James Swain - The King Tides

“I don’t know.”

“But you said this girl wasn’t posting images of herself on the internet. Then what is this fellow looking at?”

That was the $64,000 question. What was fueling Zack Kenny’s obsession, as well as those of the other sickos who were relentlessly pursuing Nicki? He’d come up with a theory and decided to test it out on Croix.

“Do you ever look at porn on the internet?” he asked.

“When I’m bored,” Croix admitted.

“Then I’m sure you’ve seen head shots of female actresses photoshopped onto images of women engaged in group fellatio and gang bangs. The images are phony, but they can still turn you on. I think that may be the situation here.”

“You think Nicki’s face has been photoshopped onto other girls’ naked bodies?”

“Yes. It’s the only explanation I can come up with.”

Croix shook his head. “If what you’re saying is true, then it could be any teenage girl who’s being victimized by these men. Even my own daughter.”

“Yes, it could.”

A fake Visa card spat out of the 3-D printer. Croix trimmed it to the proper size and laminated it with an ultrathin layer of plastic coating. Handing it to Lancaster, he said, “If you do get this man’s information, how do you plan to access it?”

Lancaster didn’t pretend to know everything. He said, “What do you mean?”

“If this man is a deviant, then I’m sure his cell phone is encrypted. Unless you know the password, you won’t be able to find what you’re looking for,” Croix said.

His shoulders sagged. He didn’t use a password for his own cell phone, and had not considered that Kenny would use one to keep his images of Nicki hidden.

“I don’t know the password. Any suggestions?”

“You will need to hack the phone. I know a man who can help you. He’s Russian and owns a strip club. His dancers get customers drunk and take them to VIP rooms, then pass their cell phones through a hole in the wall. While they’re giving blow jobs, the Russian hacks their phones and gets their banking information. The next day, he transfers a few thousand from their checking accounts to his bank. If the customer raises a stink, he threatens to blackmail them.”

“He videotapes the VIP room?”

“Correct. Do you know him?”

“I know his kind. Would he hack Zack Kenny’s cell phone if you asked him?”

“Normally, I would say no. He is a mobster and very secretive. But he has a problem that you can help him fix with your connections in the police department. In return, I believe he will hack the pervert’s cell phone for you.”

“What kind of problem are we talking about?”

“He’s being shaken down by a pair of detectives and pays thousands of dollars each month in protection money to keep his club open. Now, the detectives are pressuring him to give them a piece of the action.”

“They want to be silent partners in the club?”

“A straight fifty-fifty split. In return, the detectives will supply the dancers with cocaine, which they will peddle to their customers.”

“Are these detectives vice cops?”

“I don’t think so. I believe they work in homicide.”

“Then how are they getting their hands on the blow?”

“The cocaine is supposed to be incinerated, but the detectives have a way of siphoning off a few pounds before it’s taken away to be burned. If you can get them off the Russian’s back, I believe he will hack the pervert’s cell phone for you.”

“Can’t I just pay him to do this?”

“He won’t take your money. But if you do him a favor, he will respond in kind.”

The two pieces of fake ID were clutched in his hand. He stared at them long and hard. He believed in following a case down whatever road it took him. But that didn’t mean getting in bed with a mobster, and there was no doubt in his mind that this Russian was nothing less than a devil with a thick accent.

But what if he decided not to pay the Russian a visit? Then he was back to square one and would have to start over. Normally, that wouldn’t be a problem, only he was running out of time. By the grace of God and a lot of luck, Nicki had managed to thwart her stalkers, but that wouldn’t last forever. Eventually, a stalker would get his hands on Nicki and steal her away, and her parents would never see her again.

“What is this Russian’s name?” he asked.

“Sergey.”

“Call him and set up a meeting.”

“Consider it done,” the forger said.

He left the tattoo parlor with his new identity in hand and drove to the closest Verizon Wireless store. It was fifteen minutes before closing when he walked through the front doors and was approached by a fresh-faced young woman wearing a name tag that identified her as Meg. He used the story of his ex-girlfriend tossing his cell phone out of a moving car because it was funny and also true. To help sell the story, he took Zack Kenny’s broken cell phone out of his back pocket and showed it to her.

“Wow, she really did a number on it,” Meg said.

“I need to buy a new one,” he said. “Call it the price of love.”

Meg went behind the counter and got on a store computer. He handed her the fake driver’s license and Visa card and gave her Kenny’s social security number, which he’d committed to memory in case she asked for it. He held his breath as she searched for Zackary Kenny.

“Okay, I found your account,” Meg said. “Your phone is the Motorola Z2 Droid. We have a special going on. I can upgrade you to a Z Force Droid for thirty bucks.”

“Is it worth it?”

“Absolutely. I got one myself. It’s the best phone I’ve ever owned.”

“Sold,” he said. “Can I download my apps and contacts to it?”

“Of course. You’re on the Unlimited Plan, which offers unlimited data, text, and calls plus HD streaming and a mobile hotspot. Want to keep it?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You’re in luck. You bought insurance the last time you purchased a phone, so this new one’s covered. The only charge is for the upgrade.”

“This is getting better all the time.” Taking out his wallet, he pulled out a pair of twenties. “I’ll pay cash. My credit card is nearly tapped out this month. I have a favor to ask. Will you help me download my apps and data? I’m not good with that stuff.”

“You bet,” Meg said.

He walked out of the store holding a new Z Force Droid with Zack Kenny’s personal information stored on it. So far, his plan had gone without a hitch. If he was lucky, Zack Kenny didn’t encrypt his personal information, and he’d be able to see what Kenny was looking at without having to jump in bed with a Russian mobster.

No such luck. The phone was locked and needed a password. He backed out of the space and was soon on Sunrise Boulevard heading west. Taking out his own phone, he pulled up Google and tapped the tiny microphone embedded in the search bar. The word “Listening” appeared on his screen, and he spoke into his phone.

“Directions to the Booty Call, Fort Lauderdale.”

“Here are your directions to the Booty Call, Fort Lauderdale,” an automated female voice said. “Continue to drive west on Sunrise Boulevard for five point two miles. You are on the fastest possible route and should reach your destination by 8:20 p.m.”

He arrived right on time. The club was a concrete building painted hot pink with royal palm trees framing the entrance. A valet with fresh stitches on his chin took his keys. Inside, a woman showing heavy cleavage said the cover was twenty bucks.

“I’m here to see Sergey,” he said. “Croix Tedesco sent me.”

“I don’t know any Sergey,” the woman said.