Silverfish Ch. 01

The chronological order of my stories is as follows:

Todd & Melina series, Interludes 1-5, Sperm Wars series, Russian Roulette series, Case of the Murdered Lovers series, Case of the Murdered Chessplayer series, The Swap series, Interludes 6-10, The Murdered Football Player Series, Case of the Black Widow series, Teresa's Christmas Story, The Case of the Black Badge series, A Case of Revenge series, Teresa's Summer Race, The Trilogy series, Dark Side Of The Force series, Caught In The Act series, Case of the Murdered Bride series, The Credit Card Caper series, The Hot Wives Investment Club series, Seriously Inconvenienced series, Case of the Paper Trail series, Christmas Mystery Theater, The Porno Set Mystery series, The Medical Murder Mystery series, The Eightfold Fence series, Pale Morning Light series.

Silverfish, Ch. 01

Feedback and constructive criticism is very much appreciated, and I encourage feedback for ideas.

This story contains graphic scenes, language and actions that might be extremely offensive to some people. These scenes, words and actions are used only for the literary purposes of this story. The author does not condone murder, racial language, violence, rape or violence against women, and any depictions of any of these in this story should not be construed as acceptance of the above.

Part 1 - Prologue

I looked over the cleared out ground where The Cabin had once stood, seeing the Town in the distance in the valley below. I had been working to put together the plans that I'd dreamed about while recovering from Skinny Beard's drug injection. The architect was putting together the drawings, and the concrete for the foundation and support for the new deck was going to be poured in the next two weeks, provided the weather cooperated.

It was going to be an awesome new home. The new Cabin would be an A-Frame like some European highlands cabins, with the roof coming down to within 8 feet of the ground. There would be three floors: an upper attic playroom on the 3rd floor, two bedrooms on the 2nd floor, and a 1st floor that would be raised to the level of the driveway instead of half-sunk-in like the old Cabin had been. And that meant there would be a half-basement with a screened-in area under the deck that would extend from the back of the main floor, higher than the previous deck, affording an even better view...

The generous loan afforded me by P. Harvey Eckhart allowed for the best materials, and it would not be an easy thing to burn this new home down. The materials would be a concrete and steel frame, with Hardiplank and other fireproof materials...

... and windows. Bulletproof glass windows. A lot of windows. Large windows that let in light and let that view of the Town be the adornment of the west wall. It was going to be awesome.

Part 2 - The Cases

Dressed in civilian attire and looking good in my gray suit and black mock turtleneck sweater, I entered the Town's Federal Building on the morning of Friday, March 6th. I made my way into the inner sanctum that was the FBI suite there. Special Agent Lindy Linares met me in the hallway, and after some flirtatious talk she took me to the Conference Room, where Special Agent in Charge Jack Muscone was waiting.

"Thanks for coming, Don." Jack said. "Come on in and have a seat. You can log in with your iPhone's FBI app, as well: the Director wants you to get paid for this consultation."

"Never a good idea to turn down money when one is rebuilding his house." I said, referring to the imminent construction of The Cabin on the side of the mountain finger overlooking the University. I logged in using the app.

"So, are you going to risk a witch trial by telling me why I asked you here?" said Jack, needling me. "Or should I just tell you?"

"Well," I said, "it's important to your boss, the Deputy Director, so it must be something either big or something he thinks will help me with some of the cases we've been working on. The bee in his bonnet is the 'Superior Bloodlines' group, so I'm guessing it has to do with them."

"You're part right." said Jack, his beady eyes showing a bit of amusement. "It's something the Deputy Director would like to get more information on, and he does think it might be of some use to you, though I can't tell why in reading the file myself. But it's not about 'Superior Bloodlines', unless you do one of those aforementioned witch tricks of yours and find a connection."

"Sounds interesting." I said. "Is it classified?"

"No, though the data is considered sensitive," said Jack, "and one of the burglaries was in your County here, so you have some local jurisdictional play as well, if you need it."

"Burglaries?" I asked. "Okay, tell me about it."

Jack slid a file thick with papers over to me, and read from a synopsis, itself a number of pages long. I began looking at the file as Jack said "Over a period of three years, beginning nearly nine years ago and ending six years ago, there was a series of bank heists across the nation. The first one was in the Seattle/Tacoma area, then the burglar or burglars moved across the nation in something of a zig-zag pattern, the last robbery that we know of being in Jacksonville, Florida."

