“Who killed him?”
I shook my head. “It’s better you don’t know, but they play by rules that he broke. I was a small cog in the operation. Fast forward to today and he drops all these schemes in my lap along with the oddest assortment of characters who can help pull them off.”
“Why not say no?”
“I wanted to do just that, but funny how one thing leads to another and before I knew it, I was in deeper than I realized. But along the way, I think I’m helping some people.”
“Like me?” She was hard to read.
“Yeah. I’m sorry, but not for what happened to Barnaby.”
“You better tell me what you did to him. All of it.”
“That’s fair. I’ll share that and more, because you have to understand what I’m going to ask.”
And I did. I told her about my lifelong friend Ryan’s second, hidden life in which he built a shady but not thuggish empire. We worked together in Iraq. When my marriage was falling apart and I slugged my wife’s new boyfriend, throwing my career onto the rocks along with everything else in my life, Ryan offered me a chance at a once-in-a-lifetime scam. It was victimless, he assured me, the “perfect crime”—which of course went completely sideways.
I told Sandy how the goons the scam double-crossed kidnapped my estranged wife Beth and used her to get me to help them find Ryan. At that point I’d have done anything to save her. To his credit, Ryan, with a lot of help from Rollie, Bishop and others, was able to figure out a risky way to get Beth back. By then we couldn’t have returned all the money we’d scammed if we wanted. In the end Beth was safe, Ryan was dead, and the goons we’d initially worked with had broken some of their own group’s rules and got themselves killed as well. Sandy’s eyes widened when I showed her the long scars from the knife attack that almost killed me that night.
As for the current business, I told her about VP’s hacking and the break-ins and all we learned about his business. I mentioned the guy at the liquor store and his sister with cancer and explained what I’d begun to learn about how the oddball underground economy of favors operated.
Then I told her how we’d hacked Oliver’s accounts and drained them.
“You don’t expect to be able to keep it, do you?” she asked.
“I don’t want his money. Other than twisting his arm to do the right thing for his tenants, it’s just leverage.”
“How do you expect to stay out of prison?”
“Great question, except it turns out when you rip off crooks, they tend to avoid calling the authorities. And when the authorities are just as crooked, you can also use that.”
“I suppose,” she said. “But why keep getting involved?”
“An even better question. One thing leading to another is just an excuse. I’m not that blind. But now I get to the reason I am going to ask—even beg, if that’s what it takes—that you go into hiding for a week, maybe even two.”
“I thought I made it clear you don’t get to tell me—”
I held up my hand. “I’m not. But I am praying you will change your mind.”
And I explained the big deal Ryan stuck me with and how things that once were so simple had gone horribly awry. I pulled no punches when I shared what Tom had said about the headless courier and what Grist and Mauser were capable of doing to anyone in their way.
She’d gone pale by the time I was done. I guess that was progress.
“If these people are so dangerous, why are you sticking around?”
“I’m not.”
“Sorry?”
“Not exactly. I’m underground, for all intents and purposes. Rollie and I are holed up for the duration and you won’t see me again until it is all over.”
“Where?”
“Can’t say. You don’t want to know. I’ve told you more than I should about everything else. But for your safety, the less you know about this, the better. These guys are animals.”
I told her about VP monitoring Rollie’s place. “Hopefully we did enough to keep Oliver away,” I said. “Not that I expect him to appreciate my concern for his safety.”
“He called you Robin Hood, huh?” Sandy leaned in and kissed me. “Two weeks. Come back safe and you have to help me build my client list back.” She smiled. “Unless I decide you’re crazy by then.”
Chapter 24
Fishtown
It was already light out by the time I left Sandy’s place. We’d talked through the night at her office and no sign of Oliver returning. I’d insisted on driving her home, but she declined my offer to help her pack. She didn’t say where she would go to lay low and I didn’t ask.
As I rolled through my neighborhood, avoiding Rollie’s street by a couple blocks, I remembered that I shouldn’t be using my truck at all from now on. With Grist and Mauser having access to personnel files and who knows what else in the company database, that likely included the vehicle info for my company parking pass. At least there’d be no mention of anyone named Sandy.
On the other hand, speed was important and there were plenty of old red trucks in this part of town. Mostly I didn’t want to think that they were already here hunting for me.
But they would be soon.
I turned up Girard and felt my jaw clench when I approached the intersection where Cream of the Cup sat. Right in front of Milosh’s shop paced a short man wearing a sandwich board ad for the place, complete with their stoned cow logo. Even before he turned around, I felt a sinking in my gut. I reached the curb just as he faced me.
“Beet, what are doing?”
He smiled at me. His puffy lips were starting to return to normal. “Hi, Kyle!”
The bruises on Beet’s face were in greens and reds, but most importantly, all healing and nothing fresh. His trademark Spock T-shirt had bright white blotches on one shoulder.
“Why are you here?” I asked him.
Beet looked confused. “Working, just like you wanted. He said that’s how you wanted it.”
“Who?”
