The Infamous Frankie Lorde 2, page 7
“Hey, Uncle Scotty, can I check my email on this computer?” I asked as he started to stand up from his chair. He paused and looked at me curiously. I held up my phone in response. “I don’t have any service in here.”
Uncle Scotty nodded at the computer behind me.
“That’s the intern desk,” he said. “You can use that.”
“Thanks,” I said in response, turning my back to them and starting to type on the keyboard. “You two have fun!”
“Oh, we will,” Ollie said, jumping up giddily.
I waited until I heard them walk away to close out of Google and get to work.
The Greenwich Police Department logo flashed up on the screen as soon as I moved the mouse. Right underneath it were two boxes.
USERNAME:
PASSWORD:
This probably would’ve stopped the average person from going any further, but thankfully I knew a thing or two about breaking into places I wasn’t authorized to be.
And an internal police department database was no different.
Most people kept their usernames and passwords in readily accessible places. For computers, this meant a note of some sort kept near the screen or something scribbled down on a stray paper that was kept in a nearby drawer. Occasionally it would be hidden on the underside of the desk, so that it’s out of sight, but still easily available.
The sign-in info was almost embarrassingly easy to find. And if I was positive I wouldn’t need to break into their system again in the future, I would’ve given Uncle Scotty a heads-up that they needed to be more careful.
My eyes landed on the bright yellow sticky note tacked up on a cork board just to the right of the computer.
USERNAME: Intern7
PASSWORD: 5tb18h!g79
Thank you, Intern7.
I logged in and started my search.
I’d told Ollie to stall as long as he could, but I knew I only had a short amount of time before they came back.
I typed in Christian Miles’s name and clicked on his file. Everything about his arrest was in there. The hidden treasure room. The security tapes of his confessions. The transcriptions of his interviews with the feds. The list of items confiscated from his house.
I scanned the list and found what I’d been looking for.
1 white Bengal tiger, approximately four and a half years of age, 515 pounds. Name is Opulence. In good health, well taken care of. Found living on property. Being sent to animal rescue nearby. More Art37.
I clicked on the link at the end, hoping it would lead to something more.
It did.
I looked up from the screen even though it was turned away from the room and only I could see what was on it.
I clicked on the transcription marked as Article 37.
And then began to smile triumphantly.
Agent Tripe: A white Bengal tiger was found on your property. Were you aware of the existence of this animal?
Christian Miles: I was.
Agent Tripe: And were you aware that it is illegal to own a dangerous cat in Greenwich?
Christian Miles: Opulence isn’t dangerous.
Agent Tripe: Are you aware that it is illegal to own a tiger in Greenwich without a special license?
Christian Miles: Oh, really?
Agent Tripe: Yes.
Christian Miles: Interesting.
Agent Tripe: You might have gleaned this by the level of difficulty it would have taken to obtain him.
Christian Miles: Her. Opulence is a female. And I don’t often trouble myself with trivial information such as where I get my pets.
Agent Tripe: So, you are unaware of who supplied you with the animal?
Christian Miles: Why does it matter?
Agent Tripe: Because catching a criminal embedded in the illegal animal trade business might be of some interest to us.
Christian Miles: How interesting?
Agent Tripe: If you were to give up your dealer, we might be able to work something out. A few luxuries in your cell maybe?
Christian Miles: I’d need it in writing.
Agent Tripe: Of course.
**Paperwork is presented with offer to Christian Miles in exchange for information.**
Agent Tripe: Who provided you with the tiger?
Christian Miles: I believe his name is Sam Brasko.
Agent Tripe: The socialite?
Christian Miles: I don’t pay attention to what people do in their spare time.
Agent Tripe: Did Sam Brasko say where he procured the tiger?
Christian Miles: No.
Agent Tripe: Are you sure?
Christian Miles: Quite. Why should I care where he got her? I pay other people to worry about that stuff. Listen, I’m not going to do all your work for you. If you want to know about the man, do your own homework.
Agent Tripe: Interview suspended at 3:17 p.m.
“Frankie, you have to see this picture!” Ollie practically squealed as he and my uncle walked across the room. “I was like Al Capone all locked up. My mom’s gonna freak when she sees it!”
I glanced briefly at the screen in front of me and then up at them. They’d be by my side in five.
Four.
Three.
Two.
“Still checking email?” Uncle Scotty asked as he turned the corner to peek at my computer screen.
Panic filled Ollie’s eyes.
“Wait!” he exclaimed quickly, trying to distract Uncle Scotty from seeing what I was doing. “Handcuff me! You didn’t handcuff me before. I have to have a picture of that! Let’s go back—”
But Uncle Scotty was already surveying what I’d been doing and he immediately began to frown.
“Solitaire?” he asked.
I shrugged. “I’m winning.”
“How did that get on there?” he muttered.
“It’s a computer, I think it comes with it?” I offered. “Either that or it’s been a slow year for whoever sits here.”
