Short Cut (The Reluctant Hustler Book 2)

by J. Gregory Smith

  The guy disappeared into the back of the store and returned a couple minutes later.

  “C’mon back.” He held open a swinging half-door that interrupted the long row of lit glass cases.

  I followed him through a door to the back of the store. I heard it lock behind me as my eyes adjusted to the dim light.

  “I’m here,” I heard a squeaky male voice call out.

  I glanced at a desk piled with papers and saw an old leather-backed swivel chair. A small man with fuzzy gray hair and a crisp white shirt and a black bow tie waved to me.

  “You’re Mort?”

  “In the flesh. You look just like Ryan described you. Welcome, please sit down.”

  “Thanks.” I took a seat in the vintage wood desk chair across from him.

  “Ryan said you might stop by. How’s he doing?”

  I never knew quite how to play that, but at least I expected the question. “I haven’t heard from him lately. I don’t want to say too much, but he left town under a bit of a cloud and it could be some time.” I felt like an asshole, but what else could I say?

  Mort pressed his lips together and nodded. “Always a gambler. I tried to tell him to rein it in.”

  “He’s never been big on taking advice.”

  Mort smiled. “He must have known something was coming. He told me so much about you. I’ve never heard him trust someone without question.”

  “He’s not as smart as he thinks.” I was relieved that the guy got the joke, even though it was true. He had a chirping laugh like a bird call.

  “Did he ever tell you what he did for me?”

  “No. I know some things, but mostly I’m learning as I go here.” That sure was no lie.

  “When you talk to him, tell him Jacob made honors again and he’s talking graduate school.”

  “Okay.”

  “My grandson. He almost didn’t get into U-Penn at all because of a stupid mistake on my part.”

  “What happened?”

  “Jacob borrowed my car one night and got pulled over, speeding I think, but the officer spotted something and asked to search the car. Jacob, bless him, had nothing to hide, or so he thought.”

  “Uh-oh.”

  “Yeah, uh-oh, the police found a loaded gun and arrested him.” Mort tapped himself on the chest. “It was mine. I’d forgotten all about it. Stupid, I know.”

  “Damn.”

  “A conviction would have wrecked his scholarship, maybe his acceptance. I felt awful.”

  “Sounds like things worked out.”

  “Thanks to Ryan. The lawyers wanted to talk about plea bargains, but Ryan told me not to worry, that he knew someone who owed him a favor. Poof. Charges dropped.” Mort brushed his palms together. “He wouldn’t take money, just said I owed him one and that was that.”

  “That’s Ryan.”

  “Yup, but enough history. How can I help you today?”

  “He said if I needed to move some things to come see you.”

  “Say no more. What have you got?”

  “Watches and a few rings.” I’d worn a heavy leather coat with deep pockets and brought only a portion of Bishop’s stash. He’d told me to spread it around, so this seemed like the safest approach and I didn’t want to wander up and down Pawn Shop Row with a briefcase.

  Mort already had his jeweler’s loupe out and was examining the watches. “Submariner, Oyster and a very nice President.” He glanced up. “Are they on a list?”

  “A list?”

  “A hot sheet? Reported to the police?”

  I hesitated. “Not as far as I know.”

  “I can see you are still learning.” Mort smiled. “It’s kind of a myth that pawnshops are full of swag. Stolen goods. We’d get run out of business and probably straight to prison.”

  “But Ryan—”

  “Is a special case, and because he said you are to receive all accommodation, so are you. But understand.” His smile dried up. “Never send me anyone. This is for you alone. Maybe I know some people as well. You notice we are talking back here and not at the front counter.”

  “I did pick up on that, yes.” Now I felt like this was a big mistake. “Maybe I shouldn’t have come. I don’t have any paperwork for these and I can’t vouch for them.”

  Mort held up his hand. “I can check on the items myself. If they’re dirty I’ll know and handle it accordingly. I will have to adjust the payout, of course,”

  “Sure. I’ll leave you my number.”

  “I have it.”

