Chapter Twenty-Three
Twenty-three
Icon was known as one of the hottest nightclubs in Boston, but that didn’t impress me.
I’d never been much of a nightclub person, even in my youth.
The flashing lights, the noise, the loud music, the overpriced, watered-down drinks…
Give me a healthy pour of twelve-year-old scotch in a discreet hotel bar with good acoustics—one where you didn’t have to scream out your drink order—and I was content.
Desmond’s hacker seemed to prefer a different type of ambience.
But what would you expect from a guy who called himself Swinging Dick?
As nightclubs went, Icon was impressive.
Two big rooms packed with gorgeous people, a different DJ in each room, and enough multicolored strobes and disco balls to necessitate a seizure warning.
It was just after midnight. I’d bypassed a round-the-block line and even the bag search to get in, explaining to the bouncer, and then to the hostess, that I was here to see Swinging Dick.
Miraculously, I’d been able to keep a straight face both times.
The thing was, his real name was perfectly normal. Desmond—who’d only just started collaborating with Mr. Dick—had given it to me, adding that the hacker had spent some of his youth in our city, “but that’s not necessarily reason to trust him.”
You mind if I ask around about him? I’d said.
I’d consider it a favor, Desmond had said.
Far be it from me to deny my once and future father-in-law a favor.
On my way home from my parents’, I’d called Gina Delvecchio, an old friend from my days on the force.
She was semiretired now, but had spent twenty-five years with the BPD as a juvenile officer.
She’d told me that Swinging Dick’s real name sounded familiar, and that she was more than happy to make a few calls.
I’d thanked her, adding that I didn’t normally associate with criminals, and she’d replied, That reminds me, how’s Richie’s family?
Gina had always been kind of a smart-ass.
I was thinking about Gina now—her smart mouth and her excellent memory—as the hostess led me through the second of the two enormous rooms, bobbing and weaving her way around patrons.
She raised a tattooed arm above the fray and pointed to the VIP section, situated at the edge of the dance floor and up a small flight of stairs.
It was a lot quieter there. I followed her to a corner banquette, where a man sat with his back to us.
He wore a dark, shiny suit. It strained against his body, which was roughly the size of a vending machine.
He seemed to be alone at the table. But when I got closer, I saw a boy sitting beside him. He wore a backward baseball cap and his head was down. He may have been asleep. I told myself not to make any snarky “father of the year” comments.
On the table, there was a bottle of champagne on ice. I waited for the hostess to leave, then walked up to the human vending machine. “Swinging Dick?” I said.
The little boy lifted his head. “Sunny Randall.” His voice was deeper than I’d expected.
Looking at his face, now illuminated by the glow of the sleek tablet on the table in front of him, I saw that he was an adult.
Barely. He had big doe eyes and freckles across his nose and a sweet little peach fuzz mustache.
“You’re Swinging Dick?” I asked him.
He nodded. “This is Ralph.”
“Hi, Ralph,” I said.
The vending machine said nothing.
“Ralph doesn’t talk,” said Swinging Dick. He scooched a little closer to his enormous pal. “Join us,” he said.
I perched at the edge of the banquette, across from Ralph. I hugged my bag close to my side. My phone vibrated with a text.
Swinging Dick poured out a glass of champagne and slid it in front of me. “Cristal. 2015.” He said it like he expected me to swoon.
“Maybe later,” I said. “If I feel like we have anything to toast.”
“I got something for you to toast,” Swinging Dick said with a painstaking wink.
“I highly doubt it,” I said.
“Hey, be nice,” he said. “I’m a delightful person, once you get to know me.”
I was getting tired of this conversation. “I’m assuming Mr. Burke told you what I need.”
“Yeah.”
“How fast can you do it for me?”
“Depends,” he said.
“On what?”
“Whether I decide to take the job.”
I blinked at him. “You work for Desmond Burke. And he asked you to do it.”
“Actually, I’m a contractor, not a full-time employee,” he said. “And I only accept work that I find interesting. And well-paying. Am I right, Ralph?”
Ralph nodded slowly, his meaty hands folded in front of him on the table like a stack of catcher’s mitts.
“Ralph, on the other hand, works for me.”
“Full-time,” Ralph said.
“I thought you told me he doesn’t talk,” I said.
“I do occasionally,” Ralph said.
I glanced down at the glowing tablet, which Dick had placed on the table. My name was on the screen, followed by my driver’s license photo and a chunk of computer code.
“What’s that?” I asked him.
“Research.” Swinging Dick smirked at me. I was really starting to hate this kid.
“Ah.” I unzipped my shoulder bag. Just enough for him to see my .38. I left it open until I could sense him looking down at it.
“What’s that?” he said.
“Insurance.”
The smirk grew broader. “Ooh. Color me scared.”
“Are quips like that part of your delightful personality?”
