Shark's Instinct (Shark Santoyo Crime Series Book 1)

by Bethany Maines

  Tall Jimmy let the smoke out in a trickle. He rarely spoke to her. Unlike Tonya, Peri didn’t think he actively disliked her. She had the feeling that he found her troubling. They usually circled each other warily.

  “You can’t have him. He gots to do some shit for me. Errands and what not.”

  And there it was. Trey really was doing errands for Tall Jimmy. She hadn’t wanted to believe it when Shark said it. If nothing else, it was too embarrassing that Shark had known about it before she had. She’d been worried about this since the day he and Tonya had moved in with Tall Jimmy. But she had really thought Trey would tell her.

  “I’ll go along,” said Peri.

  Tall Jimmy looked at her. They both knew what kind of errands he wanted Trey to do. “Up to you,” said Jimmy. He turned and looked into the house. “Trey! Get your ass down here!”

  “I’m still looking for the keys,” said Trey, coming into the room. “I can’t find the spare set.” He looked up, saw Peri, and immediately looked guilty. “Hey! I thought you said you couldn’t hang today?”

  “Changed my mind.”

  “Bitches do that,” said Jimmy.

  “Jimmy!” protested Trey. “Please don’t call my girlfriend a bitch.”

  “They all bitches,” said Jimmy. “And she’s cool with it. Right?” He turned to Peri, daring her to argue. Peri did mind, but Jimmy had a habit of throwing out Trey’s belongings when there was friction. That was why Trey kept most of his shoes at school. After the third pair had been set on fire, he’d gotten the hint.

  “It’s fine,” said Peri.

  “Jimmy,” said a woman, coming into the living room. She had enormous door knocker earrings and a black eye. “I was going to go to the grocery store. Can I get some cash? Do you want anything?”

  “Yeah, a new ass,” said Jimmy. “I’m tired of yours always being broke.”

  Peri saw Trey’s face tighten in mute anger. “I need keys,” said Trey pulling the focus back to himself. “If you want me to drive your car—I need the spare set of keys.”

  “Your moms had them the last I saw. Why don’t you ask her?”

  “You could ask her if you ever went to visit,” snapped Trey.

  Jimmy snatched up an empty beer bottle and threw it at Trey. Trey ducked and the bottle smashed against the wall. “The keys are fucking on the table. Bitch,” he pointed to the woman with the black eye, “clean that shit up before you go.”

  Trey grabbed the keys and ran out of the house, pulling Peri with him to the green Cadillac. “I just have to do some stuff for Jimmy,” said Trey as they got in. “Then we can go back to your house.”

  “How long have you been doing stuff for your uncle, Trey?” asked Peri.

  He concentrated on backing the car out of the driveway and didn’t answer.

  “Trey?”

  “A couple of months,” he said at last. “What am I supposed to do? He pays all of mom’s medical bills. If it weren’t for him, we’d be homeless. And it’s not anything… big. I just drop stuff off places.”

  Peri sighed. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “So that you could do what?” He sounded hopeless. “It’s not like you can fix this. You can’t make my mom better.”

  “Trey, if you get caught doing anything, no matter how small, your shot at Stanford evaporates.”

  “You think I don’t know that? But hell, Stanford’s probably a pipe dream anyway. We can’t afford it. And Jimmy’s definitely not going to pay for college. But you know, it’s OK. With all my Running Start credits I’m going to graduate with an AA, and I’m going to be eighteen in like four months. I can get a job and I can move out and I can get loans and go to the University in the city and it’ll be OK. I just have to make it a little bit longer.”

  Peri felt her chest tighten in anger as she listened to Trey downgrade his dreams. Their entire lives he’d talked about Stanford. She remembered lying on the back porch with Trey and Vicki and listening to Trey telling Vicki how he was going to be a doctor. They laid on the hot wood, all of them still wet from the sprinkler, and stared up into the cloudless summer afternoon sky. Trey was going to go to Stanford and be a doctor. He was going to go to Stanford, be a doctor, drive a sports car and be part of Doctors Without Borders. And also have a dog that would fetch things. Vicki had laughed and made fun of the fact that Stanford didn’t have a mascot. Peri remembered the way Vicki’s red curls had bounced as she laughed, spraying water with each chuckle. They had been eleven. Two years later Vicki would be dead. And now six years later Trey was about to let his dream die.