Jack continued: "There were thirty crimes that fit this profile, and they included the City National Bank and this Town's Second National Bank. It was the recent hit on Second National by the Corrigan Cell's 'Freelance Hit Team' that got my boss interested in these cases again, and he then had me ask you to look into it, to see if you can find any patterns that we might have missed."

I nodded as Jack went on: "The original crimes were all done at night while the banks were closed. The distinctive feature of all of them was that the burglar left a sign, a loop that crosses on one end, with a dot inside. It looks like the Christian 'fish' symbol. The burglar usually wrote in a silver Sharpie, but sometimes did the outline in black and colored the inside of the fish with silver. As to the symbol, it may not be meant to be a Christian fish: in one of the earliest robberies, the word 'silverfish' was scrawled below the drawing. Ergo, we gave him, or her, the codename 'Silverfish'."

"Sounds about right." I said as I looked at a photo of the fish taken at one of the crime scenes. It indeed looked like one of those silver Christian fishes that people put on the back of their cars, but with a round dot eye instead of a Christian cross for an eye. "A silverfish is a little insect that likes the dark and eats the glue in the bindings of books, and appears in the wrong places at inopportune times. Looks like this bug did the same thing: sneaking into dark banks in the night, eating the money, so to speak. So, how much was stolen?"

"You always seem to ask just the right question at the right time." said Jack, and I could not tell if that was serious or needling me. "The total haul of the 30 bank jobs was, and to the penny, $10,001,022.56. We are guessing that the robber's goal was to steal ten million dollars, then retire when that number was reached."

I let out a low whistle. "Wow, that's over $333,000 per job! The average professional bank job yields $30,000 to $50,000, and rarely over a hundred grand. If you add in the amateurish jobs at the teller windows, it's even less, much less: about $5,000 per robbery."

"And it gets better." said Muscone. "The cash was taken in 28 burglaries. In the other two, they took safety deposit boxes and their contents. In one bank, near Denver, they took literally every safety deposit box in the safe. In the other, near Philadelphia, they took five safety deposit boxes."

"Denver, Philly... near U.S. Mints." I said absentmindedly, thinking out loud. Muscone blinked hard.

"Good grief." he muttered. "Never even thought about that." Then he said, more brightly, "But there was no mention of anything associated with the Mints being taken."

"That's because if there was something of immense value, like a plate or die, or the paper used to make money, its theft would become a classified thing and would not be permitted in this unclassified report." I said. Jack blinked hard again, then shook his head.

"I'll check with the boss," he said, "and see if there is a classified version of this report. What else?"

"Nothing yet." I said. "Can I take this file to Police Headquarters, or to my home, and read it over the weekend?"

"Sure." Muscone said. "Normal protocols, of course: keep it locked up, don't make copies, yadda yadda yadda."

"No problem." I replied, getting up and gathering everything together. As I walked to the door, I looked back at Muscone and said "By the way, tell your Director that I have a good idea of why he gave me this."

"Why is that?" Jack asked, taking my bait hook, line and sinker.

"I'll do you like I do my partner, Iron Crowbar 2." I said, referring to Cindy Ross. "I'll let you think about it and figure it out..." With that, I hurriedly left the room, leaving Jack Muscone to whisper unprintable curses in my wake.

Part 3 - Sexual Talents On Display

"So," said Laura on Saturday night, March 7th, massaging my shoulders as I sat at my desk at home, poring over the files and occasionally bringing something up on my computer screen. "This one really has you interested. Find anything?"

"It's definitely interesting." I said, leaning back and trying to relax and enjoy Laura's massage... her hands were damn good. "Took me hours to graphically post the locations on a map of the US, as you can see here on the monitor. I then finally got it to pop them up one-by-one in chronological order. I used to program better than this; I've really gotten dependent on Myron and Mary..."

"That's because your own considerable talents lie elsewhere." Laura said. "So, before I drag you off to bed to take advantage of some of those talents, what have you found?... if anything."

"Not much. On two occasions, the burglar wrote the word 'Silverfish' in addition to the fish loop symbol: one time was one of the very first heists, the other time was the very last one, in Jacksonville, when he wrote 'Silverfish bids you adieu'. He may have known he had enough to meet his ten million dollar goal, and so he wrote that."

