Monday, September 20, 4:35 p.m.
“Can I get you anything else?” he asked the lady at the counter while he kept watch on the rest of the shop from the corner of his eye.
She looked up from her BlackBerry, a dreamy smile on her face and a twenty in her hand. “No, this will be fine. You have a nice day.”
He made change that she didn’t bother to count. “You do the same. Buh-bye.”
He watched the woman go, no doubt in his mind what had put the dreamy smile on her face or where she was headed. He wondered if her husband knew that she was cheating on him or that the phone she clutched in one hand held her lover’s e-mails expressing his undying ardor, demonstrated at the local motel every Monday after work.
Breaking into her e-mail had been child’s play. Every time she waited in line, she checked her e-mail, just like three-quarters of his customers did. Everyone seemed to have one of those handy smartphones these days, and the lure of free Internet was too sweet to pass up as they waited in line.
Of course, anyone logging in to the “free” wireless Internet service he offered also received a sweet little Trojan that mined all of their e-mail passwords, bank account passwords, contact lists, anything they had stored on their cell phone or laptop.
He’d latched on to several of his current clients by stealing their e-mail info and logging into their accounts. My, my, the e-mails people sent, and kept. They were enough to make him blush. Hot, hot, hot. And perfect blackmail fuel. Cheating on your wife? For shame. Pay me and no one need ever know. It was so damn easy.
It had taken him only a few of Eric’s e-mails to realize he’d hit a gold mine. Eric and Joel had already been e-mailing back and forth about their anger over the condo development and how it encroached on the wetlands. Eric hadn’t seemed the type to care about wetlands, but through their e-mails, he could see how Joel had reeled him in.
Joel was an enthusiastic do-gooder, but he also knew which of Eric’s buttons to push. For once in your life, live, Joel had written. Take a risk. Be a champion. Do something that will make a difference. My father says you’re boring and safe. Is that how you want to live your life? Do you want to become like our fathers?
Who were both incredibly, stinking rich.
Too bad Joel had a conscience. He could have become a great salesman. Eric, on the other hand, had little imagination but a very thorough mind. Once led to a point, he’d run with it, just as he’d run with the idea of being a hero for once in his life.
Eric had become the leader, and quickly the plan had taken form. He’d enlisted help from Albert, his lover who’d gone along for the ride, probably for lots of reasons, most of them selfish. Then Joel brought in his own lover, a name that stopped me in my tracks. Mary. It was a name he hadn’t seen in some time. One he could have gone a lifetime without seeing again.
He might have left her alone forever if she’d stayed put. Worked her little job. Taken her frivolous little classes. But she hadn’t stayed put. She’d met Joel and had gotten involved in this delightfully escalating disaster. As soon as he’d seen her name in Joel’s e-mail, he’d known this was far bigger than blackmail. This was revenge.
And that the girl in the window had died? It made the pot all the sweeter.
Unfortunately, though, the girl’s death was bad for business today. He’d had the normal crowd at the counter and the register had been ringing almost nonstop, but the fire and the girl’s death were dominating all the “private” conversations. People said the damndest things in public, believing no one could hear them, that no one paid attention.
But I’m always paying attention. That’s why I’ll be rich. Nonchalantly, he drew his remote from his pocket. It looked like an iPod, from the circular thumb wheel on the device to the earbud he wore in one ear.
It wasn’t anything so frivolous as an iPod, although he, too, enjoyed his tunes. Just not when he was working. He spun the wheel with his thumb, rotating through all the hot zones. He’d wired the whole place and with his handy surveillance gadget could listen to any conversation. It was like an auditory zoom, an indispensable piece of equipment for any blackmailer, and a real steal on eBay.
He got most of his tips through listening in on conversations. Then he hacked into their e-mail to get the real goods-the documentation that would make his marks pay and pay again. Unlike Barney Tomlinson, the majority of his marks paid.
But like Tomlinson, when they didn’t, he took care of them. Permanently.
His shift would be over soon and he could take care of Tomlinson, then pick his spot to watch the College Four Minus One in action. He leaned down to close his laptop and jumped, startled when his pocket buzzed. It was one of the disposable cells in his pocket. It was Eric, he saw, once he’d found the right phone. He flipped the phone open to read the text.
Joel is dead. There are only three of us. Job on schedule.
Eric was taking him at his word, afraid the video would be leaked if all four of them didn’t show. The boy was afraid. That was good. By tomorrow, he’d be terrified. That was better. For now, he’d play with them a little bit, get that hook set in even deeper.
how do i know you’re telling the truth? he typed. prove it.
Chapter Eight
Monday, September 20, 4:40 p.m.
Eric needed to prove Joel was dead. He glanced at Albert, who was studying the map of the street where Tomlinson’s warehouse was located. He could ask for proof, but they’d agreed not to speak of it. Besides, Albert was still angry with him.
Eric remembered the ridiculous note that had popped into his mind that morning. Please excuse Joel from extortion-related arson, because he is dead. He logged on to the local TV news’ Web site. Earlier, the account of Joel’s “accident” had said only that the victim had been a Minneapolis university student. Hopefully they’d updated.
They had and the article listed the victim as Joel Fischer, aged 20. Twenty. He should have had his whole life ahead of him. They all should. And we would have if we hadn’t listened to goddamn Joel. Quickly he texted back, including the article’s URL.
Here is proof. He waited for a moment, then read the return text.
my condolences.
Yeah, right, Eric thought, tossing the phone to his sofa. “How’s it coming?”
Albert looked up from the map with a cold look. “You do your part. I’ll do mine.”
They’d split the duties, engaging Mary in the planning as little as possible. The one thing they agreed on was that they didn’t quite trust Mary. They would pick her up tonight, right before it was time, giving her no opportunity to leak their plan.
Before, the situation had been different, the four of them going over details again and again, here in his living room. Eric had hacked into the construction company’s server and found everything they’d needed-blueprints, the guard’s route, the schedule that had told them the adhesive was staged on floors one through three.
What were we thinking? They hadn’t been. They’d been so caught up.
Tonight, Eric would take care of the dog, disable the electronic alarm and the video systems, and get them inside. Albert would procure gas and matches, and, along with Mary, set the fire. A drive-by check had shown there were only simple recording cameras. They’d wear ski masks to hide their faces.
And if they were caught? Big deal. How much would arson add to their sentence? Life plus a few years. Big deal. If they didn’t get caught, they’d bought time. They’d lure the fucking texter out and kill him, quickly and cleanly. It was the only way to break free.