He yanked the duct tape off the man’s mouth and leaned back. Abernathy had dark semi-circles of sweat around his armpits and the whites of his eyes showed around the entire iris. His wispy brown-gray hair was plastered to his head. Scaring him wasn’t going to be a problem. Keeping him from pissing himself might be.
“How’d she get you in here?” he asked. Abernathy appeared to outweigh Peregrine by at least a hundred pounds.
“She threatened me with a knife,” whispered Abernathy and Shark laughed.
“Isn’t she the most adorably terrifying thing? The weird part is that right now she trusts me. I’m not really sure why, but so far I’m enjoying the sensation. Although, in this case, she actually can trust me. Because, frankly, I have enough money that if I want to rip your head off and paint the walls with your blood, I can still make rent. Ya know?”
Abernathy nodded jerkily as if his muscles were barely obeying his commands.
“Great. So you’re clear on the ramifications of not answering my questions.” Abernathy nodded again and inhaled, as if he were about to launch into an aria.
“Don’t speak yet,” said Shark. “Just listen. I know you’re Big Paulie’s accountant. I know you made that ledger for him. Don’t get me wrong; it’s a goddamn work of art. All the white-out, arrows, cross-outs, squiggles, eights that could be zero’s, it’s amazing. It’s also a complete pile of shit. By my calculations you made about forty grand a cycle disappear for him. Is that correct?”
“Closer to fifty,” whispered Abernathy. “Once Big Paulie realized that the guys Geier sent to inspect the ledgers were really just finger breakers who didn’t know shit about accounting, he figured we just had to dress things up a bit and they wouldn’t notice. The totals just had to add up.”
“Yes, the totals. Here’s where it gets a bit sticky. The finger breakers you mention double-check the totals with the crew chiefs. What you’re saying to me is that either Two Tone or Paper is on it.”
“Yes.”
“Which one is it?” asked Shark.
“I don’t know.”
Shark punched him—just hard enough that his head bounced around and Shark was sure he was seeing stars. There was an art form to punching people the right degree of hard. It was important to assess the individual.
“I really don’t know,” gasped Abernathy, blood trickling out of his mouth. Shark raised his fist. “Big Paulie didn’t want me to know! I just handled the money! That’s all! I swear that’s all.”
“OK.” Shark sat down again. “We’ll pretend I believe that. Moving on to the next question: where did the money go? It’s a cash business. People notice if you’ve got a spare fifty K lying around, and you can’t make that kind of deposit into a bank.”
“I opened up a fictional bowling alley franchise. Then I opened business accounts at multiple banks. So every six months Big Paulie would take the cash, and spread it out to the other banks. And then I would transfer the funds into a holding company I set up in Mexico. From there it went into two different offshore accounts.”
“And what is the status of these offshore accounts now?”
“The offshore accounts haven’t changed. But the local banks don’t have the most recent deposit. I think maybe Big Paulie didn’t have time to make a run to the banks, before…” Abernathy petered out under Shark’s stare.
“So where did he store the cash?”
“I don’t know.” Abernathy closed his eyes and scrunched down, expecting a punch. He opened one eye, peering at Shark. “I think he kept it somewhere in his office, but I don’t know.”
“Why haven’t you wiped out Big Paulie’s bank account and disappeared?”
“I only have depositing privileges,” said Abernathy. “Big Paulie and his partner are the only one with the passwords to withdraw.”
“Accounting is far more interesting than I would have thought,” said Shark. “How did you avoid being found, by the way?”
“I have a panic room in my house,” muttered Abernathy. “I’m Mormon, so you know… I’ve got about seven years’ worth of food in there.” Shark stared at him. Abernathy shifted awkwardly against the duct tape binding his arms.
“You do know that the Mormon Mafia isn’t really a thing, right?”
Abernathy looked affronted. “Mormons can do bad stuff too!”
“I’ll take your word for it. How much is in the offshore accounts?”
“About 450 grand each.”
Shark did not blink. Geier had assumed Big Paulie had been cooking the books for about a year, but that amount meant multiple years. Most guys with their finger in the till blew it on gambling or living large, but that kind of money sitting in an account meant that Big Paulie had been building a retirement fund. Like most people in his line of work, Shark had run the numbers on what it would take to move to Belize and not have to do much more than drink and go fishing. He’d calculated his personal number at two million, which included the caveats of investing and not having anyone attempting to kill him. His savings were a long way away from two million. Like a lot of pyramid schemes, the mob was not interested in making those at the base of the pyramid solvent—money only flowed uphill. All the payoffs, prison, lawyers, and then goddamn Francesca had all taken a severe bite out of his retirement fund. The question was, how much did could get away with taking?
“Where were you going to go, Fred?”
Abernathy licked his dry lips. “What do you mean?”
“Presumably you were planning on leaving town. Where were you going to go?”
“Utah. My cousin has an accounting firm. Since the wife and I divorced he’s been bugging me to come back and work with him.”
“That’s a good plan,” Shark said. “But you weren’t even going to try and clean out the accounts?”
