Zero Sum, Book One, Kotov Syndrome (9 page)

He ran upstairs, checked on his
watches. None missing. He’d held onto a few high-end Rolexes and
Pateks from his collecting days to wear occasionally on dressy
occasions. The Gas Company ninjas had apparently passed them
by.

Maybe he was just being
paranoid.

He snagged the phone as he went into
the bathroom. Dialed information.

“Newport Beach, the Gas Company.” He
selected the ‘put me through automatically’ option, before entering
a call tree from hell. “If you’d like to be put on indefinite hold,
press one. If you’d like to report your house blew up, press two.”
After a few symphonies of music-on-hold he got a real, live person,
who grilled him for his account number, which he didn’t know, then
took him through the fifth degree to establish that he wasn’t an
identity thief. Once he was verified as genuine, he asked about
testing at his address.

That led to another five minutes on
hold because the customer service rep didn’t know – such knowledge
required a supervisor. When the supervisor came on the line Steven
repeated his question, but the best she could do was take his
details and commit to calling back with more information later –
the crew schedules weren’t accessible from the telephone service
center. Steven gave her his information and hung up.

He returned downstairs and got on the
computer. Allied had closed down almost a dollar, an unexpected and
happy development. The message boards were relatively quiet. He
logged onto his ‘Group’ forum and posted a greeting. A message
immediately popped up.

[Dude, the site’s awesome, but man, if
I were that Griffen prick I’d be pissed – Pogo]

He bantered a bit, before telling the
Group about his ISP getting hacked. One of the more heavyweight
guys, who sometimes intimated a deeper knowledge of a broad range
of topics, some not strictly legal, posted

[That’s a pretty alarming breach on the
firewall. I just pinged it and it’s bulletproof at first glance. If
they were able to not only breach but also access security areas,
that’s heavy talent. You better be careful. Gordo]

He spent some more time debating
strategies to safeguard his privacy, but had been set on edge by
Gordo’s post and the open Gas Company issue, so he logged off
sooner than he normally would have. He heard Jennifer in the
kitchen and went to see how she was doing.

Jennifer was looking better, though she
knew him well enough to know something was bugging him, and she
called him on it. “What’s your deal, Steven?” she asked him.
“You’re here, but you’re not.”

He considered telling her about the
warning from the Group and his unease over the Gas Company visit,
but thought better of it. Nothing had happened that warranted any
concern other than a half-expected hacking attempt a thousand miles
away – and he was dealing with that.

“I just have a lot going on at the
moment. I’m gonna go upstairs and meditate; that should bring me
back to earth.” He looked out at the beach and cocked his head.
“Honey, it’s really beautiful out. Let’s put the top down and run
down to Corona Del Mar for dinner. Martinis are on me.”

“Deal.”

* * * *

Steven’s meditation was troubled.
Instead of a sense of descending to progressively lower and lower
levels of awareness, or rather of increasing the level of
tranquility and peacefulness at each stage, it was punctuated by
random leaping thoughts and a vague sense of unease.

It was far from relaxing. When he came
to full awareness, he remained distinctly anxious. He’d come to
trust his instincts, and they were insisting that something
disturbing was on the horizon – and drawing ever closer.

Jennifer went upstairs when he came
down. He’d changed into a linen shirt and loose linen trousers with
a pair of huaraches, sort of the dressed-down version of white guy
on vacation. He filled Avalon’s water bowl, cleared the remaining
items off the counter – and vowed to stay away from the computer.
While he was waiting for Jennifer to freshen up and return, the
phone rang. He picked up.

“Mr. Archer?”

“Yes.”

“It’s Monica Sweeney at the Gas
Company. Sorry to take so long to get back to you.”

“No problem. Any news?”

“I’m still checking, but I haven’t
noticed any activity in your area for today. It’s quite possible a
crew was there, but I don’t see it on my printouts. We aren’t
perfect, though, so this isn’t the last word...”

