Short Cut (The Reluctant Hustler Book 2)

by J. Gregory Smith

  “Sure.” I stepped over and closed it.

  “How’s the knee?”

  “Fine. Itching to work a clutch, you know?”

  “You and every other driver. I wish I had better news.”

  “Do you have any? That you can share? I can keep a secret.”

  He gave a thin smile. “Most of it won’t be secret long. The papers have a few details wrong, but the gist of the whole investigation is heading us into a ditch.” He took off his glasses and cleaned them with his shirt.

  “The papers make it sound like we’re a goons-for-hire mercenary gang run amok,” I said.

  “The longer this goes on, the more it looks like they have a point, at least about one group of the operations.”

  “Last I heard it was still allegations.”

  “You didn’t hear it from me, but it seems like they are zeroing in on a few individuals with a history of this.”

  “You’re not just talking about the Market Square Massacre, are you?”

  Cliff shook his head. “Once that story broke many more allegations popped up. Some were nothing.” He paused.

  “But others?”

  “They’re still gathering whatever hard evidence they can find—which is not much—but it doesn’t look good, Kyle.”

  “Shit. We’ve all read about how one of our security squads went berserk while on convoy. I know it can’t be like what they say, that they opened fire on a crowd for no reason, but that doesn’t make it a good shoot either. What other stuff have you heard?”

  “Enough that it looks like someone on our side popped off without justification and the rest of it went down fast,” he said. “Too many bodies for anyone to ignore and the Iraqi government is demanding some scalps.”

  “So, our guys get thrown under the bus?”

  “Like I said, this incident opened up other fresh investigations, and I have to say there may be a pattern.”

  “You think we slaughter locals for the hell of it?”

  “I never said that,” Cliff said. “You may not work in the security division, but you know better than I how rough it can get out there. And I back our guys unless there’s an ironclad reason to doubt them.” He dropped his gaze. “Not a word,” he whispered.

  “What?”

  “The more they looked, the more they found, but not with most teams. One group had almost ten times the fatal incidents. I hear that was because they always volunteered for the hairiest missions.”

  “Spear-tip Company?”

  “The press will love that one. Amazing that nickname hasn’t leaked yet. It will soon. Yeah. And the reports explain a lot of what happened and stress that the men in Spear-tip Company are very good at shooting back.”

  “But—”

  “But marksmanship alone doesn’t explain everything. You never heard this here, but I understand they discovered several cases where the victims never fired their weapons.”

  “How’d they know?”

  “Fired AKs at the scene, only once they looked for them, no fingerprints. Nearby, a kid found a buried stash of rifles. Same number as the victims, and their fingerprints on the stocks. Unfired. As if the other guns had been planted on the corpses.”

  “Holy shit.” I thought about it. “But isn’t that good? They have the guys they suspect and that’s not the whole company. We sure as hell had nothing to do with it.”

  “Nobody is looking to throw us in jail, but if the case keeps building like this the company is going to be crushed.”

  “Why aren’t the killers arrested and then they pay the price?”

  “They are building the case, but the local prosecutors will pounce on a chance to get Delivergistics booted out of the country. Sued into oblivion too, if they can.”

  “When I came in here, I was looking for a quick yes or no about work picking up,” I said. “You know how to cheer a guy up.”

  “I’m in the same boat. Maybe this looks worse than it is. They’ll get the bad actors and the show will go on,” he said. “If this goes in the shitter, we’ll need drivers over there and back here to offload the gear and move it. Maybe to an auction block.”

  “Not the kind of overtime I was hoping for, boss,” I said.

  “You and me both. Look on the bright side.”

  “There is one?”

  “Maybe the hard asses will confess and take all the heat for themselves.”

  I inhaled and puffed out my cheeks to show Cliff I’d be holding my breath for that.

  Chapter 20

  Fishtown, Ryan’s House: Two days later.

