Geek Mafia: Mile Zero (5 page)

Winston didn't answer right away, seeming to mull over his response. "I'm not entirely sure" he finally said.

"Isaiah's been reticent to share any substantial details with me. But he has a proposition of some sort for me."

"Some sort of con he wants help on?" asked Chloe.

"No, no. Nothing that simple. Like I said earlier, Isaiah is an ambitious man. A dreamer. And whatever his plan is, I can promise you, it's no con. Or at least not just a con."

"Didn't he give you some kind of hint?" asked Paul.

"He did," said Winston. "He said he wants a revolution."

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Chapter 05

KEY WEST, with its scattering of 19th-century wooden homes, is one of the few places in Florida where an 80-year-old building isn't far and away the most ancient manmade structure in town. Even so, the La Concha Hotel, built in 1925, is certainly the largest historical building on the island that's still being used for its original purpose. At all of seven stories, it would scarcely qualify as a boutique hotel in a big city, but for this island it served as a skyscraper.

The three of them walked into the marble-floored lobby, instantly chilled by the hotel's powerful air-conditioning (one of many post-1920s updates in the building, along with the computer reservation system and the Starbucks franchise). Winston peered around the crowded room, focusing in particular on a tall, gaunt man wearing a black suit and top hat and carrying a gnarled wooden cane. The dark stranger was ushering a gaggle of camera-wielding tourists out the side door and into the hotel's driveway.

"Ghost Tour," Paul explained to Winston. "They walk around town, and the guide tells tales. It's fun."

"It does sound interesting," said Winston, chuckling.

"We've been trying to get a piece of that," said Chloe, "But the owners are pretty stubborn. It would be a nice compliment to Paul's fake séance racket."

"You perform fake séances?" Winston asked Paul.

"Not unless I have to, no. But I... what's the word... oversee a couple who do. Sometimes I step in and lend a hand if one of them is sick." In fact, Paul had written the original scripts and come up with the gags and tricks the performers used to put on their little show. Once he'd perfected it, he'd recruited two actors to do the nightly ritual and handle all the details. It provided a small but steady revenue stream for the Crew, and their hidden cameras sometimes picked up other useful information as well.

"It's pretty cool," Chloe told Winston. "We do two shows a night in a little storefront up on White Street that we filled with scavenged Victorian knock-off furniture and all this occult stuff like skulls and candles and shit.

Bee came up with some little remote-controlled gadgets and tricks and fireworks so we can really scare the piss out of the customers. They know it's all fake, of course, but they scream like it was real. You should check it out."

"I will," said Winston.

They had made their way down a short corridor behind the bar and waited in front of an out-of-the-way elevator door. Despite the observation deck's popularity, it was surprisingly difficult to find your way up there. The first two times Paul had come into the hotel, he hadn't been able to locate it. They made way for an older couple who were exiting the elevator, and then the three of them stepped inside. Winston glanced around meaningfully at the corners of the stuffy metal box, his eyes warning Chloe and Paul that there might be hidden bugs or cameras. The elevators hadn't been renovated as recently as the central air-conditioning or the Starbucks, and the seven-story journey was hot, stuffy, and involved more rattling and shaking than most people liked in their vertical travels.

They stepped out into a small lobby area. Straight ahead was a glass door that led out onto the wrap-around balcony and observation platform that was the main attraction. To their left was the bar itself, which had a few customers perched on stools, chatting quietly under the cover of innocuous soft jazz from the stereo system.

Beyond the bar was a glass wall that separated the bar from the small ballroom beyond. Normally you could see right in, but tonight heavy red drapes hid the room's contents. A sign by the door to the ballroom said

"THOMAS TEW CONSULTING, ANNUAL MEETING."

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"An odd time and place for an annual meeting," said Paul, pointing to the sign.

"Hmm," was all Winston had to say, frowning.

"What is it?" asked Chloe.

