Flu
Chapter 23
Rex Matheson would have loved to take Rita Coppolla to the Cyber Crime installation in D.C. for debriefing by his people, but for now, Rita is schooling Tori Ellis and the other techs of the N.Y.P.D. Over the years, Rita uncovered more than one entry into the department's systems, and she is helping to brick them up.
The cyber whiz also wants to spend as much time as possible with her boyfriend. Matheson is at a loss for what she sees in the glorified thug, but he's apparently turning out to be quite a source of information to the local organized crime unit and the Southern District. Carlucci's been steadily pounding nails into Dino Scarpella's coffin ever since he and Rita signed their agreements with the various agencies. The Marshalls will have WITSEC ready when the time comes, but right now, Matheson's teaming with the N.Y.P.D. to provide protection. One concession the force made was putting Coppolla and Carlucci in the same facility, a confiscated strip club and cat house in Brooklyn. No shortage of sleeping or at least bedding arrangements in that place.
As yet, Dino Scarpella is just under watch as a multi force net is prepared to descend over his operation. Surveillance better be damn tight. In Scarpella's shoes, Rex would have run for his life.
Rick gazes at Kate over the files, photos, and stacks of documents spread across the surface of the 12th's conference table. Her brows have descended, and her lips are pressed together in a stubborn line as she attempts to organize the information in front of her. "You're beautiful when you concentrate."
"That's sweet, Babe, but I'd rather look a little less intense and more successful. Chris Carlucci is sharing every word Dino ever said to him and every job Dino had him do. It's like his brain is draining out through his mouth."
Rick nods appreciatively. "Good imagery. But why not handle it like you do a murder? The first thing you always do is create a timeline. If you put this data cascade in chronological order, it should be easier to see what leads to deadly and larcenous outcomes and what dead ends. You know that app I have on my computer for outlining my books? We could use that or something like it to sequence all of this."
"That's a good idea, Babe, but these materials are classed as high security and can't leave the building. We can't use the system at the loft."
"You could reach my network with your laptop or, better yet, use the system in Tech. That way, we can lay things out on the big screen. Tori could probably do it in her sleep."
"Or be happy to do it awake if you make her one of your special tech genius jolt coffees," Kate suggests.
"Good thought. On it."
Eli stares at the date in the corner of his computer screen. He has only a week until the trip he planned with the Montgomerys. Part of it would be over a national holiday when the duties of public servants would be limited to essentials. That and seniority is how Montgomery arranged to take time off. Eli doesn't have nearly the seniority and is up to his ears in the most important case of his life. Still, he wants to go, both for family reasons and to bring any snow or skiing stories back for Lana. He'll make it work somehow. There isn't much the internet can't do, at least he hopes that's the case.
For now, Eli has a meeting with the liaison for the Southern District. They have to hash out who gets what from the mounds of testimony from the witnesses against the Scarpellas. He's tempted to stop off at the 12th to fill a large container of coffee. It's going to be a long meeting.
"I think I know the program you need," Tori muses. "It's open-source, and I used it in grad school to organize tons of data for my thesis. There's probably an updated version online." Her fingers dance over her keyboard as the display on the screen rapidly changes. "This is it. It shouldn't take very long to download."
"I can make you a fresh coffee while we wait," Rick offers. "Jolt or Lightning Bolt?"
"The thing with the chocolate and cinnamon," Tori decides.
"Roger that."
"Babe," Kate wonders as Rick reaches for a secret ingredient hidden on an upper cabinet shelf, "have you ever considered investing in a coffee bar?"
"You mean competing with Java Hut?" Rick asks. "The screams you'd hear would be from my business manager. He had three days of hives when I invested in an indie movie – and that actually made money."
"Not competing with Java Hut," Kate clarifies. "Its founders always planned on serving the masses and selling franchises. You have a genius for unique creations, for me, for Tori, almost anyone. You even put a smile on Perlmutter for a couple of seconds, once."
"I remember. It seemed like such an unlikely event that I bought a lottery ticket," Rick confides. "I won 10 bucks. Definitely, a coin-lands-on-edge day."
"Maybe so, but think about how many moods you've improved around here with your personalized coffees. Your imagination doesn't go full blast just when you're writing. It's in your coffee, your cooking," a soft purr rises from Kate's throat, "everything you touch. Maybe you could try one of those pop-up things and see how it goes."
"You mean a coffee stand that would offer fall flavors besides the ubiquitous pumpkin spice?" Rick wonders.
Kate reaches up, tracing his lips. "That would be something different."
Rick kisses her fingertips. "Actually, I do have an idea. It used to be a custom, almost a trope, really, for writers to pen their works in bars. I wrote some of "In a Hail of Bullets" in one. I wasn't even old enough to drink, but I got unlimited free pretzels with nonalcoholic offerings. As a starving student, that little perk was worth a lot to me. Now writers bring their laptops to coffee shops. The people-watching is just as good, and nursing caffeinated drinks provides as much of an excuse to hang around. I could create a writer's retreat peddling beverages to stimulate the senses instead of dulling them."
"That could work, and it would be very you," Kate considers.
"I'll see if I can catch my bean counter in a good mood and run it by him."
"Bring him a coffee," Kate suggests.
"I'll bring him two."
Dino checks the feed from the camera across the street from his club. "Uh-huh. There's a vehicle that Dino would bet big money is an unmarked police car. He's used to surveillance. For years he's taken precautions against bugs and hidden cameras, but now he can constantly feel the eyes on him.
Given that the flu epidemic has yet to wind down, that heavy a police presence would be worrying, even if Chris and Rita hadn't disappeared. Dino hasn't heard anything useful from his usual sources, either. That just makes things worse. Maybe it's time to take a vacation, a long vacation, but he's got to transfer some funds first. No doubt the cops will be watching for that too. He'll have to be careful. He's moved with the times enough to start stowing money overseas. A bank in Cypress has served as a particularly convenient laundromat. He can stash some of his dough in his cousins' accounts in Sicily, and make a short visit with them on his way to Serbia. It's supposed to be beautiful there, and there's no extradition. With enough money, a man could live very comfortably until the cops take an interest in someone else.