Don't Sweat the Small Stuff (21 page)

“We send a Trojan horse,” I said, “a message that the other person has to reply to. That’s the way Jody explained it.”

Carnies walked by us, smoking cigarettes, sipping on coffee in cardboard cups, and shaking the morning fog from their heads. I pictured their night before, drinking themselves into a stupor and passing out only hours after closing down the show. Not unlike the way James and I spent our evenings. The thought frightened me.

“Once they respond to the message, we can see everything there is in their computer.”

James started walking, picking up the pace. “How cool is this. On one hand, we tap into a cell phone. On the other, we tap into a computer. There’s no longer any privacy, Skip. George Orwell was several decades off, but it’s come to pass. Big Brother is watching. And we, pardner, are Big Brother.”

“You’re not talking about bugging Winston Pugh, are you?”

“You catch on quickly, grasshopper.”

“Yeah. But James.”

“Think about it amigo. We’ll be able to explore Moe’s computer all we want to. Pretty cool, eh?”

“Apparently Moe is bugging us as well. So it’s Big Brother versus Big Brother.”

That shut him up. He was silent until we reached the Airstream.

I opened the door and there sat slick Jody. On the small couch. Very close to Em.

“Hey, Skip. James.”

Em slid to the left, away from the spy guy. Just a couple of inches, but it was obvious she knew I wasn’t happy.

“What happened to your face?” Jody asked.

I reached up and touched my jaw. The skin was still raw and it felt like there may be a slight swelling. “Somebody actually hit me.”

He reached over and patted Em’s hand. “Was he getting a little fresh?”

Neither of us commented.

“Brought the little black box. Want to see it in action?”

I actually did. I also wanted to see Jody in action, as in running out the door, getting in his car, and driving down the dusty road toward Delray Beach.

“Little black box?” James was confused.

“Hold on, boys.” Jody pulled a disc the size of a silver dollar from his pocket, flipped a small switch and set it on the kitchen table. “That sets up interference in the trailer. If you’re being bugged, that little disc disrupts any signal. Now, you can talk all you want.”

I have to admit I was impressed. The guy thinks of everything.

“I called Jody, James. Asked him if we could debug our trailer. He suggested a black box that flashes a red light when it detects a bug.”

Jody picked up the black box sitting next to him and offered it to James.

James flashed me a smile. “Smart thinking, pard. So this thing will pick up any bugging device, right?” James took it from Jody’s hand and studied it.

“You flip this switch and just scan the room. Here, let me
show you.” Jody took the box back, stood up, and moved the black detector over the couch. Nothing. He walked around the small kitchenette, moving the box high and low.

“A bug would be here, in the living area,” James said. “I mean, this is where we talk. Got to be here.”

Jody shook his head. There was nothing.

We followed him down the very short hallway and into the bathroom. He stopped for a second as he passed the box under the small medicine chest, then over the toilet and into the cramped shower. If we were bugged, it had to be someplace close.

Nothing.

Walking back into my miniscule bedroom, he ran the box over and under the bed and around the window. Nothing.

We three musketeers stood in the doorway, watching with baited breath.

“Well, so far you’re clean.” Jody smiled.

“You’re sure the batteries are good?” I was sure that we were being bugged.

“Skip,” Em gave me that look, “I think Jody’s been doing this long enough to know if the batteries are working.”

Feeling chastised, I didn’t respond.

Jody slowly ran the box over the dresser and that’s when it happened. The red light flashed and we all saw it. I think four of us gasped together, although I’m not sure Jody gasped. As Em has pointed out, he was the real professional of the group. Pros don’t gasp.

“It’s here, folks. The red light never lies.” There was a self-satisfied smirk on his face as he hovered over the wooden chest of drawers.

One sweep to the left and the light went off. A sweep to the right and it was back on. Jody opened the top drawer and there were several of my T-shirts and a pair of boxer shorts inside. He glanced back at me.

“Do you want to come over and check the drawer?”

Obviously he didn’t want to rummage through my underwear drawer.