  Still no work calls from Cliff and I was almost ready to check with Bishop to see if he had any trinkets, just to break the monotony. Rollie made me feel like a teenager by suggesting that I could help him with chores around the house if I was bored. Of course I pitched in, but I was itching for some movement, if only to meet with VP and get those driver’s license blanks out of my hands. But she’d stalled, told me to wait until she’d earned her pay.

  I got the sense she didn’t like going out in public more than necessary. She also didn’t like talking on the phone, which made life difficult. I was accumulating a stash of burner phones and it was a pain in the ass keeping track of all the damn numbers.

  She finally called me back and I picked the squawking phone from the row of bland flip-tops. “Where have you been?”

  “The Bahamas, working on my tan.”

  “Hilarious. Are you ready to meet up or what?”

  “What. Definitely what. Are you driving right now?”

  “Nope, I’m home. What’s going on?”

  Her voice sounded strained and tense. “It looks like our guy isn’t taking things lying down,” she said.

  “I hadn’t heard from him since he confronted me at Kelly’s, so I figured he must be up to something.”

  “Yup. He changed all his passwords, but I had that covered. My bug sent the new ones to me. He tried to delete the records of all the bogus clients, but I already got those.”

  “Are you getting anything new?”

  “Hard to say. He’s really cryptic online. He always was, it looks like, but he has moved some money around. I’d say he’s spooked.”

  “What did he say?”

  “It was more what he didn’t say. He reached out to some contacts and only asked them to call. Otherwise most of the old activity is shutting down.”

  “Any ideas on what that could mean?”

  “My guess is he might be rebuilding a new system, one I can’t see, and since he still has this one, he’s trying to plant a tracer to catch me. I also think he might be looking to reach out to some muscle.”

  “Be careful.” The last thing I wanted was to bring heat on her directly.

  “Same to you. He knows you. I play with some of the best corporate cyber security teams just for practice. I’ll see him coming if he tries to back-trace me.”

  “I think we have what we need already,” I said. “You can bail on the hack if you want.”

  “Yeah, we have plenty to get him in hot water. I have all the contact information and the stuff from the doctor, who so far is clueless to his hack. I’ve got everything ready for a dead drop remailer to the media and any authorities you want. The insurance company would also probably be interested. Hard copies and electronic versions all covered with their IP addresses.”

  “Can you get me a copy and hold off on dropping the bomb until I try something?”

  “Sure, why?”

  “I may have a way to keep Sandy out of it and avoid official entanglements that might have authorities asking too many questions.”

  “Do you mean about where she got this info?” she asked.

  “Something like that.”

  “Don’t worry about me. I’m expert at staying out of sight.” She sounded confident.

  “I’m sure,” I hoped I hadn’t insulted her.

  “One thing,” she said.

  “Shoot.”

  “Don’t wait too long. This in
fo is a weapon, but the more Barnaby pokes around you and your, um, life, the harder it will be to hit him without getting caught up in the blast.”

  She made a good point. If I wanted mutual destruction all I had to do was go back to plan “A” for Ass-kicking. “Fair enough. Give me a day and I’ll either talk to you or if not, turn the key and launch all missiles.”

  “With pleasure.” She sounded like she was about to hang up.

  “Wait, how do I get your payment to you?”

  “With some goon on your tail? You don’t. Later. I know where you live.” This time she did hang up.

  * * *

  I reached Sandy at home. She sounded a little surprised to hear from me. I called sometimes, but usually I’d work in my small talk during physical therapy sessions.

  “What’s up?”

  “This is going to sound strange, but is there any way you can call out sick for maybe a week?”

  “You’re right, it does, especially since you know I’m a sole practitioner. Unless you have tickets to Paris?” She sounded like she was smiling.

  “If I did, would you take the week?”

  “What’s really going on?” Not smiling.

  “Your situation with Barnaby.”

  “What did you do?”

  I wanted to deny, but that wouldn’t be fair and was no way to build in any future relationship.

