by Trace Conger
“Are you good at it? At finding people.”
“I like to think so.”
Holbrook stopped, pulled a handkerchief from his pants pocket, tipped his cowboy hat, and wiped his forehead. “I hope so, Mr. Finn. I truly hope so.”
“Who are you looking for?”
“It’s my banker,” he said. “He disappeared with quite a bit of my money. I want you to find him and bring my money back.”
“How much money?”
“Five million dollars,” said Holbrook wiping his forehead again.
“I assume we’re not talking about your everyday bank teller.”
“Got that right. I’m sure you can understand why someone like me doesn’t patronize the local bank. I use a private banker who specializes in serving people like me. No reporting, no questions, and immediate access to cash.”
Holbrook tucked the handkerchief back into his pocket as we arrived at the smaller barn. He bent down, pulled a key ring from his other pants pocket, and unlocked the fist-sized padlock on the barn door. He swung open the metal bracket, stepped back, and heaved the wooden doors open. He led me inside, Adler and Darby following close behind.
This barn was much smaller than the first. It was about fifty feet long, and unlike the first structure, this one had a low-beamed ceiling. There were four stalls on each side of the barn, and stacks of hay bales lined the walls, reaching to the ceiling. All of the stalls stood vacant except for the first one. There, a young horse stood in the corner. Its brass name plate read “Penny’s Flame.”
“This private banker of yours,” I said. “He got a name?”
“No.”
I felt the prickly hay particles penetrate my nasal passages as I breathed, and fought back a cough. “How do you work with him?” I said.
“It’s completely anonymous. I call a phone number and he picks up my deposit. When I need it back, I call him and he brings it back. He keeps a small percentage of each deposit for himself.”
Holbrook unlocked a latch on the side of the stable door and lowered the top half. The horse sniffed the air and approached us. Holbrook grabbed a long carrot out of a brown plastic bin next to the stall. He held it out, and the horse stuck his head out of the stall door and gnawed at the carrot.
“This Banker, where does he keep the money?” I said.
“Don’t know. I don’t know who he is or where he keeps it. That’s kind of his business model.”
I had Holbrook pegged as an intelligent man. Until now. “That doesn’t seem like a very good strategy,” I said. “Trusting someone you don’t know with that kind of cash. You might want to look into something a bit safer. Maybe a savings and loan.”
Holbrook smiled. “I know you probably think I’m a fool, trusting my money to a ghost, but this has been the model for more than two decades. The entire relationship is based on mutual trust, and for the last twenty years, we’ve never had a problem.” He wiped his forehead with the back of his free hand. “The Banker is more secure than any financial institution, Mr. Finn, and his very presence assures my cash is safe.”
“What’s the benefit of working with him? To me, it seems riskier than other alternatives.”
“Not really. The Banker operates under three guidelines. My money stays in cash, it changes locations at least once a day, and it’s available within a half hour anytime, day or night. Plus, the Banker’s got a reputation for eliminating threats. Last year, I heard that one of his customers tried to shake him down. The Banker skinned him alive and nailed him to the side of his house. The neighborhood kids found him on their way to the bus stop in the morning. His reputation alone is enough to keep most vultures away. You tell me an alternative that’s as secure or accessible.”
I couldn’t. In theory, the plan seemed solid, but it relied completely on trust. I hate dealing with banks. Sometimes I have to wait for checks to clear before I can get to my money, but I know that when I do come calling, it’ll be there. I don’t really care if a bank reports my deposits to the IRS, but I’m not sitting on 5 million either. Nor are criminals actively scheming to liquidate my bank account, which I imagined was a real and constant threat to someone like Holbrook.
The grimace on my face must have told Holbrook that I wasn’t sold on the Banker’s method.
“I’m not stupid, if that’s what you think,” he said. “But a guy like me doesn’t have a lot of options. I have to use higher-risk methods.”
“How did you find out he was missing?”
