He wouldn't tell Brady yet. The boss saw dollar signs when he looked at Amurri and would brush off Jensen's suspicions. So right now he'd keep them to himself and have Margiotta do a little more digging. And maybe have Peary follow him again.
Scratch an itch and sometimes you find a chigger.
5
A large Dunkin' Donuts coffee in one hand, the Post in the other, Richie Cordova elbowed his office door open and breezed through the reception area.
"What've we got today, Eddy?"
"New client at two."
He stopped in mid-breeze. "That's it?"
"Afraid so."
He shook his head. Christ, things were slow.
In his office he dumped his weight into the chair behind his desk, set down the coffee and paper, and pulled a bag containing a pair of glazed chocolate donuts from the side pocket of his jacket.
He hadn't been able to resist. Damn. He had everything else in his life pretty much locked down the way he wanted. His appetite was the only thing not under control.
Maybe tomorrow.
He hit the power button on his computer and gobbled one of the donuts while it warmed up.
He'd had a dream last night about that nun. A hot one. Must've been because he'd talked to her during the day. He knew what Sister Golden Hair looked like in her birthday suit and she was nothing great—sure as hell nothing like the faked-and-baked babes in the shots he downloaded from teen-lust.com—but she wasn't bad, and she was real. And he'd been there, watching in real time as he snapped shots. Last night he'd had that pale, hot little body sweating over him instead of Metcalf.
Richie entered his password and went directly to his photo files.
Photo-wise, he was moving away from film to digital. Eventually he'd be all digital, but old habits were hard to break. Photos of any kind had stopped being worth much in court these days. Too easily faked. Hell, even negatives could be faked. But things were different in the good old Court of Public Opinion. A compromising photo could still mess up a reputation.
Even if you came out and swore on a stack of Bibles that the pictures were fakes, those images stuck in people's minds long after the explanations had faded away.
He opened the SIS folder and double-clicked one of the jpeg files within. But instead of an image of Sister Maggie in a clinch with her fundraiser pal, he found only a string of flashing capital letters.
HOPE YOU REMEMBERED TO BACK UP!
Where was the photo? He closed that file and opened the next. Same message.
"Oh, my God!"
He opened more files and felt his mouth grow progressively drier as the same words popped up time after time. He moved to other folders, but all his jpegs carried the same message. He tried a couple of doc files and they were the same! Every goddamn file on his computer had been wiped clean and replaced by the same sneering message!
He was on his feet, hands clamped against the sides of his head. "This can't be! This can't fucking be!"
Eddy poked her head through the doorway. "Something wrong, Richie?"
"My computer! Someone's been in here and sabotaged my computer! Wiped out everything!"
"How is that possible?"
He went to the two windows and checked the contacts. No sign of tampering. And both were locked from inside.
"I don't know. I—" He jabbed an index finger at her. "You must've forgot to turn on the alarm."
Eddy shook her head and looked offended. "Not a chance. I put it on as I always do. And it was still armed this morning when I opened up."
"Bullshit!" he said as he charged her way. She had to back out of the doorway to allow him through. "If that's true, how did he get to my machine?"
Same story with the sealed window in the reception area. What was going on?
"Maybe he didn't," Eddy said. "Maybe he—what do they call it?—hacked into it. I've heard they can get into government computers, so why not yours?"
Richie didn't know much about hacking, but he knew one thing for sure: "A computer's got to be turned on before you can hack it, and I turn mine off every night."
He returned to his office.
Eddy said, "Well then, I don't know what to tell you besides the alarm was set." She frowned. "And then you've got to ask yourself, why anyone would want to sabotage your computer? I keep all the correspondence and billing records on mine. If someone wanted to hurt your business, they'd go after my machine, wouldn't they? And mine is fine."
Richie couldn't answer that. And suddenly he was thinking about the envelope.
"Okay, okay, we've wasted enough time jawing about it. Get the number of that computer place down the street. Call him and tell him I've got an emergency here and need him ASAP."
"Will do."
As soon as the door closed, he went over to the radiator. The envelope was still there. He yanked it out and checked the money—all there. He dropped it back into its hiding place and stumbled back to his chair.
Maybe no one had broken in after all. That was a relief. He'd moved his computer here for the security system. Rudimentary but better than nothing, which was what he had at the house. And since it came with the rent here, a hell of a lot cheaper than installing one.
He grabbed the Post and fanned to the horoscope page.
Gemini (May 21-June 21): Win points by accepting additional responsibilities. Extra hours ensure future financial security. If you are in negotiations, you know by now that the other side may not be taking things as seriously as you are.
Well, he was always in financial negotiations, and that nun bitch didn't seem to be taking things as seriously as she should, but nothing here about bad luck or watching your back. Cusp guy that he was, he read on to the next.
Cancer (June 22—July 22): Being in the right place at the right time is your style today. You get recognition for a job well done. Balance job responsibilities with social ones. Celebrate, even if you have to invent a reason.
No warning here, either. But he liked the being in the right place at the right time part. That never hurt. No help, though, on what had happened to all his files.
He glanced at the screen where the words still flashed:
HOPE YOU REMEMBERED TO BACK UP!
Richie jabbed the off button and the screen went dark. "Fuck you!"
He had remembered to back up. He had a copy of every file in a safe place.
6
Jack found a small neighborhood no-name bar and earned a lot of stares as the only white face in the place. The available drafts were various Buds and Millers so he ordered a bottle of Corona—no lime—and a bar pie. He took it to the front window where he had a good view of Cordova's office across Tremont.
Traffic was thick on the sidewalks as well as the street where every third car seemed to be a black Lincoln Continental or Town Car with a livery sticker.
The Corona was good, but he barely tasted the pie. Good thing, because the backroom microwave oven had left the crust as gummy as the stingy layer of cheese. Hard to tell where one left off and the other began.
Not that he cared. He was eating simply to keep from being hungry later. Knowing that his face now resided in the Dormentalist computer had filched his appetite. Didn't want his photo anywhere.
But he hadn't been able to do anything about it. He'd considered pushing the privacy-nut persona a little further but had had a feeling that wouldn't wash with Jensen. The big guy was no dummy, and Jack sensed he could be trouble.
Maybe he was already trouble. He'd had him followed again. The same guy who'd tailed him yesterday had tried to dog him again today. Jack had lost him easily in the Rockefeller Center mob and then headed straight up here to the Bronx.