Chapter 9
"I'm impressed,” the smug perp said. “You found that faster than I anticipated.
And disarming the device was a masterstroke.
Took a lot of guts to do it yourself. Too bad the robot failed.
Technology," he said in dismay. "I often wonder what will happen when society becomes so reliant on technology that people forget how to accomplish basic tasks. Just think of all the knowledge that will be lost. One day, the power grid will go down, and mankind will go back to the Stone Age. We will have to relearn everything.”
"Is that your ultimate plan?” I asked.
He chuckled. "That's far too idealistic a motive for someone like me.”
"What is your motive?”
"I take it right now, people are analyzing my device.”
"It's only a matter of time before we identify the components and track them back to you.”
He laughed again. "Good luck. That's not going to happen.”
"I wouldn’t be so sure about that."
"Well, you keep doing what you do, and I'll keep doing what I do. I just wanted to say that I'm glad you survived. This game would be less fun if you weren't involved.”
"I'm sorry, but do we know one another? Have we met at some point in time?”
"I'm a man who respects excellence and hard work, Deputy. A hero is only as good as the villain. They are a reflection of one another. It takes a great obstacle for a hero to rise to the challenge. My masterpiece would not be complete if I did not have a formidable adversary.”
"So you think of yourself as a hero?”
"We are all the heroes of our own story, are we not, Deputy?"
I said nothing.
"I must be going, but I've enjoyed our little chat. The next time, it won't be so easy.”
"There doesn't have to be a next time," I said.
"Yes, there does.” With that, he ended the call.
I checked my audio files to make sure the app had recorded the incoming call. I forwarded the MP3 to Special Agent Thompson, then I called Isabella and asked her to trace the call again.
As I suspected, it had been routed through the Internet using multiple proxy servers. "I can't find a point of origin,” she said. “But I'll keep looking.”
"Run a voiceprint analysis. See if you come across anything.”
"Will do.”
The three-letter agencies had voiceprint files for high-level targets. I doubted they’d have one for a common thug, but maybe this guy was an international player.
We wrapped up at the station, then headed up to Oyster Avenue to unwind with an adult beverage or six.
JD and I grabbed a high-top table at Skyline and enjoyed the sunset as we chowed on appetizers and sipped fine whiskey. Pretty people mixed and mingled. There were plenty of short skirts, stiletto heels, and fresh faces. The trendy bar always had an upscale clientele.
I don't know what happened to our waitress. She had delivered the first round of drinks and appetizers, then disappeared. I hadn’t seen her since.
My drink had grown precariously close to the bottom of the glass.
I kept looking around for the cute brunette, but didn't see her anywhere. We’d had enough close calls for the day. There was no need to risk running dry.
I took matters into my own hands and ambled up to the bar.
I may have had an ulterior motive. A gorgeous blonde leaned against the counter, scribbling on a napkin.
From where I stood, she had all the right curves.
With tortoiseshell glasses and her hair pulled back into a ponytail, she gave off smart, sexy vibes.
Like a librarian. Hopefully, a naughty one.
I pulled up next to her at the bar, and the fresh scent of her body wash delighted the senses. I tried not to pay her too much attention, but I couldn't help notice the hieroglyphics she scratched on the napkin—an advanced mathematical equation. It might as well have been a foreign language.
"It’s really not that hard," I said. “If you want my number, all you have to do is ask.”
She gave me an annoyed look over the rim of her glasses. "Excuse me?"
I extended my hand and smiled. "I'm Tyson."
"And I'm not interested.”
She went back to her equation.
I ordered two more whiskeys from the bartender. Undeterred, I tried again. "What are you working on?”
"You wouldn't understand.”
"Try me.”
She paused, huffed, then finally looked at me. "Okay, smart guy. If the phase transition point keeps shifting because the lattice constant changes under load, what’s the adjustment factor?”
She was so smug and arrogant about it.
But I admired confidence.
I stared at her, trying not to look like I was drowning. After a beat, I scoffed, “That’s easy. Are we talking about a pressure-sensitive, first-order transition?”
Her eyes widened with disbelief. “Maybe.”
“Well, we are or we aren’t?”
“Yes,” she said, growing intrigued.
“Well, you’ve got to reduce expansion stress.”
Something clicked in her brain as she stumbled across the answer she’d been looking for. It finally landed. “By cooling it more slowly.”
“Exactly.”
I didn’t know what the hell I was talking about.
She shook her head in disbelief, and her eyes squinted at me. “How’d you know that?”
“I just watched a show on quantum particle expansion. Fascinating stuff.”
