CHAPTER ELEVEN
KENNY
Curtis tuned the radio in his car to one of the local rock stations and had it cranked loud enough to make his rearview mirror dance to the music. He was moving like a roadrunner on speed when he looked ahead and saw a car parked along the side of the road. He took a bite of his stolen candy bar, checked his speedometer and saw the needle wavering between ninety and ninety-five.
“Whoa, baby. Let’s drop it down a notch or two,” he said as he took his foot off the gas and pumped the brakes.
He couldn’t afford the attention a speeding ticket would bring him. He coasted past the parked car still doing seventy. Luckily for him, it was merely a disabled passenger car and not a police car shooting radar. The near miss made him smile. He usually paid for every miscalculation or oversight. But not that time. He interpreted his good fortune as a sign of smooth sailing ahead.
Curtis was the type of man that never hoped for the best. He always expected the hammer to drop on him and it routinely did. His childhood was wrought with violence and lack of direction. He was the son of an exotic dancer, born as a result of casual sex and substance abuse.
He spent most of his youth as a latchkey kid, preparing his own meals and fending for himself. His mother showed him how to use the coin-operated, washing machines and dryers in their apartment complex and periodically left him change to do their laundry. There were many days he wore dirty clothes to school because he had no quarters to wash them. The clothes he did wear were limited in number. He had two pair of pants, three shirts and two pair of shoes.
His scholastic performance was above average but hidden from those around him. The children in his classes teased him about his mother, his clothes and his overall physical appearance. The negative attention overshadowed academic achievements to a point where he soon recognized that negative behavior was more readily acceptable. It also garnered more respect and fear than good grades and proper conduct.
He started going to the weight room at his complex and lifted for hours. He eventually built his body muscle and attracted the attention of the middle school football coach. He also got notice from one of his mother’s numerous lovers. He considered the options and accepted the boyfriend’s offer.
The boyfriend introduced Curtis to pot when he was twelve and then employed Curtis as a drug runner. Curtis made good money doing the boyfriend’s dirty work and made enough money to buy anything he wanted. Instead of having four shirts to last him a week, he had four shirts to wear on any given day.
By the time Curtis was fourteen, he was paying for sex from women that associated with his mother and could buy anything else he fancied. He bought his mother a new car which she had for a couple of months and then said it was stolen. Some time after the car went missing, Curtis learned from local drug dealers that his mother had traded the car for drugs.
Also, by the time he was fourteen, he had been stabbed twice, arrested once and had a bullet go clean through his right leg, just above the knee. He had no tolerance or understanding for anyone who messed with him and was lightning quick to respond to any situation with his fists.
One day he was entering his sophomore English class and heard a boy sitting at a desk refer to Curtis’ mother as a whore. Curtis wasn’t melodramatic and didn’t challenge the boy’s statement. He didn’t get in the boy’s face and order him to apologize. In fact, Curtis didn’t react at all initially and some of his classmates doubted he even heard the statement. But he heard it all right. Curtis walked to the boy deliberately and started pounding the boy’s head with non-stop punches. By the time teachers and classmates were able to pull him off, Curtis had broken the boy’s nose, knocked out eight teeth and fractured the boy’s jaw in several places.
The school principal demanded a conference with Curtis and his mother. At that particular time, he had no idea where his mother was, so he hired a hooker to pose as her. She flirted with the principal and begged for mercy for her “son”. The principal was unaffected by the display and handed down the maximum punishment. Curtis was suspended from school for two weeks and allowed to return on probation status only.
His drug business was established and attending high school proved to be a nuisance so he became a dropout at age sixteen. He was driving cars and motorcycles illegally and the envy of most of the kids that stayed in school. From time to time he would sample his product and get high with associates, ( he had no friends ). He had several attractive women that he could “have” any time he wanted. They didn’t really want him and some didn’t know his name. They knew what they wanted and they knew how to get it from Curtis.
The following year, he crossed the final boundary and killed his first man. It was a man ten years older than him who had just moved into the area and wanted Curtis’ territory. It was lucrative turf and sought after by many but few wanted to actually go toe to toe with Curtis. They set a meeting up to arrange a truce but neither had truce on their mind.
The new man was already at the meeting site when Curtis arrived. Curtis was followed by two additional cars, each with four men inside barely out of their teens. They were from all parts of the country and only knew each other slightly. Each man had an automatic assault rifle, some with scopes. There were three additional men in Curtis’ vehicle and all were equally armed.
When Curtis got out of his car, he walked confidently toward the new guy and offered his hand in friendship. The entourage that accompanied Curtis also exited their vehicles and took offensive positions. They outnumbered the opposing force by two to one.
Curtis took the man’s extended hand with his right hand and put a vice-like grip on it. He simultaneously removed a 9mm automatic pistol from underneath the jacket he was wearing and shot the man twice in the face. Curtis’ men opened fire at exactly the same time Curtis did. The new man and two of his bodyguards were dead. Not one of Curtis’ men was hit in the melee.
Curtis thought he would feel some remorse or regret after the incident but he didn’t feel anything. He was simply taking care of business and the business at hand that day was death.
In the years that followed, his drug business moved as his clientele moved, died or were arrested. In time, his massive entourage dwindled to just himself and one other guy, who was never around when Curtis wanted him. He got desperate to rebuild his business and in his desperation, he also became a little more careless.
He laid the groundwork for a super drug buy that would re-establish his foothold. Unfortunately, it was a federal, undercover sting operation that bought him some time in the gray bar café.
He was paroled and combined forces with another drug dealer. He murdered two people unquestioningly, simply based on orders from his new boss. It went well at first with the new boss but Curtis thought things were moving too slowly so he branched out on his own.
Once again, he was busted and sent back to the gray bar café, where he met his newest partner, Chad Nuxhall.
Curtis finished his candy bar and tossed the paper wrapper out of the window. He knew he was getting close to the exit he wanted, so he slowed even more.
