“Call the police,” Dr. Park said.
“Please don’t. He gets confused. I’m sorry.” I took Rollie by the arm. “Come on, Uncle Al. We’ll go home and get you cleaned up,”
I pulled a laminated card from my pocket. “Do you still want his insurance?”
* * *
“How long does that crap last?” I paused to listen before leaning my head out the open truck window like a dog on a car ride.
“I wish you could have seen their faces.” Rollie had barely stopped laughing to draw a breath. “It’ll be gone in an hour or two.”
“VP’s program better have worked. They won’t forget us anytime soon.”
* * *
Rollie’s House: One day later
I was in the backyard checking Rollie’s jacket for remnant stench when VP called on the burner phone. I’d had that phone with me all morning. I picked up the jacket, having passed its sniff test, and went indoors to take the call.
“Please tell me that worked,” I said.
“Dude you’re gonna have to learn to trust me.” VP sounded excited.
“It’s working? Anything good?”
“Pure gold, my man. I got everything and can track up-to-the-minute communications. Well, those go to a dark site and I get them from there.”
“That’s great, but anything I can use?”
“Of course. You didn’t tell me what you did to plant the drive.”
“I thought you didn’t care about ‘fieldwork.’”
“I said I don’t do it, but let me live vicariously. Just before I called you, I checked and this morning Dr. Park sent a really snippy e-mail to the local VA hospital about some crazy patient. He wanted to know if they knew anything about him and why did he show up in his office.”
“I’m guessing they won’t have any idea what he’s talking about.” I told her about our little mission.
She had a contagious laugh. “Love it!”
“What else did you find?”
“You owe me for some more energy drinks, but I found the shady patients and almost fifty of them match the ones sent over to our boy Barnaby.”
Now my brain started whirring. “Is there contact info for those patients?”
“Sure. Names, addresses, phone e-mails, the works,” she said. “What are you thinking?”
“Can you prepare a couple info bombs for me? One containing everything that can go to a reporter contact I have, one for the DA and one for the insurance company. And I need a second one with all the properties he owns under his real name so we can make it easy for our friend in the media to connect the dots.”
“I can do that. When do you want me to drop those?”
“I don’t.”
“Say what?”
“Not unless we have no choice. I’d like to avoid any collateral damage to Sandy for one and the people in the houses for another.”
“So, what then?”
“We turn up the heat until he realizes we’re serious and he better get the hell out of Dodge if he doesn’t want to go to jail.” That gave me another idea.
“Won’t he just cover his tracks? And don’t desperate people get dangerous?”
“He doesn’t scare me.” But I thought about staring down the barrel of Franklin’s gun. And Sandy remained an easy mark for retaliation. “I’m going to see if Sandy can take some time off, just in case.”
“I don’t know,” VP said.
“About what?”
“You think she’ll hit the brakes on her new business on your say-so? And does she know how deep you’re into this?”
She had a point.
“Not everything.” A wee understatement. “But I’ll make sure she understands what I’m trying to do.”
“And if Barnaby wants to push back?”
“He won’t know about you, if that’s what you are worried about.”
“It wasn’t. I know how to cover my tracks.” I realized that included me, as I still had no idea where she lived.
“He’s a businessman,” I said. “We just need to make sure he understands when it is time to cut his losses.”
“He’s a piece of garbage. You can’t think a simple ultimatum will work.”
“We have to show him he has no choice. We’re going to hit him where he lives,” I said. “You said you got into his home network via his smart apps?”
“Yup.”
“Can you also access those controls?”
She laughed. “Hell, yeah!”
“Those poor people in the row-home have no air conditioning. Maybe the Mason Oliver Estate can get a taste of that.”
“Yes. Hang on.” Keyboard flurry. “Okay, I’m in. I just cut off the A/C. It’s supposed to get warm today.”
“I don’t trust the weatherman. Can you fire up his furnace, too?”
“Ooh, good call. It says it can go to ninety.”
“One way to find out.” I grinned. Now my mind was racing while I thought of all the neglected repairs over in the Strawberry Mansion places. “What else does he have on there?”
“Let’s see, a hot tub … oh, and a pool!” she almost yelled.
“It’s huge, I saw it. Does it have a ‘soup’ setting? I can bring by some carrots and onions.” I couldn’t help but laugh with her.
Another thought occurred. “Hey, won’t he see all this mayhem, like an alert on his phone?”
“Great point.” She sounded disappointed, but only for a second. “At least, if he got an alert. I’ll have to cook it up, but I can screen-grab a peaceful shot of his systems and have that show if he checks it.”
“Perfect.”
Chapter 17
Media, PA: Route One Coffee Shop
I had drained my cup and left a tip on the table when I saw Bishop pull into the parking lot. He parked at the end of the building away from the last window. I hustled outside and hopped into the passenger side.
“How’d it go?” Bishop asked. I think he was as interested in what we were doing to mess with Barnaby as he was in making sure his own butt was covered.