"That makes sense for the last one." Laura said. "But what about the first one?"

"Not sure." I said. "Except I suspect the perp wanted to establish his identity, maybe to goad the Police and FBI when he committed future crimes. As to the places and timing, it's not any kind of logical pattern, no smooth city-to-city lines; but at the same time, it's not wild and crazy, and it slowly travels from upper left to lower right on the map. The time between heists is fairly even, but sometimes there would be crimes in back-to-back weeks, sometimes almost two months between hits."

"Any around the Holidays?" Laura asked.

"None right on a holiday, but there was one the Saturday before Memorial Day..." I said, pointing to one of the dots on the computer monitor screen.

Laura looked at the monitor for a few minutes, but after I played the simulation for her, she said she didn't see any particular pattern, either. "And I suspect the FBI's best analysts have already covered this ground, don't you think?"

"I'm sure they have." I said. "But it was good practice to do it myself, not to mention figure out a few lines of code to graph it." I realized how tired I was. "But now I'm exhausted."

"I'm not surprised." Laura said. "You haven't eaten a thing all day. There's hamburger patties and hot dogs in the refrigerator for you to heat and eat... and then I'm going to take you to bed and feast on your big... thick... hot dog..." I felt her kiss my neck as her arms encircled my shoulders. I did not need further coaxing.

"Mmmm, let's go." I said.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Jack Muscone entered the Cattleman's Club restaurant and bar on Saturday evening and headed to the bar. The restaurant was very busy as the food was good, but the bar was relatively quiet as it served a more upscale clientele than those looking for a party atmosphere.

He was very surprised at who he saw at the far end of the bar as he approached, and he headed over to the empty seat next to her.


"Can I buy a girl a drink?" Muscone asked.

"Sure." Tanya Perlman said. "How are you doing, Jack?"

"Good." Muscone replied. He ordered a drink for himself and for Tanya another round of what she was having, then said "How about you? How's the baby doing?"

"He's good." Tanya said. "Pete's mom is keeping him tonight, and Don's mom is staying over and helping. Phyllis loves babies, and I needed an evening to myself." She then added "But don't let that make you think I want to be alone."

They moved to a booth in the corner of the bar room. "So how is MCD doing?" Jack asked after they sat down.

"It's okay." said Tanya. "The people are good, but I think they're bored. Don keeps looking for things to keep their minds occupied. As for me, I want to take a crowbar, or better yet a sledgehammer, and knock down a couple of the walls in that shithole office I have to sit in." Muscone laughed at the look on Tanya's face when she said that.

"So, are you happy there?" Jack asked, reading some wistfulness in Tanya's cherubic face.

Tanya sighed. "Yes... and to be honest, sometimes no. On the one hand, there's no better place to be, and no better person to work for than Commander Troy. On the other hand, I feel like I'm the fourth wheel of a tricycle."

Jack said "Well, I happen to know that Don thinks very, very highly of you. He says that if you weren't in charge of MCD and able to run it without him, he wouldn't feel nearly as comfortable going on his consulting trips for the FBI."

"That's sweet of you to tell me." said Tanya, smiling at the FBI agent.

"Don't tell him I said this," said Jack, "but if you really step up and show him you've got MCD well managed, and then let him know you do, things for both you and he will work out very well."

"Maybe," said Tanya, then broke into her playful grin, "but don't get any hopes up about Don leaving us for the FBI full time. I know for a fact he doesn't want to go anywhere else."

"Ah, you're catching on to me." Jack said.

"Let's change the subject," Tanya said, "and get out of here. What I really need right now is a big FBI agent's cock, and you look like you could use a good release... or two or three."

"I see the Iron Crowbar has taught you mindreading, among your other... considerable talents." Jack replied...

Part 4 - Turf Wars

On Monday morning, March 9th, I assembled a team in Classroom 'E'. It consisted of Detective Teddy Parker, Detective Joanne Cummings, Detective Julie Newton of Vice, Master Technician Myron Milton and Senior Technician Mary Mahoney. Sitting in were Lieutenants Tanya Perlman and Cindy Ross, and ADA Paulina Patterson.

"Okay, guys," I said, "this is a synopsis of the information of the Silverfish bank heists. As local law enforcement, you're supposed to concentrate only on the local crime at Second National Bank, which is considered a cold case-- yes, Myron?"