He turned down an old, unpaved road and crept along until he was certain his car was no longer in view from passing cars on the highway. Then he went to his trunk, removed a duffle bag and a high-power rifle. He took some military, camouflage clothing from the bag and changed his clothes. He applied some grease paint to his face and put on a green, knit hat. Next he strapped a holster with a 9mm pistol and two extra clips to his waist. Finally, he grabbed the strap on his high-power binoculars and slung them around his neck. He packed his street clothes in the duffle bag and threw everything he didn’t need back into the trunk and closed it.
He made his way through some pine trees to an area of heavy brush. He squatted, brought the binoculars to his eyes and played with the focus until he could see Mac’s cottage clearly. Then he brought his rifle to his shoulder and adjusted the focus on the scope until it too displayed the cottage clearly.
After
he was sure everything was good to go, he sat and waited. Certainly nothing as glorious or glamorous as his life as a big drug dealer, but he was absolutely sure that his former lifestyle was just a few bullets away.
He was throwing his hunting knife into the ground trying to stick it into a passing, black beetle when he noted activity at Mac’s place. He brought his binoculars up and saw a woman and three men walking down the hill from Mac’s parking area. He saw three added vehicles in the parking area that weren’t there when he arrived. The three men headed for the van and the woman went to Mac’s front door.
“Hi, Mac,” said Naomi as Mac opened the front door.
Mac looked at Naomi’s outstretched hand and saw two skeins of yarn. One was a weak yellow and the other light beige.
“I wasn’t sure which one would look best on your doll and since they were so cheap, I got you both of them.”
“Thanks, Naomi. I really appreciate it. How much do I owe you?”
Naomi smiled and said, “I appreciate you asking but you don’t owe me anything. I haven’t had this much excitement in my life in years. I feel like I owe you!”
“Would you like to come in and have a cup of coffee?” asked Mac.
“I should have time for one. The guys are meeting with Marcia and will probably be awhile. When they’re through talking, I have to drive Robert to the jail so he can talk to Kenny before he’s extradited.”
“Any idea where he’s going?” asked Mac as she went to the kitchen and prepared Naomi’s coffee.
Naomi followed Mac into the kitchen and sat at the table. “I was talking with the guys on the way back and they weren’t sure. It seems there are plenty of people anxious to talk to him.”
“Cream or sugar?” inquired Mac.
“Both,” Naomi replied.
Mac put a clean teaspoon next to the sugar bowl and asked, “Is powdered cream okay?”
“That’s fine.”
Mac and Naomi engaged in idle chat in the kitchen while the private investigators formulated their plan of attack in the surveillance van.
The team theorized that by keeping Mac secluded, no assassin would be able to execute an ambush. If someone wanted to get her, they would either have to attempt a frontal assault, which would be unlikely but could happen if the aggressor became impatient, or wait in hiding until a clean shot could be made. They viewed the surrounding terrain and calculated that the greatest threat would come from the north beach.
The initial plan called for Robert to conduct the interview and glean as much information from Kenny as possible. His appearance and intervention in Mac’s life was too closely intertwined with everything else going on. There was a strong possibility he was linked to everything somehow. It would be Robert’s task to determine how.
Curtis brought his rifle to his shoulder and looked at the van through the scope. He thought about picking them off as they left the van but he would probably only get one or two and they weren’t his primary target. He brought the rifle to his right and focused on the front porch. Maybe Mac would come out onto the porch where he could get a clear shot. From his vantage point, he couldn’t even see the front door. He would have to wait for Mac to exit the house.
Curtis preferred to go in, do his job and get out. He didn’t like melodrama and long drawn out events. He had murdered seven people in his life and all but one was a quick, in and out thing. He enjoyed torture but did that more as a pleasure activity and not as a business affair. The one exception was extremely brutal, cold and torturous.
He had just gotten out of prison for the first time and was struggling to get his drug business established again. He ran into a woman that had an addiction so strong, she needed something every six hours or she entered into a desperate withdrawal. She prostituted her body, robbed people, shoplifted and anything else she needed to do to maintain the habit.
She was busted one afternoon trying to rob an undercover cop and agreed to participate in a sting operation and help bust a couple of local drug dealers. Curtis got wind of the plan through a connection he had and kidnapped the woman from her apartment while she slept.
He taped her mouth and body in duct tape and drove to an abandoned warehouse. He stripped her body, raped her and began the torture. He used a lighter, a pair of pliers, a hammer and a knife. He made her suffer for more than eight hours. The eight hours proved to be more than her body could take and her life finally slipped away. He stuffed her body in the trunk of a stolen car and drove it to a parking lot of one of the local police precinct stations. He left the lid of the trunk unlocked and walked away casually.
The Breson detective team assumed that a would-be assassin would attack from the north and probably use a high-power rifle. They calculated the maximum range of such a weapon and decided to start five-hundred yards further than the range and work their way south, toward Mac’s cottage. They would use a zigzag searching pattern to ensure maximum effort. Dennis and Mario, both former members of military special operations units, would conduct the initial sweeps, while Robert pursued the interview with Kenny. Robert would use a zigzag search from south to north as a failsafe measure, after the interview.
The investigative team, save Marcia, left the van. Robert went to Mac’s door to get Naomi, while Dennis and Mario went to their rental cars. They decided to change clothing once they were in the field, just in case someone was observing their activities. No sense in sending any extra warnings.
Robert and Naomi drove to the police station and Dennis and Mario headed down the highway and prepared to start their sweep.
Dennis had the lead car and when the mileage on the odometer registered the proper distance, he pulled off the road. Mario pulled right in behind him. A third car with two unknown male passengers sailed on past. The two men stared at Mario as they went by.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d say we were being followed,” stated Mario.
“Something to consider,” replied Dennis.
Dennis was a twenty-year man in the Army Rangers. He was a short man and earned the nickname “Junior” from his comrades while on active duty. Before he retired from active duty, he had participated in many covert operations all across the globe.
