Blood Line (A Tom Rollins Thriller Book 1) by Paul Heatley (book recommendations based on other books .txt) 📗

“Where they came from, how much we’re selling,” Michael says. “That’s all they care about. And all those other undercovers they got that night, I can guarantee it was the same for all of them.”

“Goddamn,” Linda says. “Trynna take money outta our pockets.”

Michael and Harry both nod along. “They wanna see us starve,” Michael says. “But that’s just how it is for good, hardworking white Christian men in this country.” Linda and Harry mumble their agreement. “It’s always been the goddamn same.”

20

‘Shriek’ did not give Tom her real name. However, she did give him her address in Lubbock.

They spoke only briefly on the phone. “I understand you’re a friend of Dark Claw 89.”

She chuckled. “Friend is a strong word. We only know each other from chatrooms. I’m not sure I’d call someone I’ve never met face to face before a friend.”

“Do you know who I am?”

“I’m guessing you’re the friend of his cousin,” she said. “I was told you might call.”

“Here I am.”

“Here you are.”

“What are your rates?”

“It’s not exactly by the hour. It’ll depend on what you’re bringing me, and I only accept cash.”

“I’ve got cash.”

“So what is it you need?”

“I’m not gonna discuss it over the phone. It’s an in-person deal.”

“Fine,” she said. She gave the address. “Call me when you’re outside the building, I want to get a good look at you first. I like what I see, you can come up. I don’t – well, you’d better start running, ’cause I’ll be calling the cops to report a prowler.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Now, Tom sits outside the building. He’s circled it a couple of times already, checked it out, made sure it’s clear. He calls her. “I’m here.”

There’s a pause; then she says, “Which one are you?”

“I’m in my car.” He tells her which one it is.

“Then get out so I can get a good look at you.”

Tom has already picked out her window. He gets out of the car, but leaves the door open. If she hangs up without another word, he’s straight back inside, he’s driving off. He waves.

She doesn’t say anything for a while. Tom has to check she’s still on the line.

“All right,” she says, finally. “I’ll buzz the door. Come on up.”

Tom makes his way inside the building, takes the stairs up to her floor, wondering what about his appearance has made her let him in. He knocks on her door. He sees her spy hole darken momentarily; then he hears bolts slide, a key turn. The door opens, but it remains on a chain.

“Mr. Rollins,” she says. He can only see one blue eye, can’t get a good look at her through the narrow gap.

“That’s right,” Tom says.

She looks him over again, up close now. “All right, then,” she says, reaching a decision. The door closes, the chain is slid off, and the door opens again. “Step inside.”

“Just out of curiosity,” Tom says, getting over the threshold before he speaks, the door closing behind him. “What do the people look like that you turn away?”

She brushes past him, through into the front room. “It’s more of a feeling,” she says. “It’s never failed me yet.”

She takes a seat at her setup. There are three computers. A lot of wiring. A lot of components that Tom does not understand. He gets a good look at her while she’s turned away. Her hair is cut short, shaved around the sides and back, bleached blonde and spiky on top. She’s wearing a band T-shirt and ripped black jeans, with Doc Marten boots polished to a shine. “Mostly I look out for cops,” she says. “I can always tell a cop. Spot them from a mile away.”

“They gonna be so bothered if you threaten to report a prowler?”

“You’d be surprised,” she says. She looks him over again. “You’re military. Ex-military.”

Tom doesn’t answer, though he’s impressed. Instead he looks around for a place to sit. She does not have sofas. There is a folding chair leaning against the wall. He takes it, sets it up, sits.

“Well?” she says when he looks back. “Am I right?”

“I think you already know the answer to that.”

She grins to herself, satisfied.

Save for the light coming from the monitors, the room is in darkness. The curtains are all drawn. There are empty Chinese cartons pushed to one side on her desk, an empty pizza box forgotten on the floor. Behind her setup are band posters – Nine Inch Nails, Godflesh, Skinny Puppy, Ministry – and she wears a Fear Factory T-shirt.

“You’re getting a good look,” she says.

“I’ve never been in a hacker’s home before,” Tom says.

“Maybe you have, and you just didn’t realize it. They ain’t all the same. You don’t know Dark Claw 89 personally?”

“Never met him. What’s your real name? I’m not gonna call you ‘Shriek’ to your face.”

She laughs. “Fair enough. It’s Cindy.”

“Cindy what? You know both of mine.”

“Vaughan.”

Despite the remnants of junk food lying around, Cindy does not look like this is her sole diet. She’s thinner than he expected, a little thinner than she perhaps ought to be. Her skin is pale, porcelain, from the lack of sunlight. He wonders if she ever leaves her apartment, or if she only goes out at night.

“So what have you got for me, Tom Rollins?” she says.

Tom reaches into his pocket, pulls out the burner phone sent to his father. “I have a long shot,” he says. “There has been one call made to this phone. I want to know where it came from.”

She raises an eyebrow. “On a burner phone?”

“I said it was a long shot.”

“And you weren’t lying.” She reaches out, takes the phone from him. She whistles low. “All right. Sure. Hell, it’s a challenge. A new one.”

“Ain’t something you’ve had to do before?”

She swivels around, phone in hand. “Not quite. Let’s see how this goes, huh?”

“You got an idea of time?”

“Nope.” She starts plugging things in, typing.

Tom sits back, folds his arms, doesn’t bother watching her work, try to figure out what