“VP is a real pro.” I had to remind myself to watch those pronouns. Maybe that sort of deception would eventually become second nature. If it did, would that be a good thing? “In and out and all traces removed.”
“How soon before he feels the heat? I hope you are being careful.”
“I imagine when he got home last night, he wasn’t too happy.”
“Why?”
I recapped the smart house hacks.
Bishop laughed. “So much for careful. VP moves quick.”
“I kind of liked the poetic justice of making him feel the heat, literally.”
“Just be careful while you’re poking him that he doesn’t feel the need to poke back. He’ll know it was you, eventually, won’t he?”
“By then it’ll be the least of his worries.” I noticed a briefcase in the back seat of the car but decided to let the guy move at his own pace. “According to VP we’ve got dozens and dozens of names of people who are in on the fake claim filings. With that, on top of all the housing he’s been running like it’s the Third World, I think we can get him to back off.”
“That’s all you want him to do?”
“Not all. We’re trying to figure out the best way to play it,” I dodged.
Bishop shrugged. “Make sure you check with me before you move on anything that might get back to me.” His gaze drilled into me and any trace of easy banter had vanished.
“Of course.” I didn’t want Bishop involved any more than possible. There were more than enough chefs for this stew.
“Now, I’m sure VP will want to get paid.”
“But not before you do,” I jumped in.
“I’ll have the license blanks in a couple of days and will let you know. I did the locksmith bit on credit, didn’t I?”
“True,” I admitted. “And said you’d let me know how you wanted the rest.”
“The rest is in the back seat.” He hooked a thumb at
the briefcase. “When we’re done, you’re going to take it with you.”
“What’s in it?” Wasn’t this supposed to go the other direction?
“Part of my retirement that was interrupted when Ryan screwed up and got himself killed.”
“How am I supposed to fix that?”
“I was stupid to count on such a large payday, but greed does a number on all of us, wouldn’t you agree?”
“No need to rub it in,” I said.
“Actually, I think I do. See, while you are running around cashing in on all your friend’s schemes, some of us had to go back to our jobs.” Bishop’s jaw flexed.
I was about to protest, but it was clear Bishop wasn’t going to hear me.
“But I had my own deals going. Frankly, you already know far more than I’d like, but that’s spilled milk under the bridge, as they say.”
“Nobody says that.”
“Shut up. I need you for this part. Over the years I was able to skim some items off of bust and property logs. Dealers that get killed tend to leave plenty of non-cash goodies behind.”
“You don’t worry about audits?”
He shot me a look of disgust. “If what is logged in matches what is found on the audit, all’s right with the world. Let’s just say some colleagues didn’t excel in counting when they processed crime scenes.”
“I get the picture. Who’s to say how much was found in all the confusion of a raid or the aftermath, right?”
“You have the right idea, but a little credit, huh? Internal Affairs takes a dim view of finders, keepers and they watch for that.”
“Makes sense.”
“However, the right people can be discreet and smarter than the average IAD bear.”
Bishop was warming to his topic. I guessed there weren’t many people in his life he could speak to this candidly.
“But why do these clever folks with sticky fingers need you?”
“Part of being sneaky involves managing expectations.”
“Huh?”
“Say a midlevel dope dealer gets raided on a good warrant. What do you expect to find at the place?”
“Drugs, cash, guns, I guess. Cars, jewelry …” Now it clicked. “Okay, small expensive stuff.”
“Good. All of the above. And as I said, these are all things everybody expects, so if most of the cash disappears it looks wrong. Ditto all the items you mentioned. Guess where IAD looks when it is out of whack?”
“The arresting cops.”
“Correct. And to their credit, the bastards, they are sneaky too.”
“Yeah?”
“Say some dumb rookie pockets a stash of gold chains, or ‘just one’ bundle of Benjamins, and nothing happens right away?”
“He’ll do the same the next time or worse.”
“Bingo, only now he’s being surveilled and will get nailed dead to rights.”
“So, the moral of the story is don’t steal?” I smiled.
“I’m not talking about ripping off widows and orphans here. The scumbags we shave had no right to the stuff in the first place and these are items that the state would sell off. They’d only waste the dough. Trust me on that.” Bishop wasn’t losing sleep on this point.
“Okay for your conscience, but for those that see it differently?”
Bishop shook his head. “You should see some of their houses. Paragons of virtue, my ass.”
“All right, so how does it work for the non-dummies?”
“I mentioned expectations. That cuts both ways.”
“How so?”
“Let’s say another dealer gets taken down and the team finds the drugs and cash and whatnot they thought they would. Good show, right?”
“I guess.”
“Now suppose that someone found a great deal more? An amount of cash way higher, or where they thought they might find several expensive watches there were dozens squirreled away in another hiding place?”
Aha. “So, it’s more a target of opportunity?”
“Isn’t everything? Sometimes you take the balls as pitched and other times you swing for the fences. Now, my non-dummy colleagues have done this for a long time and know the expectation game better than the IAD does.”
“I get it,” I said, “but still don’t see where they’d need you, exactly.”
