Authors: Don Bruns
“You keep a lookout at the entrance and it won’t have to.” There were two ways in. The main entrance was the only one
that was ever used. The rear entrance would only be used for an emergency.
“I know this is one of the worst ideas you guys have ever had.” She brushed her blonde hair off her face. “And you’ve had some really bad ideas.”
“But?” I watched her walking from one end of the room to the other. About nine medium steps.
“Em?” James drained his coffee.
“But I’m going to go along with you.”
“Because you want to help us? Because you and I have a relationship, and you’re sticking by me?”
“Because somebody took a shot at me, Skip, and I am pissed.”
James reached behind the driver’s seat and pulled out a rolled mat. “My friends, I will magically transform this vehicle.”
“We could use a little magic tonight.” I watched as he waved the rolled vinyl above his head.
“Watch as the old box truck, magically becomes—” James turned his back to us, unrolled the vinyl, and placed it against the driver’s door, “The Water Connection Plumbers.”
“The Water Connection?” We could barely read the sign in the dim light of the parking lot.
“What is a plumber responsible for? Water in. Water out. Therefore, The Water Connection. The Water Connection Plumbers.” I had to admit, the name worked. I just hoped he’d checked the Yellow Pages to make sure there wasn’t another Water Connection.
“Guy I know from Cap’n Crab printed them up for us. Pretty cool, eh.”
“Problem is, James, you don’t know one end of a wrench from the other.”
I could see him smile. Someone had then taken the letters and intertwined a silver W, C, and P. It actually did look pretty cool. What bothered me the most was the phone number, displayed in a putrid yellow.
“Skip, that’s your number.” Em looked puzzled.
“If someone calls to check up on us, it can’t be a fake number.” James had thought it all out. “They’ve got to believe we’re a real plumbing company. If we’re out on a surveillance call, all you’ve got to do is answer your cell with ‘Water Connection.’”
That didn’t bother me too much. The people who called my phone were Em, James, and one or two other friends. My mother and I hadn’t spoken in years, so she wouldn’t call. And with the others, I could always explain. I’d just tell them I was moonlighting as an answering service. What bothered me was the minutes. Every time someone called to check on the phony business it would cost me time on my plan. Hopefully the bonuses would more than make up for the extra cost.
“And I didn’t want you to feel left out, Skip.” He walked to the passenger side and unrolled a second sign.
“James,” I opened the door and let Em in, “I just hope nobody recognizes the truck.”
“Perfect disguise, Skip. Perfect. Once the signs are in place, nobody realizes it’s the old truck.” Of course, he was right. Superman could put on a business suit and glasses and everyone thought he was Clark Kent. Thin disguises worked everywhere. Grow a mustache, shave your head, and no one would recognize you. People would focus on the sign now, not on the truck.
We stared at the apartment as James backed out, gazing at the large plywood squares that covered our windows. It was another reminder that someone had tried to kill us. I saw someone walking slowly up the sidewalk and they waved. I thought it might be Jim Jobs, but I couldn’t be sure. It was after one o’clock
in the morning, and there was still life at the complex. I flashed back to the night I’d seen someone in the parking lot under the box truck. No matter what hour of the night, there was life at the complex. There was soon to be life at Synco Systems.
I kept my laptop on my lap, feeling that it was a lot safer with me than sitting in the apartment. And if Feng was moving around this early in the morning, I could check up on him. It still amazed me that the man hadn’t stumbled on the GPS unit under his Honda.
“Got three of these.” James reached over and handed each of us a cheap plastic flashlight.
“Three?”
“They were cheap. Four for five bucks. And they don’t last very long. I already tried one, but I’ve got three of them left. Just take them in case, okay?”
Green, blue, and red.
“I think we’re in business. If anyone wants to back out, say so now. We’re on a nonstop mission, boys and girls.”
“You’re sure this is a good idea?”
“It’s the Lord’s will, my man. Must be. It feels right.”
“In other words, James, we’re on a mission from God.”
He didn’t miss a beat. “Blues Brothers, Aykroyd and Belushi, 1980. We’re on a mission from God.”
