The Locker Key

 

~1~

It was a beautiful spring day in Toronto. Early summer, cloudless sky, no wind to speak of, not too hot, not too cool. Jake Morrison was riding his bike along Dundas Street, heading for the downtown core. He was wearing shorts and a Hawaiian shirt. He was about five-foot ten and a little overweight. But he was in good shape because the bike has always been his preferred mode of transportation in a city like Toronto, where the city planners were clueless when it came to traffic management. 

Jake was handsome or maybe slightly less, depending on the kind of hair day he was having. His hair was long and sort of wavy. His eyes were dark brown, almost black, but spent most of their time behind either shades or reading glasses. 

Jake was singing a Tom Waits song, that got stuck in his head from the night before, just loudly enough for him to hear himself in his slightly out-of-tune voice. He had a whistle on a leather thong around his neck and was not wearing a helmet. 

His riding was a little on the reckless side from the driver’s point of view, but not from Jake’s. He’s been doing this ride a long time and he had it covered. Some people honked at him and he waved back. A couple of others honked at him and he shot them the bird. 

Eventually, he ran the gauntlet and made it across the Don Valley and into the downtown core. He headed down River Street and across King all the way to Simcoe Street, and onto a quiet cul de sac. He stopped in front of a nondescript building. A couple of bike couriers sat on the steps of the building having a smoke and chatting. Jake locked his bike to the railing at the side of the steps and entered the building, stopping to have a brief word with the couriers. They shared a laugh. Jake liked couriers. He used to be one back in the day and knows what their lives were like.

He climbed the steps to the second floor of the building, which was a radio station called MOJO Radio: Talk Radio For Guys. Jake nodded to the receptionist and walked down the hall to one of the broadcast studios. He waited until the light above the door went off and entered the studio. There were a couple of guys sitting behind the microphones, packing stuff up and chatting with each other. They are Jerry and Jeff, the PM sports show guys.

“The Jakester. How you doin’ Jake?” Jerry said.

“Jerry. Jeff. How about those Raptors?”

“Jury’s still out on that.” Jeff said.

Jake pulled a small MacBook from his backpack along with a thin sheaf of hard copy. He stepped into the control room, high-fived the technician and handed him the copy. He then came back in and took a seat next to Jerry, opened his computer and messed around with it a bit.

“So how are things in Jakeland?” Jerry said. “I hear they’re talking to you about a half-hour weekend cable show.”

“Yeah, building the Couch Potato empire one brick at a time. My agent is takin’ the idea to them this week.” 

“That’s cool, Jake, good on you.” 

The producer’s voice came through a speaker: “Back in five, four, three…

“Well, that’s about it for us, sports dweebs.” Jeff said into the microphone. “Tune in tomorrow, when our guest will be the man himself, Freddie Van Vleet of the playoff bound Toronto Raptors. It’s gonna be one hell of a show, guys.  So we’ll see you then. This is The Gerry and Jeff PMS Show signing off. In the meantime, stay tuned for Jake Morrison and the soon-to-be world-famous Couch Potato Chronicles.”

The Couch Potato Chronicles theme music came up and a pre-recorded announcer voice. “And now, coming to you live from the MOJO studios right here in the center of the universe, it’s the Couch Potato Chronicles with your host and chief spud, Jake Morrison.”

“Hey, everybody.” Jake said. “Well, it’s Tuesday May 7th, if you care about things like that. I‘m Jake Morrison. We’ll take some calls and read some emails later in the hour, but right now, I want to talk about something that’s pissing me off severely.

“I was killing time last night waiting for the Spurs/Mavericks game to come on and fumbling around with my recordings, when I noticed that I had recorded an episode of something on Showcase called Trailer Park Boys. I recalled seeing the previews for this show and making a mental note to watch it as part of my Canadian-made TV studies course. I’m glad I did and I’ll tell you why. This show brought out a level of disgust in me that I have never actually reached before, and as we all know it can be a pretty disgusting world out there, especially to a cynical spud like myself. Trailer Park Boys is one of those cruel jokes that TV plays on us every now and then…” Jake rambles on with his show kickoff monologue, guaranteed to piss off a lot of people and make for some interesting phone conversations and threatening emails later in the show. 

And so it went, twice a week, Tuesdays and Fridays.

The next morning, Jake was lying half asleep on the right-hand side of a queen-size bed. There was a lot of activity going on in the room. Stacy, Jake’s live-in girlfriend, was fully dressed and packing her suitcase. Jake rolled over and watched her. Stacy is a good-looking lady with long auburn hair and an hourglass shape that Jake had always found alluring.

“Oh oh….not again, Stace.”

“Jake, I don’t want to talk about this.” Stacy said. “I’ve said it all a couple of times. It’s my family and unlike some people I know who haven’t got two minutes to spare for theirs, it’s something I’ve got to do.”

“That’s a low blow. I’m not trying to stop you, Stacy. But this has happened before and it’s been nothing but a tempest in a teapot.”

“It’s not a tempest in a goddamn teapot Jake. It’s my mother and her heart.”  

 Jake got up. He was wearing pyjama bottoms. He walked over to the window and peered out at the street below. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I take back everything I just said. Go. Be with your mother. Get her better.”

Jake sauntered out of the room and headed downstairs. Stacy kept packing. 

A little while later, Jake helped Stacy load her bag into her car. “Look.” Stacy said, “I didn’t mean to be so harsh with you upstairs. I’m just...I don’t want to go either. But I have to Jake…it’s my family.” 

Jake gathered Stacy up in his arms. “It’s alright babe. I’ll keep a candle in the window.”

Stacy pulled back from Jake’s embrace. Tears were streaming down her face. She sniffed and tried to pull herself together. She kissed him gently on the lips. As she got into the car, Jake walked over to his front stoop, sat down and watched Stacy back down the driveway and up the street.

Jake headed into the house and poured himself a cup of coffee. He then walked into the back porch behind the kitchen, which has been converted into a comfortable office. At one end sat a large Mac computer, a desk and floor-to-ceiling shelves crammed with books, DVDs, papers and memorabilia. At the side, along the window was a small sofa and coffee table across from an impressive entertainment centre. His MacBook sat on the coffee table in front of the couch. A small pile of DVDs were on one side of the MacBook. On the other side was a big binder. On it is a logo and the words “Jake Morrison’s Couch Potato Chronicles”

Jake sat down at the desk and flicked on the big computer. As he waited for it to warm up, he punched up his messages on his cell phone.

Jake. It’s Charlie. I’m heading out down to the network tomorrow morning. I need the proposal with me. Finish up the revisions and meet me for lunch at Rugantino’s at 1:00. If you can’t make it, just email it to me. Otherwise, I’ll see you there.

Charlie was Charlie Morton, Jake's recently acquired agent and manager.

He hit the second message.

Jake. It’s Trisha, calling for you know who, who wants the copy for this week’s Chronicles. Press time is coming up quickly. I’ll check my email every ten minutes. Bye bye.

Jake set the phone down and leaned back sighing. “No rest for the wicked.” he muttered to himself, and then grabbed his mouse and started to get busy.

The next two days were spent doing the usual stuff. The meeting with his agent, a lot of writing, a lot of viewing. Jake’s biggest challenge was staying true to his mission that he would only deal in extremes. The shows he reviewed were only really bad or really good. He figured that any asshole could spot mediocre or ordinary.

~ 2 ~

On Friday morning, Jake got downtown early and was sitting at a table by the window in the Cafe Mocha coffee shop around the corner from the studio. His MacBook was open on the table in front of him and he was reviewing his monologue. Beside the computer sat a large paper cup of coffee and a half-eaten blueberry muffin. 

Jake was dressed in a pair of jeans and an untucked white shirt. He was staring at the computer with a blank look on his face. He then made a few changes to polish up the script and took a deep breath.  He put the computer to sleep and folded it closed. He leaned back in his chair for a moment and stretched, looking out at the street. 

Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a man across the street. The man was walking quickly, looking behind him. The man crossed the street, coming right toward the coffee shop. He looked vaguely familiar to Jake. As Jake studied the man, he noticed that he was distracted, and nearly got plowed by a taxi that slammed on its brakes and honked. The man quickly entered Cafe Mocha. He ordered a coffee. 

Jake stared at him for a moment and then turned his gaze back to the street. Just another asshole in the city, he thought. In the distance on the far side of the street, he saw two other men, both burly and serious looking, walking slowly along the street.

The first man Jake saw was waiting for his coffee, and staring out the window at the same two men. He looked over at Jake. He was wearing a grey suit that was kind of wrinkly and he was sweating profusely. He looked to be about the same age as Jake. The man got his coffee, then walked over to Jake’s table.

“You’re Jake Morrison.”

“Yeah…who wants to know?” 

The man sat down. “You don’t remember me do you, Jake?”

Jake scratches his head. Then rubs his chin. “You know, I do, but it’s pretty fuzzy.” Jake says, trying to humour the fellow.

“It was a long time ago, Jake. U of T. Philosophy. Professor Higgins.”

“Jesus Christ. It’s, ummm. Marlowe…Tommy Marlowe?”

“Terry…”

“Terry, right, Man, it’s been a few years, Terry. How the hell have you been? You dropped out after first year, as I recall.”

“Yeah. Missed my calling with Liberal Arts. Switched to systems engineering and then won a postgraduate scholarship at MIT. I was doing research there until about five years ago when I went into the private sector.

“Bill Gates finally get his hooks into you?”

“Something like that. And what about you? You’re quite the local celebrity, I hear.”

“Naaa. I’m just too lazy to get a real job, so I write a TV and video review column and do a radio show.”

“Didn’t I read that you’re syndicated in something like a hundred and fifty papers.”

“Don’t believe everything you read. It’s a hundred and twelve. And it pays the bills.”

Jake glanced out the window and noticed the two burly men. They were backtracking up the street, checking out one store at a time. He looked back at Marlow and saw he was studying them closely.

“Friends of yours, Terry?”

“Who?”

“The two thugs across the street.  The ones you haven’t been able to take your eyes off.”

“Oh them. Well, Jake, it’s a bit complex. Tell me something. Do you come to this place a lot?”

“Yeah, I guess. I like working here. The hustle and bustle is mentally stimulating.”

“Are you gonna be here, say tomorrow about this time?”

“I don’t know…Terry, are you in some kind of trouble?”

Marlowe didn’t reply, but reached into his pocket and pulled out a small key. He leaned forward. “Jake, I need you to do me a favour.” He slid the key across the table. “I need you to hold onto this key for me. I’ll meet you here tomorrow at this time and pick it up…I promise.” 

Jake and Marlowe looked out at the street and saw the two guys as they crossed over to the same side of the street as the coffee shop. Jake stared at Marlowe who was visibly trembling at this point.

“I guess it would be best if I didn’t ask you like...what the hell is going on?” 

“Yeah, that would be best. Look Jake, I gotta go. Can I count on you? For old time’s sake.”

Jake grabs the key and drops it into his breast pocket. “Sure, Terry, no problem.” 

Marlowe put the lid back on his coffee cup and got up. 

“Tomorrow, same time. I’ll buy you lunch or something. Okay Jake. I gotta go. Thanks, man.”

 Marlowe was out of his seat before Jake had a chance to reply. He was back at the counter. The counterperson pointed him in the direction of the back door and he was gone.

A few minutes later, Jake came out of the coffee shop as the two men walked by him and go inside. He unlocked his bike and took off down the street.

~ 3 ~

The next morning Jake rode by the coffee shop. He doesn’t see Marlowe anywhere inside. He did, however, notice a nondescript sedan parked in an alleyway directly across from the coffee shop. Two men were sitting in it. 