“That’s weird, we haven’t had an intern for months,” Uncle Scotty said passively. “I mostly use it as a place to seat people when I bring them in.”
I clicked the game closed and the GPD landing page popped up again. Then I stood up from the chair and shoved my hands into my coat pockets.
“Well, we’ll let you get back to kicking butt and taking names,” I said.
“What are you two up to the rest of the afternoon?” Uncle Scotty asked curiously as we began to walk away.
“Heading to the library,” I answered.
“Work or fun?” he asked, though I could tell his mind was already back on work.
I fingered the piece of paper that I’d slipped into my pocket with a single name on it: Sam Brasko.
“A little bit of both,” I said over my shoulder as we headed out the door.
Entry Fourteen
So, the Lorde had a new target.
I also had a renewed energy I hadn’t felt since the last time we were hatching a plan. I felt free. Alive. Like I wasn’t itching to get out of my skin for once.
I felt like me.
Even heading into research mode was exciting.
Not for Ollie so much. He hated the library with what seemed like an unreasonable amount of passion. Something about a history of paper cuts and the smell of books? I think it was actually that he hated anywhere that required him to be quiet. And possibly the librarian, Ms. Harriet Smars. She was so old and frail, he was convinced she was superhuman. And not in a good way.
“Her eyes follow you everywhere you go,” he whispered to me as we walked past her post at the main desk. “And I’m pretty sure she can read minds.”
I looked over at her and nodded hello.
She gave me a curt smile but narrowed her eyes at Ollie.
“See?” he hissed, trying to hide his round body behind mine. It didn’t work. “I was just wondering if she sucks the life force out of kids who turn in their books late and that’s what’s really keeping her alive since she’s clearly two hundred years old by now…and now she’s glaring at me!”
“Well, maybe you should start thinking nice thoughts,” I suggested, finding his bizarre fear of a little old lady funny.
He squinted his eyes while staring at her.
She scowled and then huffed before turning back to checking books back in.
Ollie turned his wide eyes toward me.
“That’s it,” he said. “I’m doomed.”
“You should probably start planning what you want on your tombstone now,” I agreed, nodding. “In the meantime, let’s focus on things that are really happening. Like our new plan.”
Ollie rubbed his hands together like he was a villain.
“It’s not an evil plan,” I said as I sat down at the farthest computer cube in the building. This spot was perfect for recon work since nobody could see what we were looking up and our searches couldn’t be traced back to us.
As much as Ollie hated the Greenwich Library, it was one of the best resources in our line of work.
“So, what’s the plan? What disguises do I need? Please tell me I get a starring role this time,” Ollie said, sitting down on the tabletop next to the computer screen.
“Looks like we’re going after…” I took out the piece of paper and read from it. “Sam Brasko.”
“Hold up,” Ollie said, sounding shocked. “The Sam Brasko? Socialite and overall party boy, Sam Brasko? As in the grandson of the man who runs the Huntington Diamond Empire? The one worth, like, a bazillion dollars?”
“So, you’ve heard of him?” I said sarcastically.
“Heard of him?” Ollie scoffed. “I majored in him and his sister. Frankie, we don’t need Google for this. Let’s go get a frappaccino and I’ll fill you in on everything you want to know about them.”
“Them?” I asked, confused.
Ollie jumped down from the desk and pulled me into a standing position.
“Oh, Frankie,” he said, with a flick of his wrist. “This is where I shine.”
* * *
—
“Okay, you have your ice-blended whatever,” I said, handing him the drink that was more a dessert than anything.
“Mmmm,” Ollie said, taking a big pull off the straw. Then he looked down at the cup. “No whipped cream?”
“Start talking,” I commanded, picking up my own drink and taking a sip.
My brain seemed to say, Ahhhhh, as the caffeine hit my system. Usually I went for decaf, but today I opted for the real thing.
“As you wish,” Ollie said licking some chocolate off his finger before putting his drink down. “Here’s the E! True Hollywood Story of Sam and Emma Brasko.”
“I don’t need—” I started to say, but Ollie had already begun to talk.
“Sam and Emma Brasko were worth billions the day they were born,” Ollie started. “The first and only grandchildren of billionaire diamond manufacturer James Huntington II, Sam and Emma were literally born into royalty.”
“They’re the heirs to Huntington Diamonds?” I asked, surprised. “Why didn’t I know that?”
“Probably because they’ve never used the Huntington name,” Ollie explained. “The old man had a falling-out with his daughter while she was pregnant with the twins. When Sam and Emma were born, their mother forbid Huntington to meet them until they were about eight, when she and her father supposedly reconciled.”
“Hmmm, I’ve never robbed twins before,” I said, even more interested than I’d been before. “Are they close?” “Attached at the hip,” he answered. “Literally. Apparently, Emma and Sam were surgically detached at birth, though I have a feeling that’s just an urban legend. Either way, they stood by each other’s sides through good times and bad. And they’ve had their share of bad times.”
“Like?” I prompted, knowing he was enjoying the theatrics of all of this.