She regarded me with doubt.
A douchey guy with cologne that overpowered the room rolled up to the blonde.
He had wavy brown hair, a toothpaste smile, and a jaw made for television.
He wore a navy DiFiore suit and a red silk tie.
Somehow, the guy managed to flash his gold Rolex at every available opportunity.
He looked me up and down. "Who's your new friend? "
The blonde was a little flustered. "Tyson was just helping me solve an equation.”
"Was he,” he said in a disapproving tone.
"It's funny how breakthroughs happen when you least expect it," the blonde said. "Tyson, this is my boyfriend, Ashton Rockwell.”
I extended my hand, and we shook. Of course, he tried to squeeze my hand as hard as he could, trying to establish himself as the alpha dog. I tried not to break the bones in his hand when I squeezed back.
With a smile, Ashton said, "I'm so glad you could help Emily out.” He wasn't happy at all. He asked her, "Are you ready to go?”
Her brow wrinkled with confusion. "We just got here."
"Change of plans. I told Todd we'd meet him and Marcy at Blue Ruin."
The bartender slid my drinks across the counter, and I dug into my pocket and pulled out a wad of cash.
Ashton took Emily by the arm and pulled her away from the bar. "It was nice to meet you," he said as he dragged her away.
Emily looked back over her shoulder at me before he hustled her through the crowd.
I chuckled, grabbed the drinks, and marched back to the high-top table.
JD had watched the interaction. "She was cute.”
“She was.”
“Too bad she’s got poor taste in men.”
“Who knows? He could be a great guy underneath all that possessive insecurity.”
We laughed.
Ashton and Emily hadn't even made it across the bar before the two started arguing with each other.
I don't think she liked being told what to do, and Ashton didn’t like her talking to strange men.
No doubt a woman like that got hit on all the time.
She had plenty of options. Why she settled for that ass-nugget was beyond me.
They left the club a few moments later.
We hung out at Skyline for a little while.
The guys met us up there, then we made a venue change to Red November and ended up at Vibe to catch Tube Snake.
They had a blues-influenced rock thing happening.
Good old-school music with vintage gear and greasy guitar tones that had more sizzle than bacon—a trio of guitar, bass, and drums with the soulful vocals of a man who had bled every word.
We enjoyed the show, then headed back to the Avventura. All things considered, it was a pretty tame night. After the day we’d had, that was fine by me.
The next morning, we headed over to the hospital to speak with Jürgen again. I hoped he’d be a little more coherent, but that wasn't the case. Just more ramblings about things that didn't make sense. He kept muttering something about Von Markov.
"Who is Von Markov?" I asked.
"The butcher. The butcher is here.”
"What do you mean?”
Jürgen summoned all of his energy and looked at me with fierce eyes. "He must be stopped!”
That took everything out of him. He faded and slumped back against the pillow after he said it.
"What's Von Markov trying to do?" I asked, going along with it.
Jürgen faded out of consciousness.
The nurse shuffled us out of the room. “That’s enough for now. You can try again tomorrow.”
I gave her my card. "Would you call me if he becomes more coherent? I really need to get some answers from him.”
She gave me a nod and said that she would, but I wasn't holding my breath.
We left the hospital room, and I called Isabella. "Please tell me you've got something for me.”
"I still haven't been able to track the origin of your bomber,” she said. “As far as your victim, Rudolph Weiss, I’ve got nothing. The guy’s a ghost. He doesn't exist. If I didn’t know better, I'd think someone went to great lengths to scrub his presence on the Internet.
" She sighed. "But maybe the guy’s just from a remote area and never got a social media account.
Maybe he didn't shop online or use the Internet much.
There are no Interpol records for him. Nothing stateside, and nothing in the archives.
His fingerprints aren't on file in any of the criminal or professional databases.”
It wasn't impossible, but in this day and age, you definitely had to go out of your way to keep yourself out of an information database. Websites sold information to brokers all the time.
"Does the name Von Markov mean anything to you?”
"Not off the top of my head. Why?”
I told her about Jürgern’s ramblings. "I haven’t been able to establish a solid motive for Jürgen to shoot Rudolph. Doesn't make sense to steal the guy’s wallet but not his Rolex.”
“I’ll keep looking into this to see what I can find," Isabella said.
The circumstantial evidence was strong, but without a direct witness, there was wiggle room. I wanted to make this case as air-tight as possible.
I thanked Isabella for the information, ended the call, then dialed Brenda.
She picked up after a few rings. “Hey, I was just about to call you. You might find this interesting.“