“Do we have any idea what we’re going to find?”
“Pieces to the puzzle, Skip.” Em sounded full of determination. Determination and caffeine.
I much preferred an exact definition of a mission. But I had to admit, this mission had no definition. We were almost as clueless as we had been from the beginning. But this time we had the code to the big guy’s computer. And that might make a world of difference.
James drove out of the lot, and I could see the shadow of a figure standing in front of our apartment. I’d bet on that figure
being Jim Jobs, and I thought again that maybe he’d been the shooter tonight. If he was, maybe he was disappointed he hadn’t killed one of us. And if it was Jobs, and he planned on breaking into our home after we were gone, I wished him a lot of luck. The only thing of value in that apartment had been the case of beer and the PC, and the PC had been blown to hell.
The parking lot was eerily empty. Dark and empty. And the stark brick building was outlined against the sky. James wheeled into the asphalt acre, circled the lot once, then drove back out.
“Changed your mind?” I had no idea what he was thinking.
“Would a plumber make a call to this business at this hour of the morning?”
Em turned to James. “If there was an emergency call, yes.”
He turned right and drove for another block, finally pulling up in front of a small concrete-block house. “If we park here, we could be calling on any one of ten houses. A much more logical location.”
“Plumbers at this hour of the morning?”
“Broken pipes, backed up toilets, they don’t know the difference between night and day, Skip. A business like Synco Systems is closed, but homeowners are there around the clock—you never know. When a resident of this affluent neighborhood needs the Water Connection, we’re as close as their phone.”
As close as my phone.
“As plumbers, we’ve got to be vigilant twenty-four hours a day.”
I said nothing more as we opened the doors and stepped out of the truck, flashlights in hand. Often there’s nothing left to say when James is done. We remained quiet as we walked a block and a half to the headquarters of Synco Systems.
“Skip, you’ve got the temporary entry card and the code?”
I stepped up and inserted the card. A green light flashed on the small electronic pad, and I turned the handle. The door swung quietly inward. The numbered pad was mounted on the right. With another light flashing red, I punched in 45693 and waited until I heard the shrill whine of the signal. Punching in 45789, the whining stopped and everything went still. For a brief time, I had total access to the facility. With the code to the building and the code to Conroy’s computer, the place was mine.
A security light from high on the wall cast shadows on the lobby, now showing our silhouettes on the far wall.
“Before we go any farther,” Em looked around, scouting out the location for the first time, “this is breaking and entering. We’re on very dangerous ground, guys.”
I held up my entry card. “It’s certainly not breaking. I’ve got the card right here. Remember, we’re just doing some preliminary work for the hookup tomorrow.” We all knew that excuse wouldn’t last ten minutes.
“Em, why don’t you be the lookout.” James was looking around the area like he’d never seen it before. I chalked it up to being nervous.
“If anyone finds me here, they’ll wonder why a stranger is in the lobby. It makes more sense if they find one of you. You have a reason to be here.”
I spoke up. “You’re right. However, I know the computer code and James is familiar with the office. He’s been in there a
couple of times installing the smoke detector and taking out the card.”
She sighed. “Fine. I think it’s a dumb idea, but I’ll do lookout. What kind of signal do you want?”
“If you have time, a ‘Hey guys, someone is coming’ would be nice.”
“Screw you, James.”
I was somewhat relieved. The two of them were back to their normal relationship.
Things had been going almost too smoothly.
“But if you get caught by surprise, if someone shows up and you didn’t catch it, then get back to the office as quickly as possible.”
She said nothing.
I took Em’s arm and walked her back to the work area. “Number one. Right there. That’s Sandy’s office. If you need to see us, that’s where we’ll be. Okay?”
It wasn’t okay for any of us. But we needed some information, and we needed it now.
I left Em sitting in the lobby behind the reception desk. James and I walked down to Conroy’s office, and when I punched in a temporary code the door opened. I thought for a moment about the three Synco Systems offices I’d been in. Ralph Walters’s office, where we’d discovered the dead body, Sarah’s office where I’d gone in to ask her to please pay the deposit on our security system. I remembered the glass-topped desk and those fabulous legs and short skirt visible through the glass. And then there’d been Sandy Conroy’s office, where I’d been dressed down several hours ago. And here we were, back at the scene of the crime.