“I called him to make a withdrawal, and he never showed up. That’s never happened before. Until then, he was like clockwork.”
“When was this?” I said.
“A week ago.”
“I’ll need that phone number. The one you call for deposits and withdrawals. Maybe I can trace him that way.”
“Not likely,” he said. “The number always changed. It was one of the Banker’s security precautions. He would mail me a postcard with a new phone number every few weeks.”
Holbrook handed me the red folder he’d received from the man in scrubs, as Penny’s Flame finished the carrot. Holbrook grasped the horse’s bridle with his left hand and gently rubbed the horse between its forehead and muzzle with his right.
“Any theories on what might have happened?” I said.
“The Banker has been a trusted partner for years, so I know he didn’t turn and run. I think someone got to him. Some of my associates used him, but it’s impossible to know who else he worked for. Could be anyone. My gut is that one of them was able to track the Banker down. They got to him and took the bank for themselves. That’s all I can think of.”
“That seems likely,” I said. “Especially if he appears every time you call him to pick up a deposit. What’s to stop someone from calling him with a pick up, only to jump him when he arrives? Seems pretty simple.”
He stroked the horse again, this time behind its ear. “Not really. I don’t think he made pickups himself. It was a younger guy. I don’t know much about the Banker, but I know he was older. Like I said, I’ve used him for twenty-some years. The most recent guy who did the pickups looked younger than thirty.”
“Maybe it was the courier.”
“Could be. I don’t know what happened to the money once it left here. That was all confidential. I only know that he moved it from place to place to keep it safe. He was very thorough with his process, so I can only imagine he’d be just as thorough with his employees.”
“You seem to know a lot about this guy,” I said. “Except for the important details.”
“I looked into you, Mr. Finn and I know you’re capable. And if you come through, maybe I could keep you around. Use you again.”
“I’ve heard that before,” I said. “So to sum up, you’re asking me to retrieve your 5 million dollars from a man with no identity, no known location, and with no way of contacting him?”
“I’m not asking.” Holbrook smiled again. “Get my money back and we sever all ties with Dr. Jennings.”
“And the fee for recovering your money?”
“Your fee is Dr. Jennings’ freedom, and that’s all. However, if you find the Banker’s money and whoever got to him, I’d assume you could drum up some additional business from his client list. I imagine he stole from all of us, and if I’m looking for him, all his other clients are too.”
Holbrook withdrew a folding knife from his back right pocket and opened the blade. In one quick motion, he stepped to the side and drew it across the horse’s throat. The horse staggered, but Holbrook held tight to the bridle, holding it at an angle so the blood sprayed down across the stall door and onto the ground below, but missed Holbrook and me. He knew what he was doing. The blood flow slowed to a trickle. The horse made a gurgling sound and Holbrook released the bridal. The horse collapsed onto the stall floor, kicked its legs a few times, and then stopped moving.
He held out the knife like a discarded tissue and Darby jumped forward and grabbed it.
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Holbrook snapped the red folder from my hand and tapped it with his finger. “Vet’s report,” he said. “Equine anemia. Highly infectious. Couldn’t risk it spreading.”
“What is this place?” I looked around again.
“Quarantine,” said Holbrook. “It’s where animals come to die.” He turned to his men and placed his hand on my shoulder for a third time. “Good news. Mr. Finn here is going to prove you fellas wrong by finding my money.” He turned to me. “They don’t think you can do it, but I have faith in you, my boy.”
WE RETURNED TO HOLBROOK’S HOUSE. Adler slid open the minivan’s door and I climbed into the back. He slipped into the driver’s seat while Darby fumbled through his pocket and pulled out a cell phone. He held it up and snapped my picture. “In case we have to identify you later,” he said.
“This is all I’ve got to get you started,” said Holbrook. He snapped his fingers and Darby handed me four postcards. “These are the postcards the Banker sent every time he changed his phone number. Not sure if they’ll help or not.” Holbrook smiled at Adler, who smirked in the driver’s seat like a chauffeur about to cart around a gaggle of drunk college girls. “Good luck, my boy. I’m sure you’ll come through for me and Dr. Jennings.
