Gone at Zero Hundred 00:00 (9 page)

“Way out of your price range,” I said with a smile. I snagged
a bottle of water from my backpack, twisted off the top and took a long swig.

Cody said, “So it’s an exclusive club where cute chicks hang
out, and the dudes have a lot of money, and some cool cars.”

“Bout sums up the surveillance.”

“Then, you get a call from Tamara Grant.”

“Don’t forget, it was in the middle of the night,” I added.

“What do you think is going on with her?” He said, while he
removed white tape that was wrapped around the palms of his hands.

“I don’t know, but she sounded scared.”

“Want me to go with you?”

“I do, but I’m afraid it might scare her off. She said
there’s nobody she can trust.”

He frowned. “That sounds ominous.”

“I know.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“First, I want you to do a search on the computer and see
what you can find out about The Devil’s Door,” I said. “See if you can get a
hold of one of their applications. I’m curious if they are a legitimate club,
or just supplying exclusive dating services behind the scenes, or something
else altogether.”

 “You mean like e-dating?” He teased.

“Is e-dating free?”

“I don’t know, but
Facebook
is.”

We both laughed.

ON THE way back to the firehouse, I stopped off at the
grocery store. With the change left over after buying the peanut butter M’M’s
the day before, I had enough to pick up a dozen eggs, milk and a loaf of bread.
At home, I scrambled up some eggs, and put two slices of bread in the toaster,
and poured a glass of milk. When breakfast was done, I did my household duties.
Being raised by a woman who was obsessive about being organized, I grew up on a
regimented schedule. Now, it was pretty much a habit.

No dishes in sink.

Counter clear.

Wipe down kitchen.

Sweep floor.

Dust furniture, blinds and ceiling fans.

Make beds and tuck in corners.

Clean latrine.

I’ve been doing that schedule for so long, I could finish it in
about the same time it took others to roll out of bed, wash their face and
brush their teeth. When my mother was alive, I used to rag on her about how
anal she was. If she could only see me now...

After a hot shower, I stepped into a pair of my tattered
Levi’s, a white t-shirt and my red cowboy boots. Okay, so my mom and I had
similar organizational skills. I blew it with the dress code. She has never
been happy with my clothing. But, what could I do? I feel more confident when
I’m in my favorite jeans and boots. I grabbed my keys and backpack, and slid
down the fire pole, ready to roll.

The first thing I planned to do today; was a little more
recon on The Devil’s Door. I drove to the harbor and parked where I had access,
but was incognito at the same time. I didn’t have to meet Tamara until
midnight, and David Klein should be at busy work. The numbers on Summer’s phone
bill were from the club, so I wanted to see what David Klein’s connection was
to the place. To be honest, I was also curious, or nosey might be a better
word, but wasn’t that what was needed to be a good sleuth?

I punched in Cody’s number on my Blackberry. “Hey,” I said
when he picked up.

He sounded groggy, as if I was interrupting a nap. “Miss me
already?” he teased. “I knew you were secretly in love with me.”

“I think you’re secretly in love with yourself.”

“What’s not to love, Syd?”

Spoken like a true wisenheimer. “Did you find anything on The
Devil’s Door, yet?”

“Nothing. Nada. Zip. Zilch. I need a little more time to do the
proper hacking into back channels.”

“Does that mean it’s not a legitimate club?”

“Not necessarily. But, it could be so exclusive they want to
keep it off the radar.”

“You mean like an underground club?” I did a Google search of
private clubs and that was the first thing that came up. Secret society was the
second thing that came up.

“Could be,” he said. “I’m gonna catch some z’s then I’ll do
another search. I was editing the film most of the night. Didn’t get any sleep,
and you wore me out at the park.”

“Ever try sleeping at night, like us normal people?”

“Who says you’re normal?”

“I withdraw the question.”

“I put together some great scenes, by the way.”

“When you weren’t sleeping?”

“Anybody ever tell you, you’re a quick one?”

“Have to be to hang around you,” I teased.

“If I edit the footage from last week of you scaling the
firehouse wall; then add in some of this new stuff with you in the tree, we can
pull off a good ten-minute opener.”

“Me as a ninja scaling the wall, sounds more like I’m
breaking and entering, not sleuthing for information,” I mocked.”

“It’d be a good sample for the website. We could make up our
own slogan … Sleuths willing to do whatever it takes to get the job done.”

“Wouldn’t be bad for a short spy flick for your YouTube
channel, either,” I added.

“Hey, I didn’t think of that.”

“Sure you didn’t.”

“Just make sure none of the scenes show my face,” I said.

“No problemo. You’re a ninja in two scenes, helmet and
goggles in another, decked out in camouflage and aviators in the final.”

“The sleuths who come out at night,” I teased.

“So, are you staking out the club?”

“I am.”

“Same game plan we talked about?”

“Summer said her brother was stealing from her, and hanging
out with nefarious characters. The numbers on her phone bill came from the
club, and he spends most of his time there.”

“And she paid you to get proof.”

“Yep, and check into any questionable behavior he might be
involved in.”

“You might have to get inside at some point.” When Summer
paid me to get proof, she meant photographs or documents that proved it. Photos
of him hanging out at The Devil’s Door wouldn’t prove anything. I would need
more.

“I might have to, yes.”

“I’m on board when you do.”

“So you can see the cute girls?”