Jake locked up his bike down the street and walked up to a bookstore across from the alley. There, he could see both the coffee shop and the car. He picked up a magazine and leaned against the rack, staring out the window, waiting. Jake waited a few more minutes. Then he saw Marlow skulking up the street and into the coffee shop. He took a seat at the counter and looked at his watch. The men in the car did not budge. One of the windows on the car rolled down and Jake could see it was one of the two thugs from the day before.

“Jesus Christ.” Jake said to himself. Then he reached into his bag and pulled out a notepad. He scribbled a note on a page, then ripped it out and folded it up.  A few minutes later, Jake entered the coffee shop, unseen by Marlowe, and walked over to the counter. He pulled out a ten-dollar bill and the note. “Could you give this note to the gentleman sitting at the end of the counter. Thanks.” 

Jake left as the counterperson walked over to deliver the note to Marlowe. Marlowe opened the note and laid it on the table in front of him. It read.

“You are being watched. Blue sedan across the street. Leave by the back entrance and lose them. Meet me at City Hall at noon. By the pool.”

Marlowe snuck a glance at the blue sedan. He slowly tore up the note and dropped it into his coffee cup. A few moments later he left by the rear entrance.

At noon, Jake was up on the second level of City Hall, overlooking the pool and the wide expanse of concrete filled with tourists and lunch-hour people. He looked at his watch. Below him, he saw Marlowe walking up the steps from the parking garage below. Suddenly, as if out of nowhere, the two thugs appeared. They grabbed Marlowe and dragged him back down the stairs. 

Jake ran down the ramp and down the stairs where the two thugs dragged Marlowe.

The thugs, with Marlowe in tow, entered the garage. Suddenly Marlowe made a break. As he ran, Marlowe pulled a gun out of his jacket. He turned and fired. The bullets ricocheted off the walls. The thugs ducked down but came up firing. Marlowe took several bullets to the body. He laid in a heap, by the front door of his car. 

The thugs ran to Marlowe and quickly searched his body. One of them took his car keys, opened the car and started to search it. Sirens begin to sound, but the thugs are unperturbed and keep searching methodically. Jake watches from the doorway, unseen. Angry at not having found what they are looking for the thugs laid a quick foot beating on Marlowe’s body then casually moved to a different exit. Jake headed back up the stairs.

Later that evening, Jake sat at his desk with a glass of Southern Comfort in one hand. He took a sip. He picked up the locker key and looked at it closely. “So, it’s just you and me, Mr. Key. I guess you’re something pretty special.” 

Jake took another sip of his Southern Comfort. He flipped on the TV. One of the local talking heads was standing by the City Hall pool.

Another murder for Metro. And a very strange one at that. Two unidentified men grabbed another man at City Hall. They then dragged the man into the parking garage where a gunfight occurred and the victim died from multiple gunshot wounds. His car was then broken into and ransacked, the killers obviously looking for something. Police are searching for two white men in their thirties. The victim’s identity is being withheld pending notification of next of kin.

Jake flipped off the TV. He stared out the window of his porch into the black night, pondering his fate. He’d seen enough bad TV to know that getting involved with a murder case would only eat up a year of his life, and besides, it certainly wouldn’t bring Terry Marlowe back from the dead.

~ 4 ~

The next day, Jake, wearing a pass around his neck, entered the Metro section of the Toronto Sun on King Street. He walked over to a desk where a small, wiry guy named Tony Corelli sits pounding on a keyboard. He had a headset on, obviously engrossed in a conversation and writing down its content. Jake sat down beside his desk. Corelli looked over and winks. He held up a finger. 

“So he’s willing to say that in court. Madone! Guess I owe you a big one, Shenkman….Yeah, I got it. Tomorrow morning. Right.”

Corelli pushed a button on his phone to disconnect the call. He hammers on the keys some more. He punches in another number on the phone. 

“It’s Tony...comin’ at you. Show it to the old man will you and tell him I want my fuckin Pulitzer delivered by a not very tall Italian supermodel.”

Corelli pulled off the headset and shipped his article off to the copy editor.

“Jake Morrison. As I live and breathe.” Corelli said.

“Tony...sounds like you got yourself a hot one.” 

“Wife beating baseball player. Those fuckin’ Spics don’t know how to treat a woman. They’re all big hard on and ‘ain’t I the cat’s ass’. So what’s up with you? Hand delivering your column?”

“No, actually I might have something for you. But I need a little info.”

Corelli pushed away from the desk and got to his feet. And then, in a voice loud enough for the people in the immediate area to hear, said “Buy me a coffee in the cafeteria. We can get away from all these nosy parasites who spend their lives picking up Corelli’s crumbs.”

Groans were heard all around as the two men left the newsroom.

A few minutes later, Jake and Corelli were sitting at a table in the Sun’s cafeteria, away from everyone else. Corelli was puffing on a vape cylinder.  “So this Marlowe just plops down in front of you and lays all this shit on you?” Corelli asked.

“Yeah...go figure.”

“And then the next day, he gets popped at City Hall?”

“Yeah…” Jake said with a sigh.

“Whoa. You are sittin’ on something, Jake. I’d call it a nest of vipers.”

“Don’t sugar coat it Tony. Tell me what you really think.”

Corelli chuckled, picked up the locker key. “This is just your average locker key. Some subway station. The bus terminal. Train station. Airport. Could be anywhere.”

“I’m a little out of my depth here. I’m just a fuckin’ TV reviewer.” Jake says.

Corelli slid the key back across the table to Jake. “I’ll run a search on this dude Marlowe and see what I can dig up on him. In the meantime, you should get on that mountain bike of yours and start combing the city. It shouldn’t be that hard to locate. Start downtown. Subway stations, Dundas Bus Station or Union Station would be your best bets.”

“Thanks Tony.” 

“Sure, no sweat. Look, I’m gonna break the Marlowe thing soon as I find out exactly who he is. But I’ll keep your name out of it. I don’t need you for this. But I really want to know what’s in the locker, Jake. You still have the same email address?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll send you the info on Marlowe if there’s any to be had.”

“No problem.”

“And Jake, for Chrissake be careful. This is bad-ass shit no matter how you slice it.”

Corelli and Jake got up and shook hands. Jake sat back down after Corelli left. He turned and stared out the window wondering what the hell was going on. A few minutes later, he was on his bike and riding around downtown. He entered the downtown subway stations, the bus terminal, and finally the train station. In each of these places, he was careful not to be too obvious. He simply walked past, glancing casually at the numbers on the lockers and looking around to see if anybody was watching them.

At Union Station, Jake finally spied a locker with the same number and no key in it. He quickly walked on by. He ducked into a magazine store and watched the locker for a while.  There was nothing unusual going on there. Jake pulled quarter out of his pocket, then walked toward the lockers. At the locker next to the locker for which he had the key, he opened the door and closed it then dropped in a quarter and took the key. He walked to a coffee shop and sat at the counter watching both lockers.

Fifteen minute later, the rush hour began and the crowds started to fill the place. Convinced that nobody was watching. Jake went to the lockers. He inserted the key into the empty locker and then he quickly opened the one next to it. There was only a soft-sided computer case in it. He took the case. He noticed that it was heavy. He walked away as nonchalantly as he could. 

At Jake’s house that evening, the computer case sat on his desk. Jake sat at the desk chair staring at it. He took a long slug of the beer in his hand. He laid the case down on its side and unzipped it. Inside was a PC Notebook computer. A very sleek, modern one. No brand name that he could see. There were also several mini-discs with handwritten labels in plastic sleeves. There was also another plastic case with what appeared to be a large computer chip inside. The chip was bright orange and in a thick plastic case.  On the top right-hand corner of the chip case is a small Post-It note with 6-G Beta (02) 06/13/24 written on it. Jake put this stuff aside and looked back in the pouch. He found the AC adapter for the computer and a thin trackpad. He also found several documents from an offshore bank in the Cayman Islands. One was a statement from a bank in the Grand Caymans. It showed a balance of $5,342,600.00.  Scribbled in the top corner of the statement was a 15-digit authorization number. There was also an envelope filled with what looked to be thousand-dollar US bills, maybe fifty of them. Jake was quickly putting all this together. “Holy shit.” he mumbled to himself.

He plugged in the computer, farted around with the keys until he found the starter. He was taken aback at how quickly it came to life. There was a fan which was cooling it, and it sounded quite loud. A number of files instantly appeared on the desktop.  He clicked on the one entitled Project Turbo Presentation. He clicked on it. Suddenly a viewer came up and Marlowe appeared sitting in an office of some sort. Behind him was a large window of smoked glass.

“Gentlemen. Thank you for attending this presentation. As you know we have been experimenting, for a few years now with super-conductive copper system chip designs. The conservative estimates for the power increases which would result from the perfection of this technology have been in the 15 to 20  gigahertz range. Gentlemen, I’m here to tell you that as we speak we are running a newly minted G-1 chip in mainframe testing which can achieve processing speeds in excess of sixty-four gigahertz. This is about thirty times faster than the fastest conventional systems available to date. Needless to say, since we are an independent design company, and not currently contracted to any one chip manufacturer, we’re willing to license this technology to any computer company willing to meet our simple terms of business.”

As Marlowe continued to talk the demands are displayed over his shoulder.

“Our demands are simple. 1. Thirty-three percent of all profits in perpetuity. 2. A five percent ongoing research and development allotment, and 3. A signing bonus of $1.2 billion dollars US. Gentlemen, please consider this offer very carefully. The future of the computer industry is riding on it, perhaps even the future of the world. If you are interested please send an email to the address below indicating such. We’ll take it from there.”

An hour later, Jake was sitting with Corelli in his east-side apartment. They have just watched the video.

“Who the hell is this dude?” Corelli said. “He’s not any kind of bad guy.” 

“I don’t know. But he sounds pretty confident here.”

Corelli picked up his phone, punched in a number and waited a few seconds. “Judy Blue Eyes, it’s Tony. Listen… Copper computer chips...Who are some of the movers and shakers in that area...yeah this would be private people. Not like an Intel or anything. Yeah. He scribbled down a name. ‘Eggheads Unlimited’ How about Terry Marlowe?…hot damn. No, that’s good…thanks Judy....yeah, I do owe you a drink\, maybe even a decent dinner. I’ll call you next week.” Corelli puts down the phone. 

“This thing got Internet?” Corelli said pointing at the laptop.

“Yeah. I think so.” Jake said as he clicked the Internet Connect icon on the desktop.  The Google search engine came up. Jake pulled down a list of bookmarks and saw Eggheads Unlimited. He clicked on it. He was instantly transported there. “Nice house in the country somewhere.” Jake said. “Seed funding from all kinds of corporations: Apple. IBM. Compaq. Sun Microsystems. Wait a minute… Here we go. There he is. Terrance Marlowe. Director of Systems Research and Development.”

 That’s the dude, Tony.” Jake said, as he opened a few more links on the site. “Looks like he’s a one-man show with a lot of remote sub-contractors.”

Corelli took a deep breath. “Let’s take a look at this logically. You’ve got a computer chip and the building instructions. You’ve got a laptop prototype. You’ve got a bank statement for five million and change in a Cayman Islands bank account, which you also have the password for. Probably all his seed money, which he hadn’t spent yet because he hasn’t taken his chip into production.  And you’ve got nobody to give it to cause the guy who owns all this stuff is dead.”

“That’s about it.” 

“And you, being the good little boy scout you are will search high and low to find somebody to give it back to.”

“I’d like nothing better.”

“And it means nothing to you that the guy who owns all this stuff, got offed by pair of dudes so crazy they killed him at City Hall in the middle of the day. Before you answer, I want you to think about it. And think realistically now, about just how long you will survive from the minute these people find out who you are.”

“But they don’t know who I am. And they don’t know that I’ve got this stuff.”

“You really have been watching too much TV, Jake. They’ll find you. These kinds of people can find anything.”  