Mario was a former police detective who had eight years on the force. He began to feel too frustrated with the system and angry with the apathetic public he served. He figured he’d better get into something else before his frustration began to interfere with his duties as a cop.
They changed into camouflage gear, just like Curtis, and did a radio check with Marcia.
Mario walked back to the edge of the highway and looked to the north. He saw a car that had pulled off to the side of the road, about a half mile down the road.
“I’ve got a bad feeling about that guy,” said Mario in a concerned voice.
Dennis joined him and looked down the road through his binoculars. “I can’t tell if someone is sitting in the car or not. The headrests are blocking my field of vision.”
“Could it be our assassin?” thought Mario.
“It’s possible. It could also be his backup team. Let’s make our forward sweep and secure the area. We’ll check the car out on each upswing of the zigzag.”
They began their search slowly and methodically through the brush, while Robert entered the jail and prepared to meet Kenny.
Robert was escorted to an interview room with a small, steel table and two chairs.
He doodled on his notepad as he waited for Kenny’s arrival.
Kenny was finally brought to the room and had a distant look in his eyes. His short stint behind bars gave him plenty of time to reflect on his activities and the grim possibility that he would never breathe free air again.
He thought he had become too good at what he did to ever be caught. There were a few computer hackers as good as him, but none better, and very few that had amassed the equipment he had. He spent as much time and money on computer-related paraphernalia as some people do on cars, precious gems or coins
.
There was no computer problem too daunting for him to tackle and defeat. He was smug and arrogant. He was as confident as a cat in a bush ready to pounce on a lame bird in front of him. The past and present had been good to him most of the time. When it wasn’t, he learned from his mistakes and eliminated the flaws. Sometimes, however, the future waits with an pie pan filled with all of your missed mistakes and heaves it mightily into your face. The impact can be devastating, as in Kenny’s case.
Kenny had the opportunity to call his mother and advise her of his fate. She cried sparingly while on the phone but wept profusely after she was off the phone.
By her own admission, she spoiled their only child to extremes and allowed him many indulgences. Kenny just had to say the word and it was his. Even though his family was slightly above middle class status, he wanted for nothing. She also empowered her son years before it became a popular idea among psychologists and rarely told him what to do.
He did exceptionally well throughout all of his school years and as a reward, was exempted from any household chores.
He had the opportunity to speak with his father, but his father had no desire to speak with him. When Kenny’s father heard of his son’s arrest and probable future, he went to his backyard, sat in a lawn chair and lit a cigarette. He looked at the spot where Kenny used to stand as his dad pitched plastic balls to him. He relived the run-downs he got into as he tried to tag Kenny out after hitting the ball. Most times he could have actually tagged his son with the ball, but it was more rewarding to miss and watch his son laugh.
He looked at the six-foot, wooden fence his son threw a football over when he and the neighborhood children were playing in their backyard. Kenny thought the ball was gone forever until his dad saved the day by climbing over and rescuing it.
Then he looked at the grill and picnic table where they ate scores of summer barbeques and remembered how much Kenny loved the coleslaw his aunt used to make. A few feet from the picnic table was the tree Kenny climbed and fell from.
His father relived all of those childhood events and more. He extinguished his cigarette and wept privately for several minutes. It wasn’t a minor brush with the law like previous times. There was hope for the future then. Not any longer though. The boy that was so full of fun, wonder and laughter, would never be coming home again. Kenny’s dad still loved his son dearly. He didn’t talk to Kenny because he had disowned him, he didn’t talk to Kenny because it was all too painful for him to get any words out.
Robert turned on his cassette tape recorder and said. “Testing, testing, testing.” He rewound the tape, played it back and adjusted the volume. Then he stood and said, “Kenny Taylor?”
“Yes,” responded the solemn prisoner.
“I would like to begin by informing you that our conversation will be recorded. For the record, you have been advised by your counsel that anything you say can be used against you in future legal proceedings. Is that correct?”
Kenny nodded and replied, “Yes, it is.”
“You were also advised that your counsel could be present during this interview and that you declined his presence. Is that also correct?”
Once again, Kenny nodded and replied, “Yes, that is correct as well.”
“My name is Robert Munford. I’m with the Breson Detective Agency. We are a private detective agency home-based in Atlanta, Georgia. We have been retained by and are currently investigating a case for, Mackenzie Mason. Are you familiar with Ms. Mason?”
“Yes, I am.”
“When and how did you come to know and involve yourself with Ms. Mason?” asked Robert.
Kenny shifted positions and brought his handcuffed hands to rest on the table. His orange, prison jumpsuit was stiff and scratchy.
“If I help you with your investigation, will it warrant consideration for a lesser sentence?”
“There are a lot of factors involved, Kenny. If you provide information instrumental in us solving this case, it could. If you provide information leading to the arrest of a person or persons involved in a federal crime, it could weigh heavily.”
“What do you think my chances are of getting some of the federal charges dropped?” asked Kenny in a low key voice.
“I would have to say they aren’t so good, unless you deliver a dynamite package of information related to a federal case.”
Kenny considered Robert’s replies and began, “It all started several months ago.”
Robert interrupted and asked, “Approximately what month?”
Kenny looked up at the ceiling and said, “I guess it was around April or May. It was sometime before my cousin got out of school, so I know it was before June.”
“Thank you. Proceed, please.”
“I was running an online auction scam out of an apartment in California. I would track down photos of different items, post them on the auction site and solicit bids.”
“But you never actually had the items offered for sale, is that correct?”
“That’s correct. I was soliciting bids on pictures only. The people bidding didn’t know that though”
“How many auctions did you run that way?” asked Robert.
“I would list over 150 items on a Monday and have them end on a Friday. I could have established a phony credit card payment program, but it was too time-consuming. I instructed the winning bidder to send cash, check or money order to me, saying I was too small yet to get a credit card program.”
“How did you cash the checks?”
“That was incredibly easy. I created several bogus identities and opened accounts in four different banks. I had a different identity for each bank. I’d keep the account open for two, maybe three weeks and then close it. I’d then use the identity from that closed account to open an account at another bank that I already had an account, which I’d eventually close and use at yet another bank.”
