Chapter Twenty-Eight

"That was a pretty slick move back there at the bar," Joe said, once they were in the truck and on their way again. "What have you got in mind for when we find Perry?"

"I don't know." Brent sighed. "I'm sure we'll think of something."

"Since it doesn't sound like he's a particular friend of Elise, he might be susceptible to a little persuasion."

"Violence?"

"No, a bribe."

Brent's eyebrows flickered. "We could stop at an ATM, I guess."

"Actually, I wasn't thinking money. I've known a few people who work off the books like that, and they usually have enough cash."

"Well, if you don't think he'll want money, then what?"

Joe grinned. "Don't worry. I know how bartenders and people with shady business operations think. I've got it covered."

"But that's ridiculous. We're in this together, and I insist--"

"No, I insist." Joe cut over to the left lane and started looking for Jupiter Street. "I think I have something he'll want more than money; something I helped myself to back at Sylvia's place."

"Back at Sylvia's..." Brent turned and stared. "Tell me you didn't do what I think you did."

Joe shrugged. "That'll teach them to leave valuable stuff like that unattended."

"I can't believe this. I thought criminal activities were a thing of your past."

"Once a crook, always a crook, I guess," Joe said. "Don't worry, though. I was never into anything big-time. Petty larceny at best."

"Oh, hell, it's not the stealing I care about. What if we get pulled over and searched?"

Joe's face clouded into annoyance. "Why would anyone want to search us? Even if a cop did pull me over for something, as long as I say 'yes sir' and 'no sir,' he'll just write me a ticket and let us go." Seeing the Bona Dea apartments ahead, he slowed down. "I swear you prep school boys watch too many episodes of 'Cops.'"

He pulled into the small visitors' lot. "That might be him over there." He pointed to where a small black pickup sat reversed in a parking spot, its rear wheels against the curb, the tailgate lowered in front of an open door. A futon and a few boxes were in the back.

"Can't be too many people moving in or out of here today," Brent agreed.

"Well," Joe said, cutting the engine. "Let's give it a try."

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Brent and Joe sat gloomily on the curb, watching the loaded black pickup until it was out of sight. "That was a fiasco," Brent muttered.

"You're telling me," Joe agreed. "And to think he took that gram of blow, too. Bastard."

"I told you that shit was trouble."

"That has nothing to do with it. He's just an asshole, is all. At least we're not out any money."

"Maybe not, but he threatened to call the cops on us."

"He won't do it."

"What makes you so sure?"

"If you were running a counterfeit ID operation and you had accepted a gram of cocaine from two people who knew all about it, would you go putting the cops on them?"

Brent considered. "I guess you're right. I noticed his computer is still in there. He sure wouldn't want anyone snooping around that."

"Yeah, I bet has all kinds of stuff on there. Probably keeps one of those databases or something."

Brent nodded. "A shame we couldn't have pissed him off enough to make him forget to lock the door."

Joe started, as if he hadn't considered this. "Are you suggesting that if you could get in there, you could get onto that computer and maybe find what we're looking for?"

"Depends on how easy a password he's got, but that's a moot point. I saw him lock the door."

Joe flexed his hands. "If it's only a door that's keeping us from finding her, that's a problem I can fix."

Brent said nothing as Joe walked to the heavy door and jiggled the knob. After scrutinizing the lock, he went to his truck and removed a long metal object from his toolbox. Brent jumped to his feet. "What do you think you're going to do?"

"I'm going to get you into that apartment."

"But--"

Joe stopped in front of the door and turned around. "You said this is what you needed, right?"

"Not like this."

Joe's eyes narrowed. "Don't go getting weird on me. Keep a lookout, will you? This won't take long."

Reluctantly, Brent took up a post a few feet away where he had a clear view of the parking lot and street.

