Nothing Good

“Don’t ask,” grunts my contact as he swings open a chain link gate and motions me inside.

Of course, I never ask. To do so would be unprofessional, and if my fledgling business needs anything at this point, it’s a profound level of trust, and a track record that will get me other jobs by word of mouth.

The unsavory nature of my growing list of clientele speaks to my competence, both as a security analyst and as a tight-lipped confidant among night-dwellers in the underground economy. I am generally paid in cash. Hundreds only.

We’ll call my contact Vinnie. Yeah, Vinnie. He ushers me into the compound and promptly chains and locks the gate behind me. We head to the first of a series of storage sheds. Barn sized and windowless metal structures, allegedly protected by “Fang,” an ancient Doberman Pincer who looks up and woofs in our general direction, then licks his balls before lying back down in the dust near shed one. The Beware of Dog sign on the fence has done far more to guard the area than Fang for quite some time. I guess that’s why they need me.

Inside shed one, Vinnie flips on a series of incandescent hummers, caged steel contraptions that immediately attract moths and illuminate airborne dust. The squalid storage building is oppressively hot and stuffy, but an improvement over the zesty mix of dog shit, beer and cigarette butts that lingers outside.

The shed is a Smithsonian of packing crates and drums, machinery and draped unidentifiable objects of value to Vinnie and his associates. Dollies and forklifts are frozen in position at the end of tread marks on the dusty floor and left in place for next time as if the quittin’ bell was obeyed mid-task.

I tour eight buildings, all variations on the same Lost Ark theme. Electric outlets are fairly available, and rafters abound. I have plenty of locations to install a matrix of web-enabled surveillance cams for remote monitoring. No way I’m going to work on site, not for any amount of money. A small office to the rear of the complex actually has Internet access. Go figure, though it might need an upgrade.

I install cameras over the next few nights, a screw here, a bolt there, and then configure their IP addresses and enable port forwarding on the office router. Night vision allows surveillance in almost complete darkness. It’s a comprehensive solution, and Vinnie is duly impressed when I review the setup with him. Nodding, he scans the interior of building 8, noting the location of six cameras in the rafters overlooking the floor below.

“You did good,” he comments, speaking into the darkness opposite where I’m standing.

“We’re going for a ride,” he says, handing me a black hood and pulling a gun out of his waistband.

“It’s better this way,” he added.

I guess trust only goes so far.