“Didn’t any of the tellers recognize you as being one of your other identities? What I mean is, if a teller knew you as John Smith and you started coming in as John Doe, didn’t that raise some eyebrows?”
“Never happened. Whenever I opened a new account, it was always at a different branch. Sometimes I didn’t bother to close an old account. It just depended. It also got confusing at times, trying to keep the right name with the right bank. I actually had to make a chart to avoid confusion.”
“When they sent their payment and you didn’t deliver, didn’t they complain?”
“Some did. I was amazed by how easy it was to keep them at bay with lame excuses. The check people were the easiest. I’d tell them I had to wait fifteen days for their check to clear and that I’d ship their merchandise within seven days of the check clearing. Money orders and cash were sweet, but they were also the pushiest people. They’d complain to the auction site but it didn’t matter. I’d simply change identities and start all over. It was so easy for anyone really good with a computer, that it’s laughable. I’d get notification that I was banned from the site, but so what? I’d just create a new identity. There are too many people bidding on too many things for those guys to keep track of it all. They say they know what’s going on and do a great job of policing the auctions but it’s a load of bullshit.”
“Did you make a lot of money?” asked Robert.
“It depended. I’d always look for the hottest item on the auction site and list it as if I had one to sell. On a good week, I’d average close to a thousand dollars, all of which was clearly tax-free.”
“Did you meet Ms. Mason through one of your auctions or did you meet her in California?”
“Neither. Things were getting uncomfortable in California, so I decided to leave for awhile and vacation with my cousin in Atlanta, Georgia. We were never really close and quite honestly, I never liked him much.”
“Why go visit with him then?” inquired Robert.
“I needed fresh, virgin territory to exploit. I prefer the cities and states with milder climates and I had already worn out
my welcome in Florida so I selected Georgia. I was new to the area and needed a place to stay until I could learn my way around. I figured to stay in Georgia for about a year and either move back to California or just north to the Virginia area.”
“You selected Atlanta because you had a place to stay?”
“That’s correct. Like I said, I never liked my cousin but he was handy so I asked if I could stay with him awhile and he agreed, conditionally. He said there may come a time while I was staying with him that I could do him a favor or two. If I did, I could stay as long as I wanted and it would pay me well.”
“You understand we’ll have to verify that statement with your cousin?”
“I understand,” stated Kenny.
“What’s your cousin’s name?”
“Chad Nuxhall. Do you need his address too?”
Robert had been taking notes as Kenny spoke, but dropped his pen and looked straight at Kenny when he mentioned his cousin’s name. Robert regained his focus and said, “I won’t need his address at this time. Please continue.”
“I really don’t fit into the regular nine-to-five world so I started messing around with my computer. I hacked into a computer online, got some guy’s credit card number and electronically embedded his number into some blank cards I had. I went shopping at the mall where my cousin works and stopped in to show him the booty I had gathered from my new card. It blew his mind! While I was in his store, this woman came in and Chad said it was his boss. I looked at her and thought she was drop-dead beautiful. Chad said she was ‘busting his chops’ over petty shit and he wanted to get even with her. He said I would be perfect for what he had in mind. She walked toward us, saw my shopping bags and asked me if I was finding everything I needed. She had no clue that Chad and I knew each other. When I put her body and soothing voice together, I was hooked. I wanted her badly. I wanted her so bad from the minute I saw her, that I couldn’t think of anything else. It was like when I was a kid and wanted a new toy I saw. I’d pester my mother until I got it. I always got my way with my parents and I could almost always con people with some new scam. She was one of the elite few I couldn’t sway to my way of thinking.”
Kenny paused and asked Robert if he could get the guard to bring him some water. Robert asked the guard but was told he would have to wait. The guard wasn’t allowed to bring anything to the prisoner while in the interview room.
“I guess I’ll make it,” said Kenny.
“When Chad pointed his boss out to you, did he provide her name as well?” Robert wanted to make sure Mac’s name was clearly on the record.
“Not right away. When he met me at his house later that night, he said he wanted me to help him get rid of his boss, Mackenzie Mason. Would you like to hear something funny?” asked Kenny.
“Sure,” Robert replied with only a slight tone of curiosity.
“I went to another mall after I left my cousin’s store and saw a woman’s purse sitting on a table in the food court. I ran up to her and I screamed as loud as I could. It startled her so badly she fell off her chair. While everyone was watching her bury her head in her arms on the floor, I grabbed her purse, dropped it in an empty shopping bag and calmly walked out the front door of the mall. Then I went to another mall and used her credit cards to buy a new computer, digital camera and some DVDs. Here’s the really funny part. The credit cards had her photo on all three cards that I used. Not one person even looked at the photo and no one ever compared signatures!! People are so stupid and careless. Salespeople don’t care because it’s not their credit card, their store or their company. What they don’t realize is that every business and credit card company in the world passes their losses on to the consumer with higher prices. Those people keep hurting themselves with higher prices on everything and don’t even know it! Every time I pass a hot card and the clerk takes it with a smile, I laugh my ass off inside!!”
Robert smirked and then asked, “How did Chad want you to get even with Mackenzie Mason?”
“He wanted me to hack into her home computer while she was online checking her e-mail and install key logger software on her hard drive. That way, everything she typed on her computer would be recorded in a secret cache for me to retrieve at a later time.”
“You were able to record everything she typed, whether she was online or not?” he asked.
“Everything. I can’t believe you never heard of key logger. Are you new at your job?”
“We’re not discussing me now. Would you explain how it works?”
“Some people call it spyware, adware or what it really is, a virus. You can send and install it in seconds. You can hack their address book to find out known users, encrypt it in a bogus e-mail and then they open it because they think a friend sent it. There are many ways to gain access to someone’s hard drive. If you know what you’re doing, you can get by all those bogus security measures those internet clowns write. If you do it right, it is never detected and the only way to get rid of it is to dump the hard drive and start all over.”
