Page 33 of Loverboy
“Could be a copycat,” I grunt. “This red ribbon business is awfully melodramatic.”
“But very splashy,” Max insists as the elevator doors part into his apartment. “Our perp doesn't want his clues to be missed. He's on a mission.”
“With what goal, though?”
“Intimidating anyone who gets close to the hardware hackers.”
“Do you know what the dead guy was working on?” I ask.
Max shakes his head.
“But if this murder is linked, your informant should be bragging about it already, right? Did anyone post—”
Max takes the newspaper from me and tosses it onto an antique sideboard against the wall. He drops his bag there, too. “At eleven-sixteen today, a post went up from The Plumber. It was made from the pie shop.”
My skin begins to tingle. “Right under my nose? Really? What's on my body cam at eleven-sixteen?”
“Well…” Max lets out a sigh. “The camera shows the hand pie you were eating on your break. Looked like ham and cheese.”
“Fuck!” I’m so frustrated that I punch the air. “I was in—”
“The back alley. I saw.”
“Damn it! Max, I only took fifteen minutes. How could he possibly have picked that time slot?” I drop my gym bag onto Max’s thick Persian carpet in disgust.
“Probably just a coincidence,” Max says. “If the perp was trying to avoid you, he would have used someone else’s WiFi.”
“Hundredsof coffees,” I moan. “I’ve made so many lattes that I dream about it at night. And this asshole comes in on my break?”
Max shrugs. “It’s rough luck, Gunn. But we’ll get him.”
“What is he saying, anyway? About the murder?”
“He said that the deceased had a black and white cat who was also poisoned at the scene.”
“And…?” I ask.
“I verified it already. My guy at the precinct confirmed the cat’s death. But it wasn’t in any of the reporting.”
“What does The Plumber want, anyway?” I ask Max. “Murderers don’t brag about it on the internet. Not the smart ones. This guy is clever enough to pull off a string of unsolved murders. But too dumb not to leave a trail around New York?”
“Two possibilities.” Max strokes his chin. “Maybe it’s a distraction. One of his goons might be dropping these clues in New York, while he hides somewhere else. But I still think it’s an associate of his. Someone who doesn’t want to be involved anymore, and is trying to expose him.”
“Awfully risky,” I grunt.
“Yeah, but so is palling around with a ruthless criminal. I think the bossman is here in New York, and he’s ordering these hits to send a disturbing message. And it’s working, right? Hackers are pissing themselves all over the place, wondering if they’re next.”
“Sure. Fine.”
“…So there’s someone on his team who wants out. Maybe the team is large enough that he can post these tidbits without the boss guessing the mole.”
“Still risky.”
“True,” Max admits. “But there’s nobody braver than a man who’s got nothing to lose. He sees a way out. He takes it. You and I have some more work to do in that pie shop.”
I guess he’s right. Max’s scenario is pretty loopy. But he and I have seen a lot of crime in the last decade. And some of it was even stranger than this. “Can I have the first shower?”
“Go for it,” he says.