Joe set the end of the rod against the lock and slid the bolt forward. Then he released it and pulled back hard, ripping out the core. He pulled a screwdriver out of his back pocket and scrabbled inside the empty lock, releasing the bolt. In a matter of minutes, he swung the front door open. "The old boy still has it in him."

Brent hurried over. "I don't know if that's such a good thing."

"Neither do I."

"Good job, anyway."

Both men went inside. "You do whatever you have to do," Joe said. "I'll keep an eye out for Perry."

Brent headed toward the dining nook, which had been converted into a study. Finding no chair, he stood hunched over the computer as he booted it up and began earnestly tapping keys.

"You're going to want to wipe that keyboard off good when you're done," Joe pointed out. "And try not to touch anything else. Finger prints, you know."

"Yeah, I just thought of that."

Joe took up position by one of the front windows, peeking through a crack in the blinds. There was the sound of the occasional car passing, and more than once a car pulled into the lot and someone got out and headed toward one of the apartments. One man walked right past Perry's apartment, but was so absorbed in his thoughts that he failed to notice the damaged door. Nearly twenty minutes passed, and Joe began pacing. "Haven't you found anything yet? He probably won't be gone much longer."

Brent was staring at the screen, his face ashen in the blue light. "In one way he made it easy for me. He didn't password protect anything, although I can't for the life of me figure out why not. But he's got so many files on here, and they've all got such illogical names, I'm having trouble finding the right one. I mean, come on. Mickeymouse.dat?"

"Well, just hurry it up, would you?"

"I'm doing the best I can."

A few more minutes followed, silent except for the sound of Brent tapping on the keyboard and the occasional obscure thump from the upstairs apartment. Another tenant walked past. She noticed the ripped out locks on the door and stopped. Joe waved to Brent and he turned off the computer monitor and ducked into the bedroom. Slowly the front door opened and Joe backed out of the way, temporarily out of sight. The door closed again and Joe heard the sound of footsteps hurrying away.

"She's gone, but she'll be back. How much more time do you think you need?"

"I don't know. A minute or two, maybe?"

"Go, then. But if the next file isn't it, wipe off that keyboard and give it up."

Brent turned on the monitor while Joe ran to the window and peeked outside. Seeing no signs of trouble for the moment, he found a rag and opened the bedroom window. There was a screen, but he gave it a shove and it fell neatly into the grass below. Then he returned to the front room and checked outside again.

"Bingo. Now I need something to write this down with."

"Can't you just memorize it?"

"Man, this is a complete history here. Social security number, driver's license, everything. We can use it all."

"Well find something, quick! But don't--"

"I know, I know." Brent was opening the desk drawer, using his coat to keep from leaving prints.

Joe looked around and saw what he was doing. "Oh hell, that's going to leave fibers. Don't you know anything?" He ran to the back room and found the rag he had used earlier. "Use this."

Brent opened the desk drawer and found a blunt pencil stub. He found an old gas bill, too, and began scribbling information.

"Shit, here they come," Joe said from the window. "Looks like she's got the apartment manager with her."

"I've almost got it."

Joe turned away from the window. "Almost is too late. Shut it down and get out that back window."

"Wait, there's just--"

"No waiting. Do it."

"Just one more second--" Brent was scrawling frantically now.

"Have you got the full name?"

"Yes."

"Social?"

"Yes."

"That's it, then." He hit the power switch with his knuckle and the screen went black. "Now get in that other room, and get out the window. Take the pencil with you, don't drop anything, and try not to leave any prints."

Brent stuffed the paper and pencil into a pocket and made a run for the other room, not noticing that Joe wasn't following him. He scrambled onto the windowsill, dangled his feet hesitantly over the ledge for a moment, then jumped out. When Joe didn't follow, he paced anxiously, trampling weeds and the window screen that Joe had pushed out. Suddenly he heard a sound and moved away as Joe propelled himself out the window, landing gracefully for a man his size.

"What are you waiting for?" Joe demanded.

"I'm waiting for you!"

