Memoria. A Corporation of Lies

Chapter Eight. The Expert’s Lodgings

Frank forced his eyes open. Darkness surrounded him. Somebody shook him by the shoulder.

“There we are,” Barney’s low voice boomed in his ear.

His large frame moved aside, letting some light into the cab. Barney had turned the interior light off so that no one could recognize his passenger from the outside. The weak light of a street lamp drizzled into the opened door. The car was parked on the corner of an apartment block.

“Out you come, quick.”

Frank rubbed his face and finally felt awake. He got out, stretched and took in a lungful of air.

Which was fresh and windless. A few stars showed in the sky. The rain had passed leaving a few clouds behind. The coming day promised to be sunny and warm.

“Where are we?” Frank turned his head, looking around.

“West Brooklyn,” Barney slammed the door shut, turned the alarm on and pointed at something behind his back. “That’s the East River over there. Come on now,” he climbed the stairs that led to the front door and produced a bunch of keys. The lock clicked.

“Now remember,” Barney said. “I expect you to be as quiet as a mouse. Stay put in your room. No nosing about. I’ll wake you up as soon as I’m back. Understood?”

“Sure,” Frank nodded. “Where are you to now?”

“Got to take the cab back to my partner,” Barney let him inside, cast a quick glance along the street and shut the front door. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. Up the stairs, second floor.”

They went upstairs together. The bunch of keys jangled in Barney’s hand as the veteran opened the apartment door. Without turning the light on in the hall, he showed Frank to his room.

“Get some sleep,” Barney whispered, lingering in the doorway.

Frank sat down on a couch. Springs creaked under the battered upholstery.

“Remember the drill?”

“Yeah. Stay put, no nosing about…”

“Hush!” Barney hissed.

“…and get some sleep.” Frank kicked off his shoes and stretched his body out on the couch. Hands under his head, he stared at the ceiling.

“In other words,” he heard from the hall, “stick your neck out, and I’ll break it.”

Frank didn’t answer. He closed his eyes and listened to the shuffle of feet, the clinking of keys and the screech of the closing lock. In a couple of minutes he heard a motor starting outside. A car drove off.

Now he could finally catch a few z’s, at least until the monstrous mustachio was back. Frank tried to relax. But sleep wouldn’t come. He turned on his side. The upholstery stank of sweat and dust. Barney must have slept here himself, not bothering with bedclothes. About time he gave the place a good clean.

Frank thought he’d heard a quiet sniffling in the next room. He really didn’t look forward to any more aggro from Barney over the disrupted sleep of his daughter or girlfriend, whoever she was. But he could use a leak.

Frank got off the couch and nearly fell over his own shoes. He swore under his breath and walked out into the hall, feeling along the wall for a light switch. He didn’t find it. In the dark, he could make out another door further on, and two more to his left. Frank pushed the one closest to him. The kitchen. The next one was the bathroom.

He flipped the switch above the mirror and squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them. A cheap shower cabin took up half the space. A toilet in the corner completed the scenario.

Frank glanced in the mirror, turned to the toilet bowl, undid his fly and relieved himself. He flushed the toilet and opened the tap above the sink. Cold water helped to clear his head, heavy with exhaustion and lack of sleep.

Frank washed his face, poured some water onto the back of his neck, closed the tap and admired his mug in the mirror. Oh well… He could do with a shave and a… Frank touched his chin and the large scratch from the fight on his cheek. A shower would be a good thing, too. Still, it had to wait until the morning.

Frank yawned. Back to bed now. He needed to recover properly.

He stepped out into the hall, nearly knocking over a young woman. At first he took her for a tousled teenage boy, but then realized it was a grown-up girl in her twenties. She had a round face with large eyes and a snub nose. About a foot shorter than him, quite chubby — or rather, squat like a gym coach. Wide-boned, apparently. Must have taken after her dad.