“Well, let’s just say that they started hitting the club scene young,” Ollie said. “And the paparazzi followed them everywhere they went. Which meant scandal galore—you name it, they did it.”
“How do you know all this?”
“How do you not?” Ollie clapped back.
“Um, because people aren’t as interested in the stupid things Americans do as you think they are,” I answered. “When we were abroad, we never heard about the news back here, except for the really big stuff. Like, Obama becoming president.”
“Sam and Emma were big news! Whatever, can I get back to my story?” Ollie said, annoyed I’d interrupted him.
I gestured for him to continue and fought the urge to laugh at how serious he was taking this.
“Anyway,” he continued, glaring at me before going on. “After a bunch of years on the scene, the spotlight got a little too hot for them and they both flamed out, damaging the family name. Word has it, that’s when Grandpa Huntington put his foot down and told them they either had to move away and get their lives together or he’d write them out of his will. So, they bought one of the biggest mansions here in Greenwich and moved in together to lay low.”
“They live together? As adults?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. “That’s a little weird.”
“They’re twins,” Ollie said, shrugging like it was a valid answer. “Besides, their house is ridiculous. They both have their own separate wings. I bet they rarely even run into each other.”
“You know where they live?” I asked.
“Everyone here knows where they live,” Ollie said. “It’s hard to keep a place like that hidden. Though the twins have done a pretty good job at being low-key. People rarely see them around town. But I guess you can make that happen when you have a full-time staff to do everything for you.”
“And the party twins are supposed to be the masterminds behind an animal trade ring?” I asked, skeptically.
“So, you think it isn’t true?” Ollie asked.
“True or not, Miles gave Sam’s name to the feds for a reason,” I concluded. “We just need to figure out why.”
“And we’re gonna do that how?” Ollie asked.
I drank what was left of my coffee and then got up.
“Sorry, Ollie,” I said, smiling deviously. “It’s back to the library.”
Entry Fifteen
BILLIONAIRE BRASKOS A RARE BREED.
The headline was the first to come up when I googled the twins’ names with the word animals. According to more than a few news outlets, the twins weren’t just your average, everyday animal lovers.
They were fur-natics.
And they had the press to prove it. There were a batch of photos of the two alongside their beloved dogs, Titan and Lady Godiva, at a fundraising event for Best Friends Animal Society in New York City. And then an interview for Paws & Claws TV where they told funny and heartwarming stories of their furry friends. Emma’s Pomeranian had his own Instagram account with over 2.3 million followers. Sam was on the cover of Hamptons magazine, standing alongside his Great Dane, who was practically the size of a miniature horse.
“What is all of this?” I asked out loud as I looked at yet another interview with the former socialites fawning all over their pets.
“Ooh, click on that one!” Ollie exclaimed and leaned over my shoulder to do it before I could protest. “This one just came out last week.”
The video Ollie had chosen was a clip from one of those entertainment news shows where they covered red carpet events for movie premiers. This one was for the latest film about a dog. Or dogs. It wasn’t totally clear. What was clear was Sam and Emma’s support of it.
“I hear we have some pretty big animal lovers in the house tonight!” a perky reporter said into her microphone. “And here are two of them right now!”
A thirty-something guy sauntered into the frame, followed by a woman the same age. She was dressed in a yellow ruffled dress that extended nearly to her ankles, which were tied up with trendy gladiator sandals. Her hair was long and loose, soft golden curls framing her sun-kissed face. If she was wearing makeup, it wasn’t much. Not that she needed it. Then she briefly waved to the crowd before turning her attention back to the man, placing her arm on his shoulder, and leaning in to say something to him that the microphone didn’t pick up.
The guy laughed, his head tipping back effortlessly as his beachy hair gently brushed the top of his shoulders. He looked like he could’ve been an actor in the movie they were about to see, dressed in his fitted jeans and an ivory-colored sweater. Definitely didn’t look like your typical trust fund kid.
But money and time could hide a lot of demons.
“Sam and Emma Brasko, so good to have you out tonight!” the reporter said as the brother-sister team finally turned their attention to her.
“Excited to be here,” Emma said, in a laid-back kind of drawl.
“Hey,” Sam said, his charm oozing out of every pore. Then he smiled at the female reporter and she giggled.
Actually giggled. On air.
She pulled herself together quickly, though, clearing her throat and saying, “So, who do we have here?”
The reporter leaned over to scratch the head of Emma’s pooch, who was dressed to the nines in a cute little tutu and matching bow. But as her fingers got close, the dog began to growl.
“This is Lady Godiva,” Emma offered, showing her fluffy pooch off. She either didn’t notice or flat-out ignored the fact that the reporter had recoiled at the dog’s less-than-friendly hello.
“She’s…darling,” the reporter said, forcing a smile.
“And where’s the famed Titan today?” She turned back to Sam, a real grin crossing her face.
“Aw, he’s back at home,” Sam said, running his hand through his hair. “He’d block the view of the audience if I’d brought him.”
Everyone laughed at this, because it was true.