  “You do?” How much had Ryan told him, anyway?

  He nodded. “Ryan always brought the outlaw in me back from the past. He never burned me. Don’t worry, I won’t get hurt on these. But only come to me.”

  That raised a question. “About that. I have some more, but there are some others on my list.”

  “I bet I could name them all. I just meant for when you come here. That’s a smart approach, just make sure you stick with only the ones Ryan told you to see.” Mort scribbled furiously on a piece of paper. “Give me a minute.” He got up and went through another door deeper into the shop.

  When he returned, he stepped over to me and the top of his head barely came up to my neck. He handed me an envelope thick with bills. “Count it here before you leave,” he said.

  I pocketed it. “Trust is a two-way street, Mort.” We shook hands.

  * * *

  And so it went. I’d reload my coat with more of Bishop’s ill-gotten gains and make my way to the next store on the list. Each place was different, some dark and close, others wide, bright and expansive. But the ritual was very similar. Invariably, I’d ask for the person on the list and once I gave my name (and Ryan’s) I’d be escorted to a back room like a long-lost pal and greeted by the owner. They came in different shapes and sizes and all had stories of ways that Ryan had helped them. One mentioned unreasonable payments to the Irish Mob that Ryan had managed to get lowered. I couldn’t imagine what I’d say to the O’Brien brothers that might pull off that trick, or even not get my teeth kicked in.

  Another insisted I thank Ryan for getting his daughter a translator job over in the Middle East. I wondered if Tom knew about that one. I’d have to ask him when he came back into town next week.

  Unlike Tom, who I couldn’t wait to see so I could get him out of my hair on his smuggler’s quest, I didn’t have the heart to tell these folks that this was a very temporary gig for me. As soon as I got out from under the contortions necessary to make sure Sandy was safe and everyone involved was satisfied, I was looking forward to just driving a truck where all I’d have to worry about was the occasional IED.

  * * *

  Fishtown, Rollie’s Place: Later that evening

  “How much?” Rollie asked after I told him of my adventures on Pawn Shop Row.

  I held the bag up. “Better than 60K. There’s gold in that thar gold,” I said. “The bank is closed, do you have somewhere safe to hide this? I’ll buy the first round at Kelly’s.”

  “Thirsty work, was it? Yeah, but make that the first couple.” Rollie took the bag and disappeared down to the basement.

  “Ready?” I said when he returned. I pulled on a light windbreaker.

  Rollie chose his leather bomber. “Yup, booby traps are all set.”

  Sometimes I couldn’t be sure if he was joking, but I figured the cash would be safe enough.

  * * *

  Fishtown, Kelly’s Korner

  The bar had several things going for it. The owner, Dave, was an old friend and the fact that the joint was within walking (or staggering) distance didn’t hurt. The place felt like a comfortable pair of shoes.

  As soon as we got inside Dave saw us and grabbed a pitcher, allowing us to head to toward the lights over the pool tables.

  Two hours and a couple pitchers later, Rollie was on the verge of taking me out in another game. He’d sandbagged for a few games and now moved in for the kill.

  “Once a sniper always a sniper, huh?” I’d met
Rollie right here over a year ago, and when Beth kicked me out of our house, he was the guy who offered to take me in.

  “Steady hands, what can I say? You should be ashamed of yourself, trying to hustle an old man out of his pension.” Rollie had sunk his last solid ball and set up the eight ball perfectly. But then he looked up from his cue stick. “Company.”

  I followed his gaze to see none other than Barnaby Jones, a.k.a. Mason Oliver, in the skinny flesh. He stood in the center of the room scanning the patrons until he spotted me.

  “Isn’t that the mope bothering your girl?” Rollie asked.

  “How the hell did he find us here?” I muttered.

  Barnaby didn’t even look at Rollie. “I need a word. Outside?”

  Rollie glanced at me and I gave a tiny head shake to let him know I’d be okay.

  “You got it.”

  It occurred to me this might not be the safest move. Barnaby was half my size, but I knew firsthand he had employees who packed guns.

