C. Martin Stepp
Walking Backwards
I listened intently, or at least tried to put an expression on my face that would make it appear to my client that I was listening intently. When he finished speaking, I waited for a moment to see if he was going to elaborate on what “much worse” was. A few seconds passed, and I realized he had finished and now expected a response. I complied: “I don’t have enough information to completely rule out a ‘fling’ as you called it, but I have worked on countless domestic cases that did involve infidelity. This case does not seem to exhibit the usual ele-ments of an extra-marital affair.” Marx was sitting there looking at me like he was only half listening, so I said: “I can keep working on your case if you like. It’s your money.”
That statement had the desired effect. Mr. Marx quickly rejoined me in the here and now. He obviously understood that he needed to make a decision; a decision that involved money, possibly a significant amount of it. I was happy to have regained my client’s full attention, but there was also a subtle look of consternation on his face. His mind worked like a fine piece of machinery; the kind with gears and cogs and ratchets. The kind of machine that can self correct for errors. When it hits a snag, it will repeat the cycle that occurred just prior to the malfunction with minor modifications. It will eventually clear the jam and allow itself to continue working normally. I waited patiently for Marx’s clockwork brain to reset itself and resume normal operation.
“Mr. Brown, I do want you to continue working on this case. I was hoping it would not come to this, but I think we need to have a serious conversation about the nature of what you may be getting involved with.” said Marx. “My company develops very advanced computer software. I won’t go into the finer details of the technology, but you need to understand the competitive nature of my business. There are multiple levels of complexity, copyrights and patents that weave a dizzying web of danger for someone in my position. In some cases, a single line of computer code is so important, it must be protected at all costs.”
Marx was speaking slowly and choosing his words carefully. I think he recognized the fact that some of this computer magic was a little more than this old private investigator could comprehend, and he was right for the most part. I was pretty sure the type of programming his company was engaged in would be a mystery to about 99% of the human population, so I didn’t even try to hide my ignorance. What I did say was: “Mr. Marx, client confidentiality is of the utmost importance to me.”
Marx replied: “I know. Your reputation pre-cedes you Mr. Brown. That is why I selected you for this case.” I just nodded to let him know I understood and appreciated his statement. “We are currently working on a project that is so important, it could revolutionize the world of computing and possibly the fragile nature of the world itself. Mitchell and I are both working on the program. It is so sensitive that we have each protected individual aspects of it. I cannot access some of the elements he has worked on and he cannot access mine. It is not very different from the two-key approach the government uses to prevent accidental nuclear annihilation.”
Two Thursdays
Grildpork told me where I could find Eyepod. I drove to Bond Hill and found him right where he told me he would be. Eyepod was sitting on the edge of a small parking lot next to an empty office building. Eyepod wasn’t a drug dealer. He made his money directing users to dealers and then turning around and informing the cops about the users. I don’t think he was smart enough to figure out that the first user that got out of prison in ten years was going to kill him. If he had been smart enough to figure that out he would have gotten out of town by now. Today he was sitting quietly, nodding his head to the music playing in his ears.
I walked up to him from behind and smacked him smartly on the back of the head. I hit him so hard, the left ear bud of his music player popped out of his ear. Eyepod swung around with his feet right in front of me. I stood on his left ankle with most of my weight. Eyepod pulled the right ear bud out and said: “What do you want asshole?” I shifted my weight and ground his ankle into the asphalt as hard as I could. Eyepod started flailing his arms and screaming. Without getting off his ankle, I leaned over and backhanded him across the face, hard. He stopped screaming and started whimpering. I stood there on his ankle with a look on my face that said: “I’ll hit you again if I have to.” I think the message had been delivered.
“You’re going to tell me all about Bevan.” I said. I punctuated that short sentence with a little extra push on Eyepod’s left ankle.
He said: “Okay, okay. Stop killing my foot, okay?” I stepped off his ankle and took a stance like a cop to let him know I wasn’t about to just let him run off. Between the look on my face and the way I was standing I think Eyepod got that message too. He tucked his left foot in and started rubbing his ankle. I thought I detected some tears coming to his eyes. Eyepod looked up at me and said: “Bevan is crazy. That fucking cop is supposed to be cleaning up the streets. I don’t think the police department wanted him to get coke off the street by snorting it all himself. Bevan is just about the craziest cop
I ever met before today. You have that prize now.”
I just started laughing and said: “Look son. I am not a cop. If I was a cop, the amount of hell that I could bring down on you would be limited. I do have some friends who are cops. One of them would probably let me walk if I mashed your face into this warm asphalt right now. One of my other cop friends is the one Bevan is trying to set up. You are going to help me prevent that.”
Eyepod started crying again. Between his tears he sniveled out: “Bevan’s gonna kill me if I tell!” I placed my left foot on his right ankle. I didn’t put any weight on it, but I think Eyepod understood that I was going to hurt him again if he didn’t tell. Eyepod looked up at me with a kind of weepy frown. He said: “I don’t know what he’s up to mister. I told you he was crazy. I hooked him up with a dealer. I haven’t heard from him since. I was hoping he would just leave me alone. I don’t want to be involved with any crazy cops.”
I took my foot off Eyepod’s right ankle and said: “You don’t want to be involved with any crazy private investigators either.” I was pretty sure I had gotten most of whatever story Eyepod had to tell. I asked him who the dealer was that he had hooked Bevan up with. Eyepod started shaking and crying again. I took two steps closer to him just to let him know I expected an answer. Eyepod sniveled out a name.