Corelli walked over to his wet bar and got another beer for both of them. “They’ll probably be looking at security tapes at the train station and see you making off with the case. I think it would be a mistake to assume that these people can’t put two and two together and come up with your ass on a platter.”

“So that's what they were looking for on Marlowe's body. The locker key.”

“I'd say so. Always assume the bad guys know everything.”

Jake was visibly shaken by the stark logic that Corelli was laying out.

“So if you were in this pickle, what would you do, Tony?”

“I’d split. Right now. And I’d seek some professional help. I know a guy who can help you. He’s not cheap. But then you’ve got five million in the bank.”

“That money doesn’t belong to me.”

“Jake. Read my lips. With the actual owner pushing up daisies, hat money and that gear belong to whoever has it in their possession. What doesn’t belong to you is your life. Not until this is over and you have safely unloaded that chip.”

Jake was no dummy. He knew that Corelli was right. He walked over to the window and looked out at the city. 

Corelli thumbed through his business card box until he found what he was looking for. He walked over to the window and handed Jake a card. “The guy’s name is Mick Tyler. He’ll keep you alive. He’ll help you plan a strategy and be your go-between. Go call him right now at a pay phone fi you can still find one. Do nothing until you talk to him. Nothing. You’ve got to disappear for a while, Jake. You’ve got to get clean away. And Stacy too.” 

“She’s gone to Chatham to be with her mom.”

“Get hold of her and let her know she should stay there till she hears from you. Now get out of here.”

Jake turned to leave, then turned back The two men embrace warmly. “Thanks Tony.” Jake said.

~ 5 ~

The two thugs who killed Terry Marlow were actually brothers, Calvin and Eldon Dupree, imported from Louisiana. They tracked Terry Marlowe from New York to Toronto, and they were tasked with getting the hardware Marlowe had with him and getting rid of him with no witnesses. But Marlow didn’t have the hardware, and unbeknownst to them at the time, they did have a witness to Terry Marlowe’s murder in the person of Jake Morrison.

On this morning, they were doing some follow-up at the coffee shop where they last saw Marlowe and then tracked him to city hall. 

They were out the back where a young guy named Toby Roberts was taking a smoke break. 

“Yeah, I remember the dude. Came in got a latte and sat over in the corner like he was waiting for someone. Then this other dude comes in and gives me ten bucks to pass the first dude a note. I didn’t look at the note, but he did, then he tore it up into small pieces and put it in his coffee. Then he split by the back door. Never saw him after that.”

“What about the guy who gave you the note?” said Eldon, who was the older Dupree and did most of the talking because his younger brother, Calvin, was pretty much a moron.

“Yeah, he comes in regularly. I remember because I recognized him. He’s got a column in the Sunday Sun...It’s called The Couch Potato…ummm Couch Potato Chronicles. Yeah.” 

“Have you ever talked to him? Does he live around here?” Eldon asked.

“I talked to him about his column once. He really liked this show with Nathan Lane that got cancelled and so did I. It never got any deeper than that. I can’t remember his name. Just the Couch Potato thing.” 

“Well thanks for the information, Toby. Let me give you a little something for your trouble.”

Suddenly Calvin stepped forward and hit Toby square in the gut and doubling him over. He then pulled out a silenced Sig Sauer 9mm pistol and quickly put two slugs behind Toby’s ear. Toby flopped to the pavement The Duprees walked away quickly and quietly down the alley.

~ 6 ~

Jake headed home and packed a nylon bag with some clothes, his laptop and his travel kit. He locked the house up tight and headed to the Tim Horton’s on Leslie Street. At the Tim Horton’s Jake stood in the foyer, with a coffee in one hand and the payphone phone in the other. “Mr. Tyler. I was referred to you by Tony C. Yes, all right. 416 690-0330. Right.” 

Jake hung up the phone and sipped his coffee. A moment later the phone rang. Jake picked it up. “Hello...yes, all right...Yes, at the Lakeshore. All right. I’ll do that. Yes sir. twenty minutes.”

Jake hung up the phone again and walked to his car. He left the parking lot and drove across the street to the lot of a large 24-hour Loblaws supermarket. He parked on the far side of the lot next to two diesel trailers. Carrying the computer case and his own bag, he walked back to the Tim Horton's where he ordered another coffee and took a seat facing away from the window.

Mick Tyler, a tallish burly man in his early forties, entered the coffee shop. He ordered a coffee and a Bavarian creme donut. On his way out he detoured slightly to Jake’s table. “Wait five minutes then start walking up Leslie Street. I’ll pick you up.” 

Mick left the shop and walked down to the rear of the lot where his Jeep was parked. Jake waited the appropriate amount of time then he left. Mick watched from his Jeep. There was no extraordinary activity that he could see. Mick drove the Jeep up the block, past Jake and made a U-turn. He stopped beside Jake. Jake got in and tossed his gear into the backseat.

“Mick Tyler.” Mick said.

“Jake Morrison.” 

The two men shook hands and Mick said. “Welcome to the underground, Jake.” Mick and Jake drove off.

~ 7 ~

In the Markham Ontario corporate headquarters of Aurora Digital, a man sat at a large desk, his feet up on the surface. His name was Yale Barnett. He was wearing a very expensive shirt and tie, suit pants with suspenders, and a pair of loafers. A real preppie nerd. 

Barnett was looking across his office at a couch where his security chief and minority partner, Titus Riley, was staring at the screen of a laptop on the coffee table in front of him. Riley was dressed casually in slacks and a blue cotton jacket over a white cotton collarless shirt. He looked to be in his early fifties. His hair was military short. His eyes are sharp and dark and his face thin but tanned with the beginnings of crow’s feet around his eyes. On the screen was Eldon Dupree, one of the two thugs who were working for him. 

“Who in the name of Christ told you to terminate the subject in that manner?” Riley demanded. “I’m sure it wasn’t me. Are you working for someone else who may have given you that order? If you are I’d like to know, ‘cause you’re in a serious conflict of interest situation here.”

“We know who probably has the package. His name is Jake Morrison.” Eldon said.

“And how, pray tell, do you know this? Did the ex Mr. Marlowe tell you or are you just some kind of fuckin’ mind reader?”

“Look, Mr. Riley, you paid us to find the package and eliminate the threat. You didn’t specify an order for doing that?” Eldon said, a little bit pissed at Riley’s condescending tone.

“Your sarcasm is not lost on me. When do you expect to locate the package?”

“I’d conservatively estimate within forty-eight hours.” Elvin says.

“Do I hear an echo...I believe I do, ‘cause that’s what you told me forty-eight hours ago.”

“This is not an exact science Mr. Riley. You should know that.”

“Sir, you insult science, by the mere use of that sentence. Send me every bit of intel you have. Right now!”

“Forty-eight hours, Mr. Riley”

“Riley clicked off the computer. He got to his feet and slammed the laptop closed.”

“Assholes! ASSHOLES ARE FUCKING EVERYWHERE!” He walked over to the window and stared out into the black night. 

“Is this happening or what, Titus?” Barnett asked. “Right now it sounds like a big nothing burger and that you’ve hired a couple of psychos to do the cooking.”

“Yeah, well like the man said, it’s an inexact science.”

“Send some guys after him. Why buy the technology when you can take it? Now look where we’re at. Marlowe’s dead and we don’t even know for sure who’s got the fucking chip.” 

“Well, we’ll just have to find out, now won’t we?” 

“Riley, you have absolutely no idea what controlling this technology can mean to this company or any company that has it.”

Riley got to his feet. He moved over to the bar and poured a glass of scotch. “That’s right, Yale. I don’t.” he said

“It’s worth billions. Hundreds of billions. It makes every fucking computer on the planet obsolete…instantly.”

“I never was very big on computers. But I do understand roads and your development path, I’m sure, will be a long and winding one.”

Barnett returned to his desk. He opened up his laptop and started typing something. Riley walks over to the window.

“Who was the guy they said had the package?” Barnett says.

“Somebody named Jake Morrison. But they don’t know for sure. He was just seen talking to Marlowe.” 

“Jake Morrison. Barnett said. “That name sounds familiar.” Barnett picked up a newspaper on his desk and opened it up. He found what he is looking for then folded the paper and hands it to Riley.” 

“Oh yeah. The Couch Potato Chronicles. Do you ever read this? It’s not bad.” Barnett said.

Riley read a bit of the column then tossed the newspaper on the desk. Barnett picked it up again. “So who is this guy?”

“Who knows? Maybe somebody Marlowe grew up with. It’s all speculative at this point.” 

Barnett punched a few keystrokes. 

“Looks like this Jake Morrison guy has a website.”

“Send him an email.”

“Send him an email? What the hell for?” Barnett said.

“Look, the guy’s a fuckin’ TV critic—what does he know about this stuff? We might be able to scoop it from him while he’s tryin' to get his bearings. Offer him five million. Tell him you’ll honour Marlowe’s demands. Get to be his pal.”

 “You forget one thing, Titus. Somebody is dead.”

“So. Play dumb. That’ll never be traced back to you. That’s why I hired the fuckin’ Duprees.”

“You really think something like that will work?”

 “Use your imagination, Yale. The lad is probably scared shitless. He’s just a regular guy who stepped in it. He’s not even worth killing.”

“I don’t know,” Barnett said. “What if he isn’t some kind of bumpkin, and he decides to sell the product off to somebody else.”

“He won’t. Because he’s not capable of operating on that level. Jesus Christ, you’re paranoid.” Riley walked back to the bar. “All we can do is locate this kid and see what he has. It may just be a dead end.”

“Let’s hope not, Titus, for the sake of both our futures.”

“I’ll take it from here, Yale. You just go home and count your fuckin’ billions.” Riley said.

“I don’t know about this making personal contact thing.” 

Riley turned toward Barnett, getting seriously into his face. “So just do it, Yale. Just do it and don’t think about it. I’ll take care of the rest.”

Riley turned and left the room. Barnett flopped down into his plush executive chair and stared out at the cityscape ten miles to the south.

~ 8 ~

Riley sat in his car in the parking lot of Aurora Digital. He activated his phone, sitting in a dash mount and punched a number on his speed dial. He then picked up the phone.

“Thomas, I’ve got a job for you…yeah...I’m on my way into the city. No...no... I need you to work from home...set up a relay and a scrambler and call me with the new number at around noon tomorrow. Then write this down... yeah, I’ll wait….Okay, Jake Morrison...The Couch Potato Chronicles…Toronto…umm Terry Marlowe. Eggheads Unlimited. Oswego New York. Yeah…by noon.  I need to get a good night’s sleep. No...money is no object. I just want as much information as you can give me…Yeah. It’s about the stuff Marlowe was going to sell us.”

Riley disconnected and drove on into the twilight.

Thomas MacDonnell, a man of about thirty-five, was standing in his kitchen. He was wearing an expensive silk robe. He was brewing himself a cup of tea. When the tea was ready he took it down to the lower level of his house into what could best be described as a high-tech war room, filled with computers, monitors and telephony and laid out in an elegant semi-circular shape, adjacent to a large set of sliding glass doors which open onto a beautifully lit yard with a pool.

MacDonnell carefully set his tea down by the keyboard by one of the large computers. He played with the keys for a moment then extracted a piece of paper from the pocket of his robe and started transferring the information, which displayed on an oversized LCD screen. When he finished typing, he pressed enter and sat back, taking up his teacup and sipping.

That same evening, Mick Tyler and Jake headed out to Scarborough for dinner at a Chinese restaurant called the Red Dragon.

A few hours later, Mick Tyler’s Jeep pulled into his driveway. It’s a quiet street in an area known as Leaside. The houses were all two-story but not huge, and the grounds were all very well-kept. He and Jake got out and entered the house through the back door.

“Coffee?” Mick said, pulling a tin out of the cupboard.