Beet jerked his head toward the shop. “You know. The boss.” He lowered his voice. “He doesn’t want me to say his name.”
Crap.
“After I work off the debt, he said I could do other stuff for him.”
“Like what?” The words jumped out of my mouth and I shut off the engine.
“Stuff. He said you’d know.”
Anything I could imagine filled my face with hot blood. “Sure. Is he in yet?” I opened the driver’s side door and it screeched on a hinge I kept forgetting to oil.
Beet rummaged through his pockets. “No, but he said to give this to you.”
I took the crumpled paper and opened it. The handwriting inside was fine cursive so neat it looked like a calligrapher had taken dictation.
Idle hands are the Devil’s workshop, wouldn’t you agree? He’s working out well and I’m certain he’ll be up for promotion in no time. You’ll have to step up if you want to take his place. Nothing wrong with a little healthy competition, is there?
It wasn’t signed, but I’d read the whole thing in Milosh’s accent all the same. His English was way better than he let on in person. But Beet himself was the real message.
“Beet, I’m glad you’re able to help out like this, but I need you to listen carefully.”
“Dad would be proud. I’m taking care of my business.” He pointed to the white spots on his shirt. “See? I got the bloodstains out by myself. Bleach to the rescue.”
“That’s great. But listen. You can’t come around Ryan’s house or where I stay either for a little while.”
“Okay, but why?”
“I have to go out of town for a little while and …” I knew that wasn’t enough, I’d only made him curious. “There have been some mean guys hanging around and I wouldn’t want you to run into them without me there.” Close enough.
Beet nodded. “All right. But Milo … I mean, the boss could probably help with that.”
“No. Promise me until I get back th
at you won’t do any different work besides this. Wait if he asks you to do any other jobs, understand?”
“Nope.” Beet stared at me. I fought the urge to yell. Then he grinned. “But I promise.”
“I’ll be back soon. Tell Milosh I’m coming back to work it all out. I got his message. Use those words.”
Beet held up his hand and gave me Spock’s trademark split-fingered Vulcan salute.
* * *
Scorpio Photography Studios
I spent the rest of the day dropping in on anyone I knew well enough that they might conceivably be moved to stop by Rollie’s place. Most had no idea there might be danger and I didn’t want to make things worse, so made up excuses. By the time I got back it was dark and the streetlights cast pools of light. I didn’t think anyone would be hiding in the shadows, but I’d have put more floodlights on the grounds if I didn’t think the change might draw attention.
It was going to be a long week.
Rollie had been busy. He pointed to a pizza box. “Grab a slice, kid. How’d you make out?”
I wolfed down a large piece in three quick bites and filled him in.
“I got my sewing circle of friends covered. Didn’t take long. Being a cranky hermit has its advantages,” he said. “Think that prick Barnaby got the message?”
“He was rattled, to say the least, but I hope he thinks straight when he calms down.”
Both of us jumped when the front door erupted in a loud, rapid cadence from the heavy iron door knocker. Rollie relaxed first, while I was still wondering where to find the nearest gun.
“That’s the secret knock I gave the shrimp. The whole neighborhood probably heard it.”
Tom stepped inside. He carried a cardboard box full of burner phones. “I think I hit every shop on the East Coast.” He handed Rollie a set of keys. “Thanks for the wheels, mate. You know your way around a wrench, but it gobbles petrol like nobody’s business.”
“And if you scratched it, you’re going off the steeple.”
“No worries.”
We got Tom caught up.
“Good. I’m going to alert the contacts for the handoff of the package.”
“I thought I was supposed to handle that,” I said.
“They will only work with you face-to-face. This only tells them to expect us.”
“We don’t even have the item in hand,” I said. “Isn’t it a little premature?”
Tom looked at me like he thought I was a fool. “Right. I’ll tell him we have to dodge some psychopathic bandits who followed us here from Iraq, but we’re sure to give them the slip.”
“Fine, tell them whatever you like and then you can let me know how we are going to give the psychos the slip.”
While Tom left for a quiet pew on the ground floor to make his calls, he’d given me an idea. I reached Bishop on one of the burners and arranged a meet after his night shift. I didn’t say for what over the phone, but since we never chatted about sports it was safe to assume he knew it would be business.
* * *
The next morning, I took my truck out to the diner I used to meet Bishop. Later today I’d have to catch up with another old contact of Ryan’s and get some anonymous wheels. For now, I figured it was safe enough because if Grist and Mauser knew how to find me in the suburbs, I was dead already.
I didn’t see any signs of being followed and when I reached the diner, I found Bishop sitting in his usual spot nursing a cup of coffee. I caught the waitress’s eye and took a seat across the table.
We exchanged pleasantries until the waitress poured me a mug and I’d passed on a menu. The place wasn’t too crowded so we were able to chat as long as we kept our voices down.
“Is it bigger than a breadbox?” He reached for another sugar packet.
“Is what?”
“Whatever you want from me.”
“I’m not really sure. I guess what I really want is your professional opinion.”
