Douglas Dorow - The Ninth District

Jack looked at Sure Thing and tilted his head at the sound, like a dog hearing a high-pitched whistle. “Asshole?”

“She loves me.” He waved his hand through the air. “Come here, my love!”

Squeaky pulled herself away from her station and walked over. She was about four foot, eight inches tall, barefoot, and had an unlit cigarette tucked behind her ear. She sat down in the chair next to Sure Thing, spun herself in a circle on its swivel, and asked, nodding at Jack on the next revolution, “Who’s your friend?”

“This is Jack. He’s here to find out about Agent Fruen’s cards and finances.”

Squeaky jammed her feet to the ground to stop the gyrations of the chair. She slowly positioned herself to face Jack, leaned forward, and with a new, serious look on her face asked, “Who did he piss off?”

“I don’t know. That’s what I’m hoping you guys can help me with,” Jack said.

“Whoever it is, I definitely wouldn’t want that person for my enemy. Fruen’s money is gone; his credit rating is annihilated. Whoever did it was good. They covered everything; his credit cards, credit rating, checking account, savings account, the couple of investments he had. It was all done in a very short time frame yesterday morning. Smells Russian to me, but that’s all I’ve got is a smell. Nothing obvious, no signature, no point of origin for the request that leads me to who did this. But, it smells Russian. It was clean, quick, somebody who really knew what they were doing. We’ve seen something similar before. Coders have a signature, a style, an accent, like with any language. This is Russian. They were after Fruen and didn’t bother to leave a false trail.”

Jack looked at Sure Thing. “Still doesn’t tell me a lot, does it?”

“I think it confirms that it’s all tied together. The Governor is smart and connected to some people that know how to get things done in the world of finance and technology. He is able to, or knows people who are able to, get into the systems of the banks and related financial institutions discreetly, but he’s still going in to banks physically for something.”

Sure Thing nodded at Squeaky. “And if she says it smells Russian, it’s probably Russian mob. Woman’s intuition. Something you and I don’t have.”

“That’s something, I guess. Let me think about it,” Jack said. “Thanks, Squeaky. You done or still turning over rocks?”

Squeaky got up. “I’m still turning over rocks. There’s always something out there hiding, I just haven’t found it yet.” She left and returned to her workstation.

“If there’s something out there, she’ll find it,” Sure Thing said to Jack. “Just be glad she’s on our side.” He spun his chair around and faced his monitor; his right hand moved the mouse around, waking up the computer from its screen-saving mode. “Come here. We’ve got one last thing to discuss.”

Jack pushed himself up from the edge of the table to look over the sports fan’s shoulder. A map of Minneapolis was depicted showing the region around the Uptown area lakes; Lake of the Isles, Calhoun, and Harriet.

Sure Thing touched the screen with his finger. “This is approximately the location of the accident. Let me walk you through this. Agent Fruen’s phone was tied into a tower located here. We’ve contacted the cell phone company the incoming call was made from. The tower it was communicating through was the same one. Which means the call was made from the same area. That corroborates Agent Fruen’s story.”

“Did you have to do that?” Jack asked.

“Just dotting the I’s and crossing the T’s. That’s just the beginning. The phone is still on and it’s still in the same area.”

Jack leaned forward. “Where is it?”

“Right here,” he pointed out the location on the map.

“I was just in that neighborhood.”

“It’s a few blocks from the accident. I doubt the Governor is still there. Looks like he just cut off of Lake Street and dumped the phone. The van’s out getting the exact location right now and a tactical team is there just in case The Governor is still around.”

“Tell them not to touch it.” Jack took a step for the door, turned back, and said, “Come on. Let’s go.”

“Where is it?” Jack stood in front of the tactical van parked on the street.

The agent in charge, Stephan Ramirez, was dressed in black and ready for action. He had his tactical weapons around his waist and an earpiece with a microphone for directing the on-site team. Sweat glistened on his cheeks. The warm morning was becoming a warmer afternoon. The sun turned the humid air into a sauna. He nodded to his left. “We have men in the bushes with eyes on the truck. It’s parked in the apartment parking lot down the street.”

“OK, let’s go get it.”

Stephan touched the earpiece to activate the microphone and said one word, “Bingo.”

Down the street, Jack watched as a team of people, in dark pants with t-shirts under bulletproof vests that said FBI on the back, converged on the truck. They approached the vehicle but didn’t touch it. On either side, agents peered through the windows, inspecting the interior. The left side of the vehicle was dented and scratched. This was the correct vehicle and their equipment told them the phone that had called Ross was inside it.

Jack looked at Sure Thing, who was leaning against the van. “Let’s go. Looks like they’ve secured it.”

Jack cupped his hands to cut the glare and looked in the windows of the truck himself. “Take your time. We don’t know why he left this here. Make sure there aren’t any surprises. He went after Special Agent Fruen today with this truck.”

“Sure Thing, I’m going to take a little walk. You’ve got this. Let me know when they’re through.”

Jack walked around the apartment building. He looked up at the back of the building. Across the street, some youngsters were standing on the sidewalk, watching the team working around the van. Standing on the sidewalk in front of the apartment building, Jack looked at it with a feeling of recognition. He slowly turned around and surveyed the street. About halfway through his turn it hit him. This was the street where Ross had talked with Sandy. He took out his phone and dialed a number.

Jack stared at the apartment building while he waited for the phone call to connect. The building was an old, three-story brick building. Many of the apartments had window air-conditioner units and most of them were running to ward off the hot, sticky air. The call went unanswered and forwarded to voicemail. He ended the call and walked up the steps. He looked through the front window to examine the names on the mailboxes. Most of them just had last names.

Jack instinctively patted his pockets. What was her last name? The card that Junior had just said Sandy. He tried to dig back through his memory, but couldn’t remember her last name, just what she looked like. He looked at the mailboxes again. She hadn’t answered her cell phone. Could she be home? Did she even live in this building? Was it a coincidence the car the Governor had used was parked behind this apartment building?

Jack called the number posted over the mailboxes that was for the residents to call to report problems with the building. After three rings, a voice answered in a whisper, “This better be important.”

“My name is Special Agent Miller with the FBI. I’m standing outside your building on the front steps. I’m trying to track somebody down and I think she may live in this building. Could you come to the front door and let me in and answer a few questions for me?” Jack started nice, but firm, hoping it would get him the results he was looking for.