“Well, that’s not very reassuring,” he
said, “considering there were two guys in my house earlier claiming
to be your employees.”

“Did they show ID when they
arrived?”

“You kn…I…I don’t know, I wasn’t here.
My girlfriend was.”

“Always ask to see identification
before admitting anyone into your house.”

“Thanks, I’ll remember that,” Steven
said patiently.

“And like I said, there could be a crew
out there, it’s just not on my system. Sorry I can’t be more
help.”

“Well, thanks for checking.”

“You’re welcome. Have a nice evening,
and thank you for calling the Gas Company.”

Well, that hadn’t left him any the
wiser, but given nothing had been touched, though, the best bet was
the obvious; it was a routine check, and he was just a teensy bit
on edge from the drama surrounding the website and the message
boards.

His ruminations were pleasantly
interrupted by Jennifer’s descent down the stairs. She was
stunning, wearing a simple white summer dress that accentuated her
deeply tanned skin and mane of blonde hair; the scent of tropical
flowers and coconut accompanied her into the room.

“Wow. Someone could get lucky tonight
if she wanted. You fully recovered?”

Jennifer smiled. “Better by the minute.
What does a girl have to do to get a decent Cosmopolitan in this
town?”

“Hop into the beach-mobile. Your
chariot awaits.” He grabbed his keys and cell phone, and escorted
her to the garage. The engine turned over with a meaty roar, the
top went smoothly down, and soon they were cruising down Pacific
Coast Highway with the warm summer breeze in their hair.

Monday night at the restaurant was
relatively quiet, so there wasn’t much of a crowd. Jennifer ordered
her Cosmo, and he a Malbec. They were seated in a booth overlooking
the kitchen, and enjoyed watching the crew frantically turning out
the orders and preparing the food, rushing about in a controlled
and well-choreographed pandemonium. They made small talk – she
complaining about her job, he about property taxes being raised on
the boat. They deliberately stayed away from any discussion of
Allied. Jennifer had made it clear she didn’t enjoy that topic, and
at this point, Steven sort of agreed with Jennifer that Allied had
gotten enough of his attention for a while.

It was a pleasant enough dinner,
although a tension existed between them that was only somewhat
eased by the alcohol. That had been a recurring theme for the last
few weeks, but Steven didn’t know what to do about it. She’d just
turn distant on him, with no explanation.

Their relationship worked because they
both wanted the same things, or at least they had until recently,
since Jennifer’s younger sister gave birth to a daughter. Ever
since, Jennifer had been probing his sentiment about families and
marriage, but that wasn’t on his radar at the moment. The nesting
noises kept coming up, and he knew he needed to discuss things with
her, but it was bad timing right now, what with all his focus being
on the market and the site. He just wanted to get past this period
and have a more normalized life, and then he’d be in a better
position to consider things with her. He figured they’d work things
out with time. Just not right now.

The beach traffic was dying down as
they returned to the house. Steven pulled into the garage and shut
off the engine, returning the top to its closed position. He kissed
Jennifer softly, but she pulled away from his embrace. The romance
had evidently been put on hold for the evening. Such was life –
he’d long ago given up on trying to predict feminine behavior. They
entered the house, she following him, and she almost ran headfirst
into his shoulder blades.

He’d stopped abruptly in the hallway
leading into the living room.

“Steven, what the hell are you...” and
then she saw what had frozen him in his tracks.

He turned, his hand over her mouth, and
whispered in her ear. “Back out to the car. Now.”

They moved quickly back into the
garage, and he raised the door and started the engine. He pulled
out, so he could see his front door and garage while parked
diagonally, and dialed 911. Jennifer opened the car door and
quietly vomited her dinner into the street, then sat sobbing
quietly beside him.

“Newport Beach Police, Emergency,” the
voice on the line declared.