“No thanks.” Jake replied. “This late at night, it jangles my nerves.”

“Right. Well, maybe we should just turn in. Make a fresh start in the morning.”

“I wouldn’t say no to that.”

“The guest room is the second door on your left at the top of the stairs. The bathroom is at the end of the hall. Look in the drawer on the right side of the vanity. There’s a new toothbrush, soap if you want to take a shower whatever.”

“Thanks. I brought most of my own gear.”

“I need you to leave me the computer, Jake...I want to check it out for bugs.” 

Jake set Marlowe’s computer bag on the counter, opened it and slid out the laptop. He reached into a compartment and pulled out the AC adapter and the trackpad. The rest of what was in the case, Jake had tucked away at the bottom of his haversack.

“Here you go.”

“You get a good night’s sleep.  And I don’t want you to worry about anything.”

“Funnily enough, the only thing I’m really worried about is getting my column out on time.”

“I’ve got a shielded iMac in my study with high-speed internet access and a dumpsite set up. You can write it on the iMac and upload it to the dumpsite. Then you can call your editor and have him download it. That way if anybody’s got an email tracker on you, it won’t get traced back.”

“Wow...you’ve got it all covered.” 

“Name of the game, Jake.”

“I’ll do it first thing in the morning.” Jake said as grabbed his haversack in the foyer and headed upstairs. Mick gathered up the computer and trackpad and took it to his study, down the hall. 

The next morning Riley was driving into the city.  He flipped around on the radio stations until he found the kind of music that he wanted to hear. Vintage rock. He was tapping along to an old Cars’ song, when his cell phone beeped. He shut the radio off and tapped on his phone. He flipped on the speaker. It was Thomas MacDonnell.

“Yeah...Thomas...talk to me, man.” 

“I’ve put together an info package and emailed it to you, so we wouldn’t have to talk too much on the phone. There’s not much there.”

“Is there anything I need to know that’s not in your summary?”

“Just that this Morrison guy is a civilian. All you have to do is find him, ask him real nice for what you want and he’ll give it to you. Probably.”

“You’re sure about that, are you?”

“Reasonably sure. Hell, he may not even know what he has.”

“I somehow doubt that. But if I have to trade...what do you think would constitute a good offer?”

“Well, there is someone. They live together. She recently used her Visa card at some place in Chatham Ontario. That’s about 150 miles from Toronto.” 

“Name?” 

“In the report.”

“OK.” 

“You know Barnett called me this morning. Wanted to know what you were up to.” MacDonnell said.

“That fucking weasel. What’d you tell him?” 

“I told him to stuff it up his ass, if there was any room.”

“If he wasn’t such a goddamn celebrity, I'da had capped him a long time ago.”

“Yeah, right. And with all your vast computer knowledge, you would have just carried on in stately fashion.”

“Propellerheads are a dime a dozen.”

“Some are worth a little more than that.”

“No offence.”

“None taken.”

“I’ll stay in touch. Hang around the house for a few days, in case I need some more info.”

“Roger that.” MacDonnell said, then disconnected.

Riley smiled to himself.

~ 9 ~

At Mick’s house the next morning, Mick was putting on coffee as Jake entered the kitchen. Jake saw the laptop on the counter. He walked over and looked at the screen. The website for Aurora Computers is displayed. There is a picture of both Barnett and Riley. 

“Who are these dudes?” Jake asked.

“One of them is your worst nightmare.” 

“Which one?” 

Mick pointed to Riley. “The nasty-looking SOB. His name is Titus Riley.” 

“And what’s so nasty about him?”

“Let’s just say we have a bit of history between us.”

“Oh yeah? What…like he taught you everything you know about what you do or something?”

“Not quite everything. Titus is not the kind of person who can deal with anyone having any advantage over him.”

“Am I supposed to say ‘Oh shit, we’re screwed’ or something?”

“No, you’re supposed to tell me how you like your coffee and let me worry about Riley.”

“I can do that.”

“But it is gonna change things a little.”

“In what way?”

“I’m probably gonna have to kill Riley.” 

Jake stops dead in his tracks. It finally sinks in how serious this situation actually is. “For real?”

“Yeah. I don’t like the idea. But you gotta play the hand that’s dealt you.” 

“What the hell does that mean?” Jake asked, with a little angry edge to his voice.

“It means that if Titus Riley is coming after you, there’s  really only one way to prevent your death.”

“Jesus.”

“Yeah.”

 

At Jake’s house that morning, Riley parked around the corner and then walked up the driveway when he was sure no one was looking. He picked the lock and entered through the back door. He was wearing thin rubber gloves. He walked around and checked things out. He saw a picture of Jake and Stacy sitting on a shelf. He used his phone to take a picture of it. He walked over to Jake’s desk. He turned on the computer and continued to walk around while it booted up. He was surprised that there was no password. He walked to the kitchen, opened the fridge and pulled out a small bottle of spring water. He walked back to the computer table and sat down. He opened up Jake’s hard drive and files and rummaged through them. He found nothing of interest. He looked at the blinking answering machine. He pressed play and listens to the messages.

Hi Jake, this is Tricia with your Wednesday morning reminder. Twenty-four hours to deadline. Wakey. Wakey.

Hi Jake, it’s me. Mom’s feeling a lot better. I should be able to get back home by Saturday. Love you.

Riley moved around on Jake’s hard drive until he found a PDF of Jake’s phone list. He opened it up and printed out a hard copy. Riley closed the computer and left with the bottle of water. He walked back down the driveway and up the street to where his car was parked. He got in his car and drives off, more or less unnoticed.

As he passed an alleyway, Mick Tyler’s Jeep pulled out and began to follow. He had left Jake at his house so he could write his column.

Mick followed Riley at a discreet distance. Riley drove casually through the city streets. After a few moments, Riley became aware of the Jeep following him. He began a series of evasive maneuvers in his car but the Jeep stayed with him. He stepped up the pace of his evasiveness, but the Jeep still stayed with him. 

Finally, he took a deep breath and decided on another tactic. He turned onto Queens Street, then pulled over and parked his car along Queen Street. He entered a Starbucks and ordered a latte. He took it to a table by the window and sat down. He sipped his coffee slowly.  After a moment, Mick took the seat across from him, a latte in his hand.

“I had a feeling you were somehow involved in this, Mick.” Riley said

“I was kind of hopin’ you wouldn’t be, Titus.”

“I just bet you were. But there it is.”

“Yep. There it is.”

“I’m assuming you’ve got some kind of deal you’d like to propose.” 

“Deal? No, not really. Not just yet.”

“Well then when?”

“When I can have some assurances.”

“Assurances? What kind of assurances would we be talking about then?”

“Nothing major. I mean, my client wants nothing more than to be rid of this thing.”

“You know what this thing is?”

“Come on, Titus.”

“Well then, what kind of assurances can I give you?”

“Well, the way I figure it, there’s a certain amount of inconvenience my client has suffered. Along with a certain amount of expense he’s been forced to incur.” 

“Namely you.”

“Namely me.”

“And you would both like to be compensated for this in some way?”

“Not in some way. But in two very specific ways.”

“What specifically would those be?”

“Well, there’s money.” 

“And…?”

“Then there is both our asses, which are currently in one piece.”

“And you’d like them to remain that way, I assume?”

“That would be nice.”

“And just what degree of assurance would you require from me?”

“A videotaped deposition.”

Riley almost spit his coffee all over the window. He started to laugh so heartily it made him cough. He collected himself and looked over at Mick. He started to laugh again.

“You always did have balls of steel.”

“I’d classify this as more a ‘will to live’ gesture, out of respect for your abilities.”

Riley stared out the window for a moment. He then turned to Mick. 

“Meet me here in twenty-four hours. I’ll give you my answer then.” 

Riley got up and walked out the door. Mick quickly slipped out the back. He knew Riley had no intention of capitulating. Mick discreetly followed Riley’s car to the Harbour Castle Hilton. The valet parked the car for Riley. Mick pulled away and drove back to his house. 

Jake was sitting at the kitchen counter, working on his laptop. Mick poked his head into the kitchen.

“Did you send in your column?” Mick asked.

“Yeah. Half an hour ago.”

“OK, get your stuff together. We gotta split. Right now!” 

Jake is on his feet quickly. He ran upstairs and grabbed his bag. He slipped the MacBook into his shoulder bag. “Ready when you are.”

“Okay. Go out the back door. Toss your bag in the back of my Jeep then walk down past the garage to the alleyway. Turn left and go down about three houses. You’ll see another garage that’s open. Make yourself invisible and wait for me. Do not come out until you see me. Now go!”

Jake headed out the back door. Mick moved quickly through the house filling up a small haversack with stuff. He moved quickly and efficiently. He’s done this before. He grabbed Marlowe’s computer bag and left the house by the back door. 

Mick’s Jeep pulled out of the driveway and headed up the street. Literally seconds later, a black van turned onto his street. Mick had turned into the alley, just a few seconds before they would have see him. The black van pulled up in front of Mick’s place. The Duprees jumped out and converged on it like a pair of locusts. Mick’s car came to a stop in front of the garage where Jake was hiding. He rolled down the window. “Jake.” he shouts.

“Is that you Mick?”

“Let’s go, man.”

Jake trotted out of the garage and climbed into the passenger seat of the Jeep, which pulled away quickly. 

~ 10 ~

At a shopping mall close by, Mick pulled into the underground garage. He found a place off in the corner and parked the Jeep. He jumped out and quickly changed the license plates. Jake hopped out as well. 

“Well, the first thing we have to do is stash the package.”

“You got any suggestions?”

“Yeah. I’ve got quite a few. But that decision is gonna have to be yours.”

“Plausible deniability?”

“I’d call it leverage. If you’re the only one who knows where it is, then you’re not expendable.”

“So you’re saying you’d rat me out, if they sweated you.”

“In a New York minute.”

“Well, that’s just fucking great.” 

Mick gets to his feet and dusts himself off. “No, Jake, that’s how the game is played down here. I wouldn’t want to, but I decided a long time ago that nobody’s worth dying for.”

Mick tossed Jake the keys. He reached into the back of the car and pulled out a baseball cap. He tossed that to Jake too. 

“Go find someplace to stash that stuff. Then pick me up back here in two hours.” 

Jake got in the Jeep. “What if I just keep going? Never come never come back. I could get away.”

“Jake, just listen to me. You’re in way over your head. There’s no way on God’s earth that you’re gonna dumbass your way out of this pickle. You gotta walk out frontwards. Go back to your life. Otherwise, they’ll just take it all from you and never think twice about it.”

“Okay, I’m sold. I’ll be back here in two hours.” Jake said pulling away.

Jake drove along Eastern Avenue and pulled into the parking lot of a computer store. He took the computer case from the backseat and walked to the store. The store was quiet, because it was mid-afternoon. There was a young man, about twenty-two, sitting at the counter formatting a new hard drive in an older Mac computer. His name was Andy. He greeted Jake warmly. 

“Jake, how’s it going?”

“Could be worse, Andy. How’s things in computer retail?”

“New iPad coming out next week. Weighs in at a mere 1.2 pounds. Just right for a Couch Spud around town.”

“No kidding?” 

“So what’s happening with you?”

“Not much…actually, I have to go out of town and Stacy’s at her mom’s. I need a small favor from you, Andy.

“Sure…whatever you need.”

I need to leave my laptop with you for a few days. Been a lot of break-ins in my neighborhood lately.”

“Done. I’ll lock it in my office.”

Jake hands Andy the case. 

“You want me to do a tune-up on it?”

“No. No. It’s fine. But I will bring the desktop in. Could use some more RAM. I’ll do that as soon as I get back.”

“Cool.” Andy walked back to his office, unlocked a credenza and slid the case in. “Okay, Jake. Nobody’ll come near it, I promise.”