"Wait here for a moment," the old man said, walking toward the door to the ballroom. The bar patron closest to the door - a thin, African- American man in a white dress shirt and khaki pants - casually stood up as Winston approached. He leaned forward, shook Winston's hand and whispered in his ear. The stranger, or guard as Paul now thought of him, opened the door just wide enough for Winston to slip inside, and then closed it behind them. He never even looked at Chloe and Paul.

Chloe turned her back on the guard and the bar, screening Paul from view. "Let's step outside for a sec," she said. As they walked out into the night air, she leaned in close and whispered, "Can you get on your phone and have Sandee get over to the house and then back here right away? I'm going to call Bee and have her throw together a quick surveillance kit. We should have a camera on that elevator - it's the only way up or down that doesn't involve setting off a fire alarm. I want pics of everyone who comes and goes from this place for the next twelve hours."

Paul pulled out his phone and started dialing Sandee's number. "What about the whole don't spy on friendly visitors,' etiquette thing that Win was talking about?" he asked.

"Screw that," said Chloe. "This is just taking reasonable precautions." Paul couldn't have agreed more. He didn't like all these strangers in town and he really didn't like not knowing what they were up to.

Sandee picked up after the fifth ring. Paul could hear music in the background. "Hey hot stuff," Sandee said over the noise.

"Hey, San. Listen, can you do me a favor? I'm starving and I'm just craving a pizza from Slice O' Love. Can you pick one up for me?" This was a code phrase for something that was urgent but not a life-or-death emergency. Slice O Love was open 24 hours, so it was always a good cover.

"Sure," said Sandee. "But I'm a little short on cash." This was code too - Sandee's way of asking where to meet Paul.

"Just have them put it on my tab. They know who I am," replied Paul. The final piece of code, it indicated that Sandee should go back to the house and that Bee or Chloe would explain what was up.

"Glad to help, sweetie," said Sandee. "See you in two shakes."

Paul hung up and slipped his phone into his pocket. He saw that Chloe had finished sending a text message to Bee and had received a confirmation in return. They both glanced inside at the guard on the door, but he was busy chatting with the bartender and pretending not to watch them. They stepped back inside and resumed their former places, waiting for Winston - or someone - to come out and acknowledge their presence.

After five minutes of standing in place and receiving curious looks from the bartender, they decided to take a seat at the bar. The only open pair of adjacent seats were near the guard. He nodded to them as they sat down, but said nothing. Paul and Chloe both ordered beers and sat in silence, waiting for something to happen. Paul tried his best not to steal glances at the guard, but when he finally did, he was embarrassed to find the young man looking back at him with a grin.

Then, apparently responding to some unseen signal, the guard broke the silence. He tapped Paul on the Chapter 05

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shoulder and said, "You two can go on inside if you want."

"Oh," said Paul. "Thanks."

Chloe was already on her feet and headed toward the door. The guard had to break his nonchalant pose to hurry to the door in time to open it for her. Paul followed close on her heels. And then they were inside.

THE "ballroom" wasn't much more than a thousand square feet, about the size of a dining room in a medium to small-sized restaurant. Large picture windows looked out to the west and north, although more red curtains shut out the outside world. To Paul's left was a lavish buffet table, laid out with shrimp, sushi, mini-quiches, various fruits and cheeses, and even crab legs on ice. Three elegantly appointed round tables clustered in the room's center, draped in crisp white tablecloths and sporting orchid centerpieces. In the far corner was a serve-yourself bar, lined with wine bottles, top shelf liquors, and a bottle of Veuve Cliquot in a bucket of ice.

Paul felt like he'd stumbled into a cozy, classy wedding reception instead of a meeting of outlaws and would-be revolutionaries.

In the room's center stood a handsome, 40-something African- American man in an ivory linen suit and burgundy silk shirt. He was of medium build, maybe an inch shorter than Paul, and stood with a slight forward hunch to his posture - a common affliction for anyone who'd spent their formative decades crouched in front of a computer. The man, who Paul assumed was Isaiah, stood next to Winston, talking quietly to the old hippie, who was listening with a smile. They both turned to Chloe and Paul as they came through the door.

"Chloe, Paul," said Winston, waving them over. "Please, come meet my friend Isaiah."