“What’s with the watch,” I said pointing to his wrist. “I noticed it runs backwards.”
“You’re an observant one. Just a reminder that we all run out of time.”
Darby jerked on the sliding door, but I stopped it with by foot.
“I’ll find your banker friend, and I’ll get your money, Mr. Holbrook. And then we’re going to have a chat about what your man Adler did to the woman and girl at Dr. Jennings’ home.”
“I’m sure we will, son,” he said.
I moved my foot and Darby slammed the door closed.
Seventeen
ADLER WAS AS TALKATIVE ON the way back to Cincinnati as he was on the way to Indianapolis, so I took the time to gather my thoughts on the Banker.
The idea of a criminal banker who stockpiled money for the mob was an interesting concept. Most people still believe that criminals simply throw their money into a Swiss bank account and call it a day, but that’s Hollywood, not reality. Swiss banks are obligated to turn over details of suspicious accounts—those linked to anyone involved in illegal activity—if asked. There’s a lot of paperwork and legal jockeying involved, but the bottom line is that foreign accounts aren’t the safe haven they once were. Rely on a foreign bank to hide your cash and you’re going to have a short career as a criminal.
This wasn’t going to be an easy case, but given what Holbrook shared, I had three theories.
One: the Banker got popped by the authorities and was sitting in a cell somewhere. Maybe he got picked up for something related to his cash inventory, or maybe he had an open warrant and got nailed at a traffic stop. Maybe he’d been under investigation and his time was up. If he was picked up, there’d be a record somewhere, and I had enough law enforcement contacts to find out if anyone fitting his business model was under investigation at the state or federal level. This would be easy to run down. The others, not so much.
Two: Maybe the Banker decided it was time to stop working with people like Holbrook and he took the money and disappeared. Let’s say he had five clients, each with 5 million in the bank. That’s a lot of incentive to make a run for it. Holbrook said he had history with this guy, but you get enough money on the table and history doesn’t mean much. I didn’t like Option Two, because the Banker would be long gone. Out of the country gone, and things get complicated on foreign soil.
Three: Someone got to the Banker, killed him, and took the bank. Regardless of what reputation this guy had, just like history, reputation loses weight as more money builds up on the table. People do crazy shit for a few thousand dollars, let alone several million. That made the most sense, but it also raised additional questions.
Holbrook mentioned a courier, but I had no idea how deep the Banker’s organization went. The more people working for him, the more likely it was an inside job. If you’ve got the stomach and the skills, it’s easy to pillage criminals, because they can’t run to the authorities. They can, however, handle things on their own, but if you’re smart, it’s easy to slip away. For anyone willing to take the risk, someone like the Banker would be a huge mark.
Of course, there were a host of other possibilities. Maybe he choked to death on a muffin or got hit by a city bus. Maybe he was rotting away in a house somewhere with a bag of Holbrook’s money in his closet.
The other thought I couldn’t shake was the shithole in the front seat. I had a nagging suspicion that Adler was going to be on my ass at every step of the investigation. It was obvious Holbrook wanted to find the Banker and retrieve his cash as soon as possible, and he’d tap Adler to push me if I slowed down. Today, I was a valued asset, but there was a fine line between a valued asset and a loose end. At some point I would cross that line, but I’d have to deal with that later.
THE RED MINIVAN STOPPED IN front of Winans Coffee. Adler turned and handed me a card with a telephone number.
“Call with updates,” he said.
I stepped out.
“And tell Brooke I said hello.”
I turned, but Adler had already pulled away from the curb. It was almost six o’clock. Brooke would drop off Becca at my place in an hour as usual. The Banker would have to wait.
Eighteen
I WALKED THROUGH MY FRONT door to find Albert on the couch reading the newspaper.