“That money is nothing but trouble,” said Abernathy. “Plus, like you said either Two Tone or Paper are in on it, so if I took it I’d have to look over my shoulder for the rest of my very short life. And besides, I’m not a hacker. I can’t get to it.”
“The problem is that we’re going to need that money back.”
“But I can’t get to it,” said Abernathy. “I mean, really. I can’t.”
“You see why we have a problem then, don’t you, Fred?”
Abernathy’s eyes widened. “I want to help. I would love to help. I just, I really don’t know how to get to it.”
“And that’s why Geier sent me. I’m here to help people do the right thing. Get everything back in order.”
“Oh God,” Abernathy cried. “I’m going to die.”
“Or go to Utah. Up to you.”
Abernathy cleared his throat. “All things considered, I would prefer Utah.”
“Good,” said Shark. “Wait here.”
Abernathy nodded, then looked down at his bound limbs.
Shark went out to the bar. Peregrine was in a booth talking to another girl, early twenties, dressed even more chola than Peregrine.
Luciana came over; he took out his wallet. “What do you I owe you for rent?”
She wiped her hands on her bar apron. “Depends on how much mess I have to clean up.”
He looked down at her long, square tipped, candy-apple red nails.
“You clean… anything?”
She grinned. “Depends on how much Tortuga has to clean up.”
“No mess, but I need to leave our guest here for another hour or so, while I run Peregrine home.” He laid three C-notes on the bar.
She eyed the money, but didn’t pick it up. “It also depends on how much I have to lie to my girl,” she said, reaching for a glass, as if needing something to do while she considered his proposition.
He glanced at Peri and laid another hundred on the bar. “No lying. Just don’t mention it.”
She scooped ice into the glass, poured a meas
ure of Jack Daniels in, and topped it off with Coke, setting it in front of him with the same preoccupied air.
“Did Peri tell you my drink?” That angered him—he didn’t like that she’d been discussing him with anyone.
Luciana shook her head. “My abuela, she had the…” she touched her middle finger to her forehead. “The third eye. Me? All I get is people’s drinks.”
“Must make you good at your job,” he said, not believing her.
She refilled the garnish bins with fresh limes. “Maybe, but mostly what makes me good at my job is experience. I’ve been doing this a long time. I see all kinds walk through this door. I got Vagos and Sons of Silence roll through here. I got jacked up Russian truckers. I even got that one guy who comes in and asks for a fucking cappuccino. And then a couple of years ago I get La halcónita. The little bird she flits in, she flies out, but always she is helping other people fix their shit. And now I got you. Like I said, I’ve been doing this a long time. I know when a shark swims into my pool. Sharks don’t fix anything. Sharks, they eat and they take and they leave nothing but blood.”
His palm felt slippery with sweat against the glass in front of him.
“Now maybe you don’t mean any harm to my little bird, but let’s just say it worries me when I see the shark circling. It worries me when the shark wants me to be on his side.”
Shark took a large swallow of his drink. “Can I talk now?”
“It’s a free country.”
“This,” he tapped the money, “is rent money. All I want is a little space and time and for your little bird to not be involved. She did me a favor to bring me this guy. I’m not going to burn her for it.”
Luciana gave him a cold look. Over in the booth, Peri’s client set her glass down with unnecessary force, her expression sulky. Peri leaned across the table, her face set in neutral tinged with annoyance, speaking quickly. The client kept pouting, but looked less pissed.
“Or you could have just saved me the speech and said you were into her,” said Luciana, picking up the money and tucking it into her bra.
“For fuck’s sake. I cannot have this conversation again. This is not a thing. There is no thing. We are working together. That’s it.”
“Yeah, right. Maybe if you didn’t look at her every two seconds I’d believe you. But seriously, verga, you fuck up my girl and I will call in all my favors with the Vagos to make your last few seconds of life a burning pit of pain.” She stalked to the other end of the bar before he could respond.
Peri bounced up, cheerful.
“Your bartender friend, she’s psychic?” Shark was skeptical.
Peri laughed. “She did the thing where she gave you the drink you hadn’t ordered yet, right? I personally, do not believe in psychics or unseen forces or whatever. I kind of think it’s all crap.” Shark nodded. She was echoing his general feelings on the topic. “But on the other hand, she can do it ten times out of ten. When it comes to drinks and Luciana, I believe.”
“She also said…” he shook his head. “You know what, it doesn’t matter. Do you need a ride home?”
“Yeah, that’d be great.” She took a sip of his drink and barely winced this time. “Is everything squared away with Luciana and, like, everything?”
“It’s taken care of. But I need another favor. Your friend Cerise, can you introduce me?”
At this she looked pained.
“OK,” Shark said, “we’ve ventured into awkward territory. Whatever it is, just say it.”
“Well, to be perfectly honest, it’s my professional policy to only vouch for people I’ve completed jobs with.” She took a handful of bar mix from the bowl by his elbow, avoiding eye contact.
“You said you’d worked with her lots of times.”
She stopped mid-crunch. “Yeah.” Her tone implied that the word numbnuts ought to follow. “I can vouch for Cerise.” He realized his error. He’d counted too much on the adorable and failed to factor for terrifying factor.