“You installed the key logger software on Ms. Mason’s hard drive, then what?”
“If it was typed on her computer, I saw every word, whether it was a message she sent via e-mail, or just some off-line memo she was preparing for her stores. I always knew when she was coming to Chad’s store and when she ordered a surprise audit. I’d pass that information along to Chad so that he would always have the upper hand.”
Kenny cleared his throat and was clearly excited and enthusiastic as he explained his prowess. He was definitely more upbeat than when Robert first entered the room. It was as if he was bursting at the seams to get it out and brag to someone about his skills.
Kenny clasped his hands, scooted closer to the table and continued. “She used to sign on at least twice a day to check her e-mail. The moment she was online, her computer transmitted data to my computer. I was always signed on to the internet, no matter where I was, and I never signed off, unless there was a power failure or I moved to a new place. That way my computer was constantly receiving and storing data from computers around the country and the world.”
“Is that how you found out where Ms. Mason was going when she left Atlanta to come here?”
“Yes. I got her driver’s license number, her social security number and apartment key from her purse while she was at Chad’s store one day. I could have hacked that information but it would have taken me longer. Besides, I couldn’t hack her apartment key so I got the numbers when I got the key.”
“How were you able to gain access to her purse without her knowing it?” asked Robert.
“Chad arranged for me to slip into his stockroom while she was there. He kept her distracted while I removed the key. I took the key to a department store in the mall, had two copies made and put it back onto the key ring in less than thirty minutes. She never suspected a thing.”
“How did you use her social security and driver’s license numbers to your benefit?”
asked Robert, even though he already had a pretty good idea. He still had to ask to keep the record accurate.
“Are you kidding? You really are a novice, aren’t you?” laughed Kenny.
“Please just answer the question.”
Kenny smiled and said, “Once you have those two numbers, you own that person. You can do anything you want because you become that person with those numbers. I got a copy of her birth certificate and I read every traffic violation she had since she got her driver’s license. I knew her blood type, what medications she was on, how many times she had been married. Man, I owned her. I knew her better than she knew herself! I was able to track the public records and find out that she owned the cottage in Florida. I even read a copy of the will her parents left, bequeathing her the property. Once I knew that she owned that property, it was a simple matter to check local online records and find out who owned adjacent properties. Once I determined that the Fergusons owned the place next to Mackenzie’s, it was a simple matter to track
them to their permanent residence in Arizona. Once I had that established, I hacked into the phone lines in Tempe, Arizona and told their computers that the Fergusons were delinquent in their payment and ordered them to disconnect their phone line. With their phone line disabled, I was temporarily free to move in next to Mackenzie without anyone being able to call and check with the Fergusons to see if it was okay. I honestly figured I’d be sleeping with Mackenzie long before anyone decided to check anything out.”
“You used your spyware to obtain her flight information to Florida?” asked Robert.
“Yeah, that was cool too. I booked a flight minutes after she did. She had used her boss’ credit card months earlier for a business-related expense. She recorded that number on her electronic expense voucher.” Kenny started laughing and shaking his head from side to side. He stopped and with a smile still on his face, continued, “I used his credit card number to book a flight that left two hours before Mackenzie’s. Then I charged about 100 memberships to different porn sites to his account and had them send assorted porn crap to his home, his office and the corporate office. I was even able to get the vice president’s credit card number and did the same thing to him. I even charged long distance calls to overseas porn sites to the vice president’s card!” Kenny started laughing again.
“If you admired Ms. Mason so much, didn’t you consider the effects all of those actions would have on her?” inquired Robert.
“They couldn’t have ever linked it back to her. I love screwing with those corporate assholes. They’re constantly screwing the ‘little guy’. Have you ever been in a department store at Christmas? All of the ‘worker bees’ are humping it into the wee hours of the night, while the corporate guys are sitting back in the custom-made recliners, having a mixed drink in front of their custom-made fireplaces. I viewed it as a little payback.”
“You said you made copies of her apartment key. What did you need them for?”
“Chad said he wanted one. He didn’t know it, but I actually made two copies and kept one for myself. I wanted to sneak into her apartment while she was sleeping and…watch her.”
“And did you…watch her?”
“I couldn’t get in. She had two damn security chains on the door.”
“Why did Chad want a key to her apartment?”
Kenny shrugged and looked at the floor.
“The tape recorder doesn’t record gestures, Kenny. I need a verbal response.”
Kenny looked back at Robert slowly. The excitement in his eyes had vanished and he looked more solemn than he did when he first started the interview.
“You gotta understand, Chad did his own thing, for his own reasons. I never had that much to do with what Chad had going on.”
“You’re being evasive, Kenny. I need some direct answers. What did Chad have going on?”
Kenny knew that if he continued, he would be crossing a threshold he hadn’t crossed before. He also knew that he had to swing at every pitch or he would certainly be out of the game.
“Chad had expensive taste and liked the best of everything. Some of the things he got were stolen, but things like his house took real cash and he wasn’t making the kind of money he needed at the mall. Not directly anyway.”
“How did he make it?” asked Robert, hoping for the “goods” on Chad.
“He used to have a couple of managers from other stores helping him but I’m not sure if he still does. He also had one close associate; I think his name is Curtis, helping him. Anyway, he considered selling drugs and reaping the high-profit margin. He ruled that out because of the tough competition, the heavy police involvement, the informant risk. With his record, he’d be facing hard jail time if caught. He considered burglary but that was too slow-paced. It involved finding people to sell the stolen property to and very low-profit margin. Then one day, a customer came in his store and gave him a counterfeit twenty. Chad saw that the guy had a whole wad of them in his pocket, so the likelihood of the customer being an innocent victim of circumstances was pretty unlikely. Chad hooked up with the guy and got some other managers in the mall to help with the distribution and laundering. I helped some but in a very limited capacity.”
Robert thought back and recalled Chad getting a brown bag from a bag of popcorn. He assumed it was an open and shut case of drug distribution.