  Barnaby led me just around the corner. I could see parked cars lining the streets and while we had relative privacy, there were people walking around.

  “What kind of game do you think you’re playing?”

  “Hold on. How’d you know to look for me here?” I was determined not to let him control this conversation.

  “You must think I’m stupid. You were poking around Strawberry Mansion.”

  That couldn’t be a lucky guess. Franklin must have helped him fit the pieces together. “Just trying to see how the other half lives. You ought to try it sometime. Some of them live like crap. Maybe if they had basic amenities, you know, that actually worked?”

  “What do you care? And who do you think you are to stick your nose in my business?”

  Heat crawled up my neck, the leading edge of a temper storm. “What, you don’t like it when someone has inconvenient information about you?”

  “A threat? What are you going to do, report code violations?”

  I remembered what Bishop had told me about the man in charge of inspections for that section of the city. “You’re into more than that. We both know it.”

  “So that’s what this is about. Did Sandy tell you she was all for our arrangement at first? She got cold feet, but I have detailed records of all the people she worked with.” Barnaby was too smug and it only pissed me off more. All at once I knew the best lever to play against him. It was like a pressure valve released the building fury in my chest.

  “She told me enough.” I let doubt creep into my voice. “You jacked up the rent over it.”

  “The rent never changed, she just opted out of another way to pay is all. And I made clear to her that throwing accusations around can lead to all sorts of backfire.”

  A powerful urge to punch him in the face melted when the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. I learned in the Sand Box to pay attention to those warnings. Barnaby wasn’t alone. Of course, he wasn’t.

  “Drop the rent back and leave her alone.”

  “Or?” He smirked at me. “You’ll make my lights come on at night? Open and close my garage door?”

  “Sorry your house got haunted.”

  “Not anymore.”

  I moved closer to the front of the bar while facing him. “I tried. But if you want to show how smart you are, Mr. Oliver, you might ponder what else someone might have learned in your system besides how to play with the pool heater.” I slipped back inside.

  Barnaby didn’t follow me back inside and I could swear that last remark hit a nerve. He wasn’t dumb and I couldn’t help but worry that I’d underestimated his toughness.

  The next move would have to be for keeps.

  Chapter 19

  Fishtown, Rollie’s Place: The next morning

  I half-expected to see Franklin or some other goon on the doorstep when I woke up to a thump, but it was just the Inquirer on that chilly morning. Even so, I was sure we hadn’t heard the last of Barnaby, which was okay because he for damn sure hadn’t heard the last of us.

  “Send Bishop my love.” Rollie plopped the bag of cash on the kitchen table, forcing me to grab my mug of coffee.

  “You could send it yourself, but he gets weird about surprises at meetings.”

  “You could have stopped at ‘gets weird’. He was already awake, I take it?”

  “I think I woke him up, but it’s funny how chipper people can be when you have wads of dough for them.”

  “I gotta do the gutters today. You going to be around to help?”

  “That’s my cue to make something up. But yeah, I do have somewhere to be after I meet with Bishop. Be good to get this out of our hands. Can you wait until this afternoon?”

  “Hey, if you’re too busy,” Rollie started.

  “Will you let me go up the ladder?”

  “You have a bad knee and weigh more than the Blue Bomber. Any other dumb questions?”

  “Yeah, why doesn’t a retired guy in his seventies hire somebody instead of climbing the walls like a kid in boot camp?”

  “Ladders are cake, try it with a full ruck and a rifle on your back.”

  “Just wait for me.” I wanted to avoid anything that could place him at risk, though he’d only get mad if I brought that up.

  * * *

  Media, PA

  Bishop had insisted that I use a burner phone and now that I’d chucked another cheap phone in the trash, I was off to meet him. Did they sell these things by the crate?

  This time he had me meet him in the parking lot of a community swimming pool, closed this time of year. He got out of his car carrying a briefcase identical to the one on the seat next to me.

  He got in my truck and tossed his case on top of mine. “Let’s roll.”

