Razor and Oz are in a restaurant a few miles from here. The detective doesn’t trust me on not following, so he and I will be hanging here when Violet leaves. I can’t tell them what cars to follow or what direction they went. The moment Violet walks out of this trailer, we’ll be blind.
Razor: She figured it out because she knows us. I need you to lift the cell of one of the people going. Crack open the back and on the sim card is a 15 digit number called the IMEI. Get me that and I can track his cell.
Lifting cells. I’ve been doing it since I knew what a cell phone was and I’ve been lifting them off bikers to piss them off for years. Can’t say I’ve ever lifted one from a police officer before, but there’s a first time for everything.
Not as concerned on getting my hands on the cell as returning it. That’s when life gets tricky.
I watch the men as they talk. The cell that looks the easiest to lift would be from the guy with the black hair. His phone is half poking out of his back pocket. The guy with the blond hair also has his cell in his back pocket, but it’s dug deep. That’s a hell of a pick, but possibly doable. No way in hell I’m going for the detective. He sees too much. Knows too much. He’d probably pull a gun on me if I get within three inches of him.
To narrow it down, I shift my weight, scraping my knuckles against the wall in the hallway, and watch. It’s not a loud or sudden movement. Very subtle. The detective and guy with black hair both pause with the sound, but keep going. Blond-hair guy doesn’t react to it at all.
He’s my target.
Water runs in the bathroom. The knob turns and Violet emerges. She slides her hand along her jeans with nerves and blows out an unsteady stream of air. “I’ll take someone up on that water.”
Bingo. Blond volunteers and I don’t move from the door, but only angle my body so he can get through the doorway in the tight, cramped space I created. He slides by, his body hitting parts of my arm. Fingers shoot out, snatch his cell and then I’m entering the bathroom.
Door closed, I pop the cell out of its safety case, crack open the back, and using my own cell, I text Razor the IMEI number. My cell vibrates.
Razor: Got it. Is the phone turned on?
I push on the screen and it comes to life. Me: Yes
Razor: Good. Get it back on his body. I’ll start tracking now.
Me: We are only there as eyes and ears. That’s it. I gave my word that we’d let Violet play this out. Eyes and ears only. Do you got me?
Razor: Loud and clear. You’re starting to get as bossy as Oz.
I’ll take that as a compliment.
I flush the toilet for pretense, turn on the water as I pocket my cell and palm the police officer’s phone. I return to the office, but this time I lean my body half in the office and rest my other shoulder on the hallway wall so that there is room to go around without having to touch me.
Violet’s in the chair the blond abandoned and she’s listening intently and nodding along to Barlow’s instructions again. They’ve gone over it a hundred times, and I’m fine with them going over it a hundred more.
Out of the corner of my eye, I spot the blond returning down the hallway. I keep my eyes and posture turned on Violet. He’s got to think I don’t know he exists. Because the opening to enter is wide, he doesn’t shrink away from me.
In a movement so fast that I’m not even aware I’m moving, I use my foot to edge a box an inch in his direction and he stumbles on it. I react, grabbing his arm to help keep him from landing on the floor, and slip his cell into his back pocket, and as I help right him, I use the hand that had the cell to pat his back. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” He glances down to the box full of paper to be recycled and kicks it out of the way. “Cramped spaces.”
“I get it. I share a tight two-bedroom condo with my mom.”
Violet glances up at me, oblivious to all that just took place. I wink at her for reassurance and she brightens before returning her attention to the detective.
She’s leaving in fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes.
God help the souls of the Riot if she’s not back in my arms in an hour.
Violet
DROP THE NAMES Justin and Skull at least once, confirm with them what they are going to do with the account numbers, give them the account numbers, leave. The police will confirm I’m not being tailed, and the Riot will go off and hopefully try to use the account numbers the police tech people are now monitoring. Once the Riot do start to manipulate the accounts, the police swoop in, take the hard drives and make arrests.
It’s simple. Simple, simple, simple.
Except I’m the one who is sticking my neck on the chopping block and the Riot love to chop with their sharp, shiny knives.
I expected the Riot to choose a warehouse, because that’s what happens on TV. I also expected wires taped to me, but it turns out I’m wrong on both counts. The Riot chose a pick-your-own-goldfish fish store.
A fish store.
It’s beyond odd.
A bell dings when I enter, and if it wasn’t for the fact I’m scared to death, I’d probably be captivated by all the beautifully designed tanks that house hundreds of colorful fish. There’s a girl behind the counter, college age maybe, with dyed purple hair. She looks up from her book and gives a salesperson smile. “Hi, can I help you?”
“I’m here to meet Justin and Skull.” Points for me. I already dropped their names in the first words I spoke.
She hops down from her stool. “Wow, I haven’t heard anyone call him Justin in a while. They’re in the back and told me someone would be looking for them. Follow me.”