“I ran...” he puffs out. “I ran here as fast as...”
I’m scowling. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing? I’m in the middle of something.”
“But... I needed to...” He keels over with his hands at rest on his knees. A couple seconds go by before he’s collected enough air in his lungs to go on. “Psycho, it’s neither of ‘em.”
“You need to get real specific in the next ten seconds. Oscar’s in agony.” I use my gun to gesture to the knife lodged through his hand.
“I did some digging. Somebody was fucking with us.Somebodyhacked Oscar’s phone.”
“They what?” Oscar croaks, seconds away from passing out.
“Bernardo called Oscar three times between 7:30 and 8:00 p.m. He left a voice message each time.”
“See!” Bernardo yells. “I told you assholes—I was off to the ER to be with my kid! I told Oscar where and when to pick up my shift.”
“I never got no messages!”
Stitches nudges his wire-framed glasses up his skinny nose. “That’s ‘cuz your service was being interrupted. It was beinghackedby somebody remotely.”
I pluck the knife from where it’s pinning Oscar’s hand to the table. “Did you not notice your phone acting weird?”
He sobs shaking his head. “I swear... I was playing my favorite app, that one with the ninjas and the fruit and everything... except maybe...”
“What?!” I growl.
“Some weird notification popped up for some app I didn’t recognize.”
“That was the spyware the hacker used,” Stitches explains. “He was on your phone at the same time you were. Probably accessing all your shit,includingany attempted placed calls.”
A pulse ticks in my jaw, my glare darkening. “They’ve been monitoring us?”
“Looks like it,” Stitches says. “It’s virtually impossible these days to completely eliminate the possibility, but there are safeguards. I can make sure any records and databases we use are upgraded for maximum protection. Our personal devices too.”
“How long has this shit been going on?”
“Hard to say... but that brings me to my next point. I think I’ve got us a lead, Psycho.”
I forget about nauseous Bernardo and weeping Oscar. My undivided attention falls on Stitches as he develops that proud shine in his eyes he gets whenever his brains have paid off. I gesture for him to continue and he practically stumbles over his words getting them out.
“Oscar, how long ago did you buy your phone?”
Oscar cradles his bloody hand, tears streaming down his cheek, as he thinks for a second. “M-maybe a month a-and a half ago?”
“From the Mobile Planet on Second and Charleston?”
He nods, in too much pain to say another word.
Stitches beams at me like we’ve struck gold. “Psycho, the store manager of that Mobile Planet is Ralph Mirra.”
“Is that name supposed to mean something to me?” I ask impatiently.
“Me and our other computer guy ran the only grainy CCTV footage we have of the hit and run. We used some new software and were able to clear the image enough to get a plate number. Guess who owns the car?”
“Ralph Mirra,” I answer.
“And that’s not all,” Stitches says. “We did some digging into his business. Guess which family has been a regular customer of Mirra’s for months now? The same family who just lost a big court case against the DA’s office. Against ADA Adams. One thing’s for sure. The Belinis have beenrealbusy plotting and scheming.”
7. delphine