“I love my MacBook, Andy.”

“I know you do Jake. But you really should learn to love a new one.”

“We’ll discuss it as soon as I get back. I promise…and thanks again, Andy. You’re a good friend.”

Jake and Andy shook hands. Jake left the store.

About an hour outside of Toronto, Mick Tyler’s Jeep pulled off the highway onto a two-lane road, then turned into the parking lot of a restaurant called Longhorn Steakhouse. Jake and Mick entered the restaurant. As they were waiting for their orders, and sipping Cokes, Mick looked Jake square in the eye. 

“This thing you’ve got, you need to know that these people who are on our trail, is that they’re not fuckin’ around. They are stone killers, all of them. They’re getting paid a lot of money to get this shit, and they don’t care how much of a scorched earth deal it turns out to be.”

“So you’re gonna have to kill a few people, is that what you’re saying.”

“Yeah, that’s what I’m saying. Because it ain’t over till the last dog dies, Jake. And I know you’re a civilian and this is so far out of your wheelhouse that you can’t even imagine it, but there it is. They all have to go one way or another. And I don’t even know how many of them there might be. Hopefully, it’s just Titus Riley and a couple of goons. But then there's the employer. The guy who can take this invention and make himself the richest person in the world with it. So I would imagine that we might even have to take him out too. Goons are one thing, but takin’ out a rich guy, that’s gonna draw some heat.”

“I have to tell you, Mick. I feel like I’m in a goddamn movie.”

“It’s pretty surreal, that’s for sure. And it’s been a while since I’ve been in a scenario like this myself. But a job is a job. My job is makin’ sure you stay in one piece so I can get paid. Your job is doing exactly what I tell you to do when I tell you to do it. You got that?”

“Oh yeah, I’ve got it.”

A few hours later, it was nearly dark. Jake and Mick left the restaurant. There was a payphone by the front door. Jake dropped in a coin and gets the operator. Mick stood about ten feet from the booth, watching the highway. 

“Hello, Stacy. It’s me…yeah. How you doin’?…How’s your mom? Oh good…No…I didn’t get that message. Yeah…well, I’m in a bit of a situation. It’s a very long story.  I haven’t been home, Stace. Listen, okay, listen very carefully. Do not come back to the city just yet. Not until you hear from me, alright? Please, Stacy, I love you, but please do not come back to the city. No, I can’t explain…I’d love to explain but I just can’t right now. Oh shit!…Stacy…Stacy!!!. 

Jake hangs up the phone with a clatter and leaves the booth. “Well, there goes that relationship.”

Mick patted him on the shoulder. They walked towards the Jeep. “Don’t worry about it.” Mick said. “If she’s as smart as you say she is, she’ll stay wherever she is and that’s all that matters for now. You’ll square it with her, Jake.” 

“That’s easy for you to say. I don’t see any trace of a woman in your life at the moment.”

“Yeah, well they come and they go. Mostly they go.” 

Mick took one last look around at the restaurant parking lot then they got in the car and took off up the two-lane highway. 

In a downtown sports pub, Tony Corelli sat at the bar, watching the end of a Blue Jays game. When the game ended, he paid his tab and left the bar. 

Outside, Corelli had just stuck his key in the door of his car, when a limo pulled in beside it. The Duprees jumped out and quickly subdued him. They dragged him into the back seat of the limo and locked him in.

Titus Riley was sitting in the back seat with a glass of scotch in his hand. Corelli unruffled himself. He was more angry than afraid.

“Who the fuck are you?”

“That hardly matters, Mr. Corelli. I’m just a guy who needs some information.”

“You didn’t answer my question?’

“In case you hadn’t put it together, Mr. Corelli, you’re here to answer questions, not ask them.”

“Sorry, just my reporter’s instinct. Now who the fuck are you, and why are you committing a serious felony by abducting me?”

Riley grabbed him gently by the tie and pulled him forward. Corelli sensed the guy was a pro and started to sweat.

“I need to know where Jake Morrison has gotten to.” Riley said. “You see, he has something that belongs to me and, well, I need to get it back.”

Riley let go of the tie and Corelli flopped back into the seat. “And what makes you think I know anything about that?”

“Because, Mr. Corelli, I am a professional. I read the newspapers and there are things in your article on the killing of Mr. Marlowe that you could have only found out from Mr. Morrison. Now do you want to tell me all you know, or would you rather I take you down to the pier, slit your throat and feed you into that chemical soup you call a lake?”

“I can do that, man. No problem.”

 Riley leaned back in his seat. “Alrighty then.” 

“You mind if I have a drink?” Corelli says.

“Help yourself.”

Corelli poured a glass of scotch and spooned in a couple of ice cubes. He took a sip and then a deep breath.

“Jake came to me a couple days ago with a locker key and a story about some guy he went to school with giving him this locker key. I told him to go find out what locker the key opened. I guess he did because he called me early last night and said he found it and that it was something very important.”

“He wasn’t specific about what it was?”

“Hell no.” Corelli was lying his ass off now because he figured if he could convince them he didn't know anything they might just let him go. “In fact, I asked him what it was and he flat-out refused to tell me. Said the knowledge was dangerous.”

“How ironic. What happened next?”

“He asked me if I knew anybody who could get him underground till he figured out what to do with whatever he has. I gave him the name of a guy I knew.”

“Mick Tyler.”

“But you already knew that.”

“We’ve already been to Tyler’s house.” Riley said “They’re not there.”  

“Mick is merely an acquaintance. The sum total of my experience with him was a few quick lunches downtown to pump him for some background information on one of the feature pieces I was working on.” 

Riley cocked his head a little and stared at Corelli.

“Really, man. That’s all I know about the dude. Let’s face it, a guy like that is not exactly gonna be forthcoming about anything. Hell, I don’t even know for sure if Jake got in touch with him.”

Riley stared at Corelli for a moment. Corelli was squirming in his seat, scared shitless. Riley looked at his watch, then back at Corelli. Just then, the Duprees got back into the car.

“Alright, Mr. Corelli. Thank you. I sincerely apologize for any inconvenience and the threats.”

“You mean I can go? Just like that?”

“I’m assuming you know enough about how this game is played to keep your lip buttoned. Are we clear on that?”

“Oh we’re clear on that, Mr …”

Riley shook a finger at Corelli as he quickly exited the car.

“Well, that was a total waste of time.” Riley said to Eldon Dupree who was sitting behind the wheel. The limo backed out of the parking lot and turned up the street. 

As the limo pulled away,  Corelli got into his car and watched them leave. He then took out a cell phone and punched in a number. 

“Hi Mick, it’s Tony. You guys alright?…Yeah… A close encounter with your bad guys…Three of them. Naturally scary…Naw, he doesn’t have a clue where you are…How’s Jake holdin’ up?…Good…Yeah sure…just don’t forget who gets the exclusive.”

Corelli disconnected. He chuckled to himself and started his car. Suddenly, the car exploded sending a fireball about twenty-five feet into the air. 

The limo was parked down the street, in sight of the lot. The rear window slid down. Riley took a look and then slid the window back up again as Eldon dropped the car into gear and it drove away.

~ 11 ~

The next morning, Jake walked out onto the deck of a log house high on a hill overlooking a beautiful valley. He looked out over the valley below. Off in the distance, he saw the blue water of Georgian Bay. His hands clenched the railing, making his knuckles white. He is barely able to contain his rage. Mick walked out onto the deck. Jake turned to him. There was a tear streaming down his face.

“So it was this Riley asshole, right? What the hell kind of people are you, blowing people up like that?”

“If I hadn’t gotten you out of town when I did, that could very well have been your ass gettin’ blown to kingdom come. And secondly, Corelli was a friend of mine too, a damn good friend and an interesting human being. I’m gonna miss him. And I’m gonna make that son-of-a-bitch Riley pay for this.” 

“You’re fuckin’ right we are.” 

“We? No, Jake, there’s no ‘we’ in this. This is between him and me. You’re already in well over your head as it is. You gotta lay low and hold on to the merchandise. That’s how you’re gonna screw Riley.”

“What’s the story with you guys, anyway?”

Mick looked out at the beautiful greenery spread out before him. “It was long ago and far away, Jake. Another life. Another set of circumstances. Let’s just say we never really saw eye to eye on a certain matter and leave it at that.”

“Why didn’t you kill him …when you saw him yesterday?”

“‘Cause I’m not a killer, Jake. I sat him down to see if I could reason with him.”

“But you have killed people…in your life?’

“Yeah. People have been killed by me. A few. It’s not something I’m proud of. And mostly it was kill or be killed.”

“And it’s not now?”

“My job here is savin’ your ass. Yesterday, despite what I told you at dinner, I thought I could do that diplomatically. It was a long shot, but worth a try. But after last night, I can see his strategy now.” 

An hour later, Mick was sitting on the hood of the Jeep. Beside him was an aluminum briefcase, containing a phone signal scrambler. He activated the scrambler and dialled a long-distance number.

“Hello. Mr Titus Riley please. Thank you.” 

Riley, fresh from the shower in a fluffy white robe, picked up the phone. “Titus Riley.”

“Mick Tyler.”

“Well now, that didn’t take very long.”

“You made your point. No further initiatives on your part will be required.”

“I see…so what do you propose?”

“I can get you your goods. On the same two conditions.” 

“Getting a little absent-minded in my old age. Run them by me again.”

“As I said before, my client gets his five million and a video deposition that we can use for life insurance.”

“And I should agree to this because…?”

“Because my client is no threat to you. He’s never seen you. He has no information to give the authorities. And the only other individual who knows anything about this has been neutralized. Eliminating my client would be a pointless killing.”

“You’re forgetting one very important thing, Mick.”

“And what would that be?

“You, Mick. You’re up to your eyeballs in this.”

“That’ll be between me and you. Although if I were being logical about this, I’d have to say that I’m no threat to you either, as I can’t prove a damn thing.”

“That doesn’t neutralize your threat.”

 “It does if I tell you I’m livin’ a different life here, Titus. I’m into peaceful pursuits nowadays and I have no wish to step back into that other life. I only got involved to this extent as a favour.”

“For a good friend?”

“For an old acquaintance and someone who could actually pay me back someday.”

The two men were silent on the phone for a long while. 

“What specifically do you have in mind?” Riley asked.

“I need your word that you accept the terms before I suggest anything.”

“What makes you think I’ll keep my word, Mick?”

“Let’s just call it honour among thieves.”

Riley laughs out loud. “Yeah, I like that. OK, I agree to your terms, Mick. Now what do you have in mind?”

~ 12 ~

The Beaches parking lot at the bottom of Leslie Street was almost deserted. It was well after midnight. Yale Barnett sat behind the wheel of his Jaguar fidgeting as he looked at his watch. After a moment, a black Lincoln Navigator pulled up. Barnett’s cell phone rang. The driver of the Lincoln was a black man named LaMarr Wycliffe, but Barnett does not know that, because Wycliffe did not roll his window down. 

Barnett answered the phone. 

“Mr. Barnett?”

“Yes…what do I call you?”

“Call me Mista X. Do you have my fifty large?”

“Yes sir.”

“Good.” Wycliffe said. “Get out and slip it through the back window of my car along with the pictures.”

Wycliffe opened the tinted window on the passenger side,

Barnett opened his door, got out and placed the money, in a brown envelope, onto the rear seat of the car. He was careful not to look around. He then got back in his car and picked up his phone again. 

“Do you want to count it?”

“No, Mr. Barnett. I think I can trust you.”

“I have also included pictures of all three men. So one hundred for Riley and fifty thousand each of the other two.”

“Right.”

“ What are we supposed to do now?”

“Oh…well I don’t know, man. What do you usually do after you hire an assassin to snuff your business partner? Steak dinner. Thousand dollar whore?”