“If someone hadn’t shot at us, James—”
He raised his hand and shook his finger in my face. “But they did, amigo. Someone took three shots at us.”
“Could have been a mistake, James.”
“You know better.”
The dim security lights cast a pallor over the office as James and I stood there, not sure where to start. Three oak veneer file cabinets lined the far wall, and other than the papers on Conroy’s desk, his computer was the only item that might hold secrets.
“Tell me again what we’re looking for.”
“We’ll know when we find it, pard.” He pulled open the top file drawer in cabinet number one. “Not locked. Probably nothing valuable in here.”
Placing my laptop on Conroy’s desk, I sat behind the large wooden structure, realizing it would probably be a long time before I was ever in a position like this in my professional career. I pictured myself as Sandler Conroy, CEO of a big, successful company, married to the owner’s daughter.
“Skip, you look like you belong.”
In jeans, sandals, and a Green Day T-shirt, I doubted that.
“Just think. You marry Em, take over her daddy’s company, and you become the next Sandy Conroy.”
Could happen. “Never happen, James. Remember, she’s way out of my league.” I pulled out the piece of paper where I’d written down the code. A series of numbers and letters that were probably some word or combination that meant something to Conroy. I knew for a fact that people still used birthdays, phone numbers, anniversaries, and other common threads in their life so that they could remember their codes and passwords. The problem was that other people knew those birthdays, phone numbers, and anniversaries too. And with that information, identity theft was rampant.
Pulling out Conroy’s keyboard I punched in 305-805-500-1 AC. The screen on his desk blinked and a box appeared.
Failure to complete password.
Checking the paper in front of me, I punched in the code again. 305-805-500-1AC.
Once again the box appeared.
Failure to complete password
“How you comin’?”
“I know I copied it down right, James. I watched Conroy punch it in. It was on my computer screen.” I’d watched the action ten times. I was sure I was right. “Maybe he changes it daily.”
“Do people do that?”
“If they do, we’re screwed.” I wouldn’t put it past him. Conroy seemed like the kind of guy who would guard his privacy with his life.
“Mmmm. Let me see that.”
I handed him the paper, thinking about how much trouble we could be in and hoping that Em was all right.
“Seven numbers in a phone number, right?”
Standing up, I nodded. I opened the office door and gazed at the dimly lit work area, down to the entrance hall where I hoped Em was still sitting.
“And the area code is three numbers. Well, if you got the numbers wrong, just one digit, we’re screwed. We’d be punching in numbers all night.”
“Let’s assume the numbers are right.”
“So let’s say it’s a phone number. Okay. Does it ring a bell?”
“If you dial it, maybe.”
He thought about that for a moment, never cracking a smile. “Skip, let’s go with the number. If you got that right, then that leaves two letters. AC.”
“What do those stand for?”
“Could be as simple as the first and third letter of the alphabet. A and C. That could be it.”
“But it’s not the first and third letter.” He wasn’t thinking. “Because it doesn’t work. It’s got to be something else. People use initials, James. Even when they install our security systems. We
always suggest a random number because it’s much safer. But they end up putting in the kid’s birthday or their wedding date or—”
“Their initials?”
“Yeah. Like, Sandy Conroy. S.C.”
James glanced again at the keyboard. “One letter off. If you thought Conroy was punching in an A, it could have been an S. SC. The A is right next to the S. Could be his initials.”
“Could be.” I’d studied Sandy Conroy at his computer for ten minutes. Watched the video over and over. I was certain it was AC.
“You were trying to see his code from up there. That’s quite a ways.” He pointed toward the new smoke detector.
I sat back down behind the desk. “Some systems only let you try the code twice before they shut down. If I punch another code in that’s not right, this thing could freeze up.”
James leaned over, putting both his hands on the desk. “This isn’t one of those systems. I can feel it, amigo. Punch the code back in and substitute an S for the A.