He continued, undeterred. “I know you’re a good shot,” Dick said. “I know you’ve worked some high-profile cases and you’ve got a reputation as a tough guy. Well, for a girl.”
I leveled my eyes at him. “Color me impressed.”
“But I’m burying the lede here,” he said. “I also know your social, your address, and your FICO score.” He grinned. “I can get you in some serious trouble if you don’t play ball.”
“What do you mean, ‘play ball’?”
“Thirty K ought to do it,” he said. “I prefer cash, but no sweat if you don’t do paper. I’ve got Venmo.”
I stared at him.
“Consider it a gratuity,” he said.
“What if I were to tell Mr. Burke about this gratuity?”
“Well, I guess our deal would be off,” he said. “And, um…so would your credit score. Am I right, Ralph?”
Ralph let out a tired “Ha.” A part of me felt sorry for him, having to listen to this little prick full-time.
“The thing is, Sunny, I can, like, fully destroy your life if I want to.”
I said nothing. I slipped my phone out of my bag and checked the screen. The text was from Gina Delvecchio. The first line: I knew the name sounded familiar. I read it. “Oh, ho,” I said.
“What are you doing?” Dick said.
I held up an index finger and texted Gina back: What’s your favorite wine? I intended to buy her a case.
“Didn’t your mom ever tell you it’s not polite to play with your phone in the middle of an important conversation?” Swinging Dick said.
I put the phone down and smiled sweetly at him. “Interesting choice of words, Terrence.”
“What did you call me?”
“That’s your real name, right? Terrence Fitzpatrick? Or do you prefer Terry?”
“Uh…”
I leaned back in the seat and crossed my legs. I wanted to be comfortable for this. “Anyhoo, Terry,” I said, “I heard you really put Louise through the ringer back in the day.”
“Louise?”
“Your mom.”
“How do you…Why do you know her name?”
I turned to Ralph. “Did he swear you to secrecy?”
Ralph shrugged.
“Oh, well. I’m going to tell you something about your boss, and you can either keep it to yourself or use it to get a raise. My guess is he doesn’t pay you enough.”
Ralph lifted an eyebrow.
“You’re pissing me off, Sunny,” Swinging Dick said, his finger hovering above the tablet. “You don’t want to piss me off.”
I kept talking to Ralph. “Back when Terry here was a freshman in high school, he hacked into school records to change his D on the chemistry final to a B.” I leaned closer to Ralph and stage-whispered, “Didn’t want to get grounded. Not that he had that much of a social life.”
I glanced at Swinging Dick, aka Terry Fitzpatrick, former C student at East Boston High.
His mouth dropped open, but he didn’t say a word.
I went back to Ralph. “Problem was, Terry wasn’t such a good hacker back then, so he left a trail that was real easy to follow, even for a high school principal.” I winked at him. “The principal was Louise Fitzpatrick, aka Terry’s mom.”
“That’s…That’s not true.”
“And his mom reported him to the police.”
Ralph’s eyes went big. “His own mom?”
“Yep,” I said. “Wanted to teach him a lesson, apparently. But that isn’t the worst part.”
“She’s lying,” Swinging Dick said.
“What’s the worst part?” Ralph said.
“After the two officers cuffed him and put him in the squad car, Swinging Dick here was so freaked out, he peed himself. All over the backseat. Poor Louise had to post bail and bring an extra pair of pants.”
“She’s lying. I swear.”
Ralph looked at me, then at his boss.
I shrugged. “You want to call my bluff?” I said. “I have the arrest papers, plus an eyewitness account from one of the officers who took him in. Right here on my phone.”
Swinging Dick bit his lip. He gulped so hard I could see his T-shirt collar moving. “Those are…Those records aren’t supposed to be public.”
“Yeah? Neither is my Social Security number, asshole.”
He switched off his tablet. “What do you want me to do?” he said.
“Nothing you don’t want to do yourself,” I said. “I’d hate to see you take on work that you find uninteresting.”
“I’ll do the job,” he said.
“That’s a start.”
“You don’t have to give me any money.”
“Better.”
“And I’ll, uh…I’ll also get rid of all your personal info.”
“Now we’re talking.” Since I didn’t fully trust him, I watched over his shoulder as he deleted the code, as well as all the documents he’d turned up as a result.
“Will you get rid of the arrest papers?” he asked.
I shook my head. “I won’t share them with anybody,” I said. “That’s the best I can offer.”
He looked at Ralph.
“I’d do what she says if I were you,” Ralph said.
“Okay.” He said it meekly. “It’s a deal.”
I wondered how easy it would be for him to get an IP address for Book Babe—and if he did, whether I’d be able to abandon my misgivings about using it.
None of that mattered to me now, though.
I had a possible way to help Melanie Joan, and Swinging Dick looked miserable about it.
Win-win. I raised my glass of champagne and took a sip.
It was delicious. “Glad we have something to toast, Terry,” I said.