“Neither of the above. And I’ll be honest with you, Mr. X. None of this was my doing. This man is going to kill me. Or steal something from me that would kill my business. Either way, I’m fucked if I don’t get rid of him first.”

“Well consider yourself unfucked. Though I would appreciate any intelligence you can provide me on Mr. Riley’s movements.”

“I can text you any information I get, which probably won’t be much because he is not being very communicative."

“Alright, then. That’s about it for me.” 

“You’d better be the real thing, Mr. X.” 

“Mr. Barnett. I am as flat-out fucking real as it gets. You can count on that. You just get my other hundred grand ready. I’ll be back for it in a few days.”

Wycliffe dropped the Lincoln into gear and disappeared into the night, leaving Barnett sweating in his Jaguar.

Very late that night, down at the waterfront, Mick and Jake stood on the roof of an old warehouse looking down at a wide expanse of asphalt and a long empty pier. Mick handed Jake a headset with a mike and a pair of Bosch & Lomb binoculars. 

“You can see everything from here.” Mick said, pointing to an area along the pier. “The Jeep is going to be there, ass to the water. Riley might park his car to block me in. I’ll take him when he gets out of his car.”

“You’ll take him? What does that mean?”

“It means I will put a thirty ought six slug in his shoulder.”

“Why not just kill him? Oh my God, will you listen to me.” 

“‘Cause he’s sure to have it arranged that we get hunted to the ends of the earth…it’s what I’d do.”

“So you’re gonna shoot him in the shoulder to what…just piss him off?”

Mick nodded and chuckles. 

“Don’t you think that’s kind of dangerous?”Jake asked.

“No…it’s gonna piss him off. And his profile indicates that he’s much more prone to making mistakes when he’s pissed off. Fuck, Jake, he’s comin’ after us either way. Killing in self-defence is easier on the conscience.”

“That’s way too complex for me.”

“Right. What I need you to do is just watch the perimeter and let me know if you see any vehicles or human traffic after he goes down.”

“That sounds simple enough.”

“It is, Jake. But it’s also a job of work, so stay diligent.” 

~ 13 ~

In Riley’s suite at the Harbour Castle Hilton, Riley sat at his table sipping coffee with the Duprees.

“I dunno, Mr. Riley, it sounds like a setup and a pretty flimsy excuse for one at that.” Eldon said.

“I know. But that’s why it’s probably not.”

“Sounds like he’s trying to get you alone. You think that reporter we waxed last night was a close friend?” 

“Could be. But if I’ve learned anything about this game, it’s that there’s a time to do what you’re told and a time to be…innovative.”

“So what time is this?”

“It’s time to get this over and done with. He won’t kill me.” 

“How do you know that?” Eldon asked.

“Because I trained him. And because, aside from all other considerations, I’m the Devil he knows. Or at least, thinks he knows.”

“Is all this philosophical crap your way of sayin’ that you’re going alone?”

Riley sips his coffee. “Not necessarily.”

At the Pier, Jake was staring through the binoculars. He saw two cars. One is the same car he saw that was driven by the guys who killed Marlowe. That car holds back and the second car, a black van, moves slowly down the pier.

“There’s two cars, Mick. A blue sedan and a black van. But one of them is hanging back. The other one’s heading to your Jeep.”

“That figures.”

“Here he comes, Mick.”

The van passed below Jake’s perch. It pulled up to the Jeep and parked at a right angle to it. Nothing happened for a moment. 

“What’s he waiting for?” Jake said 

“Dunno, maybe for me to get out of the Jeep.”

A few seconds later, the driver’s side door of the van popped open. Slowly, Riley emerged. He looked over the hood of the van at the Jeep. He pulled a cell phone out of his pocket and spoke into it. As he did, he turned around and looks toward the buildings.

 Suddenly, a shot rang out. Riley was hit. The force of the blow threw him back onto the car. He bounced off and fell to the ground. He was shouting into his cell phone. 

“OK, the other guys are coming.” Jake said. “Get your ass out right away.”

“Roger that.” 

The blue sedan pulled up beside the fallen and fuming mad Riley. The Duprees jumped out. They helped Riley to his feet. One of the goons peeled off Riley’s jacket to reveal a Kevlar vest. Riley was still barking orders. At the rear of one of the buildings the high-pitched whine of a small motorcycle was heard. On Riley’s instructions, Calvin jumped into the sedan and took off after the motorcycle. Eldon helped Riley into van and it took off, back the way it came. 

“Is it just the one car comin’ after me?” Mick said.

“Yeah, Riley and the other guys are headed off in the other direction. Looks like he got hit in the shoulder.” 

“Good. Get your ass down there and get the Jeep. Meet me at the rendezvous in an hour.”

“OK. By the way, Mick. He was wearing a bullet-proof vest.” 

“You’re kidding. That cagey son-of-a bitch.”

“But it looks like you still did some damage. He went down pretty hard.”

Jake watched as Mick headed into an open field, forcing the sedan into a long detour.

Fifteen minutes later, Jake turned onto his street in the Jeep. He drove to the end of the street, turned around and came back, checking out every driveway along the way. He parked around the corner and casually walked up to the driveway. He stared at the house for a moment. He turned up the driveway two doors away, then cut across the backyards to his own. He climbed the stairs of the back porch. He took out his key, opened the back door and went inside. 

In the house, Jake sat down at his big computer and checked his Couch Potato email. He came across the email from Yale Barnett. “Holy shit. What’s this?” he said to himself. He copied the email onto a flash drive then shut off the computer, and headed upstairs. A few minutes later, Jake was tossing a suitcase in the back of the Jeep. 

Half an hour later, Jake parked the Jeep at a Canadian Tire store on Eglinton Avenue, just a few blocks from Tyler’s house. About a minute later, Mick jumped in the passenger side.

“You’re late.” Mick said.

“Yeah, I am. I went by my house to get some clothes.”

“You what?”

“Don’t worry, man. There was nobody there. And nobody watching.”

“Jesus Christ! Like that’s something you would know.”

“Look, I’m not an asshole. I just needed some of my clothes. I took a very complex path to get here and I’m sure I wasn’t followed.”

“So what else did you do on your lunch hour?” 

“I checked my email and guess what?”

“I don’t like guessing games, Jake, so just fucking tell me.”

“An email from Mr. Yale Barnett, owner, founder and CEO of Aurora Systems.”

“You don’t say? Well, I wonder what’s on his little mind?”

“We can check it out. I copied it onto a flash drive.”

~ 14 ~

At the Harbour Castle, Riley was lying in bed with his chest taped. He was propped up but just barely awake from the painkillers that Eldon had been feeding him. The Duprees were sitting at a table playing cards. Riley started to come around.

“What’s the damage?”

“Well, the doc said the shot was through and through, just nicked the edge of the vest. No major damage internally, but you got a couple of cracked ribs and you’ve got some kinda ligament tear in your upper back where you hit the door on your way down. He says it’s gonna hurt to breathe for a while.”

“Shit.”

Eldon picked up a bottle of pills and handed them to Riley. “He did prescribe some dandy painkillers. I’ve had these, they’re great.”

“How long have I been sleeping?” Riley asked.

“Six hours give or take.”

“Any word from Mick Tyler?”

“Word? What’s he got to say to you? He tried to kill you, man.” 

“If he’d wanted me dead, I’d be pushin’ up daisies. No, this was retribution. Also a bit of a ploy.”

“To what, piss you off?”

“Yeah…that’s exactly right. But as you can see, gentlemen, I am anything but pissed off.” 

“No,” Eldon said. “You’re loaded on painkillers and full of brotherly love. Should we be going after this asshole or what?”

“You can’t go after him.” 

“Why not?”

“Because you’re not good enough. You’ll just get killed. Guaranteed.” Riley said

“Right.” Eldon replied sarcastically.

“You don’t believe me, do you?” Riley said to Calvin.

“We’re pretty good.”

“He’s better. Tell you what. Just go. Give it a shot.”

“I will.” Calvin says.

“Good. Go. Get the hell out of here.” Riley says, “Bring me his head on a goddamn platter. And bring me that fuckin' chip.”

Calvin was all puffed up with bravado. He grabbed his jacket and stormed out the door.

“He will get killed.” Riley said, matter of factly. “He’s an idiot. Order us some dinner, Eldon. I’m suddenly quite hungry.”

~ 15 ~

At Mick Tyler’s cabin the next morning, Mick sat at the computer, reading Barnett’s email message. Jake sat beside him, watching.

Mick reads the message.

“Mr. Morrison, I know that you are in possession of a package which is quite valuable to someone like myself. I also assume that by now you have probably gone underground as you fear what my (former) partner, Mr. Riley, will do to you once he has the package and no longer needs you. I would be afraid myself. Mr. Riley is not…a nice fellow. However, unlike yourself, I am able to do something about Mr. Riley and have already set the wheels in motion, legally of course, to have him … dismissed.

I would like to arrange a meeting/exchange. I am prepared to offer you ten million. Please contact me by return email if you find this idea appealing.

Sincerely, 

Yale Barnett

Aurora Systems”

Jake turned to Mick who is deep in thought. He is smiling. “What do you make of that?” Jake asked.

“Dismissed.” Mick says. “The man is careful with his language to be sure. I wonder if he will have us dismissed once he has what he wants.”

“I don't know, this guy is awfully high profile.” Jake said. “I really doubt he’s any kind of killer. He was one of the lead developers of the Pentium process for Intel, then split with his royalties and started Aurora. He’s the ultimate nerd.”

“And that, my friend, is the difference between you and me. You keep forgetting that there are many billions of dollars involved here.” 

Jake turned to look at Mick, who just smiled and tilted his head.

 “Write the man a love letter, Jake.” Mick said. “We’ll find out just how straight a shooter he really is.”

~ 16 ~

LaMarr Wycliffe sat at the counter in the coffee shop of the Harbour Castle Hotel. He was casually observing everything. As he watched, he saw Calvin Dupree get off the elevator and leave the hotel. He spread the pictures out on the counter and matched Calvin to his picture. He slid off the stool and followed Calvin out the door. 

 Calvin drove by Mick Tyler’s house and parked his car further down the block. Wycliffe turned the corner and parked his car. He followed on foot. He watched Calvin move up Mick’s driveway.  He walked up to the near side of the house.

Inside the house, Calvin sat at the computer in Mick’s study. He was combing through the desktop files and quite wrapped up in his work. Suddenly, behind him, he heard the cocking of a gun.

“No quick moves, white boy. Or I’ll put a world class hole in the back of your head.” 

Calvin slowly turned in his chair. He saw Wycliffe with a silenced 9mm Browning Hi-Power pointed at his head. Wycliffe backed away.

“Who the fuck are you?” Calvin asked.

“I’m somebody who doesn’t want to kill you unless he has to. But don’t think of me as soft in any way. I’ll shoot you where you won’t bleed to death but wish you had.”

“What do you want?”

“First, your gun. Pull it out with two fingers and toss it over here.” 

Calvin complied.

“Now pull up your shirt and let’s see whatcha got under there.”

Calvin complies. “There’s nothing there. One gun, that’s it.” he said.

“Alright. Now I need some information about your boss.” 

“What kind of information?”

“Well, like who’s with him in the hotel?”

“And why should I tell you?”

Wycliffe got to his feet. “Because, you dumb cracker, I will waste your white ass if you don’t. Now, who is keepin’ him company?”

“You don’t scare me, nigger.” 

“WHAT!!! Did you just call me nigger? Not even nigger holdin’ a gun to your greasy white head? What is the matter with you, boy?”

“I don’t like niggers, especially niggers with attitude.” Calvin said with as much bravado as an idiot like him could muster.