Chad Nuxhall was a counterfeiter?” asked Robert.
“He wasn’t the counterfeiter. He was the main distributor though. I never met the main man or heard his name mentioned.”
“What else?” pushed Robert.
“That’s about it. He stole cash from his daily sales to use as buy money for more counterfeit currency. He hated spending his own cash on anything or anyone other than himself.”
“You were going to tell me about the key to Mackenzie’s apartment and what he planned on doing with it.”
“Chad was going to send someone into her apartment some night and mess her up. He wanted her out of the way. I’m not sure of all the reasons why but he hated her. My guess is that she stumbled on something wrong with the company books. He was amateurish sometimes. He lacked my refined skills!” said Kenny with a smile you could almost feel.
“Do you know who was behind the secret admirer letters?”
“That was me. Did you happen to read any of them? I even wrote some poetry,” said Kenny, still smiling.
“Sorry, I missed the poetry part. What about the derogatory letters sent to Mackenzie’s corporate headquarters that were intended to look as though she had written them?”
“Letters to the corporate office? I have no knowledge of any letters of any kind, other than my love letters,” replied Kenny.
“If you were so captivated by her, how could you allow Chad to threaten her well-being?”
“It was a business thing. Chad was just going to rough her up a little and scare her into quitting. The beating part didn’t bother me. Some women like it when you show them who’s boss. Other women need it to knock some sense into them or bring them down a peg or two. There are lots of women out there running wild and need a real man to rise to the task of taming them. My dad would slap my mom around a couple of times when she needed it and I never heard her complain. I think she was grateful.”
Robert stared at him in disbelief but reserved his personal views on Kenny’s comments for another time, another day, another place.
“I think that will do it for me, Kenny. Is there anything else you’d care to add?”
Kenny shook his head and said, “Not now. I want to save some of the big stuff for a substantial deal with the feds. I’ve been considering my options while sitting in my cell. I think I could express my experiences in great detail and write a blockbuster book or movie. Play your cards right and I’ll let you play yourself in the movie. What do you think?”
“I’ll get back to you. This concludes our interview,” replied Robert. He turned off the tape recorder, packed his things and called for the jailers.
Two robust men in prison guard uniforms came in, searched Kenny and escorted him back down the hall to his cell. Another jailer escorted Robert to the exit.
When Robert got outside, he saw a fast food restaurant across the street and decided to grab a bite to eat. While he was downing some greasy French fries, his thoughts drifted to his youngest boy, Ron. It was Ron’s last year in high school and as soon as he graduated and went to college, Robert and his wife were going to relocate to Ireland. Robert discussed their retirement plans with Ron, his daughter, Melinda, (a lawyer practicing corporate law in Chicago) and his other son, Scott, (a geologist with a major oil company in California) and they all supported the idea.
Robert’s wife, Anna Lee, was born and raised in the small town of Macroom, Ireland. Over the years, Robert and his family had made several trips back to Ireland to visit her family. They all loved Ireland and longed to settle on some open land that had been bequeathed to them by Anna Lee’s grandfather when Ron was six.
Ron was the o
nly one of Robert’s children that wanted to join them when he was out of school. He planned on being a veterinarian and establishing a small practice in Cork, Ireland. His daughter, Melinda, had two children and was married to a dentist. They had firm roots in Chicago and had no intention of moving. Robert’s other son, Scott, was a bachelor who loved anything associated with sports and California provided the perfect playground for him.
Robert was doing some mental calculations and determined he could help Ron with undergraduate school, but then he’d be on his own with the graduate courses. If he planned it right, he’d have enough money left to buy a small fishing boat and take short trips out of Cork Harbour.
Robert was washing his fries down with a diet soft drink when he noticed a large man three tables away from him, grabbing his own throat with both hands. A woman sitting across from the man screamed that the guy was choking. Some guy with a baseball cap appeared from nowhere, threw the man to the floor and began CPR.
Robert set his drink down, shook his head and thought, what a moron! He quickly ran to the guy on the floor and noticed that his lips were turning blue. Robert yanked the would-be rescuer from the choking man and stood the man upright. He stood in back of the choking man, put his arms around the man’s waist and performed the Heimlich maneuver. Robert repeated the process four times before a glob of hamburger meat shot out and landed in the screaming woman’s lap.
The rescued man plopped back onto his seat behind the table and began gasping for air like a man who had just run a marathon. Robert saw that the choking victim would recover and since he had completed his lunch, he decided to leave. He was waiting for a cab to take him to the motel Marcia was staying at, when something Kenny said in the interview lit a light bulb in his head. He could write a book of his life as a private detective! He could make Mac’s case chapter twelve. He was thinking of that number because she fell right in the middle of his most interesting cases.
Mac wasn’t aware that her case was swirling among Robert’s literary thoughts. The only thing she was aware of was the remaining mess in the attic. She wanted to tackle the attic while she still had the energy and desire. Miss Julie’s makeover could wait until she was ready to call it quits on the sorting.
She was plowing through a stack of boxes until she got to the one with her high school yearbooks. She removed the one from her junior year and brought to her nose. It had a unique odor. It was a combination musty/inky sort of smell, unlike any of the other books mixed in.
She leaned back against the boxes she had shoved to one side and rendered a fingertip caress over the embossed horse on the dusty blue, yearbook cover. What memories and secrets those pages held. Some were bad but most of them made her smile or laugh. Just feeling the cover and looking at the Franklin High mascot, brought a warm smile to her face.
Mac hadn’t thought of her high school in years. She wasn’t able to attend her ten-year class reunion and wasn’t invited to the fifteenth. She hadn’t ventured home to the small town of Franklin, Indiana since her best friend threw her a farewell party. What a party!
Mac wanted to explore different lifestyle options, so she took a two-year break from the strict regimen of school. She tried her hand at various part-time jobs and quickly learned that she needed to advance her skills or she’d be filling menial positions the rest of her life. She didn’t find the positions degrading; she found them monotonous and incredibly boring. She had to reach higher so she applied to dozens of colleges and was finally accepted at Emory University in Atlanta, Georgia.