“If we’re talking excess cash, they don’t. They know enough to be discreet.” Bishop held up a finger. “But none of them are dumb enough to get caught with a bunch of items if IAD ever wants to look up their skirts.”
“Why wouldn’t they just pawn them?”
Bishop stared at me. “Weren’t you listening? If anyone saw them hanging around places like that, the red flags would fly like crazy. Besides, pawnshops are much cleaner than in the old days.”
“They give them to you?”
Bishop coughed. “Give?”
“They sell them to you.”
“Pretty much,” he said.
“Last I checked, you’re still a cop, and one who works in the property division. IAD knows this as well.”
“Ya’ think?”
“Aren’t you worried you’ll be the one holding the bag?” That thought flowed to me. “And why shouldn’t I worry about the same thing, assuming the case has what I think in it?”
“Young grasshopper, so much to learn. Now you know why I went through this exercise. I do get audited by IAD. I know about that. I also get surveilled. Not often anymore, but it happens.”
“How do you know that?”
“Ryan wasn’t the only one with connections. I know before the teams even get the assignments. When they come, the books are as clean as ever and they could search anywhere and never find a thing. Mind you, I’m talking precautionary audits. If they really suspected me it might make life harder, but I’d still have a little warning.”
“I see how you’d get involved in the process, but you said yourself you already know people like Ryan did. What do you need from me?”
“I know the best places to get quick cash for them, but pawn shops that can pay top dollar know who I am and won’t touch anything I bring in.”
“Why not?”
Bishop shook his head. “Think. They know I’m a cop in Property and may well have a veritable entourage of cops tailing me. They have good reputations and messing up with me would get them shut down.”
“I see. But I’m okay?”
“You’re nobody to IAD and you’re okay with Ryan in their eyes. That’s worth a lot.” Bishop reached behind him and lifted the briefcase over the seats and dropped it in my lap.
Heavy. I peeked inside and saw fat watches and rings encrusted with gems. “Aren’t they going to say something to this much stuff at once?”
Bishop handed over a sheet of paper. “Ryan knew everyone on there. There’s half a dozen who pay well. Spread the wealth, though, huh?”
I recognized the places from Ryan’s lists. “You understand I’m not a jewelry expert? I might get crushed here, then you’ll think I ripped you off or something.” I thought about what it might take from Ryan’s remaining stash to just pay Bishop and be done with it.
“Your ignorance has been baked into the cake. They think you’re acting for Ryan, and he knew jewelry. I also know what’s fair.” Bishop smiled. “And you hurt me to think I wouldn’t trust you.”
I took the case and opened the door. “Just have the blanks ready. How the fuck did my life become one big scavenger hunt?”
“Live the dream.” Bishop strolled toward the diner.
Chapter 18
Fishtown: Ryan’s House
I sat in Ryan’s place with the briefcase full of loot between my feet and studied the sheet with the pawnshops. They were all local and even clustered on South Street not too far from the house. I compared the list with the contact names Ryan had left me.
It looked straightforward enough. Ryan had developed relationships with the contacts and apparently, they had an understanding. I knew pawnshops could be scrutinized at
any time over dealing in stolen goods. And that’s what I had, a big old bag of swag. Regardless of whether the last owners were drug dealers, I sure hadn’t come by the stuff legally.
On the other hand, the stuff here may have never had an honest owner. Maybe Bishop had a point, that in the big picture the items weren’t going to be missed. It’d be one thing if he’d gotten it from a burglary ring, then everything would be eligible to be returned to the rightful owners.
I sat there and let the thought sink in, imagining Ryan hitting me with his little grin and nodding in approval. I also imagined how Sandy would feel at the moral gymnastics I was going through to get Barnaby out of her life once and for all.
I’d have to leave it at imagining, because I wasn’t about to tell her. What would I say? It’s all okay because at least I didn’t beat him up or do something worse?
That last sent a chill down my spine. This was Ryan’s world. It looked like the same neighborhood I grew up in, but here was an underbelly I hardly recognized. Money ruled and debts were paid in cash or blood.
As I stared at the fancy watches and glittering jewels it occurred to me that for a couple of these baubles I could go a little deeper into Ryan’s list and make Barnaby disappear for good. Shit, I could probably get it done with just one of those bottles of fancy Irish Whiskey in the right hands. Scary.
So, was I looking for a medal because I only wanted to be but so much of a crook? Maybe not but, sitting all by myself, I liked the idea that I had some control over what happened next to people I cared about.
* * *
South Street: King’s Pawn
“Is Mort in?” The shop was lined with cases displaying merchandise and brightly lit by harsh fluorescent light tubes buzzing overhead. The air smelled like camphor.
The heavyset balding guy with curly hair along the sides of his head peered over reading glasses at me. “Who’s asking?”
There were some customers down deeper in the store getting an electric guitar appraised by a woman with bleached blonde hair that looked white under the lights.
“My name is Kyle. Tell him I’m a friend of Ryan Buckley’s.”
Short Cut (The Reluctant Hustler Book 2) Page 10