  Peri looked at Trey. They had known each other since they were five. He’d been there when the soldiers came to talk to her mom about Dad. He’d been there to put up the posters when Vicki went missing. He’d been there so much and so often that he was like the wallpaper of her life. She found herself examining the tiny dimple on his cheek. She hadn’t seen the dimples much recently.

  Peri opened her mouth and realized that just like when Vicki had died that there wasn’t anything she could say. “We’ll think of something,” she said. “You’ll go to Stanford.”

  “Yeah, that’s what my mom says,” he said. “But so far no brilliant ideas have been forthcoming.”

  “I’ll think of something.”

  “It’s not down to you,” said Trey.

  Peri looked out the window. What was she supposed to say to that? Who else was there?

  Wednesday ~ October 18

  6

  Shark: Rolling Thunder Lanes

  Shark had Peri wait at the bar while the Fives and Blue Street came in. They had agreed that would be better. She was drinking another cherry Coke. Zip was babysitting and being a jackass about it, crashing glasses around behind the bar. Shark caught Marko shooting an annoyed glare in Zip’s direction. Everyone else ignored them, except for Domingo, who looked relieved when he saw her.

  “All right,” Shark began when they were gathered. “Most of you know that the recent change in leadership was due to a… shortfall in the take.”

  On his left, Two Tone, leader of the Fives, was impassive. Paper, his ‘fro half-picked out, looked annoyed. Nobody threw their hand up and admitted to being in on Big Paulie’s scam.

  “Obviously,” Shark continued, “the main problem has been taken care of.” Because Big Paulie was dead, but that didn’t need to be stated. “But management is looking at this territory very carefully. I’m here to assist you in getting your houses in order.” Paper looked even more irked, obviously not persuaded that his house needed cleaning. “After reviewing the situation, it’s clear that there are a number of problems and several opportunities.”

  They waited. They wanted to know what his grand plan was. “Most of you are aware that Blue Street is having troubles with 38th Street. We’re going to have the Ukrainians take care of that.”

  “I don’t see any Ukrainians here,” said Two Tone. “How’re you going to manage that?”

  Two Tone was a squat barrel-chested man, with thinning red hair, eyes set too close together, and a broken front tooth that gave him a feral appearance. He radiated low levels of meanness—Shark didn’t know him well enough to discern if that was the way he had to be to deal with his clientele, or if he really was that much of a dick.

  “We’re going to hit their stash house on Jackson. We’re going to take their money and we’re going to frame Tall Jimmy. Then we’re going to let the Ukrainians take out Tall Jimmy and the rest of the 38th Street crew. The key here is that I need shooters. There can’t be anyone left alive at the stash house. It needs to be a clean sweep.”

  The Fives looked at Two Tone. Once he nodded, they all followed suit.

  “What’s the split on the take?” demanded Paper.

  “No split,” said Shark. “It goes straight to management. Consider it a housecleaning fee.”

 
“That ain’t right,” Paper protested. “And what about afterwards when those goddamn Russians try and push into my territory?” Shark could tell he was posturing up for the Fives. He was the small fry playing to the big fish.

  “I’ve got that covered,” Shark told him. “Don’t worry about it.”

  “Fuck you! I don’t need to do any fancy covert ops. We do all the work and you think you can just take all the—”

  Shark cut him off by shoving the table into his gut. The men at the table scattered like roaches. That was a good sign, that meant Paper didn’t have any backing. Shark jumped on the table, and then off the other side, driving his fist into Paper’s face on the way down. He grabbed him by the hair and kneed him in the face. By now Paper was out, but he punched him twice more for emphasis before letting him fall back onto the floor.

  Peri handed him a towel from the bar and he wiped blood off his knuckles. She was still carrying her Coke in her other hand.