Isaiah held out his hand to Chloe and the Paul, looking them each in the eye as he shook their hands. "Nice to meet you," he said, his voice deep and soothing. "Winston was just giving me the low down on both of you.

Key West is your town?"

"It is these days," said Chloe.

"Nice," said Isaiah. "It's an interesting place. Unusual, from what I've seen. Eccentric might be the right word."

"I'd say the word is wacky," she said. "Wackier still since we arrived. When did you guys get in?"

"Not too long ago," Isaiah said, "Haven't had a chance to sightsee too much."

"Just let us know if you need a local guide," Paul said. "We'll show you a good time."

"That's very kind," said Isaiah. "We'll see how business goes."

"Speaking of which..." Chloe said.

"You're wondering why I'm here," he said.

"I did give them some tantalizing hints," Winston interjected. "But I don't know enough about it to really explain your plan."

"Well," said Isaiah. "We're still waiting for two more interested parties to make an appearance. One of them called and said they're running late. The other should be here any minute. I'll wait and explain it to you all at once. I hate to duplicate effort."

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"Sure, sure, no problem," said Chloe.

Isaiah motioned toward the buffet table and the bar. "They've laid out quite a spread. Go ahead and help yourself to anything you want." With that, he turned his attention back to Winston, ushering him away from Chloe and Paul so they could continue their conversation out of earshot.

"Thanks," said Chloe to Isaiah's receding back. Then she whispered to Paul, "This is really not what I expected."

"No, it's really not," Paul said in a quiet voice. "That shrimp looks good though."

They made their way to the buffet. As they took their time loading up plates with food, Paul whispered into Chloe's ear. "At least the delay gives Bee and San plenty of time to get everything set up downstairs. We might even catch these other people as they come in."

Chloe nodded. "Yeah, but what's with all the fancy food and shit?" she said. "And this place? It's so public."

"He's making a statement."

"Yeah, but what's he stating?"

"That's he's not worried about being seen?" suggested Paul.

"Or that he's not going to say anything real important tonight." She looked around the room. "I certainly wouldn't. We have no way of knowing who's just outside on the balcony, maybe listening in."

"I'll bet the guard at the door has a friend or two out on there."

"Yeah, probably," agreed Chloe. "Still, it's really fucking weird."

Their plates full, they sat down at one of the tables and started to nibble at their food. Isaiah and Winston still stood sequestered in the corner. From afar they looked to be having a quiet, amiable chat. But Paul knew that, assuming Isaiah was as experienced as Win, the two men could be exchanging death threats and an onlooker across the room would never suspect a thing.

They sat there a lot longer than Paul would have imagined, waiting for something, anything to happen. He tried not to just stare at the two men talking in the corner, but they were the only thing even vaguely interesting going on. He wished he smoked, so he'd have an excuse to step out onto the observation deck and see if he could pick out Isaiah's other Crewmembers. Finally, Winston and Isaiah shook hands as if they'd agreed upon something, and then the two of them came over to sit down at Paul and Chloe's table.

"I'm going to have to reschedule the meeting," said Isaiah. "It doesn't look like we'll have a quorum tonight."

"Who're we missing?" asked Chloe.

"Two other interested parties, like I said."

"Didn't you say one of them was late but hadn't called in? Are you sure they're coming?"

"I'm..." Isaiah started to say, but then seemed to change thoughts mid-sentence. "There must have been some mix-up. Maybe a miscommunication."

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"Although it really isn't like her to be late like this," Winston interjected. "Not if she's as interested as you say she is."

Isaiah glanced at Winston, although Paul couldn't ascribe any particular meaning to his look. "No, that's true.

It's not like her."

"Who're we talking about?" asked Chloe.

"A woman named Raquel," Winston said before Isaiah could get a word out. If he'd wanted Winston to keep this fact a secret, he hid his annoyance well.

"She's rather important to my presentation," Isaiah said. "But I'm sure she just got held up somewhere. Maybe lost track of time. She's kind of a party girl."

"Well," said Paul, "This is more than kind of a party town. I know from personal experience how easy it is to forget oneself in some of these bars."