She squinted sleepily, shielding her face from the lamp over the mirror. The girl was wearing pajamas with a teddy-bear print and a pair of pink slippers topped with puppies’ heads.

Frank stood staring at her. She did the same; her eyes betrayed neither fear nor surprise, only curiosity.

“Pardon me,” he croaked and squeezed past her into the hall. “I’m a friend of Barney’s. Hope I didn’t scare you too much.”

The girl waved him aside and locked herself in the bathroom.

Idiot. Frank returned to his room and sat on the couch. What an idiot! He shook his head. All that was missing was to have told her his name and life story.

Water ran in the shower. Frank leaned against the couch, his eyes getting used to the darkness. Soon he could see the mess Barney called his room. In the corner under the wardrobe lay bagfuls of stuff. The desk under the window was heaped high with paperwork and manuals. A soft chair by the door was buried under heaps of clothes.

He wondered what kind of family the girl was to Barney. Was she the Maggie?

The water stopped trickling. For a second, light issued from the doorway, then it was dark again.

“Did he say when he’d be back?” he heard from the hall. A silhouette appeared in the doorway.

She had a nice voice, Frank decided as he rose to greet her.

“Said he’d take the car back.”

“Good,” the silhouette disappeared.

Frank looked out. The girl walked into the kitchen and turned on the light.

“Are you hungry?”

Frank listened to his stomach rumbling. He wouldn’t be able to sleep now. Plates started clinking in the kitchen. A coffee machine hummed.

“I am,” he entered the kitchen. “Are you Maggie?”

They made one another’s acquaintance to the humming of the coffee machine. Her name was indeed Maggie, and she was Barney’s daughter. And over the coffee, Frank discovered that Maggie worked for Memoria as Mr. Binelli’s secretary.

“I used to know a girl who worked for them too.”

Immediately he cursed his loose tongue.

He remembered the argument between Max and Barney. The picture became clearer. His coach wanted to use Maggie to get access to Memoria’s files. She could gain entry to their office and copy the information stored on the device. The risk — primarily for the girl — was enormous.

“What’s her name?” Maggie opened the fridge, took a bowlful of salad off the shelf and placed it in front of Frank.

The juicy radishes mixed with lettuce and slices of bell pepper looked too good to resist. It took all of Frank’s willpower not to wolf it down: he hadn’t eaten anything for twenty-four hours.

“I meet a lot of people there. Wonder if we both know her?” Maggie added looking down at him.

Nonchalantly, Frank picked up a fork and poked the salad.

“Nah. She quit. Doesn’t work there any more.” He lifted the first forkful and started munching. “That’s good,” he managed with a full mouth.

“Good. I’ll fix some pasta for you now,” Maggie turned back to the fridge.

“Please don’t… no need to bother,” Frank started.

She turned and gave him a meaningful glare. So like Barney.

“I’ll take offence. And so will Daddy.”

He choked on a half-chewed lettuce leaf.

“Joke,” her thin lips stretched into a smile. “Daddy promised to break your neck, right?”

Frank nodded.

“I wasn’t asleep. I heard you two come in.” Maggie retrieved a plastic box from the fridge and put it into the microwave. “This is what he promises to do to all men younger than himself who happen to walk within handshaking distance of me.” She reached for a cheese grater above the stove.

“Why would he?” Frank returned to his salad.

“He still thinks I’m his little girl. He calls me his teddy bear.” She sighed and started grating some cheese over a bowl.

“I think, we remain forever children in our parents’ eyes,” with this platitude, Frank shoved the rest of the food into his mouth and pushed the bowl away.

“Yes, but…” the girl put the grater aside, spooned the pasta onto a plate and topped it with the grated cheese. “Unfortunately, sooner or later their children grow up. Then they have their own ideas on how to go about their wishes. True or not?” She put the dirty bowl into the sink.

“Sure,” Frank chuckled and wrapped some spaghetti around his fork. “Same old story.”