  “Someone should pick him up before he drowns in his own nose blood,” she said, taking a slurp of soda. She gestured to two of the Blue Street guys, and then stopped. “Unless you want him to drown in nose blood?”

  As if on cue, Paper wheezed and coughed in a gurgling rattle. His crew looked scared shitless.

  “I don’t actually give a shit,” Shark said.

  “Well, I do,” said Marko, leaning over Paper. “I don’t want him bleeding on the carpet.”

  “It does look like it would be a bitch to clean,” agreed Peri, scuffing a toe over the nap of the carpet.

  “You two.” Marko pointed at two of the Blue Street contingent. “Take him into the kitchen. And don’t even get me started on the carpet,” he said, turning back to Peri. “Last time I had to call in crime scene specialists.”

  “Really? Who’d you use, Alpha or Triple Clean, if you don’t mind my asking?”

  Marko waved this off. “Never Alpha. Triple Clean every time.”

  Peri nodded seriously. “Good to know. Because last time I had to deal with some brain matter, it took forever.”

  “Yeah, that shit sticks to everything. I’ll give you their card. Ask for Ramone. Tell him I sent you and he’ll give you a deal.”

  “I’d really appreciate that!”

  “You two want to exchange recipe cards?” interrupted Shark harshly.

  Marko and Peri blinked like deer in headlights.

  “I don’t give out my recipes,” Marko blurted out.

  “I don’t cook,” said Peri.

  Shark stared at them for a long moment, working to maintain his poker face. He pointed to Paper’s vacated spot at the table and they shuffled into position, pretending to be appropriately cowed. Zip was hovering in the background trying to look useful, which was a stretch for his talents. Shark wondered if he could send him back to Geier.

  “As I was saying,” said Shark. “We’re going to take out the stash house on Jackson and we’re going to put the finger on 38th Street for it.”

  “All right,” Two Tone said, managing to project a calm authority that settled the Fives. “I’m with you. Tell us how to put the frame on 38th Street.”

  “Two crews. Crew one takes out the stash house. Crew two steals Tall Jimmy’s car and does a drive-by with it after crew one is done. Something loud, obvious, and leaving plenty of witnesses. Then we’re going to put the car back. If the Ukrainians can’t put two and two together, then we’ll need a reliable snitch to call Andriy and put the fix in.”

  “Yeah. Don’t get me wrong, I love this plan,” said Two Tone, again hitting the Daddy knows best vibe. “But the car is a problem. I got guys that can steal cars, but putting it back… Someone’s going to notice the damage. Tall Jimmy has a pretty good relationship with the Ukrainians. He could figure out what happened and weasel out of it. What do we do about that?”

  Shark hadn’t known the word condescending until he read it in a Playboy article, but he’d felt it all his life. Two Tone practically dripped with it. In previous times, he would have attacked him like he’d attacked Paper. But he was smarter now. “That is where my consultant comes in,” said Shark. He gestured to Peri and they all turned to stare.

  Shark felt a flutter of nervousness. The table was full of heavy hitters. What if the girl cracked under the pressure? A lot was riding on her being the badass that she claimed to be.

  She took a long pull of cherry Coke before speaking. “On Friday night, everyone will be out of the house because Tall Jimmy will be entertaining Lola Von Huse in the upstairs bedroom.”

  There was a groan from around the room. Everyone had seen the posters; the porn starlet/stripper had been advertising her tour stop here for weeks.

  “Tall Jimmy has also just taken possession of a recent shipment of Ms. Von Huse’s favorite,” continued Peri. “Blueberry Yum Yum.”

  “Sounds like a nice night,” said Two Tone, understatement of the year. “Doesn’t answer the problem with the car.”

  Peri produced a set of keys and tossed them onto the table.

  Two Tone picked them up. “You telling me that these are Tall Jimmy’s?”

  “Tall Jimmy still has his keys. This is a duplicate set.”

  “But this is a legit set of keys. The alarm fob would have to match. You can only get those from a dealer.”

  “That is correct,” she said.

  Two Tone looked from her to the keys and back again. “Yeah, but how’d you get them?”