“Where you been?” he said.
“Indianapolis.”
“Now why in the hell would you be in Indianapolis?”
“Business,” I said.
“What kind of business? You didn’t mention anything to me. What’s in Indianapolis?”
“Seems Daryl got himself into some trouble.”
“Brooke’s Daryl? Good for him,” he said turning a page. “Maybe now Brooke’ll cut him loose and we can get you two back together.”
“It’s not that simple. He got wrapped up with the wrong people. They paid Brooke a visit looking for him. And who said anything about wanting to get back together?”
Albert tossed the newspaper to the side and stood up. “What the hell are you talking about? Paid her a visit?”
“She’s okay. They just scared the shit out of her. Becca too.”
“What’s Daryl into?”
“Got roped into securing narcotics for some heavy hitters. It went south.”
“So what?” he said. “Why do you give a shit what happens to that asshole? They just improved your situation.”
“Not at Brooke and Becca’s expense.”
Albert’s jaw clinched. “What happened to Becca?”
“Nothing I can’t handle,” I said.
“Spill it, Finn.” He tapped his index finger on my sternum, like some high school bully. “This is family you’re talking about.”
“Daryl was supplying fentanyl. He was stealing it from the hospital where he works, but he got cold feet. Now his handlers in Indianapolis want to re-open the pipeline and they’re using Brooke and Becca as leverage.”
“And what are you going to do about it?”
“They’re looking for someone. Someone who disappeared with their bankroll.”
“And you’re going to help them find him?”
“Yeah,” I said. “I find him and they release Daryl from his contract.”
“I still don’t understand why you just don’t throw Daryl to the wolves. He got himself into this mess, why should you bail him out?”
I looked down and shook my head. “Like him or not…”
“I don’t,” Albert interrupted.
“Regardless, he’s still a huge part of Brooke’s life. Becca’s too. So that means I’m getting him out of trouble.”
“I don’t like it, Finn. I’ve got a bad feeling about it.”
“That makes two of us.”
BROOKE KNOCKED
ON THE FRONT door at 7:00 pm sharp. I opened the door, and watched as Becca wheeled her penguin suitcase into my apartment. “Hi Daddy,” she said as she wrapped her arms around my waist.
“Hello sweetheart.” I took the suitcase. “Dad, why don’t you show Becca your bookshelves?”
Albert motioned Becca over to the guest bedroom. “Come on sweetheart,” he said. “You’re going to love this.”
After Becca and Albert disappeared, I stepped out onto the breezeway with Brooke. “How’s the head?”
“Fine. Nothing forty ibuprofen couldn’t cure.”
“How are you holding up at your sister’s place?”
“We’re good,” she said. “What did you learn from Daryl?”
“I learned he makes poor decisions. Can’t believe he’s responsible for people’s lives. He can’t even take care of his own.”
“How bad is it?”
“It’s not good.”
“Can you get him out of it?”
“I think so, but I have to give Daryl credit. When he steps into something, he steps in deep.”
“What does that mean?” she said.
“It means he crawled into bed with some pretty bad people.”
“That doesn’t make me feel any better, Finn.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I said. “This guy who’s been working Daryl… He’s looking for someone, and I told him I’d find him. If I do, he cuts Daryl loose.”
“And if you don’t?”
“I don’t want to think about that. And neither should you.” I heard Albert and Becca walk back into the living room. “Go home and get some sleep. Don’t give it a second thought. I’ll take care of it.”
She hugged me, longer than usual. “Thank you. Have fun with Becca.” She turned and walked toward the steps.
“Always do.” I said.
MY WEEKLY DINNER WITH BECCA and my father was a welcomed distraction from what awaited me on Monday. The three of us arrived at Dewey’s Pizza on Montgomery Road at 7:30 pm. Dewey’s had become our weekly Friday night tradition. Same night, same pepperoni pizza. My father and I always downed a few beers while Becca went for a lemonade.