“And now we’re back at awkward. You can’t vouch for me.”
Luciana cruised by and dropped a cherry Coke in front of her before disappearing off down the bar. Peri took a sip, seeming to reach a decision. “Look, I can tell Cerise where we’re at in our relationship and see if she’s wants to take a meeting. But I can’t pass off her info. She was already mad that I brought you to the last exchange.”
“Taking it from all sides on that one, aren’t you?” he said sympathetically, tweaking one of her braids.
“A girl can’t get a Frosty in this town.”
“I’ll give you a hot one,” slurred a voice to the right. The biker was bigger than Shark, wearing black leather vest with the Vagos green patch and red devil on it.
Like most of his best and worst decisions, he didn’t think about what he did next. He reached out, grabbed the biker by the collar and pulled him forward while simultaneously kicking out into his shins. This had the effect of stopping the man’s feet from travelling forward while launching his face into the bar, where he bounced and onto the floor. The biker was just drunk enough that the trick worked, and just sober enough to turn his face and not break his nose.
The bar went deathly silent.
Chairs scraped as the biker’s friends rose and walked over. Peregrine, hand in pocket, was still, wary, but with the faintest ghost of a smile. Shark guessed she still had that knife.
The biggest Vagos looked down at his friend and then back at Shark. “I see you got back from your vacation,” he said.
Shark tried to pin down the specific memory of how he knew the guy. His name was Mateo? Shark’s relationship with the Vagos in prison had been polite, but not friendly. Mexicans and Puerto Ricans didn’t always get along.
“I thought you were doing ten.”
“Out in four for good behavior.”
Mateo nodded. “I see your good behavior does not extend to my boy.”
The second-biggest guy was helping the first one to his feet.
“I didn’t like his comments about my girl,” said Shark.
Mateo turned his attention to Peregrine. “I was here that one time you cut off that dude’s man bun,” he said. His delivery was so dead-pan Shark couldn’t tell if it was approval or just stating a fact.
“Dude had it coming,” said Peregrine. Behind the three bikers, Tortuga had risen to his feet and was towering over the room, but like the rest of them, he was waiting to see what happened next. “Plus…” she popped a peanut into her mouth. “It was funny.”
Mateo gave a dry laugh. “My friend does have a big mouth.”
“I may have overreacted. Let me get the next round,” said Shark.
The Vagos returned to their table, and Shark put some cash on the bar for their next round. Once they were occupied with drinks, he handed Peri the keys. “Go get the car and meet me around back.”
“Why?”
“Because we need to get Abernathy out of here. I was going to leave him here while I ran you home, but that guy is a fucking snitch. He saw both of us go into the back room. And I’m pretty sure he sent the other guy over here on purpose to see what trouble could be stirred up. As soon as we’re out the door he’s going to make a move. I’ll meet you by the kitchen entrance—pop the trunk.”
He waited until she was outside before moving. Luciana was shooting him death rays, but the best he could do was an apologetic shrug. He walked casually to the hallway, feeling Mateo’s gaze on him. He yanked open the storeroom door, popping his pocket knife at the same time. Abernathy started to freak out.
“Calm down.” Shark slapped the duct tape back over the accountant’s mouth and slit the tape that bound his wrists and legs. Abernathy froze, a panicked look in his eyes. Shark evaluated the situation and then made the decision to re-tape the man’s wrists together. “You look like you do stupid shit when the heat’s on.” He s
macked Abernathy’s hands down as he reached for the duct tape on his mouth and grabbed him by the collar. “Do as you’re told and you’ll probably make it out of this.”
He hustled Abernathy through the kitchen. Abernathy didn’t want to go, but he was about as effective as a wet noodle at stopping their progress. The kitchen staff glanced up once, but then uniformly averted their eyes. He pushed through the back door just as Peregrine pulled up, the trunk popped. Shark hoisted Abernathy inside and slammed it shut.
Seconds later the back door crashed open and Mateo came out. “Leaving so soon?”
“Better to leave while everyone’s in a good mood,” said Shark.
“You let your girl drive?” Mateo smirked.
“You should give it a try,” Shark said, getting in. “Drive,” he commanded, slamming the door.
15
Shark: The Charger
Shark laughed as Peregrine squealed the tires and spit a fine cloud of dust all over Mateo before pulling out of the parking lot. “Nice.”
“Didn’t actually do it on purpose. I’m not really the best driver.”
Shark remembered her age. “You do have a license, right?”
“Dude, I haven’t even had Driver’s Ed. I’m only somewhat handi-capable because I know this guy who steals cars.”
“Maybe you should pull over.”
“They can still see us. Besides all I gotta do is drive in a straight line for a while. I got this. Be cool, ese.”
“No eses. Red light. Red light!”
She screeched to a halt. “Too much Celocita Anchondo?”
“You’re goddamn right.” He unlocked his fingers from the armrest.
“Was she really that bad?” she asked skeptically.
“She was my first girlfriend and she was hot as hell, but she was always accusing me of cheating on her with her sister.”
Shark's Instinct (Shark Santoyo Crime Series Book 1) Page 7