shouting took place.
Agent Allen’s office walls weren’t all that thick, and Alex got the gist of the argument.
Agent Striker wasn’t happy about having her as a partner.
It was far from an ideal start to an FBI career. Still, she’d dealt with worse. Prior to being accepted as an FBI Trainee, Alex had been a beat cop in New York. Pretty much every cop in New York was a current or recovering alcoholic.
And they seemed to get a kick out of letting her know about it.
As well as taking their anger out on her as if, somehow, she was to blame.
At least the yelling seemed to sober Agent Striker up a little. Alex waited for him to return to his chair and cool down a bit before deciding that it was time to introduce herself. But before she got the chance, Striker rose, scooped a folder up, and strode to her.
He gave her a quick once over and then, without introduction, said, “Come on, let’s go.”
She followed Striker to his car and got into the passenger seat. When he fired up the engine, the speakers started to play.
A monotone voice started to talk about the California Gold Rush of all things.
Alex watched on curiously as Con struggled to get his phone out and stop the audio from playing. He eventually managed, but not before Alex caught sight of the cover.
Her brow lowered.
What she’d learned about Constantine Striker was almost exclusively constrained to his professional career. She knew that the man believed his missing sister had been one of The Sandman’s victims, possibly his first, but that was the extent of knowledge of his personal life.
That being said, Alex didn’t peg the man as a history buff. She made a mental note of the name of the audiobook as the car finally fell silent.
The urge to introduce herself now was strong, but Alex resisted. Con’s jaw was clenched, and his knuckles were white from gripping the steering wheel so tightly.
It dawned on her that they weren’t heading toward the city, where she suspected Imperial Productions had their headquarters, but in the opposite direction.
Alex turned to Striker, a question regarding their destination on the tip of her tongue.
She bit down.
Her partner didn’t look angry anymore.
He looked… defeated.
Broken.
Those alcoholic cops in New York had the same look about them. When she told her father her intention of joining the FBI, he’d warned her that the same thing might happen to her.
It was a tough job. High pressure, minimal reward.
Alex had promised her dad that she would never become a statistic.
She was strong, tough.
And he’d made her that way.
Fifteen minutes later, Con pulled into the parking lot out front of a nondescript diner.
“Come on,” Con said as he got out. “I need something to eat.”
They both ordered the same thing, two eggs sunny side up with a side of bacon and whole wheat toast.
And large coffees. His black, hers with two sugars and one cream.
Alex ate her meal, but Con barely touched his.
When she was done, the waitress came by and took away her empty plate and his full one.
She didn’t ask if Con was through, which suggested that her new partner was a regular at Lucky’s Diner.
At long last, con addressed her.
“Not in my best shape today,” he said. His voice was solemn. “It’s not been a good week.”
Something about the man’s demeanor hinted that this funk had lasted much longer than a week.
“I get it,” Alex said softly.
The man looked up from his coffee and stared at her.
“I’m Constantine Striker.”
“Alex Frost.”
“I’ll be honest with you, Alex,” the man said after a heavy breath. “I don’t want a partner. I don’t work well with others. I guess I failed that lesson in Kindergarten. It’s nothing personal.”
The man was trying to get a read on her.
Well , Alex thought, let him look. Let him do his thing.
He already knew about her father—she’d overheard Marcus telling him in a hushed voice that she was a US Congressman’s daughter.
Constantine apparently got what he wanted, either that or he gave up, because he produced a folder and laid it out in front of her.
“Last year, three films were pirated and placed on illegal sites for download. The head of Imperial Productions is worried that the same thing will happen with their newest blockbuster this year.”
He pushed the folder across the table, but Alex made no move to open it. Stitts had already given her the file. She didn’t say anything either, because she got the impression that someone like Constantine Striker enjoyed silence more than idle chit-chat.
Besides, she detected no question in the man’s words.
“You seen any of the movies?” He listed all three of them.
“I saw Rise of the Titans last year with a friend. Not really my thing, but it wasn’t bad.”
She kept her reply short and simple.
Con seemed to appreciate this because he nodded.
“I haven’t seen any of them. I did interview four of the five people at Imperial who had access to pre-release versions of these films.” Con listed their names and positions, which Alex committed to memory. “But what I don’t understand is what their motivation is. I mean, they all make more money than they can possibly spend in three lifetimes. Why jeopardize that by pirating movies they all worked on?”
This time, Con seemed to be asking for input.
Alex obliged.
“You remember Napster?”
Con cocked his head.
“It was like the OG streaming service, for music,” Alex clarified. “Only, the artist and record companies didn’t get a cent.”
“Yeah, I think I remember.”
“Well, do you recall what Kid Rock said when he was asked about Napster?”
“Can’t say that I do.”
“He was asked if he was concerned about losing money from the distribution of illegal copies of his songs. He replied with something along the lines of, Why the fuck do I care? I’m rich. Or something like that, anyway.”
Con snapped his fingers. He seemed to have livened up a little.
“Exactly. Martin Yeo said they lost hundreds of millions, but Thomas Ellsberg disagreed. Even if the losses are close to what Martin says they are, it’s like a drop in the bucket to Imperial Productions.”
“Different markets,” Alex said. One of Con’s eyebrows lifted. “Someone who watches pirated movies on their phone or tablet isn’t going to be going to the theater any time soon. You could also make an argument that these illegal copies actually build hype for the people who do go to the movies.”
Con chewed the inside of his cheek.
“So, why the hell is Martin Yeo calling in the FBI?”
Alex mused this over.
“You know, Kid Rock wasn’t the only one to speak out about the Napster thing. James Hatfield, the lead singer of Metallica, had a completely different take. He fought Napster tough and nail, despite being worth ten times Kid Rock. Sued them for millions. He said it was about the principal more than the money, but it’s always about the—”
“Money,” Con finished for her.
She thought she caught a hint of a smile appear on her partner’s face. This caused an identical one to appear on her lips.
“But if money isn’t being made from the illegal uploads, it’s being made somewhere else,” Alex said.
“Exactly.”
Con pulled out a twenty and placed it on the table. Then he seemed to reconsider and added a ten.
They returned to his car and Alex, feeling as if the frosty barrier between them had melted, decided to speak up.
“Where are we going? To interview the people on Martin’s list again?”
Con kept his eyes on the road as he answered.
“We? No, not we — we’re not doing anything. You are going to watch some movies.”