“I need police at 811 Boardwalk on the
Peninsula immediately. My name is Steven Archer, I live there, and
I’m reporting a break-in and a killing.” Steven’s voice was steady,
with only the slightest quaver to it.

“Sir, I’m dispatching two cars at once.
What is your location and telephone number, and can you please
describe what’s happened? You’re being recorded.”

“I’m parked outside the house in a blue
Porsche. I don’t know if the intruders are still inside, or whether
they’re armed or not, but I do know they’ve killed my dog and left
him in the middle of the living room. I’ll stay on the line until
someone gets here.” He choked down some rising bile, caught his
breath. “You should hurry.”

* * * *

The crime scene van arrived twenty
minutes after the first squad car. According to the police, there
was no sign of a forced entry; and the house appeared undisturbed,
other than the butchered corpse of Avalon lying in a rust-colored
pool of blood on the living room carpet and the heavy metallic
smell of expended bodily fluids sullying the air.

Avalon’s head had been severed and
placed on the small coffee table in the living room, positioned so
it would appear to be waiting for and watching anyone entering from
the garage. The effect was chilling, and the cruelty and sickness
of it resonated in the room even after the technicians had removed
the remains.

The police were sympathetic to the
situation, but given that the alarm hadn’t been activated and
nothing had been stolen, the actual teeth for a serious
investigation weren’t there. Everyone was horrified by the
viciousness of the crime, but at the end of the day it was a
B&E and cruelty to animals charge – not exactly murder
one.

Jennifer was deeply shaken, and after
the police took her statement she adjourned upstairs and left them
to Steven.

“Do you have any idea who might have
done this? An angry ex or disgruntled employee? Has anyone
threatened you?” Sergeant Matthews was courteous and efficient, but
clearly not the sharpest.

“No. It’s the first time anything like
this has ever happened to me. I don’t know anyone who would do
something like this.” Steven considered telling him about the
website, but decided against it. What would the theory be? Steven
wanted to point the finger at Griffen, but even in
his
head
it sounded pretty stupid that a multi-millionaire Wall Street icon
would be butchering pets at a beach rental as retribution for
speculating that one of his companies was junk. That, and he didn’t
want to go on record as being the creator of the site. What would
be the point of going down that road?

He did mention the Gas Company visit,
and the sergeant noted it, however, even as he uttered the words he
realized how idiotic his concerns sounded.

“Okay then,” the sergeant ventured.
“You mentioned you had a software company, correct? Did you ever do
anything business-wise that might have come back to haunt
you?”

Getting colder, colder.

“No. I just don’t understand why anyone
would do this,” Steven said. “I mean, what kind of sadistic rat
fuck would cut a dog’s head off? And such a good dog, not a
mean-spirited bone in his body.”

“I know, it’s a weird one, but it’s not
the first weird one around here during the season. Look, there are
a lot of oddballs in town, street people, crazies, kids high on all
kinds of wild shit. Summer brings them out of the woodwork. It’s
possible one of them got in somehow, or that it was some kind of
really fucked-up skinhead initiation, or a dare or something.” Poor
Sergeant Matthews, eyes glazing over even as he said it.

Steven was becoming annoyed with all
the holes in the idiotic theory the cop was trying to force the
situation into fitting. “There’s no sign of a struggle, and no
blood anywhere but where he was hacked up.”

“Good points.” The officer walked
towards the door, Steven following. “Let me offer some advice.
Change your locks, set your alarm, and be watchful for any odd
characters loitering around. The majority of destructive or
vandalism crimes don’t make a lot of sense, and most of the time we
get nothing like all the facts. This one is probably no exception.
It’s one of the frustrations we all have when something bad
happens. There are no resources to do a full-scale multi-day
investigation on something like this. I know that isn’t comforting,
but this week we’ll probably have fifty vandalisms, double that
many DUIs, a whole busload of B&Es, fights, assaults, two or
three rape charges per night, stabbings, hit-and-runs…you get the
picture.”