Geek Mafia: Mile Zero by Rick Dakan (reading tree txt) 📖

routers that bounced the signal back to the house or used the city’s own wireless network. And while the signal network was behind a security wall and encoded, it was all off-the-shelf software. If Winston had a competent hacker on his Crew, he could probably break it. Especially if he’d managed to pull some data off one of their laptops. None of them could remember for sure if they’d left Winston alone with any of their computers, but everyone agreed it was more than probable that they had. Thus, Winston could very well be accessing their own camera network for his own purposes.

Finally they’d given him their private cell phone numbers, although that was easy enough to fix. They switched out for new disposable phones and tossed the ones Winston knew about, giving them some small measure of security. Bee’s analysis of the bug Winston had planted showed that it did operate in signal bursts, but that it sent them fairly frequently - every ten minutes or so, which was the maximum amount of audio it could store. Bee had done a little digging around outside and found a signal receiver for the bug plugged into an outlet on the outside of their neighbor’s house that would transmit the bug’s recording anywhere on the island. There was a chance Winston or his Crew had heard everything they said.

They’d all agreed that the only real option was to move forward as planned and play dumb, at least during the next meeting. They needed time to figure out just what Winston’s game was and whether or not he meant them harm. So Paul would go to the meeting, while the rest tried their best to dig into Winston’s activities over the past few days and sort out just what the hell was going on.

All of which was why Paul had only about two and a half hours of sleep before he had to set out to meet with his potential co-conspirators at the church. After his experience with Isaiah and the gang up atop the La Concha, he knew better than to try and sneak in any hidden recording devices. Armed with just his cell phone (and, he liked to think, his wits), Paul walked the twelve blocks to the church. He traveled through the prosperous tourist and residential blocks where he spent most of his time and then right past the restaurant and bar-clogged region around Duval Street and onto Whitehead Street, where one couldn’t help but be reminded that Key West really was a southern town.

He’d talked to several old-time conchs who’d grown up on the island and lived here all their lives (rarer and rarer as snowbirds bought up all the real estate for vacation homes and drove the housing prices sky high). They told him how up until all too recently it had been unheard of for a black person to cross Whitehead Street and come into the “white” parts of town unless they had a very good reason. Likewise, it was equally unusual for any white to travel in the opposite direction. In more recent years, the part of the black community known as Bahama Village had been refurbished and claimed as part of the larger tourist attraction, but much of the historically black neighborhood remained as historically poor as it had always been. Paul and his Crew had few contacts here and no cameras because, quite frankly, they were intimidated by the drug dealers. And although there was nothing much in the way of organized gang activity (it was still a pretty small part of the island), there was too little gain for too much risk.

Isaiah obviously had fewer worries about setting up shop in the area, and he obviously had some good contacts if he could get the usually busy and popular AME church to let them meet there. Although to be honest, the church was just at the edge of what locals considered the “dangerous” part of town and Paul wondered if maybe Isaiah wasn’t trying to have it both ways - meet in a black community, but not so far in that he’d be likely to encounter any real trouble.

Paul had expected to gather in a parish hall or church office of some sort, but as he approached, he recognized the man who’d been guarding the door at the La Concha two nights ago. He was sitting on the steps of the church, reading a newspaper. He gave Paul a casual nod of greeting and then motioned for him to go on inside.

Up five steps and through the front door which stood wide open. Paul could count on two fingers the number of hours he’d spent in church since graduating from high school, including weddings. This particular church was pretty much everything he expected from a house of worship - wooden pews coated with decades of furniture polish, a high vaulted wooden ceiling shrouded in shadows and high, thin windows. At the far end, standing in front of rather than behind the pulpit, was Isaiah, his wife Amelia at his side. She had a phone nub in her ear and was paying studious attention to the PDA in her hand. Isaiah was talking on a phone of his own, but he hung up as he saw Paul advancing down the aisle toward him.

As he walked forward, Paul took a moment to look around the sanctuary, searching for signs of hidden cameras or other electronics Isaiah might have hidden there, but of course he didn’t see anything. Once again, he decided to just assume they were there. He reached the front and held out his hand to Isaiah, who shook it. Amelia, talking quietly to whoever was on the other end of her cell phone, flashed him a smile and a little wave before strolling a few paces away, out of Paul’s earshot.

“Good morning, Paul,” said Isaiah.

“Pretty fancy digs you got here.” Paul said. “Is this a religion or a corporation you’re planning to start here?”

“Most religions are corporations of one sort or another,” Isaiah replied. “Or at least they take advantage of some of the same powers and advantages that governments have granted big business. Incorporating some religious institutions is part of the overall strategy - we’ve got to take advantage of any opportunity the powers that be give us.”