With that, Wycliffe moved in, spun the chair around and cracked Calvin in the back of the head with the butt of his gun. Calvin crumpled to the floor.

Half an hour later Calvin came around to find that he was literally hog-tied on the floor with thick plastic zip ties.

He groaned and Wycliffe, who was sitting at the computer, spun in his chair. His gun was nowhere to be seen.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t my favourite cracker boy back from dreamland.” 

Wycliffe got up and walked over to Calvin. He hunkered down. He pointed to his boots. “See these boots, cracker? I bought these boots in Mexico when I was down there last year, killing a fat spic embezzler. I got him to cough up the location of all his embezzled dollars with a very simple technique involving these boots.”

 He walked around and kicked Calvin square in the kidneys. Calvin let out a loud groan. “

‘Course, I had to turn his kidneys into fuckin’ mincemeat before he gave it up.”

Wycliffe kicked Calvin again in the same place, only harder this time. “It is my sincere hope that you will be smarter, as you have the added incentive that I really don’t want to kill you. I want to kill your boss. And I will, but with your help, things will go that much smoother and faster and of course, your cracker ass will be spared.”

He walked around the groaning Calvin. “What do you say, cracker? Tell me what I need to know, or look forward to a life on dialysis, if you get that far.”

“How do I know you won’t kill me anyway?”

“Come on man. I’m a contract killer. I got one contract. Titus Riley. Not your sorry ass or anybody else’s. And I really don’t like killin’ people I ain’t gettin’ paid to kill. Now, what’s it gonna be, dude?”

Wycliffe walked around back of Calvin and administered one more swift kick. 

“Alright…ALRIGHT!”

At the hotel, Riley was asleep. Eldon sat watching television. The cell phone in his pocket rang. Eldon answered it quickly, without waking Riley. He got up and walked into the living room. 

“Yeah…Calvin. How’d it go? You’re kidding…that’s great. Yeah, he’s down for the count…Okay, yeah, yeah, should be a piece of cake. I’ll leave him a note or something. Yeah, forty-five minutes or so. Good.” 

Back at Mick Tyler’s house, Wycliffe took the phone away from Calvin’s ear. “Thank you. That was very good. You’re quite the actor.”

Wycliffe drew his gun and backed away from Eldon.

“Hey, I thought we had a deal?”

Wycliffe heaved an exaggerated sigh “Yeah, well that’s the trouble with us niggers…we are just so un-fucking-trustworthy.”

Wycliffe put two bullets into Eldon’s head, casually holstered his gun, bent over and extracted the hotel room card from Eldon’s jacket pocket, then left.

~ 17 ~

Mick Tyler and Jake were driving into the city. They had missed most of the rush hour and were sailing along pretty cleanly down the Don Valley Parkway. The day was cloudy, looking like some rain was on the way. 

“Mick, I’m having a little problem.” Jake says.

“What is it?”

“Why are we doing this?”

“Doing this, as in driving downtown?”

“No, as in going to see Riley.”

“Oh, okay. Here’s the logic. If the illustrious Mr. Barnett has put out a contract on Riley, who is actually his partner, would he consider putting one out on you who means jack shit to him? If the answer to that question is yes, which it probably is, then we need to keep an eye on Riley so that I can get some idea of who the contractor is and be in an excellent position to well, save your ass yet again. Get it now?”

“Ummm. Yeah, that makes a lot of sense, especially when you actually explain it.” 

“Good. But there’s no need for sarcasm.”

Wycliffe entered the Harbour Castle and moved to the magazine stand. He scoped the place out for a moment, then headed to the elevators. On the fifteenth floor, he got off and walked down the hall to the stairwell.

Outside the hotel, Jake and Mick have just parked the car in a public lot next to the hotel. They are walking to the hotel. 

In the hotel, Wycliffe walked quietly down the fourteenth-floor hall. It was deserted. Using the pass card, he entered the suite. Riley was still out cold. Wycliffe entered the bedroom. He picked up a pillow and walked around the bed. He tapped Riley on the side of the head with the gun barrel. Riley opened his eyes and stared up at Wycliffe in the half-light. 

“Do not move.  Not one fuckin’ inch.” Wycliffe said.

“What is this?”

“Titus Riley?”

“Who wants to know?”

“Don’t fuck with me, man. Are you Titus Riley?”

“Aye”

“Good. This is a gift from your partner, Mr. Yale Barnett.”  

“What gift?” 

“Why the gift of an everlasting afterlife.” 

“Wait a minute. Wait. Look, what are you getting paid to off me? Couple hundred thousand, right?”

“Yeah…something like that?”

 “Well, what if I told you I’d pay you ten million dollars to let me live.”

“Keep talking, cracker.”

“The thing we’re after here. It’s worth billions.”

Wycliffe thought about that for a few seconds. “But this thing…you don’t actually have it yet?”

“But we will. It’s just a matter of time.” 

“But you don’t have it right now?”

“Not exactly.”

“What the fuck is it with you white people?” 

“No, we don’t have it. We don’t. But we are acquiring it.”

 “So this ten million dollars you’re promising me…it’s just in the wind right now…is that right?”

“Yes…but   ”

“I’m sorry, cracker. That’s, well, unacceptable.” With that, Wycliffe pushed the pillow down on Riley’s face and fired three shots Riley convulsed a bit and then was still. Wycliffe backed away and turned to leave, but stopped to look around the suite. He saw Riley’s laptop and opened it up. He scrolled around a bit and then tapped out something on his phone.

Downstairs Mick and Jake entered the hotel. Mick instructed Jake to sit at the bar in one of the restaurants and stay put. Mick went to the front desk.

“Good afternoon, sir.”

“Hi. Do you have a guest in this hotel by the name of the Riley, Titus Riley?”

The clerk taps a few keys on his computer. “Yes sir… Mr. Riley is in room 1406. Would you like me to call him?” 

“No that’s fine. We’re meeting in the restaurant in a while. And I had forgotten the name of the hotel. Third time is a charm.”

“Well, have a good day.”

“Thanks.”

Mick walked over to the back of the bar. “I’ve got his room number. I’m gonna go up and check his floor. You be on the lookout for anybody down here who appears to be lookin’ around too much. Make mental notes on their appearance. But whatever the fuck you do, don’t follow them.”

“Gotcha. What if I need to contact you?”

“Just stay put and keep your eyes open.”

Mick took the elevator to the fifteenth floor and walked down a flight of stairs. He stood in the doorway, looking down the hall at Riley’s suite. He then saw Wycliffe exit the suite. Wycliffe carefully looked around and headed straight toward the stairwell door.

Mick backed away and climbed the stairs half a flight. He drew his pistol. Below him, Wycliffe entered the stairwell. He carefully wiped the room pass card and tossed it onto the floor. He headed down the stairs. Mick moved down the stairs and picked up the pass card. He followed Wycliffe quietly down the stairs.

Wycliffe emerged from a side exit and walked directly to his car, which was parked in the employees’ lot. A few seconds later, Mick came out. He headed to a row behind Wycliffe’s car. He watched Wycliffe climb into his car. He pulled out a small notepad and pen and wrote down the plate number. Wycliffe pulled away and Mick headed back to the hotel.

A few minutes later, Mick entered Riley’s suite. He walked into the bedroom. He saw the pillow over Riley’s head. He took a deep breath and walked toward the body. He stared at it for a moment. He wiped off the pass key and set it on the table beside the bed. He packed up Riley’s laptop computer and charger and left the room.

In the bar, Jake was sitting with a glass of club soda. There was a baseball game on the screen in front of him. Mick entered and sat down beside him. 

 “Are you done?” 

“Well Riley is, and it wasn’t me who did it.”

“Thought he had a couple of guys with him.” 

“No guys. But there was a black fellow coming out of the room when I got up there. I got his plate number.” 

“A new guy.”

“Yep.” 

“What the fuck.”

“He was probably the guy Barnett told you about in his email. He’s a contractor. Let’s just hope he’s also being paid to kill the other guys too.”

“So we’re almost out of the woods here.” Jake said.

“How do you figure that?”

“Well, we just sell the package to Barnett and life goes on, right?”

“Maybe.”

“So what do we do?”

“We’ll deal with Barnett.” Mick said. “But there’s a couple of loose ends. I figure at least one of Riley accomplices must be dead, because if I was the contractor, that’s how I’d get to Riley.”

“And the other one?”

“Probably on a wild goose chase somewhere.” 

Jake looked into the lobby over Mick's shoulder. He saw Eldon enter quickly through the hotel’s revolving door.

“Or maybe, he’s right behind you, Mick.”

Mick turned around. “Well, I’ll be damned.” 

Mick slid off his bar stool and walked over to a courtesy phone. He dialed 911. “Hello. I’m calling from the Harbour Castle Hotel downtown. I just heard some gunshots on the fourteenth floor. Could you please send someone over. It sounds like there’s a war going on.” He quickly hung up the phone and walked back to Jake at the bar. He ordered a scotch and took a seat at the bar beside Jake. 

“What’s goin’ on?” 

“I just called the cops.”

A few minutes later four uniformed police officers and two others in riot gear entered the hotel. One of them talked to the desk clerk. They then took the elevator up. Several minutes later they came back down the elevator with Eldon Dupree, looking much the worse for wear, in cuffs. The police left the building and a whole crew of new people, including detectives, paramedics and ambulance people entered. 

“Time to vamoose, pal.” Mick said 

“Where to?”

“Back to my house.”

“What about the contractor?”

“I’m not sure he knows about me. But I know about him, so the advantage is ours for the moment.”

Jake and Mick Tyler left the hotel and walked over to the lot where they left the Jeep.

An hour later, they entered Mick Tyler’s house, carrying a bag of Chinese food. Jake went to the kitchen. Mick did a quick walkthrough of the house. Then Jake heard Mick exclaim, “Oh Fuck!!!” and he moved quickly to the study. The trussed-up body of Calvin Dupree lay on the floor. There was a small pool of blood around his head, and a few flies flying around it.

“Son of a bitch. I hate dead bodies in my house. They’re a pain in the ass to get rid of and a hell of a mess to clean up.”

Jake was staring wide-eyed. “So the contractor’s been here?”

“That doesn’t mean he knows where he was. He probably picked this guy up at the hotel and tailed him. That’s what I’da done.”

“You keep saying that, like there’s some sort of formula for this stuff.”

“Well, there is. It’s called logic, Jake. I’ll explain it to you over dinner.” Mick turns and heads back to the kitchen.

“But what about him?” Jake asked.

“First of all, he’s not going anywhere. Secondly, when it comes to blood I’d much rather scrape it up dry than mop it up wet. Same fucked up floor either way.”

Mick went out to the kitchen and came back with a roll of paper towels. He then got a fan from the hall closet and turned it on, pointing it at Eldon’s blood spill.

They sat down in the kitchen where Mick turned on a small countertop TV. They watched a late-breaking news story about a murder in the Harbour Castle Hotel. They saw Eldon, being taken out of a police cruiser at 52 Division. Meanwhile, Mick, between forkfuls of Kung Pow chicken, was fooling around with Riley’s computer. He found what he was looking for, jotted, it down on a notepad and closed up the computer.

Later that night, and under Mick’s expert supervision, they carefully wrapped up Calvin Dupree’s body in thick plastic drop sheet and stashed it in the back of Mick’s Jeep. Mick then locked the jeep in the garage. The two men sat down on the back porch. They were both pretty beat. Jake was fiddling with his cell phone.

“How do you live like this, Mick? Dead body in the trunk. Dead body at the hotel. Contract killer out there somewhere who may or may not know about you. That’s gotta be pretty stressful. I know it is for me.”

“You get used to it, like everything else. When you start off your non-military working life as a mercenary, in all the finest hellholes on the planet, the stuff we’ve been through is pretty lightweight.”

“You were a mercenary?”