“Now don’t you start!” he heard reproach in her voice. “I’ve been reading a lot about it lately.”

“It can’t be that bad, surely!”

Maggie sat on a stool by his side, propped her elbows on the table and rested her head in her hands. Her eyes were sad now.

“Never mind,” she forced a smile. “I like watching men eat. You mind?”

Frank mumbled that no, he didn’t, munched his way through the first mouthful of pasta and told her that he’d never eaten anything better than cheese pasta Maggie Douggan-style.

“What about the salad, then!” she protested with a smile.

“The salad was great, the coffee, amazing…” Frank paused thinking of a good way to finish the compliment.

“Yeah right! Eat now before it gets cold. Don’t mind me,” Maggie rose.

“Mind if I ask a question,” Frank looked around the kitchen. The fork in his hand outlined the room. “Is this your family’s…” Embarrassment flooded over him but he went on. “You don’t seem to be afraid of me. You’re giving me food. What if I’m a criminal? A murderer on the run?”

Maggie laughed, then abruptly stopped, growing serious.

“If Daddy brought you here, then it was the right thing to do.”

She disappeared into the bathroom leaving Frank alone with his thoughts and his pasta. When she reemerged, he’d already polished off his dinner and thanked her for it, bringing about a burst of happy laughter. She seemed to laugh a lot and with gusto.

Frank gave her a lost smile. Maggie pointed at the sunrise in the window and said that his dinner was rather like an early breakfast. She was due to work soon.

“Daddy will be back any time. I’ve got to cook something for him.”

“What?” it dawned on Frank that Barney wouldn’t be amused if there was no food in the house left for him. “You… I didn’t…”

“Don’t worry,” Maggie touched his shoulder. “I’ll fix him something.”

She opened the fridge and produced a can of milk and a plastic box with some veg. Then she reached into a cupboard by the stove for a packet of corn flakes. “There! Daddy calls this mix a dead migrant’s breakfast.”

Frank barely had time to give a sigh of relief when the front door slammed. Barney walked into the kitchen in his coat, gently kissed his daughter and sat on a stool, casting angry glances at Frank.

As he ate, he told Maggie how his shift had gone, calling her teddy bear three times, twice his darling sunshine, and only once his daughter. He kept casting Frank unhappy glares without saying a word.

Maggie pretended she didn’t notice the way her father treated his guest. Smiling, she went about cleaning the kitchen. Frank wanted to offer his help but he stopped himself just in time in order not to annoy Barney. What if he sees it as an attempt at courtship or accuse him of attempting to seduce or even rape her? He could easily break Frank’s head with those fists of his. He surely knew how to use a knife, too. Frank glanced at the clock above the fridge. Half past six, and Max hadn’t arrived yet. What if something had happened?

Barney, too, squinted at the clock but didn’t say anything finishing his corn flakes. Finally, Maggie left them. She went back to her room where she hummed something as she readied herself for work.

Frank didn’t have time to realize what had happened. Strong arms grabbed him by the scruff of his neck. The edge of the table pressed into his stomach, and Barney’s face, distorted with anger, rose before his eyes.

“Let me go,” Frank hissed, pushing with his palms against the table.

“You woke her up!” Barney bared his teeth.

“You idiot! She woke herself up! All I did was introduce myself.”

Maggie’s humming approached. Footsteps resounded behind Frank’s back. Barney let go of him and smiled sweetly to his daughter in the hall. He picked up his spoon and got busy scraping the remaining soggy corn flakes off the bottom of the bowl.

The moment Maggie disappeared in her room, he clenched his fists again and leaned forward.

“I didn’t wake her up!” Frank whispered. “Barney, get some sense. She has no idea why I’m here. She simply gave me something to eat.”

The humming stopped.

“Hey, I’m off!” they heard her voice in the hall.