“Sure, why not?” said Paul. “Are you a religious man yourself ?”

“No, not at all. But don’t tell my grandparents or my mother. I thought this place would add a certain solemnity to the occasion, maybe inspire our future partners to behave themselves and think seriously about the opportunity we all have here.”

“Plus if we need to have a funeral…” Paul said, but let the joke trail off.

“There is a certain funereal aspect too, but no one had been killed when I arranged for this place.”

“The best laid plans…” said Paul, again letting his sentence trail off, although this time it was because he couldn’t remember the whole quote. Something about mice and men. More important, Isaiah had just dropped an interesting little fact into the conversation: He’d arranged to use the church days ago, at least before Raquel’s murder. And probably weeks or even months ago. Once again he felt he was playing catch-up with everyone else.

Isaiah’s phone buzzed in his hand, and he excused himself to take the call. Looking around, Paul decided to take a seat in one of the pews and wait for the others. Eddie and his sidekick Marco arrived about five minutes later, and Eddie ignored Paul as he went over to Isaiah and pulled him aside for a private word. Marco just sort of stood there, looking around. He gave Paul a friendly nod, but that was the limit of their communication.

Winston arrived last, coming up the aisle with a spring in his step and a smile on his face as he whistled something that sounded to Paul’s ears like a hymn or maybe an old spiritual. “Good morning, all,” he said. “Sorry I’m late. Overslept a bit.” Paul wondered where he’d slept - certainly not back in the house he and Chloe had provided, which had remained empty all night according to their cameras.

Isaiah broke away from Eddie, (who didn’t seem like he was finished saying whatever it was he wanted to say) and resumed his place at the front of the church below the pulpit. Eddie followed him over and took a seat in the pew across the aisle from Paul, motioning for Marco to join him. Winston sat down next to Paul, giving him a fatherly pat on the shoulder as he did so.

“We’ve got a lot to cover,” Isaiah said, “And not a lot of time, as always. Why don’t we start with what’s on everyone’s minds: the investigation into Raquel’s murder. Paul, can you tell us all what you’ve found?”

“Sure,” said Paul, standing up. “Well, we know she was murdered out near the beach at Ft. Taylor Park, after hours when the park was closed. We then think the killers took her by boat off the beach area and then dumped her body back in her hotel room.”

“What the hell is that about?” asked Eddie. “Why the fuck would they do that?”

“To send us all a message. We think they’re trying to scuttle this whole endeavor of Isaiah’s and they placed the body where only we were likely to find it.”

“That means the killer is one of us,” said Marco, his voice calm and quiet. “Assuming we’re the only ones who knew about the plan.”

“That’s right!” Eddie shouted. “If what you’re saying is right, then you’re also accusing one of us of the murder.”

“Or someone that one of us told about the plan,” Paul pointed out, staring right at Eddie as he said it. Even though he didn’t believe Eddie’s Crew had killed anyone, his distaste for the man brought out Paul’s confrontational side. “Have any of you spoken of the plan to anyone outside our little inner circle?”

“That is a very good question,” Winston added from his seat. “Have any of us told anyone outside about the plan.” He looked right at Eddie as he said this last bit.

“Oh fuck you, old man,” Eddie said. “You both know I’ve told someone else. But that was after the fucking murder, ok?”

“Indeed?” Winston asked. “And this other Crew just happened to be in Key West at this particular moment in time?”

“We asked them to meet us here, ok? It’s not like we don’t have other shit going down besides this whacked scheme of Isaiah’s.”

“When did you ask them?” Winston asked.

“A couple weeks ago,” Eddie admitted. “But before you get any ideas, we didn’t tell them a fucking thing about you guys. They had no idea. As far as they’re concerned, this was all about an unrelated piece of fucking business that’s not any of your business.”

“Of course,” said Winston, raising an eyebrow and making it clear to one and all that he didn’t believe one word of it.

Eddie started to say something, but Isaiah cut him off. “I believe there’s more to Paul’s report. Let’s save the discussion until the end.”

Paul nodded and continued. “We do have a suspect. I’ve sent pics to Isaiah of a man we’ve identified as being involved in the killing in some way. We think that he definitely had a role in dumping the body back in the guest house and may have been the one to actually kill her as well.”

“I’m sending it to you now,” said Amelia, speaking for the first time. Marcos, Eddie, Winston and Paul all watched their phones, and a minute later they had the pictures he’d sent.

“This was taken off a security camera near the guesthouse,” said Paul. “We have others showing him following Raquel