“Nobody said you should have all the fun,” he said, and he
laughed. “Are we done talking now?”

I could tell he was starting to dose off. His voice was
getting distant with each one-line statement. “Why? Talking interfering with
your beauty rest?”

“Can’t get any better lookin’, Syd.”

I laughed. “Catch ya later.”

“Sweet!”

JUST AS I was disconnecting from the call, several
cute
girls
- as Cody refers to them
-
strutted down the cobblestone
street, and headed into The Devil’s Door. They were dressed to the nines. Perfect
hair. Tight-skimpy dresses. Stilettos. And more makeup than most put on for
Halloween. Minutes later, several expensive sports cars turned onto Stone
Castle Glade, and parked diagonally in front of the club. A wealthy guy stepped
out of each one. The exact same scenario happened the night before, only now it
wasn’t even lunch time.

I was busy typing in the terms: private clubs, underground
clubs and secret societies on my Blackberry, and reading through the links when
something else caught my attention. A black Hummer with three men inside, drove
past me and turned into the alley behind the club, and parked. A Hummer was a
popular vehicle in Sutter Beach because of the military and naval bases, so it
wasn’t the car that got my attention. It was the suspicious way the occupants
surveyed the surroundings.

The driver was the first to exit the vehicle. He stood with
his back to the car and did a cursory glance of the area. He was over
six-feet-tall with a wide-barreled chest and a thick neck. Once he made sure
the area was cleared, he sent a signal to the front seat passenger. Then, the
front-seat passenger exited in the same fashion. He searched the area for
anything suspicious. At the same time, his right hand reached inside his jacket
and rested on his hip. He was packing heat - a gun. Both men were dressed in
black jeans, black leather jackets and black jump boots. When he, too,
concluded the area was clear, he opened the back-seat door. I couldn’t help but
laugh.

On instinct, I looked around for cameras. This had to be a
movie scene. The guy that stepped out was early twenties, and looked like Angel
in a scene from Buffy and the Vampire Slayer. He was wearing a black leather
trench coat - it was eighty-something degrees outside. He had thick-black hair,
slicked back, not a strand out of place and his skin was perfectly bronzed. It
looked like it was spray-painted on.

I zoomed in with the camera to get a close up. All three of
them walked into the back door of The Devil’s Door, looking like they were ready
for a shakedown. I pegged the two muscle men as bodyguards. But, who were they
protecting? And why did he need protecting? I took a look at the license plate,
and was somewhat surprised to see they were from Mexico. It was about a
two-hour drive to San Diego, where you could cross the border into Mexico. I
wrote down the plate number, and added the other sports cars to the list. I may
not have much information on David Klein, yet, but the guests at The Devil’s
Door were sure drawing my attention. What the heck kind of club was this place?

Bradley Johnson

A HUGE storm threatened to hit the coast of New England
forcing seventeen-year-old, Bradley Johnson, to brave the storm in search of food
to feed his family. He begged for scraps from nearby restaurants and stood
helpless with his hand out hoping locals would have pity.

For days, a man had been lurking in the background with
Bradley in his sights.

He continued to watch him.

Stalk him.

He knew his daily routine, where he lived and all about his
family. He had a mother at home who was ill, and a baby brother that needed
diapers, food and clothing. The father was gone, leaving Bradley responsible
for providing for the family. They lived in a one-bedroom apartment owned by
the New York Housing Authority on the lower east side of Manhattan. Heat, water
and electricity were luxuries they couldn’t afford.

The man devised a plan. He could grab him, just like the
others. But he couldn’t take the chance the mother wouldn’t put in a
missing-persons report. Instead, he offered him food, and promised to help his
family. He knew he would accept. He was desperate. Unaware of the evil
intentions, Bradley accepted the aid. Together, they went to a local market to
purchase necessities; then carried them to his dismal home. When his family was
fed and grateful to the angel who stepped into their lives, the man took the
mother aside and made her an offer she didn’t refuse.

The following morning, Bradley was told he was going with the
man to start a new life. As a private Cessna airplane with the name:
The
Blue Sky
lifted off the tarmac at Long Island MacArthur Airport, Bradley
was told he would never see his family again. With a signed document from the
mother, airport security had no reason to question them.

There would be no missing report filed.

There wouldn’t be anyone out looking for Bradley.

There wasn’t anyone who cared.

Soon, he’d be long forgotten.

Now, he belonged to The Privileged Ones.

RIGHT ON cue, David Klein pulled into the alley behind The
Devil’s Door, the minute he got off of work. The guys from the Hummer were
still inside, and the amount of visitors to the club doubled within a couple
hours. That was interesting enough. But, I couldn’t help but be curious, when a
silver-colored Camaro with dark-tinted windows pulled into the alley; then a
few seconds later, a Sutter Beach police car pulled up behind it. Was something
significant going on at the club other than a social gathering?

I could tell the Camaro was an undercover cop car, just not
from Sutter Beach. I knew all of their cars. The uniformed officer stepped out
of the police car and met up with the driver from the Camaro. They had their
backs to me so I couldn’t see their faces, but I could see enough of them in
the light from the street lamps, to make a mental description in case I needed
to identify them later.

The driver from the Camaro was buff
with brown hair and streaked highlights. He wore it spiked and gelled. I would
call him ‘Skater’. His attire reminded me of the dudes who hung out at the
skateboard parks.