  “I did some digging, and found out he’s not what he seems.”

  “What is he?”

  “He’s every bit the scammer you found out, but he’s also a rich slumlord with a mansion and apparently another life under his real name of Mason Oliver.”

  “Sounds like more than a little digging. How do you know this?”

  “It’s a long story, but remember my friend Ryan, the guy from the neighborhood I work with over in Iraq?”

  “Charming, too slick, that one?”

  “That’s him. He had a lot of side hustles, lots of contacts, and he left town leaving me to help him tie up some loose ends. He forgot to tell me, but I had to help him anyway.”

  “Why and what’s that got to do with me?” The tension in her voice elevated the pitch.

  “I’m going along because some innocent people would get hurt if Ryan didn’t keep his promises. That’s not important right now. What matters is that he put me in touch with some people who were able to do the kind of digging I never could.”

  “You don’t need to do any of this.”

  “Well, I did. I also checked this guy’s properties myself, and you should see the way these families were living. They can’t complain or they might lose where they live or even get deported. See? He’s got them boxed in, like he’s got you.”

  “What are you going to do? Call in a favor and get him beat up?”

  “Of course not.” I didn’t add that I’d enjoy doing that one myself. “My contact got evidence that, used properly, will solve your problem for good.”

  “If that means getting him busted, then your solution will get me swept up in the crowd. Or had you forgotten?” Now anger lowered her tone.

  “Of course not, and if my plan works that won’t happen. But he may feel cornered for a time and I don’t want him to, um, lash out.”

  “Yeah? And you expect me to just hide? Well, if you really have all that evidence and want to help me, just give it to me and I’ll turn it in and make a deal. Maybe they’ll take it easy on a first offender.”

  I’d been afraid of that, and as much as I admired her courage, I still didn’t know what this guy was capable of doing in a pinch.

  “Please don’t do that. I’ll make him understand this wasn’t your idea and whatever happens to him is on him, not because of you.”

  “Kyle, don’t be stupid. He won’t believe it anyway. The way you talk, he already knows something is up,”

  “I’m sorry. You’re right, and I just did to you what Ryan has been doing to me.”

  I figured this would be the part where she hung up on me. There was a long pause and I almost thought that she had.

  “You said you had a plan. Tell me everything.”

  So I did.

  Chapter 21

  Fishtown, Rollie’s place: The next day

  I helped Rollie clean up after breakfast. It took longer because I kept going to the front of the narrow house to peer out the front window. The cramped street was lined with cars I recognized belonging to neighbors.

  Parking in the city was always a bitch, but at times like this it was helpful, as it made stakeouts a pain in the ass for outsiders.

  “Remind me not to start any long-winded war stories,” Rollie said as I walked back into the kitchen. “You’re jumpier than usual.”

  “Okay out back?” I asked, not for the first time. I’d relayed that VP had warned me that Barnaby might be looking to sic some hired muscle on us, but he didn’t seem spooked by it.

  “No. Last night the wind blew more hemlock leaves from the Andersons’. I swear I’m going on a stealth mission of my own to cut that fucking thing down.”

  “I’ll get them later and put the bag on their doorstep,” I joked.

  “Nah, we’ll toss it out of the Blue Bomber into Barnaby’s pool.” Rollie chuckled. “How long do I have to look over my shoulder this time? I’m old, you know, and my neck gets stiff.”

  “VP should be sending her e-mails out to her media contacts soon. Something tells me Barnaby is going to be working this weekend.”

  “Think that’ll be enough to call off the dogs?”

  “He wanted escalation, he got it,” I said. “I could have tried a shot across the bow by showing him a little of what we have.”

  “Warning shots are for dead men or POWs,” Rollie said. “That shitbird doesn’t seem like the type to take hints. Tip your hand and he’ll figure a way to wriggle out.”

  “You’re right. Better to be subtle as a two-by-four.”

  Thump!