  Peri tapped the straw on the side of the glass. She sucked the Coke down until made the air sucking noise at the bottom of the glass. “I waved my magic wand,” she said, tapping the straw on the side of the glass.

  There was a snicker from around the table. Two Tone looked at Shark. “I like your consultant.”

  Shark felt the hair on the back of his neck go up. “I like when problems get solved,” said Shark. “Given the parameters, can you put some teams together?”

  Two Tone was nodding. “Blue Street is more familiar with the neighborhood. They should do the car. I’ll send one of my guys along to make sure it goes smoothly.”

  “I want you to go with them,” Shark said.

  Two Tone looked uncertain—his tongue flicked out and ran over the edge of his broken tooth. “The stash house is… you’ll need someone with experience.”

  “I’m going to the stash house. The consultant is going to act as decoy.”

  Two Tone still looked like he wanted to argue, but then shrugged and smiled. “If you’re going, then it should work fine. I’ll pick out some guys.”

  7

  Shark: Rolling Thunder Lanes

  “I think that went well,” Peregrine said, picking up her sweatshirt, a nondescript navy zip-up hoodie, from the barstool. Marko was showing their guests out. Zip was messing around somewhere.

  “Did you really ever clean up brain matter?” Shark asked.

  “Oh my God!” Her shoulders flopped forward and her whole spine slumped in disgust. The sweatshirt that she’d barely pulled on slid down her arms. “That was the worst! I mean, it was raccoon brains, and don’t ask how they got on the ceiling.”

  He smiled. “That I can figure out. What I’m wondering is how did a raccoon end up in the house?”

  “It was running from the fire.”

  “Intriguing.”

  Peri laughed. “It wasn’t as exciting as it sounds. But long story short, some people shouldn’t be allowed to handle firearms.” She checked her phone and he saw that it was nearly nine o’clock.

  “Isn’t your mom going to be worried about you?” he asked. He had been assuming that suburban teenagers were locked in their rooms after dark. How was she getting away with this?

  “No. She stays in the city a couple of nights a week with her boyfriend.” When Shark frowned, she added, “You look like you disapprove.”

  “Isn’t it unsaf
e to let you wander around at all hours?”

  “Unsafe for who, though?” she asked. She reached over and took his drink.

  “Well, the raccoons, for one.”

  She laughed again, even as she scrunched her face at the taste of the alcohol. “Look, the number-one trouble for a girl with a single mom is mommy’s boyfriend. Either he’s a pervy creeper or he’s annoyed that the kid exists. Mom and I talked about it. We decided that it’s better this way. And of course, it’s more convenient for me.” Her phone beeped. He saw Treyvonne’s face pop up with the message: popcorn or Doritos? She whipped off a quick reply: popcorn.

  She was about to put the phone down when another text came through with a blank user icon and a much longer message. She frowned and held the phone at a more guarded angle to read the message.

  “I have to go catch my bus,” she told him, tucking the phone away.

  “Let me get my jacket. I’ll give you a ride home.”

  Her eyes narrowed, seeming to think about it. “That would be cool. Thanks.” The phone beeped again and she hauled it back out, frowning.

  Shark headed for the office. Zip was standing in the doorway of the kitchen, his rayon track suit, reflecting in the overhead lights. “Sixteen,” Zip leered.

  “Ease up, Zip.” snapped Shark. “She’s a fucking kid and I’m not stupid.”

  Zip gave him a smug grin. “Said every man, everywhere.” He didn’t wait for Shark to reply, but headed back to the kitchen, his pants making little zip-zip noises as he walked.

  Shark glanced back at Peri, who was texting and attempting to marshal her cocoa-colored hair into a ponytail at the same time.

  “I’m not that stupid,” he muttered to himself.

  8

  Shark: The Charger

  Peri fastened her seat belt. “Can we stop at Wendy’s? They’ve got five chicken nuggets for a buck.”

  “I’ll buy you dinner that doesn’t cost a buck,” he said, turning the ignition.

  “I pay for my own food, thank you, and I can afford more than a buck. I just happen to like their nuggets.”