Walking into the room, I wasn’t quite sure what the bug would look like. Maybe just a tiny microphone. Or a listening device taped to the bottom of a drawer. I pulled out two shirts and the shorts.

“Do you see anything?”

And there it was. Lying in the corner. There was no question what it was and what it could do.

“Sure enough, there
is
a bug.”

I pulled our gray audio/video pen from the drawer and tossed it on the bed.

There was a moment of silence, then James said, “And it got into that drawer because?”

“I put it there, James. We were done with it so—”

“Isn’t that the pen I sold you?” Jody picked it up, possibly examining it for dog tooth marks.

“Yeah.”

“So there really is no bug in here? Nothing someone else would have planted? Just this pen?” Jody gave me a disgusted look and switched off his black box.

“So, Jody, if we don’t find a bug, how do we explain someone knowing our every move?”

Tapping the black box with his index finger, he smiled. “Oh, I think we’ll find a bug. It’s the easiest way for someone to know exactly what you’re doing.”

Everything had a tech solution. GPS units, hidden cameras, disguised microphones. That was Jody Stacy’s world.

“Let’s check outside.”

“Outside?”

“Yeah. We’re going to debug the outside of the trailer.”

“Why would someone plant a bug on the outside of the trailer?”

“I saw lawn chairs out there.”

“And?”

“Do you and James have conversations while you’re sitting outside?”

We were both silent. Obviously we’d thought we were safe outside. And this was why Jody Stacy was a professional and we were floundering with a case we couldn’t solve.

I led the bumbling spies outside where Jody, the master spy, swept the outside of our trailer. We watched the red light indicator, waiting for the signal that he’d found the hidden bug. Over the front, around the door frame. Windows, the front, the back, even a pass under the trailer. Finally Jody passed the box over the two lawn chairs. Nothing. Nothing at all.

“Well, we can always try the other trailer. Where is it? The one where James is staying?”

Traipsing across the lot, we walked up the steps to Angie’s trailer. James opened the door and yelled but no one was home.

“Come on in.” James waved us through the entrance.

Jody made his way through the living area, more slowly this time. He wanted to impress us, show off not only the box, but his skills as a P.I. I could sense it. And I’m sure he wanted to show off his prowess to Em.

We were silent, as if the sound of our voices might set off the red light. Six pairs of eyes trained on the black box in Jody’s hand.

Nothing.

The kitchen area, the bedroom where jeans, shorts, T-shirts, boxer shorts, a bra, and other clothing were strewn everywhere, the miniscule closet. Nothing, nothing, and nothing.

He took a deep breath. I could sense the disappointment in his voice. “Well the last place to try would be outside.”

We stood to one side as the modern-day James Bond walked the perimeter. He walked back to us with a frown on his face.

“Guys, I can say with a great deal of certainty that neither of these trailers has been bugged.”

“Nothing at all?”

“Nada.” I could see the disappointment on his face.

The three of us looked at each other. The three of us who were just this side of amateur status.

“Maybe they removed the bugs?” I was looking for the obvious.

“Very possible.” Jody nodded. “Once they got the information they needed, they found a way inside and they took the device away.

“But,” James interjected, “Moe has never been in this trailer. I’d lay odds on it. He hasn’t set foot in here since the show opened.”

“We don’t know that for sure.” James hadn’t been here the entire time.

“Well I’m pretty sure he’s never been inside the Airstream. Skip, you and Em have been there most of the time, and when you haven’t been, I was there.”

I caught movement on the show grounds and glanced over at the Ferris wheel, now making lazy circles in the sky. The carnies were warming up the rides for the last big day.

Glancing at my ten-dollar watch, I saw it was a quarter of ten. Fifteen minutes before the show opened.

“Jody, since you’re here, can you give us a hand on another project?” As much as I wanted him gone, he knew better than anyone how to handle the EMT.

“What’s that?”

“We’ve got a message we’d like to send to a friend. An e-mail message we want to send to his computer. We’re hoping for an answer back.”

I saw recognition dawn on his face. He smiled. “Oh, I love this one. Be more than happy to help you set it up. You won’t believe how slick the EMT is.”