Frank turned to take a look. Maggie was wearing a stern trouser suit. A thin strip of white satin was tied under her collar in an elegant knot secured with a silvery brooch. Her face was almost devoid of makeup, and her hair was done in an elaborate side wave. No more teddy-bear pajama girl: in her place, a businesslike corporate staff worker worthy of the name of her worldwide employer.

She turned away to take a coat off the rack, and Frank suppressed a scream, feeling Barney’s toe buried in his shin.

“Daddy? Can your friend see me to the car?”

All three of them were smiling, only Frank did so through the agonizing tears that filled his eyes. His leg hurt like hell now.

“Wait a sec, teddy bear. We need to tell you something.” Barney puffed out his cheeks and gave Frank another glare. “Come here for a sec.”

The girl came closer. He leaned under the table, dragged out a stool and placed it next to his. “Take a seat.”

“Dad. I’ll be late. What is it?”

Frank wiped his tears and gave her a nonchalant smile moving his stool closer to the wall and away from her.

“Can’t it wait till the evening?” Maggie pursed her lips, shifting her gaze from her father to Frank and then back.

“Teddy, please. It won’t take long,” Barney took the girl’s hand stroking it.

“Is it so important?”

“It is.”

“All right then,” she sat on the stool.

Frank surreptitiously rubbed his smarting leg. Barney cast him another glance, took in a lungful of air but didn’t utter a word and let the air out.

“Daddy,” Maggie looked at him accusingly. “Quit your world conspiracy nonsense. When you look so indecisive, it’s always because you and Uncle Max have got something on your minds. Come on, spill the beans. You’ve got ten minutes.”

“Sure,” Barney nodded. “You’re right, of course. Max’s in it, too.” He paused, then reached out to straighten the brooch under her collar and said decisively, “Our guest’s name is Frank Shelby. He’s accused of Kathleen Baker’s murder. He needs help.”

Maggie opened her eyes wide. She leaned back, staring at Frank.

“You’re joking, surely?”

“Not at all. There’s big trouble coming if—”

“Was it Uncle Max who asked you to help him?

“It was.”

“He used to coach me,” Frank butted in.

“Shut up,” Barney snapped.

“No, don’t,” Maggie’s face took on a serious, grownup expression. “Let him speak.”

Frank and Barney looked up at the clock. He recounted the whole story in three minutes, giving her the bare bones thanks to the previous experience in the boxing club.

“Yeah, I see…” For a few seconds, the girl fell silent. Then she asked, “Which of you has the device now?”

Barney raised his hand.

“I’d like to have a look,” Maggie looked at him expectantly.

Reluctantly, Barney produced the hard drive from his inside pocket and handed it to his daughter.

“I’ve seen one like this before,” She fingered the connector. “Mr. Binelli, my boss, sometimes uses it in his office. He hooks it up to his personal workstation.”

Frank exchanged glances with Barney. What a stroke of luck. Binelli’s workstation was one of the corporation server’s data access points. Still, the veteran didn’t look too happy, and Frank himself couldn’t imagine how they were going to access it and copy the data.

Maggie returned the device to her father. A doorbell rang three times in the hall.

“That’s Max,” Barney said.

The girl opened the door. Max kissed the girl on the cheek and started giving her instructions. She had to go to work as usual and do what she always did.

“Just keep your eyes open,” Max dropped a large golf bag from his shoulder and put it down in the middle of the hall. “No fussing about, just listen to what they say and try to remember anything relevant.”

Maggie nodded and gave Frank a wink.

“Also, we might need the plans and layout of the building and the security schedule, especially those surveilling the underground parking. Think you can do it?”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

Barney’s face darkened.

“Go. And don’t take stupid risks,” the coach said taking off his battered jacket with the Yankees logo.

“I won’t, Uncle Max.”

When the front door closed behind her, the Coach moved the bag into the kitchen and without further ado said,

“Barney, your self-control skills are non-existent. You need to take a leaf out of your daughter’s book. She’s good, is our Maggie. Always has everything clear and businesslike.”

