Don Bruns - Stuff to spy for

I’d spent three hours last night with the word processor trying to get it all down. And I had no idea how to erase the conversations with Sarah. So a transcript was going to have to suffice. I couldn’t possibly give her the video card without giving everything away.

“We had a little trouble with the recording device. I mean, you only gave us a day to install the unit and-”

“Audio? Or audio and video?”

“Mrs. Conroy, I have the transcript if you’d like to see it. Printed out. It’s the best I can do under these conditions.” The conditions being that I didn’t want to play the original recording for her. Plain and simple.

She was silent, but I could hear her breathing. Sarah had been right. The lady was a bitch. “I’ll meet you.”

I thought about the money again. It’s all I could think about. I wasn’t born with an aggressive personality, but I was salivating thinking about the payoff at the end of this assignment. “Mrs. Conroy, I realize there may be more to do, but if I could just get an advance on what we’ve done so far-”

“Mr. Moore. You’ve already done considerable damage on what you’ve tried to accomplish so far. The phony bomb scare, no actual recording of Sandler’s voice, just your transcript. I’m really unhappy with how things are going. Are you clear on that?”

“Mrs. Conroy,” James was banging on something in his room, making it hard to hear on my cheap cell phone, “I will do everything possible to quiet things down and get you the information you want.”

“And when your job is finished, then I’ll pay you. Not until then. Do you understand? I don’t want any misunderstanding.”

Damn. And there were expenses I needed to cover. There was a moment when I thought she was going to refuse to pay. Now she sounded like I’d get my money, but who knew when? “And where would you like to meet?” Not the Red Derby again.

“I know where you live. I’ll be there tonight at seven p.m.”

“Fine.” She knew where I lived. That scared me.

“And, Mr. Moore, there isn’t any chance that Sarah Crumbly will be at your apartment is there?”

“Sarah?” Why would Sarah come to our dump? We couldn’t afford her. I quickly remembered why. “No. Nope. No chance. No way. We’re not seeing each other. I mean tonight. So, there’s no chance tonight. No chance at all. Nope.” I could have gone on, but it was time to shut up.

“And your friend?”

“James will be here.” Damn straight James would be here. I didn’t want to deal with this lady alone.

“Ah, good. But I was referring to Emily.”

I felt a chill go down my spine. I had no idea what she knew. How she knew. But I had the presence of mind to keep on going as if her question was perfectly normal. “No. Just James and me. A quiet night at home.”

Again, she was silent.

“Mrs. Conroy?”

“I would think that after the ruckus you caused this afternoon, a quiet night would be just what you need.” She hung up the phone.

“D ude.” James walked out of his room. “I’ve got something to show you.”

“James, I just talked to the ice queen.”

“Ah, the lovely Mrs. Conroy.”

“Yeah. She wants to come over tonight at seven to pick up the transcript.”

“I’ll be sure to disappear.”

“No. I don’t think so. She’s upset with you-and with me, and we both need to be here to take some wind out of her sails. Got to calm her down, James.”

“Then I’ll have about five beers just before she shows.”

“It might not be a good idea.”

James walked to the refrigerator and opened one. Something smelled spoiled, and I couldn’t imagine what it was. We use it primarily for beer. Maybe that leftover crab James brought home last week. Sometimes it doesn’t stay as fresh as it should.

“I can hear her now, Skip. ‘Mr. Lessor, I smell alcohol on your breath.’ ”

I knew the Will Smith comeback from the movie Hancock. “That’s ’cause I’ve been drinkin’, bitch.”

Neither of us cracked a smile. It had been that kind of a day.

“Let me show you. Just stay there.”

James walked back into his room, then reappeared with a tripod and what appeared to be a short telescope. It was wired to a box he held in his hand.

“Ta-da.”

I shook my head. “So not only will it pick up sound at two hundred yards, but it will withstand a throw of twenty or thirty feet.”

“You got it, pard.”

“Jody would be proud.”

“It still works, Skip. Must be the Lord’s will.” He gave me that charming smile. “And by the way, amigo, can you check on Feng’s car? Track that little sucker and see where he is right now?”

I flipped on the laptop and watched as the Miami map came into view. I scanned the screen, looking for Feng’s little blip. It was still surprising to me that he hadn’t figured out we were tracking his car.

I found the Honda. “It’s sitting still at the moment. It’s right near that day care center.”

“Maybe the guy’s a pervert, hanging around a school yard.”

“We’ve got nothing on this guy, James. Nothing. I say we drop it.”

“Humor me.”

“I think I do that every day.”

James ignored my sarcasm. “What time is it?”

I checked the computer. Five thirty.

“The dry cleaners is what, ten minutes from here?”

“The dry cleaners?”

“The one Feng stopped at when we first started tracking him.”

“About ten, yeah.”

“Let’s jump in the truck. Take the laptop, and let’s see if he goes there next.”

“And what’s that going to prove?”

“Probably nothing. But we’re taking along The Sound Max. Maybe give it a test run.”

“What?”

“I asked you to humor me.”

“You’ve already got us in trouble once today.”

“I can do better than that. You know I can. What’s my record?” He folded up the tripod and started out the door. “Grab the laptop, pard.” He walked out the door. Over his shoulder he yelled. “Five times in one day.”

“When?”

“When we were fifteen. I’ll fill you in on the way.”

Feng moved while we were en route.

“Following his ritual?”

“He’s headed toward the dry cleaners. It may be a quick stop. Honestly, James, he’s probably just dropping off laundry.”

“We’ll soon find out, amigo.”

“When we were fifteen? You set a record for getting into trouble? Why don’t I remember this?”

“You probably weren’t paying attention. Yeah. That must be it, because for just one day I set a personal record for doing things I shouldn’t have done. Mind you, Skip, I’m not saying I’m proud of all the things I did, but…” He hesitated. “Ah, what the heck, I am proud of them. If I remember right, I started that day in Miss Naab’s class, glued her grade book to the desk and she blamed you. I think you almost got a couple days off on account of that one.”

“Damn. I knew that was you, but you never admitted it.”

“So gluing the book was number one. I got you in trouble, which was number two, and for number three I skipped track practice. Number four on the list, I ‘borrowed’ Mom’s car and picked up Janice Richards. Being fifteen years old, I obviously didn’t have a license. We parked in back of the old mental hospital, you remember that old decrepit place, and number five and last on my infamous list, I got to second base with Janice. All in all, a pretty good day.”

“You’re a nutcase. Do you know that?”

He just beamed and kept on driving.

“Feng stopped.”

“Was I right? He stopped at the cleaners?”

“It would appear.”

“We’ll be there in three minutes. There was a parking lot for a deserted gas station across the street. We can pull in there. Think he’ll recognize the truck?”