Twenty minutes later we could hear the music, blasting from the show speakers. Two or three classic rock songs fighting each other for dominance.

“All loaded in.” Jody sat back, beaming. “Anything special you want to say?”

“Do we even have his address?” I didn’t even know where Moe Bradley lived, much less what his e-mail address was.

“I do, amigo. Right here.” James passed a matchbook over to Jody. “I wrote it on the inside.”

“Does he have to know where the message is coming from?” I didn’t want Moe seeing that the message came from me. And again, this was my company’s computer. All I needed was to lose my job. This wasn’t the best market to be shopping for new employment.

“This is Skip’s computer. Can’t have any trace of that with the message we’re sending.” James was looking out for me.

“We could set up a phony address.” Jody was rubbing his hands together. “This guy, Moe, he probably reads the trades, right?” He was really getting into this.

“Trades?” James raised his eyebrows.

“Magazines about rides. About shows, gross profits. Come on, James. I get mags about spy equipment, surveillance techniques.
This guy must subscribe to magazines regarding his business. Carnival trades.” Jody was the professional. We were just along for the ride.

“Your point is?” James needed clarification.

Jody punched in some words, turned the screen toward us and smiled. There in bold letters we saw
The Carnival Crusade, a magazine about making your business the best it can be.

“Here’s our magazine, guys. Now, we offer Mr. Moe a discount on his subscription.”

“Discount?”

Jody turned the screen toward himself and muttered, “Yeah. What the hell would he want with discounts.” He typed in several words then turned the screen toward us again.

Free six-month subscription

“Wow.” James was impressed. “How could he turn this down?”

“I don’t think he will.”

“So where do we go from here?”

“You simply ask him to respond.”

“And?” Em was skeptical.

“That’s it.”

“It’s as simple as that?” She stared at him.

“I told you it was cool. The EMT. You’re going to find out everything about this guy.” Jody grinned. He’d impressed Em, and my guess was that was his intention all along.

So we waited. And waited.

Walking outside the Airstream, I watched the Dragon Tail whip through the air and plummet toward the ground, stopping at the last second and gently landing in the dirt. My stomach did a flip as I remembered the ride. Just yesterday.

It was an impossible task. How were we supposed to find the bad guys in two and one half days? The whole thing was smoke and mirrors, a magic trick that Moe had set up to appease Virginia Crouse and Judy Schiller. The evil sisters.

I’d mulled it all over, and pretty much decided that Moe didn’t want to admit there were problems, because problems drove people away. And without people, the Show wasn’t worth much. Without value, Moe and the Show would go broke. So it just made sense. Moe was ignoring the problem and hoping it would just go away. The only reason he’d hired us and given us a compelling reason to take the job, was to keep his sisters happy and to stop anyone with real credentials from investigating the Show.

I was quite pleased with myself, the fact that I’d come to this
conclusion. And pissed off at the same time. It meant that he had no intention of paying us any more than the bare minimum he’d promised.

Still, someone had killed Kevin Cross. That was a real murder. So it stood to reason that there was a killer in our midst. As if James and I would ever have a real chance of proving who it was.

“Skip.” Em was leaning out the door. “Come here a minute.”

They were gathered around the table.

“Check it out, compadre.” James was pointing at the screen.

And there it was. Moe Bradley’s home page, in all its glory, plastered across the screen of my computer.

“We’re inside his computer, Skip.” Jody sat back with a big grin on his face. Showing off again. But he’d actually done it. The last trick was now out of the bag, the last weapon had been used and we had nothing left.

Half an hour later we’d only explored about twenty files, scanned some e-mail, and found the Show schedule. So far there were no surprises. There were hundreds of files listed, and all seemed easily accessible.

Jody pushed back from the table and folded his hands. “You get this sometimes when a guy has a lot of stuff stored. It just takes time. Nice thing is, this Moe is organized. Very methodical. Everything is where it should be. I’ve been in some systems where the guy has stuff everywhere. Spread out like a giant quilt. You can spend hours and not find anything.”