  “Good morning to you, too. Where are we going?” I put the truck into drive and eased onto the quite residential street.

  “Doesn’t matter. I just don’t want to sit there and have the neighbors think we’re on a date.”

  I tapped Bishop’s case. “More? How many of these will make us even?”

  “Depends. How’d you do?”

  “Over sixty. And they took all of it.” It was a ton of cash to me, but I had no idea if that was enough.

  “Okay for openers.” Bishop cracked a smile. “Kidding. I knew I was right to go this route. Nice job, your end is in the case. Six blanks, just like VP requested.”

  “So, we’re good?”

  “For this? Yeah. But I’d like to move some more down the road and if we’re even-up on favors, you can take a cash cut. Ten percent, same as Ryan got.”

  “That much? You’re joking,” I said. Six grand to chat up some of Ryan’s old pals? Not bad. Then again, damned costly if I got busted.

  “It’s still worth it. But between you and me, I prefer the favors.”

  “How many of those baubles do you have lying around?”

  “None of your fucking business,” he snapped. “Kyle, don’t ask people shit like that. It makes you sound like a rube. Or a rookie cop with a short life expectancy.”

  Adrenaline, half anger and half embarrassment, pulsed through me. “I am a rube and I didn’t want to do this crap in the first place.”

  “There wasn’t a gun at your head this time and wouldn’t be the next. With Ryan gone we all have to make adjustments.”

  “I wish I never worked with him in the first place.”

  “Hey, I wish my gut wasn’t so big that I can’t see my cock when I take a leak. What’s your point?”

  “This all feels like it could spin out of control any second.” I felt like I was just babbling.

  “Isn’t that half the fun? Besides, why are you complaining? You wanted to fix Barnaby’s wagon and be the knight in tarnished armor for your girl, and now you can.”

  “I guess you’re right. It’s just I didn’t seek this as a lifestyle. Ryan did. I just want to be a truck driver.”

  “Suuure. Who has to go all the way to the Sand Box to play dodge ’em with terrorists and wishes
he could beat the shit out of scammers without consequences.”

  “Gee Dad, when you put it like that, what’s a few more felonies?”

  “That’s the spirit,” Bishop said. “Take me back to the car, I’ve got a mattress that needs stuffing.”

  * * *

  Philadelphia Port

  While it felt great to get that cash off my hands, I still had those driver’s license blanks to get to VP. At least they were a lot less conspicuous. I’d catch up with her soon enough. She hadn’t seemed in too big of a hurry and now was a good time to check in with my real job.

  Delivergistics had offices here and in Virginia Beach. The mercenary stuff, especially the weapons and such, were stored south, but up here we housed more of the trucks and other equipment. My boss Cliff managed logistics for the company and the local office was down at the port where he could juggle assets and stick them on a train south if necessary. The cargo ships came practically to the door.

  I pulled to the guarded gate and flashed my ID to the guard. “Here to see Cliff.” He gave me a nod and went back to checking his phone. Things looked quiet.

  I parked and noticed a few trucks being moved. Not nearly enough for me to get called in. This was union work. They only looked the other way when we were too busy for them to staff it. How much they paid them off was well above my paygrade.

  Inside the converted tin-roofed repair building I said hello to a few people I knew slightly. Being one of the overseas workers meant most of my time was spent in country or at home. These folks were the faces behind the paperwork.

  Today, they all looked like they’d just come back from a funeral.

  Cliff’s door at the end of the hall was open and I saw him sitting at his desk with a couple manifest sheets, comparing lists.

  His thinning hair looked several shades grayer than just a few months ago. His face was drawn like he’d lost some weight. I knocked on the doorframe and he nearly jumped out of his chair.

  “Christ, Kyle, you trying to give me a heart attack?” He pointed to an empty chair in from of his desk.

  “I was in the area and thought I’d bug you in person this time.”

  “Good to see you. Wish it was under better conditions.” Before I could settle into the chair, Cliff pointed behind me. “Get the door?”