“Oh good. If it’s professional, that means I get paid.”
The banter worked my nerves. “Whatever. Got a Ryan special that has gone sideways and I’m in a jam.”
“There’s a first.” Bishop hunched over his mug. “Do tell.”
“You can look up the news stories of the problems at my company later, that will catch you up. Short version is that the biggest troublemakers are back here stateside and looking to… inject themselves into a standing arrangement I inherited.”
“Once more, for the hard of comprehending?” Bishop said, shaking his head.
Now I almost whispered, “Two mercs, heavy hitters, under suspicion but not yet indicted, know about a Ryan deal and want it for themselves.”
“They’re here?”
“If not, they will be soon. They play for keeps.”
Bishop nodded, taking my meaning. “So, maybe let the big dogs eat. You said it isn’t even your deal.” He tore the packet and dumped the sugar in his mug.
“It’s a big deal.”
“Gotta be alive to spend it, no?”
“You got that right and, believe it or not, I’d like nothing better than to walk away from the whole thing,”
“Buuut?”
“The people waiting for the package aren’t exactly saints and have been counting on getting their hands on it. They aren’t known for their senses of humor.”
“So, you’re caught between Iraq and a hard place?” Bishop cracked up.
“My dead friend getting me killed is funny?”
He caught his breath. “Not if it actually happens, I guess. And I’d have to get a new helper for my collection.” Banter aside, he was listening.
“The guys coming in wouldn’t believe I was out, anyway.”
“Since you are screwed either way, what did you want from me?”
I explained about Tom and how Ryan had staged the deal to require both of us.
“Ryan was a hard cat to figure out,” Bishop said. “I assume he meant well here, but what a mess.” He shook his head. “Where’s the package now?”
I told him where we were expecting it.
Bishop thought about it. “They’ll watch the place. Anyone asking your network about where Ryan is? Lately, I mean?”
“Not as much as I would have thought. Seems he greased the skids for me well in advance.”
“So, you are the man for the job after all. Like it or not.”
“Definitely dislike,” I said. “Any thoughts on how to get through it without ending up like Ryan?”
Bishop sipped from his mug and stared out the window at the parking lot as if he hadn’t heard the question. “These guys,” he said at last. “How many are we talking?”
“Two principals, for sure, but they have a network too and may have backup.”
“From what you describe, this is going to be their last hurrah before they scram. That implies they will want to travel as light as possible. The bigger the force, the harder to hide the movement.”
I felt better for a moment. “Maybe, but they are bad enough.”
“I’m not trying to underestimate them, I’m trying to put myself in their place. They don’t know where exactly the package is hidden?”
“No, but they’ll know the shipment and when it will arrive here in our port in Philly.”
“Then if they can’t find you or someone you can’t do without first …”
I explained how we’d taken precautions.
“Good enough. As I was saying, barring the chance to sweat you or yours, the next best play is to watch the port and if they can’t swipe the stuff themselves then wait for you to show and hit you once you moved out.”
“Are you saying you’ll cover us on the way out?”
Bishop stared at me. “I’m not getting my ass shot just to play nice guy and I don’t need to remind you I’m not a gun for hire. Besides, I thought you had one of those.”
“If you’re talking about Rollie, you have him all wrong,” I said, though I’d be lying if I hadn’t thought about hi
m covering us if necessary.
“Yeah well, I’m not volunteering to go toe-to-toe with hardcore shooters, thanks,” he said.
I told Bishop how VP was going to be able to monitor the Delivergistics cameras with my help.
“Smart,” he said. “I have to meet him some time. He does good work.”
“He’s shy.” Hiding VP’s gender wasn’t getting easier, but it was the least I could do.
“That gives me an idea. Give me a day or two and I can have a couple numbers you can give him.”
“What for?”
“Some guys on the force that I trust. When the shipment comes in, I can have them make sure they are in the vicinity and if VP spots something going down, he can call, and the cavalry will be on the scene in no time.”
A spark of real hope flared and winked out as fast. “You can’t let them know what’s going on. The circle is getting too big already.”
Bishop smiled. “A little paranoia is good for staying sharp, but don’t go overboard, Kyle. I don’t want to poach your deal and neither will my guys. They won’t know anything other than someone I know wants some discreet additional security.”
“No offense intended,” I said, “but if something does go down, won’t that lead your own guys into a trap if they don’t know what they’re up against?” I wasn’t keen on leading strangers to slaughter.
“You’re thinking like a sneak, which is good, but keep going and think like a poacher. My boys will come in loud and proud, sirens blaring and calling for backup.”
I pictured it and tried to imagine what even a ruthless version of me would do. “You think they’ll bail?”
“Of course. What, they’re going to start a shooting war with the cops? They’d have to know their faces would be on camera and just getting away clean will be hard enough.”
I grinned. “Sounds like a hell of a diversion.”
“Nothing but the best.” Bishop stood. “Thanks for the coffee.”
Short Cut (The Reluctant Hustler Book 2) Page 15