When she told her best friend, Blaise Stanifer, she was devastated. The two sat in Mac’s bedroom and cried for nearly thirty minutes.
Blaise was a short, stocky, smile-a-minute girl that most people enjoyed being around. Not everyone liked Blaise though. Some were downright shitty to her and cut her to the core with remarks they generated regarding her weight.
She met Blaise during a softball game in her freshman year at Franklin High. The girls had suited-up in their gym clothes and went to the neglected baseball field to play a game of softball. The field was never adequately maintained because school funding was nonexistent and school officials had to count on volunteers for erratic maintenance. Consequently, the students, (male and female alike), had to contend with high grass, missing bases and standing pools of water and mud.
Mac came to bat and on the first pitch, she swung so hard that she spun around and knocked the catcher’s mask off of Blaise’s face and sent her backward into the umpire.
The incident started a dialogue between the two and they sowed a relationship that grew into a wholesome, sharing and caring friendship that lasted until Mac left for college.
The two of them went everywhere together. Their favorite activity was roller skating at the Franklin Roller Rink. Being able to build up speed and go rocketing by less adept skaters was exhilarating and liberating. The hours they skated seemed to pass like minutes.
They also loved to go the movies at the new, downtown, indoor theatre. The plush, red seats and huge, wide screen was larger than life, making them feel like they were actually in the movie itself. They watched every type of movie released and sometimes reenacted select scenes when they returned home.
They both loved music and often harmonized to favorite tunes that were played repeatedly on Mac’s cassette tape recorder. Blaise had a beautiful voice and sang in the school choir throughout high school. Blaise’s music teacher would feature her by letting her sing a cappella during school assemblies and concerts. Blaise’s performances were always followed by thunderous applause. There were times Mac was jealous of Blaise’s vocal abilities and attention she received as a result but those times were brief and infrequent. The main reason she was jealous was because she tried to sing but singing didn’t want to try Mac. She never developed a voice anyone would want to listen to for more than a minute or two.
Mac flipped through the pages and came to a segment depicting moments captured from the junior prom. They wanted to experience everything high school had to offer but since neither of them had a date, they went together. They were nervous at first but soon realized that there were a few other girls and even a couple of guys that did the same thing.
Mac chuckled slightly when she recalled an incident that she wished had made it to the yearbook. Blaise was sitting on a chair when Donny Hanson came along and sat next to her. He was a tall, skinny guy from her algebra class that believed in the saying, “If you can’t dazzle them with brilliance, baffle them with bullshit”.
The two began a conversation that ended abruptly when Blaise slapped him in the face and cut his lip. Mac saw the incident and ran to Blaise’s defense.
“My, God, Blaise, your face is red as red can be. What happened?”
“We were talking about different stuff and Donny asked me what I wanted to do after high school. I told him I wanted to open a discount furniture chain that sold real quality furniture at low, low prices so that even poor people could have nice things in their houses as well. Beauty, comfort and style shouldn’t always be reserved for the rich and famous. Donny laughed at me and said I was stupid, so I slapped him.”
The two looked at Donny and then at each other and started laughing. Mr. Tanner, one of the school chaperones, came over to investigate and spoke kindly to them. He was always a very understanding math teacher and applied those same skills to his official dance duties. Mac thought she saw Mr. Tanner suppressing a slight smile as he listened. After hearing both sides of the incident, they were each given a warning and allowed to return to the dance festivities. Donny and Blaise avoided each other the rest of the evening and for the rest of the school year. The following year however, the two went to their senior prom together. Two years after they graduated, about the same time Mac went to college, they got married. Mac was her maid of honor and cried during most of the church ceremony. The last thing she heard, Donny and Blaise had a daughter they named Lucille. They named her after Donny’s grandmother who pa
ssed away one month before they wed.
Mac closed the book and thought about Blaise. How could their relationship have drifted apart after they were so close? It was like her and Billy and she loved Billy like no other. Time and distance have no mercy.
After this whole mess is over, I’m going to make it a point to track Blaise down. I wonder if she had any other children? I wonder if she’s still married? I wonder if she‘s still alive?, she thought. Mac shot off a round of shotgun questions, only this time there was no one to hear and respond to them.
She was about to open another box when she heard something downstairs. She moved to the attic edge and listened for a minute. She heard music. Moreover, it was “Carousel in the Park”.
Mac scrambled down the ladder and into her bedroom. She looked in disbelief as she saw that someone had raised the lid of her music box. It was playing the familiar melody while little skating figures twirled on the ice. She initially panicked, remembering a scene she had seen once in a movie. A woman was under federal protection because she was a witness to a crime committed by members of an organized crime gang. Somehow, a hit-man found her and snuck into the house. The woman heard a music box playing and when she walked into the room where the music was emanating from, she found her bodyguard sitting on the floor in a pool of blood.
Mac was certain she would round the corner and find Marcia in the living room, dead in a pool of blood.
She left her bedroom and tiptoed down the hallway. She peeked around the corner to the living room entrance but saw only furniture. Mac looked at her cell phone on the counter in the kitchen and then at the hallway camera and said, “Marcia, if you’re in the van and everything is fine, call my cell phone, let it ring once and hang up.”
Less than a minute later, Mac’s cell phone rang once and stopped. She looked at the camera and said, “Thanks! I’ll explain later.” Get a grip here, Mac, she thought.
Then something on the coffee table caught her eye. She moved closer and looked over the top of the chair to see more clearly. It was Miss Julie. The last time she saw Miss Julie was on her dresser. It had moved back to the coffee table again.
Mac went over, lifted Miss Julie gently and carried her back to the dresser in her room. Mac closed the lid of the silent music box and stared at both of them. She straightened Miss Julie’s leg and said, “You both know what’s going on. Too bad neither of you can talk.”
“Not here, anyway,” came a whispered reply.
