Geek Mafia: Mile Zero, Rick Dakan [reading an ebook .TXT] 📗

PAUL had never interrogated a prisoner before. Well, ok, that one time with Raff, but that hardly counted. That had ended up being more of a negotiation than anything else. Now the four of them were in Bee’s shed, standing around a known killer who was handcuffed to a wooden chair in the center of the room. This was way outside their area of expertise and no one seemed quite sure how to proceed. They all just kind of stared at each other, even Chloe seeming unsure or unwilling to do whatever they needed to do next.

“I guess we could take off the gag,” said Bee. “This shed is soundproofed.” She’d spent a week soundproofing the workshop so she could use her power tools at all hours of the night without bothering the neighbors. Of course since then she’d taken to spending all her time with her cameras upstairs in the main house, but the soundproofing remained.

Sandee looked around at the rest of them for approval, and when both Paul and Chloe nodded, he stepped forward and undid the gag. The man gasped for breath as he spit the red rubber ball from his mouth with a wet plop. They all watched as he worked his jaw open and shut with slow, pained motions.

“Can I have some water?” he asked the room, looking in turn at each of them. No one moved or said anything. “Water?” he repeated.

“Sure,” said Chloe. “We’ll get you some water…” she started and then stopped. Then she started again, “But first you need to answer some questions.”

He worked his jaw side to side now and ran his tongue over his lips.

“First I need some water,” he said.

“We can give him some water can’t we?” asked Bee in apparent discomfort.

“Bee, would you go inside and get him a glass,” said Paul, realizing there wasn’t any water out in the shed anyway. “Then we can talk about whether we’ll let him have some to drink.”

The man just nodded at this. Sandee, who was still behind him, shot Paul a kind of pained, confused look the meaning of which Paul didn’t understand. Chloe never took her eyes off the killer in the chair.

“What’s your name?” she asked him. He didn’t respond. “Come on, what’s your name? Make one up if you want. We’ve got to call you something.”

“Call me Jimmy,” he said after a moment’s thought. Then he started humming to himself.

“Ok, Jimmy,” said Chloe. “Do you know why you’re here?”

He just kept humming. And soon enough Paul recognized the tune as “Son of a Sailor” by Key West legend Jimmy Buffet. “Jimmy,” thought Paul, “that’s cute.” The guy was beat up, tied up and locked in a shed and he was playing games with them, all of which led Paul to believe that he was probably a lot better equipped to resist interrogation than they were to do the actual interrogating. Better to try and meet him on their own ground, which was trickery, confusion and deceit.

“This is stupid,” said Paul. “He’s not going to tell us anything.”

“Not telling us anything would be stupid,” Chloe responded. Paul realized that she thought he was trying some sort of good cop/bad cop thing. He hoped she picked up on his actual tactics as they unfolded.

“He doesn’t really need to tell us anything, does he?” said Paul. “I mean, what is it that he even knows that we don’t?”

Chloe took her eyes off “Jimmy” for the first time since they’d sat him down there and glanced over at Paul. Their eyes met for the briefest moment, but that was enough for an unspoken signal to pass between them. They’d worked together so long that one of them following the other’s lead in a con had become second nature. “That’s a good point,” Chloe said, prompting Paul to keep going.

“We know he killed Raquel. We’ve got pictures of him coming in and out of the guesthouse she was staying at. And we’ve got pics of him following her into Truman Annex from the time of the murder. So we know he killed her, and we know he dumped the body back in her room. Which means he had some help. There was someone else involved.”

Chloe picked up the story. “And we know he was hiding out on Christmas Tree Island, and we know that after that he tried to kill a woman by the library.”

“Where Sandee kicked his ass,” Paul interjected.

“Where Sandee kicked his fucking ass up and down the street,” Chloe agreed. “Which sent him running like a limp rabbit back to his hole. Or, more precisely, to a boat where he met with his master. None other than my old friend and mentor Winston, who welcomes him with open arms.”

“And that same Winston,” Paul said, “Had just been here at our house, looking at his picture and claiming not to recognize him. And then, when we set up a meeting with an innocent park ranger on a telephone call made from Winston’s house. Who should show up at the park? Our friend the killer here,” he said gesturing to the man. “So we know - without a shadow of a doubt we know that you killed Raquel and tried to kill at least one other woman.”

“Sounds like he’s got a problem with women,” said Chloe. “Maybe some kind of crazed Jack the Ripper type.”

“Could be,” said Paul. “Could be. I mean he’s obviously pathological in some way to kill people like that. But the question is, why’s Winston working with him?”

“That is the question,” Chloe agreed. “Although I’m not sure it matters.”

“Doesn’t matter?” asked Paul, surprise in his voice although in fact he’d been planning on saying something very similar himself.

