For Mayhem or Madness
3
On the Waterfront
THE PATTERSON MASSACRE was the last thing I did from my Capitol Hill apartment. At one time, I’d rented a room in an old house. My office had been the dining room. The living room was the waiting area. Upstairs, three bedrooms housed two counselors and an accountant. We all moved out the same day.
The garage where I kept my Mustang didn’t have much more than room for the car, but I managed to move my fireproof safe into a corner with the help of Eric and I stacked the new equipment that had never been online next to it. Digital files don’t take ‘real world’ space, but if you have to move the media and equipment to read them, it’s a little more difficult.
The next day, a wrecking company arrived and started tearing down the old house. The owner could make more money from a parking lot than he could from our meager rent. By mid-October, there was no sign that I’d ever had an office there.
The first thing I did after I got my new apartment was locate an office space. I’d never had an interest in separating my business and personal life, so my PI license was all I needed to function. I didn’t provide any goods or taxable services, so I didn’t need to file sales tax info. Washington has no personal income tax. Lars cooperated in setting up a shell corporation for DH Investigations that wasn’t tied to me personally. Don’t ask me what magic he worked, but my name didn’t appear anywhere but as a signer on the new checking account.
With a brand new business license and checkbook in hand, I went hunting for a new office. I was drawn almost at once to the Seattle Waterfront.
There are places along Alaskan Way that would make New York and Chicago look like city parks. But not most of it. The section running from the ferry terminal north to the Edgewater Inn was a busy, commercial area that led to the market up the hill. Tourist dollars fed the Waterfront. Unfortunately, the past year had been tough on the area. Disassembling the Alaskan Way Viaduct and digging a tunnel through the area to bury the highway kept traffic congested much farther along the area than just the ferry terminal. Big Bertha had kept the area vibrating with her grinding away at the bedrock nearby and demolition of the viaduct was scheduled to commence soon.
The result was that some businesses along the Waterfront had just closed up for the duration and a few of the property owners were struggling to find renters. That was the case when I found the warehouse on Pier 61.
The warehouse ran flush with the south edge for the full length of the pier. There was enough room on the north side of the warehouse that a semi could back in to be loaded or unloaded. Why they needed a pier was a mystery since there was no water traffic to it any longer. Somewhere in the distant past it had been an active shipping warehouse on the water. The major tenant was a fabric wholesaler. Who knew there was so much demand for bolts of cloth? A secondary import/export business occupied the last third of the pier. They dealt with teak furniture, carvings, Samurai swords, and African drums. In other words, if there was anything that didn’t actually have a use but you wanted, they probably had it.
Like anyplace that had cheap rent and a funky vibe, the artist community discovered it and a half-dozen lofts had been created. Most of those were empty. I got a good deal on a double, not quite at the end of the pier—nine months rent-free and built out to my specs in exchange for a five-year lease at a not-too-exorbitant monthly rate.
Only three things in the build-out required a permit. One was the installation of a high capacity air conditioning unit on the roof. The second was the bathroom plumbing and electrical power I needed. Finally, I required the windows be converted to a floor-to-ceiling wall of glass. After the wiring and plumbing were complete, I acted as my own general contractor for the interior build-out. I hadn’t really reopened for business and wasn’t rushing to reestablish my identity online. So, I spent most of the winter puttering in the office, calling in a handyman here and there when I needed assistance. I even bought some tools that weren’t related to my computers. I had no real identity at the moment, but I had a business license that let me write checks and eventually even get a couple of low limit credit cards. Building out the space took me until February. Maizie was a big help.
After the final inspection, the real work began. I designed my space to conceal my server room, directly below the massive air conditioning unit. The combined total of the reception area and bathroom only took up two-thirds of the total width of my space. It was an optical illusion that made it look like it was the same size when you walked back into the office. I opened up the ceiling of the server room and installed a servo motor that would move a bookshelf in front of the opening to the server room. I could open it with the programmable remote control for the big flat-panel television mounted on the opposite wall. Of course, the television wasn’t required to use the remote to open the panel but justified me having it.
The secret room was cooled directly from the air conditioner and was kept at a constant sixty degrees so the servers I kept buying and installing wouldn’t overheat. The office was wireless but connected to the servers via a virtual private network through my satellite dish. Once I’d fully concealed the server room, walking into my office was like walking into any other business on the pier.
A plain metal desk, chair, and file cabinet sat in the reception area with the restroom door opposite it. A second door led to my inner sanctum. On a clear day, I could see Mount Rainier. On most days, I was thankful to see as far as the aquarium. I furnished it with an antique desk and very comfortable executive chair. I bought a leather sofa that was long enough for me to lie down on and arranged it in such a way that I could see Puget Sound and watch the shipping traffic and the ferries. Looking out over the water made me peaceful. I needed peaceful.
Maizie curled up on my chest helped.
After Andi… died… I found that I couldn’t focus like I had before. Until I decided to go after Patterson in cyberspace, I couldn’t even spend time on the computer. My mind kept drifting and I would come alert to find that an hour or more had passed while I was woolgathering. I woke every morning reaching for her—reaching for something that wasn’t there. Instead of the virtual world of the Internet, I was locked in the virtual world of my own mind. It was a bleak place.
I became obsessed with bringing down the whole empire that I related to Patterson and his crimes. When I was done, there was nothing left of it but rubble. Just up the hill from my office was another gaping pit that marked where a warehouse had once stood—a warehouse he burned when he killed Andi. I vowed I would always remember and fight against his kind.
The fucking son of a bitch. The first thing I did every morning was check the state’s Criminal Justice Division to make sure he was still detained. If he ever got out of the mental hospital, I’d kill him.
He took Andi from me.
Enough with the morbid thoughts. That’s why I now had this huge office with the big windows overlooking beautiful Puget Sound. And an entire computer network to set up and defend.
And I needed a project.
Cue the gorgeous blonde in the short skirt with legs that reached from the floor to heaven. Toss in some romantic yet sinister music. “Someone is following me,” she says breathlessly. “Why the fuck did you lead him here?” I ask.
So much for that fantasy. I watch too many old movies.
Private detective work doesn’t walk through the door on beautiful long legs. You sit in front of a computer and send out twenty emails to former clients reminding them that you are back in business and ready to handle their computer security problems before they occur. When you’ve waited ten minutes with no responses, you grab your cell phone and start calling old friends and acquaintances.
“Lars. How’s it going, Commander?— Just checking to see if you’ve heard anything stirring.— Well, I hardly need an assistant these days. I’m seriously thinking of taking a vacation. Maybe the Cayman Islands.— Sure. If you hear of anything, keep me in mind.” Dead end. But wouldn’t I like to mentor a bright student? Even in my nearly comatose state I knew the answer to that question.
“Frank? How did the install go?— No. Of course, if you need me, but I was wondering about Snoqualmie. Got a contact there I could talk to?— Yes. That’s good. No, of course I won’t tell him about what we did. Client business is confidential.— Take care Deepwater.”
Hmm. That was a solid lead. The new casinos springing up around Washington all had the same issues. Some had them worse than others. It was likely that this one would need help setting up their security with Washington’s ban on on-line gambling. I’d give him a call.
I glanced out the window and saw the clouds lowering for another storm. I could see the rain hitting the water out on the Sound. Rather be at home than here on the pier.
“Maizie, what say we go home,” I said. I think that little dog jumped halfway from the sofa to my desk. She hit the wooden floor with all four paws scrabbling for purchase, rounded the corner of my desk, and made a final leap into my lap.
I might be a curmudgeon, but I have to admit that I like being owned by a dog.
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