  The sound came from the basement.

  “What was that?” Rollie asked.

  “You doing laundry?” The old machine had its moods.

  “Nope.” Rollie opened a cupboard and reached high. When he turned around, he had his old slab-sided .45. He pulled back the slide and confirmed the gun was loaded, then crept to the door leading to the cramped basement.

  I killed the kitchen light and followed close behind while Rollie opened the door slowly and listened.

  Nothing at first, then a soft shuffling sound.

  Rollie moved faster than I expected and in a blink the old guy was down the stairs and pointing the weapon in a solid two-handed grip. “I see you back there. Hands right now, asshole!” His voice would have done a drill instructor proud.

  “Don’t shoot,” said a muffled voice.

  “I said hands,” Rollie boomed as I tried to hurry down the stairs without wrecking my knee. “Ah, shit.”

  I got to the bottom and saw Rollie appear to relax some. At the other end of the room, wedged between the wall and the washer, was Tom, looking anything but serene.

  Cool air blew in from the tiny cellar window that was still open. One pane had been carefully removed. Tom must have pried some lattice free and crawled under the back deck to reach the window.

  “Son, just what the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

  “I’m back.”

  “Did you see a ‘no dwarves’ sign out front? That door works.”

  “No time for jokes, mate. We need to talk. All of us.”

  Rollie flicked the safety on the pistol and shoved the gun in his waistband. “Upstairs. We’ll talk all right, and then you’re going to fix my damn window.”

  * * *

  Tom peered out at the street in front of the house like he’d caught my paranoid bug.

  “Sit down,” I said.

  “Have you seen anyone watching?”

  “Why would you think we might be watched?” Rollie and I shared a look. “And what’s with the cat burglar entrance?”

  “Sorry, I didn’t
mean to spook you,” Tom said to Rollie. “What have you seen?”

  “Nothing yet. We think a private eye is scoping us, but how would you know about that?”

  “I don’t. The merch is on the way,” Tom said.

  “Okay, but weren’t you going to call us first?”

  “No chance. I had to sneak out of Iraq and land far away from Philly.” Tom rubbed the back of his neck.

  “Back up. You said the stuff for Mr. Beautiful is on the way?”

  “Yes. But things are a little more complicated.”

  “Here we go,” Rollie said.

  “Hold on,” I said to Tom. “Let me save you some time. Those are your complications, not mine. We’ve got more than enough on our plate. It sounds like you’ve been through a lot and I think you deserve all the reward.”

  “No, you don’t—”

  “Hush. I’ve thought about it and whatever my end was, don’t even worry about it. And hang on to Ryan’s. If you’re ready, I’ll line up the contacts and make sure they’ll work with you. But that’s as far as I’m going.”

  “Mate, I’d love to indulge you, but you haven’t got a choice.” Tom pointed to Rollie. “Neither have you, and for that I am truly sorry.”

  “How’s that?” Rollie said.

  “When I returned to Iraq, I got word that our plans had leaked to some people who decided to poach the stones.”

  I felt a sinking in my gut. “Who?”

  “Grist and Mauser.”

  “You’ve got to be shitting me.” Now I felt like I was going to puke.

  “Friends of yours?” Rollie said.

  “Definitely not,” I said. “They’re the security contractors who are the focus of the investigations that may take down the company. Almost as sneaky as they are brutal. I know them by reputation and because they took point for some of our hairiest convoy runs. Grist is the ranking officer, ex-intel, tough and mean. Mauser is a brick wall of a guy, just as tough and downright cruel. A true predator.”

  “It’s more than that,” Tom said. “Ryan and I worked with them on some side hustles. As you say, right good lads to have on your side when your back is against the wall,” he added.

  “I wasn’t part of any of that.”

  “No. And once Ryan and I saw just how rough they could be, we decided we didn’t need that sort of heat and we stopped working with them. There were enough hustles to go around and we stayed out of each other’s way.”