Mac was startled by the unexpected response and fell backward to the edge of her bed. Her heart started racing and her eyes were as wide as saucers. The combination of anxiety and excitement she was experiencing was clearly overwhelming.
“Holy shit!” she exclaimed. “Say something else, Miss Julie.”
Mac waited and waited but there was no further comment from the doll. “What’s next? More importantly, when do I get some stinking answers?? Someone needs to start talking on a regular basis here!! This stuff is beyond getting old…it’s downright ancient!!”
Mac lifted the doll from her dresser and said, “Come on, Miss Julie. How about it? I’d tell you!”
After some time, she finally calmed down and it occurred to Mac that the doll would talk no more. She put the doll back against the mirror and said, “I’m going to get a cup of coffee. If you decide to change your mind, you know where to find me.”
Mac went to the kitchen, poured a cup of cold coffee from the pot, nuked it in her microwave and called Shingo.
“Hey, Shingo.”
“Hi, Mac. I was just getting ready to call you. I wanted to know what to bring you for lunch.”
“How about if I make you some lunch here, instead?” Mac knew that the Cuda Shack didn’t receive much lunchtime traffic during this time of year and wanted to repay Shingo in a small way for all his generosity.
Shingo looked around the empty Shack and said, “I could probably come over for a quick bite. What’s on the menu?”
“How about a ham sandwich with lettuce, tomato and mayo? You can wash it down with the beverage of your choice.”
“I’m getting hungry just thinking about it. What choice of beverages do I have?” asked Shingo.
“Water, ice tea or coffee,” replied Mac.
“Start making some water, I’m on the way!”
Mac chuckled and said, “I’ll brew some of the house’s finest.”
When Shingo arrived, Mac had the sandwich prepared and setting on a plate next to a tall glass of water with several ice cubes.
She met him at the door and exchanged a warm hug with him. “Did you have any trouble finding the place?” she asked with a smile.
He laughed and said, “No, I was just here the other day.”
Mac thought momentarily and said, “That’s right, you were! Come on in and have a seat. I know you don’t want to be gone too long.”
Shingo went into the kitchen and sat at the table. He looked at the solitary plate and asked, “Aren’t you having anything?”
“I will later. I’m not very hungry right now.”
Shingo took a few bites of his sandwich, washed them down with a drink of water and asked, “Have you spoken with Donna?”
“Yes. She’s going to be in the hospital here for two or three more days and then her husband will drive her home to recuperate. Her doctors told her that she would have a couple more surgeries ahead of her. She’ll probably never regain full use of the arm though. It bothers me that I may have been the cause of it.”
“You weren’t the cause. She was doing her job. A job she knew could be dangerous. The person who shot her was the cause of the injury.”
“I know, but I feel responsible.”
“I’ll say it just one last time, Mac. The guy who shot her was responsible. I understand your sympathy but there’s no need to complicate your life with unnecessary guilt. I’m not trying to be cold about all of what has happened, just realistic,” stated Shingo as he looked at Mac sincerely.
“Thanks, Shingo. I’m always thanking you for something!”
Shingo smiled and looked at Mac. “That’s what friends are for.”
He took another bite of his sandwich and commented, “This is delicious!”
“It’s not too hard to make a ham sandwich!” she laughed.
“Any more news from your ghosts?” he asked.
“Yes! There’s been a new development in that field. My doll, Miss Julie, has decided to make her feelings known. I’ve been putting her on my dresser but she doesn’t seem to want to stay there. I keep finding her by the jigsaw puzzle in the living room.”
“Do you think she’s walking there, or is someone putting her there?” asked Shingo.
“No clue but when I found her there again a little while ago, I was frustrated and asked her for some answers. I even lamented that it was too bad she couldn’t talk and tell me how she was able to do it. To my shock, she implied that she could talk but not here. I don’t know if she meant not in my bedroom, my house or what. Maybe she meant not in the house because of all the cameras.”
Shingo gave it some thought and said, “Maybe she meant not in this world. If we’re dealing with ghosts, maybe it has something to do with the afterlife.”
“Maybe. It’s driving me crazy though, Shingo. I get a word here, a shadow there. I have no idea how, why or who. It’s the not knowing part that is hardest for me to deal with. Of course, the voices are a little tough to deal with too.”
“When this mess blows over, we can spend some more time together and see if we can hash it out. Maybe we could call in some paranormal experts to help,” he suggested.
“Shingo, when this is all over, I won’t be able to afford any additional experts, except ones who deal with bankruptcy. I’ll be pretty much broke.”
“I’m sure there’s someone out there willing to look into this sort of matter for no charge.”
“Well, I’ll worry about that aspect later.” Mac saw that Shingo had finished his sandwich an
d said, “Would you like another?”
“No, thanks. I’d better be headed back. The customers are probably lined up around the building by now. You know how hungry crowds can be!” laughed Shingo.
Mac walked him to the door, gave him a hug and said goodbye. When she turned around, she expected to see Miss Julie back at the coffee table, but she wasn’t. A quick check of the bedroom revealed that she was right where Mac had left her.
“Are you hungry too, Miss Julie? What would you like? How about some nice, new yarn?”
Mac took Miss Julie into the living room and sat with her on the couch. She got the skein of yarn that Naomi had purchased for her, a knitting needle, a ruler and a pair of scissors. She measured and cut about twenty, nine-inch lengths of yarn to start with. She removed what little “hair” Miss Julie had left and used the knitting needle to insert the new strands. She held the doll up and said, “You’re getting more beautiful by the minute. Twenty more strands and I think you’ll be done.”
Mac finished the hair and received notification from her brain that a headache was coming on. She took some medication and sat back on the couch. She pulled the comforter up to her shoulders and had a thought, just as she was comfortable. She got up, put the made-over Miss Julie back on her dresser and said, “I’m going to rest for a little bit. When I wake up, you better still be where I left you!”
Mac returned to the couch, sat back and adjusted the comforter once more. She closed her eyes and within minutes, was sound asleep.
CHAPTER TWELVE
ATLANTA - PART III