“Yeah. I served under Titus Riley. He was always a greedy son of a bitch. Look, I think we have to head back north.”

“What about our meeting with Barnett?”

“Yeah. I got his home address from Riley’s computer. We can pay him a surprise visit, and ditch the body along the way.”

Mick got to his feet. “Comin’ in?”

“I’m gonna call Stacy. Is that okay?”

“I believe anybody who could have been bugging you is either dead or incarcerated. Knock yourself out.”

Mick went into the house. Jake dialled a long-distance number.

“Stacy? Hi it’s me. Yeah, I think everything’s fine now. Just one more thing to take care of and we’re outta the woods…Yeah, tomorrow. It’s a long story babe. Pure Wizard of Oz. I have to tell you, I’ve never been so scared in my life…No…no…it’s alright, really…there was somebody to take care of me…a good man.”

Behind Jake, Mick stood in the doorway.

~ 18 ~

Early that afternoon, Mick and Jake headed up the Don Valley Parkway, to Aurora Road, where they went east. At the second intersection, they turned north and eventually came to a narrow dirt road. They cruised down into a valley and then up the hill on the far side. They came to a thick clump of woods. Mick backed the Jeep up to the woods. 

Mick and Jake got out of the Jeep. Mick was carrying a pair of binoculars. He jumped onto the hood of the Jeep and looked around in all directions for a moment. He jumped back down and threw the binoculars into the back seat. He tossed Jake a pair of surgical gloves and put a pair on himself. He popped the rear door, and he and Jake lifted Calvin Dupree’s remains out of the car. They dragged him to a small clearing in the thicket. They returned to the Jeep and came back with shovels and dragging a large bag of industrial lye. They dug a shallow grave in the small clearing and dumped the body in. With his knife, Mick slit the lye bag open. The fumes nearly knocked him out. They then spread the white substance evenly over the body and filled in the hole. They gathered up their tools and headed back to the car. Before they got in, they both washed their hands and faces with bottled water.

“I can't believe you had industrial lye in your garage.” Jake said.

“Yeah, well, this is not my first rodeo, Jake.”

They then backtracked until they were in the north end of the city. They headed across Highway 7 to a town called Markham. They stopped in front of Barnett’s property, which was a large estate with a long drive in. Mick scoped it out with his binoculars.

“Hard to say if he’s got any security here. But we should probably assume there is.” Mick said.

“I’ve got an idea.” Jake said. “Why don’t I just go up and knock on the door? I mean, he’s not gonna kill me…I’ve got his chip. You can check out the place while we’re talking.”

Mick thought about it for a few seconds. “You know, that’s so crazy it just might work.”

Inside Barnett’s mansion, Barnett was sitting in his kitchen, eating a bowl of cereal. On a monitor on his counter, he watched Jake walk up to the front of the house and knock on the door. He took a small-calibre pistol from a drawer and tucked it into the back of his pants. He then walked to the front door and opened it.

“Mr. Barnett, I’m Jake Morrison. I believe you’ve been looking for me.”

“I’d like to say I’ve been expecting you would contact me, but this is a pleasant surprise. Come in, Jake. We have a lot to talk about.”

“If you don’t mind, I’d rather stay outside.”

“Suit yourself.”

Barnett stepped out and closed the door behind him. They started to walk across the lawn toward the back of the mansion.

“Well, it seems like you have made it through the minefield, Jake.”

“I’ve had some very able help.”

“I’d like to meet him. I’m in need of some security myself.”

“I don’t think that will be doable.”

“So where is the package, Jake?”

“Somewhere you’ll never find it until I want you to.”

“So how do I get you to want to tell me?”

“Two things. First. There’s the deal. Same one you agreed to with Terry Marlowe, before your goons killed him.

“Okay, and what’s the second thing?”

“I want a video tape deposition.”

“What kind of deposition?”

“Call it a confession. This would include your complicity in the deaths of Terry Marlowe and Tony Corelli and your hiring a contract killer named LaMarr Wycliffe to kill Titus Riley and a couple of assholes working for him.”

“How the hell do you know all that?”

“I told you, I have some very capable help.”

Barnett said nothing for about ten seconds. “And what will you do with this confession?”  

“Nothing. Nothing at all. As long as my guy and me and well, anybody we care about, stay alive and well.” 

“Ahh…you think I’m going to take the chip and then have you killed. That’s ludicrous.”

“Not really. I mean, you’ve already had your current business partner killed. Why should I be any exception?”

Barnett was lost in thought. 

Jake stopped walking. “That’s the offer. Those are the terms. They’re not negotiable. Send me an email when you’re ready to accept it. You obviously already know the address.”

Jake started to walk away. Barnett pulled out the pistol. 

“Not so fast Mr. Morrison. “I think we should go in the house and talk about this some more.” 

“Just then there was a shot. It hit Barnett in the shoulder.  Jake took off for the back of the house, getting himself out of range. A second shot hit Barnett square in the centre of the chest and blew him back into his pool, dead.

Jake pulled out his phone which was connected to Mick’s.

“Who the hell was that?” 

“I don’t know, but from the looks of things he was shooting from the woods. Stay right where you are, you’re out of his sight.”

Mick carefully crept deeper into the woods and slowly made his way in the direction of the shots that killed Barnett.

“I’m gonna disconnect now. I’ll call you when I’ve taken care of this.” Mick said.

Jake edged along the rear of the house and opened the back door. He entered the house. and walked to the front door where he could see the woods clearly. 

Mick eventually came up to a clearing. He spied a man standing behind the crook of a tree. He was just about to load his rifle into a shoulder pouch. Mick had clear shot at the man and the man had not noticed him. He drew a bead on the man. He squeezed the trigger of the gun and discharged a round. He hit the man broadside just below the armpit. The man turned to look at Mick but Mick did not recognize him. 

The man raised his rifle and aimed at Mick. 

Mick fired again and hit the man square in the chest. He was blown back against the tree he was using to rest his gun on as the rifle fell to the ground,  

Mick dialed Jake on his phone. “You can come out now.”

About thirty seconds later, Jake was standing beside him. The man was still standing, his body leaning against the tree.

“He’s not the hitman.” Jake said . “The hitman’s a different colour. Besides the hitman, there’s nobody left.”

“Jake with a prize this big, there’s always somebody left.”

They moved toward the shooter’s body. Mick hunkered down and rummaged around in the man’s pockets. He pulled out a wallet and opened it. He took a business card from  a small stack in the wallet.

“Thomas MacDonnell. Digital Investigations Inc.” Mick said.

“What does your logic tell you about him?” Jake asked.

“Well, he knew what was going on, and obviously, who was left, so I’d guess he was some sort of silent partner of Riley’s, who thought  ‘Everybody else is out of the picture, so why don't I just claim the prize myself.’ This guy would probably know exactly what to do with it.” Mick said.

“This is getting’ sicker by the minute.”

“Yeah it is. But I think we’ve worn out our welcome here.”

 The two men walked off back toward the Jeep.

~ 19 ~

The Loblaws lot was busy when they got there. Mick pulled up behind Jake’s car. Jake got out of the passenger side and grabbed his bag from the back seat. Mick got out of the driver’s side and stretched a bit. 

“Give me a few days or so to sort out the finances.” Jake said.

“No rush.”

“Listen Mick…I really don’t know how to thank you for all you’ve done for me.” 

“Truth to tell, we both did a lot for each other. But a million even will do just fine, Jake.”

“You’re still up for helping me if I should want to unload this shit somewhere.”

“All you gotta do is call.”

The two men shook hands and embraced, warmly. They were blood brothers now. Jake piled into his car. Mick took off in his Jeep. Across the parking lot, LaMarr Wycliffe sat in his Lincoln, sipping a coffee.

Jake drove to the computer store. He shook hands with Andy. Andy then retrieved the case from his office. They talked for a while and Andy showed Jake a new Ipad.

Half an hour later, Jake pulled into the driveway behind Stacy’s car. He walked up the driveway. He left Marlowe’s computer case under the front seat of his car.  He entered the house through the back door.

Jake dropped his bags at the back door and went into the kitchen. He saw Stacy sitting at the table. There was a frightened look on her face. Across the table from her, sipping a cup of tea and with his Browning, on the table beside the saucer, was LaMarr Wycliffe. Open in front of him was the large binder in which Jake stored printouts all his columns.

“Funny,” Wycliffe said. “But I thought somebody who writes a column called The Couch Potato Chronicles, would be some fat-ass motherfucker.”

“Jake. What’s going on?” Stacy asked, clearly frightened.

“I believe this gentleman has come to collect something that his former employer wanted.”

Wycliffe got to his feet, taking the gun and holding it casually at his side. “What do you mean former employer? I ain’t been terminated that I know of.” 

“No. But your employer has. Don’t you watch the news? Good luck collecting on that job.”

“Terminated by you?” 

“No, but by some other greedy bastard just like you.”

“Where’s the package, potato boy?”

“Somewhere safe. I’ll take you there on one condition.”

Wycliffe held up the gun and then swept it around to point at Stacy. She yelped involuntarily.

“It’s all right, Stacy. He won’t kill you. Because he knows if he does, he’ll never see that goddamn package. Isn’t that right, LaMarr?”

Wycliffe lowers the gun. “Yeah, that’s correct. So why don’t we all just head out and get it?”

“Fine with me. Just the one condition.”

“What?”

“You just come with me now. Forget about Stacy. She has no clue what’s going on here.”

“I don’t know man. You coulda tole her all kinds of stuff.”

“Well then, you’re gonna have to shoot us both and walk away empty-handed.”

Wycliffe paced around the room for a few seconds. He stopped and took a deep breath.

“All right. But no fuckin’ around, white boy.”

“Jake.” Stacy pleaded. “What the hell is going on?”

“I’m going to give LaMarr here the thing he came for. Just sit tight. I’ll be back in few minutes and this will all be over.”

“OK spud boy.” Wycliffe said. “Let’s go. But just remember, I can always back and do her any time.”

Jake and Wycliffe walked down the back porch stairs. Jake headed down the driveway. Wycliffe was right behind him.“Where the hell are we going?”

“To my neighbour’s house. I stashed the package in his garage.” Jake said.

  Suddenly, Jake heard a strange thunk. He turned around to see the business end of a rather large knife, protruding from the centre of Wycliffe’s chest. Wycliffe is frozen on his feet with a wide-eyed look of surprise on his face. 

 Slowly, Wycliffe’s legs slipped out from under him and he went down, revealing Mick Tyler standing behind him, grinning. 

Mick took a deep breath. “Let’s just hope this is the last loose end. I’m gettin’ really fuckin’ tired of all this.”

~ 20 ~

Three days later, Jake parked his car on Dundas Street just west of Bay. He took the computer case from the back of his car and entered the bus terminal. He stashed the case in a locker and returned to his car.

On his way back home he stopped at Mick Tyler’s house. He took the locker key and sealed it in an envelope with a note in it. He stuck the envelope through Mick’s mail slot, then got back into his car and drove off.

A few minutes later, Mick picked up the envelope and opened it. The locker key tumbled out and hit the floor. He pulled the note from the envelope and opened it up.

 Mick…

I heard on the news that the police are charging Eldon Dupree with the murders of both Terry Marlowe and the coffee shop kid. Apparently, there were three other witnesses. So I guess that was the last piece of the puzzle taken care of.

I have stashed the computer and the chip in a locker at the Dundas Street bus terminal. I will wire you your money from Marlowe's Cayman Islands account. Just text me a destination.

 I had a long talk with Stacy and we decided that we don’t want anything to do with this thing.

I’m sure someone like yourself will be able to figure out a way to get very rich with this technology.

 Thanks for all your help, and please don’t take this the wrong way, but I hope we never meet again, except, maybe, for a beer…. Jake

FIN