“Nope. Doesn’t matter.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because there’s no excuse for trying to kill two women like that.”

“And succeeding at killing one of them,” Paul pointed out.

“And succeeding at murdering one of them. Exactly,” said Chloe. “The ‘why’ doesn’t matter. All that matters is that he did it and that makes him an evil fuck. I’ve got no use for him or for Winston anymore. They’re both murdering fucks.”

“So we should just forgo the interrogation and turn him right over to Isaiah,” Paul suggested.

“That’s exactly what we should do.”

Throughout their discussion they’d both been staring at “Jimmy,” who stared down at the floor the whole time, pretending to ignore them. Hell, maybe he really had been ignoring them. But Paul thought not. And he also thought that if Winston trusted him enough to use him as a killer, then the two of them might just be pretty close. They were about the same age. “Jimmy” could’ve been with Winston’s Crew for decades, which meant he might also share Winston’s motivations and goals. Time to test that theory.

“And you know what else?” said Paul. “Turning him over to Isaiah pretty much wraps up all the loose ends. We give him Jimmy and tell him and Eddie and the rest about Winston’s betrayal. Then the plan gets to move forward and we get an even better position in the shadow corporation because we saved the day.”

“Exactly,” said Chloe. “We’re the fucking heroes of the hour. Fact is, we can pretty much demand to be given Winston’s position on the board. Isaiah will love us. That woman Jeanie will love us for saving her and clearing her name. Even Eddie will love us.”

“Well, maybe not love us,” said Paul. “But once we explain that it was Winston who was framing him for the fall all along, I’m sure we’ll gain his grudging respect.”

“Good enough for me.”

“Me too,” said Paul.

They were both silent for a moment, waiting for “Jimmy” to say something, but he still hadn’t reacted. “Let’s give Isaiah a call,” Paul said, taking his phone from his pocket. “Tell him he can come collect his prize.”

“Sounds good,” said Chloe. Then, to the killer, “You got anything to say before we make the call, Jimmy? Wanna sing us a song about margaritas or something?”

The killer raised his head for the first time and spoke, “Where’s that glass of water?”

“I’m sure Isaiah has water,” Paul said, dialing the phone. “I’ll put it on speaker so you can hear.”

The man said nothing and they all listened as the phone rang at the other end. After the fourth ring someone picked it up. Isaiah’s voice said, “Hello?”

“Isaiah, it’s Paul. We found the killer. Do you want him?”

There was a brief pause at the other end as Isaiah processed the statement and question. “Absolutely,” he said.

“Jimmy” finally relented. He nodded his head vigorously, mouthing the words “hang up,” silently. Paul was impressed that the man had the presence of mind to keep quiet and not reveal his voice over the phone line, giving Paul more options as to how to proceed.

“Great,” said Paul. “We should be able to turn him over in a couple hours. Where do you want us to bring him?”

“Call me again when you’re ready. I’ll tell you where to rendezvous.”

“Sounds good,” said Paul.

“Excellent work, Paul,” Isaiah said. “I’m very impressed.”

“Thanks, I’ll see you soon.” Paul hung up the phone and looked to the killer. “So, did you have something you wanted to tell us now?”

“Call Winston,” the man said.

“Why?” asked Chloe.

“He’ll explain everything. Call him and he’ll lay the whole thing out for you.”

“Why don’t you lay the whole thing out for us?” asked Paul.

“Not my place. I’m no snitch. But Winston will want to talk with you. You should give him a chance.”

“Or what?” asked Chloe.

“Or you’ll have a gang war on your hands.”

THEY left him in the shed with a glass of water and Sandee standing guard over him. Back inside the living room, Paul flopped down onto the couch and rubbed his eyes. His hands were shaking from the tension he’d built up during the interrogation. Chloe collapsed down next to him and leaned close, her head on his shoulder.

“That was kinda weird,” she said.

“Kinda,” Paul agreed, realizing that interrogating a prisoner in his shed, while definitely weird, wasn’t nearly as weird for him as it should be for a normal person. “We don’t live a very normal life do we?”

“Nope,” said Chloe. “We sure as fuck do not.” They both sat there for a long moment, staring at the blank TV screen across the room.

“And that’s good?” asked Paul.

“Isn’t it?” asked Chloe.

Paul thought about it for a second and didn’t know if it was good or not. But he said, “It is good.”

“More often than not anyway,” Chloe added.

“Yeah, more often than not.”

There was another long moment of silence, maybe as much as a minute while they both thought about their situation and what the hell they should do next.

“Gang war doesn’t sound good, does it?” Paul asked.

“No.”

“So we should call Winston?”

“Yeah.”

Paul waited for her to move toward any of the dozen or so phones in the house.

“Are you going to call him?” he asked.