An outside stairway went up to a cracked, weedy old parking lot behind the building. The upper floors of the old brick structure housed an SRO hotel, complete with “bathroom down the hall”.
The basement safehouse was dank and damp, its peeling wallpaper spotted with mold, but it had all the simple necessities of the previous one and more or less the same layout.
Seline was using the shower, now, washing off the dust from the collapsed building, as Wolfe sat on the sofa, drinking beer. He’d bought a six-pack from a liquor store next door to the thrift store where they’d bought fresh clothes.
With the edge of his thumb he wiped a bit of plaster dust from an eye and waited for the PearcePhone on the coffee table to ring.
He wanted to be out doing. Not thinking about Seline—about how she was getting set to leave town. In half an hour, she’d be gone. And that’d be that.
He wouldn’t find a woman like her again, not easily. Not only pretty but brave; not only brave but cool headed; not only cool headed but caring; not only caring but smart…
There was something else between them too. The raw attraction; the visceral tugging he felt when he looked at her. As if she was some missing part of him he’d been searching for, and his body wanted to unite with it, restore its wholeness.
Don’t be a sap, Wolfe. Let her go.
She came out of the bathroom, her hair wrapped in a towel. Her cheeks seemed blush-red; her eyes bright. She sat beside him, and opened a beer. “I’ll get out of here pretty soon…”
“No hurry,” he said.
“Wolfe… listen, I…”
The phone rang. Wolfe automatically picked it up. “Yeah?”
“Wolfe?” It was Pearce. “Listen… There’s a guy who works for Blume, knows a little too much about Verrick. Guy’s name is Lawrence Bullock.”
“Um…” He realized he shouldn’t have answered the phone in that moment. Someone a glance of Seline’s eyes conveyed that fact.
She got up, using the towel to dry her hair, and went to the bathroom, probably to brush it and comb it back…
Already used to living with her.
Give it up, Wolfe. Let her go.
“…this Bullock.” Pearce was saying, “apparently helped Verrick buy his way into Blume. Verrick had some shares but—Bullock pushed for him to be Security Chief, for one thing. And Bullock’s tied into this Purity thing somehow. He talked to Kiskel about Purity, trying to recruit him. Kiskel said no way. Bullock swore him to silence and backed off. So now Bullock’s been acting weird and scared at work—and then the upload on Verrick came out. Apparently this really spooked Bullock.”
“Pearce…”
“Listen, man! Bullock has gotten an invitation to test out one of Blume’s new prototype self driving cars, along with another guy. The other guy is an exec with a shell company used by The Club. Jakey Morrison. So I did some digging—indications are, Morrison may have been the guy who helped Verrick launder that stolen money through the Four Clubs casino. He’s invited as a shareholder in something called Morrison Incorporated which does some automotive investing. Kind of a coincidence these two are in the same autonomous, self-driving car, same time…”
Suddenly Pearce had Wolfe’s full attention. “Yeah. It is.”
“I found a phone record of a call from Verrick to the engineer, arranging the self-driving car ‘experience’ for key people. Got the name of the engineer from Kiskel..Don’t know what Verrick said. But soon after that two guys connected to Verrick were put in the same car.”
“Those cars can be hacked?”
“Theoretically… yeah. Or tampered with in advance.”
“So… they could be used to kill somebody. Make it look like an accident.”
“Right. There are two of these prototypes. And two other people, local bigshots in business, are scheduled to be in the other car. I haven’t located any definite connection with Verrick. But those two could be a couple more he wants to get rid of… to cover his ass after this upload made him look so shady. Only, it’s got to look like an accident. And these people don’t appear in your file. Most people aren’t going to see any connection with Verrick…”
“Maybe he thinks they’re going to testify against him, if things get ugly, and investigators start snooping around.”
“I figure that’s exactly it. Now suppose you were to save these people—or at least some of them. Suppose you were to hack the hack? Suppose you got in there… and get them out? They’re going to be scared, after their close shave. And they just might give us the inside track we need.”
“Even if they’re not willing to talk… we can convince ’em to do it.”
“You mean—the hard way?”
“If we have to. A lot of lives are at stake.”
“You’re a cold son of a bitch, Wolfe. I like that. Okay—here’s the down side of this whole plan…”
“What?”
“It’s tomorrow morning. Early. You’re going to have to go to the address I give you and see what you can do. I can’t get out of here for another twenty-four hours or so. I’m counting on you. And you seem pretty good with that tech.”
“That was my specialty, when I was on base…”
“Yeah. You probably know more about it than I do,” Pearce admitted.
“Imagine that.”
Pearce laughed. “I’ll text you the address and all the background data I can get on Blume’s autonomous car. And the schedule. Then it’s up to you, Wolfe.”
“You know, chances are, the son of a bitch is going to have some of those Graywaters watching over this thing. Just waiting to bust a cap in my ass.”
“Chances are, yeah. You don’t want to be bored, do you Wolfe?”
“Look, Pearce…”
But Pearce had already ended the call.
Wolfe sighed, and looked up to see Seline making some dinner on the camp stove that sat atop the disconnected appliance.
“Canned food?” he asked.
“Canned stew. Oh, yum.”
“I can’t cook for crap, anyway,” she said.
“Not important.”
She looked at him.
Wolfe cleared his throat. “I mean, if anyone was… Uh… you want another beer?”
“What time you want me out of here in the morning?” she asked, her voice cold as she turned back to the little stove.
“You? I… I’ll be out early, so… it’s up to you. Where, uh… where you want to sleep? Sofa or bedroom?”
“Bedroom. Your slop is almost ready, Wolfe. Get a plate. There’s some in that cabinet, over there.”
He sighed—and he got his plate.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Wolfe was across the street from the address Pearce had given him. He was, standing on a sidewalk that ran along a street that turned beneath an overpass. From here, he was in shadow, looking out at the pearly morning light shining off the two, silvery autonomous-car prototypes parked in front of the hotel. They were smallish cars, each with less bulk than a Prius… Cameramen were set up, a small crowd of people in fine clothing were gathered near the autonomous cars…
Wolfe wondered who, in that crowd, were the ones marked for death.
It was an overcast morning. The clouds threatened rain—maybe even snow. Or both. The wind was changing directions, jamming clouds up against one another as if piling them up.
They were starting to load people into the prototype cars. He’d need a car himself… and he’d need to borrow it without anyone knowing. A luxury car he could hack easily…
Wolfe put up his collar, pulled his knit cap lower, and got out the PearcePhone.
Bullock was a spindly, nervous man, with a high pale forehead, lank brown-blond hair, and a long, pinched nose; he was aware that his appearance belied his name. Bullock buckled the backseat belt and smoothed out his Italian blazer.