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“Looks that way.”
“And Judge was a sex-trafficking pervert who had Kelly Oswald under his thumb long before he was accepted into the Witness Security Program,” said Andie.
“Virtually everybody in witness protection is a criminal. There are mafia hit men under protection.”
“But now he’s a worse criminal than he ever was. Judge is the pirate killer.”
“Unfortunately, it wouldn’t be the first time a witness in the program used his protection to start a new life of crime,” said the ASAC. “You’re a new person. New name, new social, new passport, new background, no arrest or incarceration record to follow you around.”
“We need to get out a BOLO,” said Andie, meaning a “be on the lookout” notice.
“My only question is timing,” said Coffey. “He has credit cards linked to his Witness Security identity. We’re following the trail.”
“Where does it lead?”
“Last usage was to buy gas this morning in Miami. Once we put out the BOLO, he’ll stop using the cards. The question is, do we keep following the trail, or do we issue the BOLO?”
The question was for the head of the task force.
“I’m not holding the BOLO,” said the unit chief. “We can’t risk another victim. The public has the right to know who this guy is and to protect themselves. And we benefit from three million sets of eyes and ears on the ground.”
“What about his cellphone?” asked Andie.
“His carrier is based in Dallas,” said Coffey. “I’ve already contacted the U.S. attorney there. Her office should have a warrant for his phone records tonight. But that’s another consideration with the BOLO. He’ll stop using his phone once we issue it.”
“I’m not waiting on the BOLO,” said the chief, more firmly this time. “Henning, coordinate with local law enforcement. I want the name of everyone this guy knows in Miami.”
“On it,” said Andie.
“And get tech involved. This guy may be smart enough to stop using his cellphone after he sees the BOLO, but he might not know enough to dump it. See if we can pick up a signal and get a location on him.”
“Roger that,” said Andie.
“And let’s activate SWAT,” he told the ASAC, his voice more detached. “This one probably isn’t going down easy.”
Chapter 57
Amongus Sicario spent the evening on South Beach.
“Another rum and Coke?” his waitress asked.
He was at a sidewalk café on busy Ocean Drive. Warm breezes from the Atlantic made for a perfect November evening. A far cry from Lake Michigan, where he’d nearly frozen to death.
“Make it a double,” he said.
It felt good to be back, but a return to Miami had not been in his plans. Halfway on the drive from Chicago to New Orleans, he’d heard the news about Shaky Nichols and, just like that, the road was leading him to south Florida. He couldn’t attend Shaky’s memorial service and risk being recognized, but he desperately wanted to be a fly on the wall. He would park across the street from the cemetery and wait for the hearse to arrive. Long lines of limousines would follow. One music executive after another would step out and proceed to the graveside. A few would be genuinely sad. Most would attend out of obligation. They all had something in common: every single one had taken a hard look at an aspiring young artist named Amongus Sicario and labeled him “unprofitable.”
The waitress returned with his drink. He gave her a credit card, an American Express platinum, which he’d been able to get in his new name with the good credit history that came with his new identity.
“Anything else?”
“I’m good,” he said.
She left him alone. He tasted his drink and then checked the time. It was almost too late to call Moscow, but what did he care? He owed Kava a follow-up call. It was about payback.
The music royalties he’d lost to piracy on Kava’s platforms over the years were incalculable. The industry kept data on revenue lost to piracy, but it was based in large part on takedown requests, which skewed heavily in favor of the big-name artists who had the resources to monitor piracy websites and threaten legal action. Where did that leave an artist like Amongus Sicario? Unprotected. Uncounted. Unpaid. His music should have made him a millionaire many times over. Instead, his musical screed against capitalism had left him broke. His fans loved the “fuck corporate America” message, which in their minds meant “fuck the record labels who charge for music.” Sure, Drake and Jay-Z got pirated, too. But at leastsomepeople paid for their music.Nobodypaid for Amongus Sicario. Maybe people felt better saying they were sticking it to the record labels, but they were really sticking it to Amongus—and putting ever more money in the hands of the wealthiest pirates the world has ever known.
It was time Vladimir Kava paid his due.