“What took you so long?” Barney chose to ignore the remark.

“I had a tail,” Max dropped his bag onto the floor next to the TV. “Been following me from the club the moment I came back from the stash.”

He wore faded combat trousers, a white T-shirt and black soft-soled shoes. He turned to Frank.

“Not to worry. Those cretins have no idea who they’re playing with.” He pulled up his right sleeve. “No bracelet.”

“Oh,” Frank blinked. “How did you remove it?”

“Later,” Barney rose, leaned across the table and looked out of the window. “You didn’t take the car, I hope?”

“I left it three blocks from here,” the coach dropped his jacket onto the stool.

“Who were they? How many, what kind of car?” Not waiting for Max to answer, Barney went into his bedroom. The flat’s acoustics permitted everything to be heard from everywhere.

“They weren’t police,” Max opened the fridge and stared inside. “Cops are much better undercover. There were three of them in a black Jeep, dressed in black…”

“…no hair,” Frank butted in.

“Exactly,” the coach turned round holding a milk carton; “How do you know?”

“Same people at the post office. Not exactly the same ones, but those too were bald and in black.”

Max took a large swig from the carton and put it back. Frank frowned and buried his chin in his fist. He was trying to remember some detail, something to do with those bald attackers. But he couldn’t remember what it was.

“All clear outside,” Barney walked back into the kitchen. “But if they could suss you out, they can trace you to me.”

“Doubtful,” the coach crouched next to his bag. “When was the last time you came to the club?”

“Today, wasn’t it?” Surprised, Barney stared at the coach.

“That’s not what I mean,” the coach looked up at him. “Do you see me often?”

“Not really, no,” Barney fingered his mustache, thinking. “Normally, you come to see me. You mean those who’re after Frank will look into his contacts first, and only then—”

“Exactly. As far as Frank is concerned, you’ve got nothing to do with him.” Max rummaged through the bag. Something inside clanged. “Now they know that I know what he does, but they don’t know where to look for me.”

“Is that good or bad?” Frank looked over the coach’s shoulder.

Gun butts protruded from the bag: two assault rifles with ribbed handguards. Max pushed the guns to one side and produced a bulky laptop in a rubberized case. He handed it to Frank saying,

“The killer will start freaking out. And when people start freaking out, they make mistakes.”

“How do we know when they do that?” Barney took the laptop from Frank and placed it onto the table.

“You go and get some rest now,” Max rose and unraveled the laptop’s power cord. “Frank and I here, we’ll power up the PC, watch the TV news and see what comes up in the media. In the meantime, Maggie will be back.”

Without saying a word, Barney went into his room. In response to Frank’s unasked question, Max explained that before planning a mission, one should gather as much intelligence as possible.

“Mind plugging this in,” he hooked up the power cord and handed Frank the plug. “And put the news channel on, will you?”

“What do you want me to do?” Frank passed the cord under the table and plugged the laptop in. He sat in front of the TV and zapped through the channels looking for the news.

“I wonder if something comes up,” the coach sat on a stool and turned the laptop toward him. “Look at the news, especially trailers, and commercial breaks.”

The laptop’s fan hummed. Green and red lights flickered on the side panel. Max frisked through his pockets for a pair of glasses.

“There’s a folder in the side pocket. Whatever you consider odd or note-worthy, write it down.”

“What, all of it?” Frank reached inside the bag for the folder and found a stack of paper.

“Please do. We’ll deal with it later.” Looking at the laptop screen, he tapped in a command. “Don’t hesitate to call me. I’ll listen to whatever you consider interesting.”

“Will do.”

“I don’t think we’ll have to wait long. You think you can do it until lunchtime?”

“Pardon me?” Scanning through the news, Frank took some time to understand the question. “Ah — yes, sure. I can do it all day if it’s needed.”

“It’s not. Barney will replace you once we’ve eaten. We’ll have to take turns resting. Tomorrow we need to be fresh and clear-headed.”