"You wouldn't have lasted half an hour where I grew up," Joe muttered. He motioned toward an alleyway and they took off running.

* * *

Brent strolled around the corner in front of Bona Dea, his hands shoved deep in his coat pockets, his face a study in unconcern. He noted a scurry of activity in front of Perry's apartment, but didn't stop. He glanced around the parking lot to make sure the black pickup was nowhere in sight, then let himself into Joe's truck. As he started the engine, a young woman turned from where she was staring at Perry's empty door. She gave Brent a long steady look, but he smiled and waved and she ducked her head with a shy smile.

After a few twists and turns through the narrow side streets Brent pulled the truck in front of a dilapidated laundromat. Joe emerged from inside, and jumped in. Brent hit the gas and they took off toward Delphi Grove.

"Anyone see you?" Joe asked.

"Just the girl," Brent said. "She didn't seem to think I was important."

"No one ever thinks a blond, well-dressed man is guilty of anything, unless it's insider trading."

"That's not true."

"Sure it's true. How would you know?" Joe didn't wait for an answer. "You didn't see Perry's truck, I guess?"

Brent shook his head. "If he caught our license plate number earlier, we're for sure going to be in deep shit. He's going to know who did this and why."

"That's okay. He's also going to know we've got enough dirt on him to do him a lot worse than anything he can do to us. Breaking and entering with no actual theft of goods will get us probation at worst, with our clean records."

"But you don't have a clean record."

"Sure I do. I may have been a thief, but I was also a juvenile. They wipe that stuff off your record. I've got a clean slate."

"So this is the first time you've done this kind of thing in, what, over twenty years?"

"Nearly thirty." Joe allowed himself a wry grin. "Makes me feel kind of old."

"I wouldn't have guessed you weren't a pro, the way you handled that door. What are you doing with tools like that, if you don't mind my asking."

Joe looked surprised. "What, my slide-daddy?" He had hidden the tool under his coat and now he took it out and studied it. "It's a legitimate tool. It's used for pulling dents. I'm a welder by trade, remember?"

"I'd just never seen one before."

"Of course not. When have you ever had to pull your own dents? Or do any kind of manual labor, for that matter?"

"Well, excuse me for living," Brent mumbled.

"Hey," Joe said, "I didn't mean that as a way of giving you shit. You were actually pretty good back there, for an amateur."

Brent dug in his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. "I only wish I could've done it faster. I got as much as I could, though." He handed over the paper.

Joe took a look. "Allison Alonia Grennaker?"

"The name she used at the hospital was just a front. I get the impression Perry pulls the legit records of dead people of approximately the same age and race as the ones needing fake ID and just reuses them. The real Allison probably died as a kid or something."

Joe made a face. "That's kind of sick. I don't know if I'd want to be running around with a dead person's name. Sounds like asking for trouble."

"As long as you don't run into any of the dead person's friends or family members, it's probably safe enough," Brent pointed out.

"It sounds like bad luck to me."

"I think it's pretty clever, actually."

"You would."

Brent pulled into Delphi Grove. "We're almost there," he said needlessly.

"A good thing, too. I could really go for one of Petra's roast beef sandwiches."

"You aren't going to say anything to Cece about this, are you?"

Joe frowned. "I got the impression we wouldn't be seeing her tonight, but even if we do, I'm not telling her anything. Much as I hate to admit it, I have a feeling she wouldn't be too happy about us getting closer to finding Elise."

"We're still on for tomorrow, right? We're going to make sure she calls this time?"

"I guess so."

"Well," Brent said, turning onto Cece's street. "After we eat, I'll do an internet search on Allison Grennaker and see if I turn up anything. I doubt I will. It'll mainly be useful for finding her later on at jobs, hospitals, airports and stuff."

"She better not be going near any airports."

"She got a passport. Didn't you notice?"

Joe looked at the paper again. "Damn," he muttered. "You don't think--"

"The only thing I think is that we may be running out of time."