"Sir," said Myron Milton, "the Federal Statute of Limitations for bank robbery is five years, and our State's Statute of Limitations is seven years. We're past that." I turned to Paulina.

"You're right about that," Paulina said, "but that doesn't stop you from investigating and finding the identity of the criminal. And once you have that, there are some things we can do at the State level, but also which the U.S. Attorneys can do at their level. If we find out who it is, then find they continued to commit other crimes, we often can attach these crimes to the more recent ones. It's called 'continuing misconduct'."

"Yes, thank you, Ms. Patterson." I said. "Basically, guys, it's a relatively quiet time, and we're doing this as an exercise, so--"

Just then, the door opened with a violent push, and Deputy Chief Robert Brownlee strode in. "Milton, Mahoney," he called out, "you're not supposed to be in here. You work for I.T., and that means you work for me."

"Bull shit." I said, standing up to confront Brownlee. "They're part of MCD, they are Detectives. Qualified to use guns, too."

"That doesn't matter, Troy." Brownlee said confrontationally. "They're I.T., they work for me, and you can't use them without my say so."

"Again, you're full of shit." I replied. "Cindy, keep the meeting going. Myron, Mary, I'm giving you a direct order to stay here, and to not listen to Brownlee. I'm still I.T. Supervisor, not to mention in command of all officers. You do not work for him, now or ever."

I turned to Brownlee, "Okay Paper Pusher, let's go talk to the Sheriff."

"Who are you calling a 'paper pusher', dipshit?" Brownlee replied, not moving. At that, a red crowbar came out... and so did a blue one. Cindy Ross stood up, also, and was absolutely ready to beat the shit out of Brownlee. I had people loyal to me; Brownlee was not popular with anyone save a few crooked Union reps.

"What are you going to do, hit me?" Brownlee sneered.

"Yes." I said. "And you know how it works on the Force, Paper Pusher... nobody will see a thing."

It was dead quiet for the next few seconds, then Brownlee relented, his gambit failing. "Let's do go see the Sheriff. He'll tell you to shove that crowbar up your fucking ass."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

"For God's sake, Robert," said Sheriff Daniel Allgood. We were in the Police Chief's office, Daniel sitting behind the desk, myself and Brownlee standing before it. "You could've have used the least little bit of tact; instead you went in like a bull in a china shop and looked like a jerk in front of the Commander's most loyal people."

"Sheriff," said Brownlee, "we had this discussion: I.T. is Properties, it's administration... and it's my area. And speaking of tact, Sheriff, Troy has no tact at all, and won't do the right thing unless the issue is forced. We've already had this discussion, and I thought we were agreed on this."

"We didn't agree for you to go roaring into an MCD meeting and be so confrontational about it." retorted Allgood. "Okay, both of you, sit down. Sit!" ordered Allgood. Brownlee and I sat down, wary of each other. We were near physical confrontation, and everyone in the room knew it.

"Don, what's your side of this?" asked Sheriff Allgood. I realized I was being 'set up' in that this was a guided conversation. But I tried to remain calm.

"Well, Sheriff," I said, "first of all, Milton and Mahoney are actually Detectives, and are qualified with guns, just as Newton is. They're actually a part of MCD, as far as I'm concerned, just as Newton is with Vice. And second, I'm still I.T. Supervisor from the first day I walked into this Police Headquarters. I never gave that up."

"What about Lainie and Sonali?" asked Allgood. "What are they?"

"Data miners, part of MCD or Vice. I.T. in and of itself are the people that handle the servers, install software, fix or replace broken computer equipment." I said, then said with alacrity: "Sheriff, the bottom line is that no Detective should have to get permission from this paper pusher to get information from the data people."

"Call me a paper pusher again, asshole..." said Brownlee, menacingly.

"Or what... 'paper pusher'? Or what?" After an uncomfortable several seconds of silence, I said "If you're going to make a threat, Brownlee, you damn well better be able to back it up. I don't think you have the guts to try to whip me, asswipe." My body was tense and ready to rise to meet any attack. I was praying that Brownlee would try something. "And 'paper pusher' is right: that's all you are, a paper pusher. You've never done a day of real police work in your life."

"Ease up, both of you." said the Sheriff, rescuing Brownlee, who looked both furious and helpless at the same time as I called him out and called him the coward that he was.