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

by Bethany Maines

  “That’s like liking the taste of Taco Bell. Nobody that isn’t fucked up likes Taco Bell.”

  “Not true,” she said. “Well, I mean, it’s true about Taco Bell, but Wendy’s has actual chicken in their nuggets.”

  “Wendy’s is white people food.”

  “Well, uh…” she pointed at herself. “Also, they have Frostys.”

  He stared at her. He had the feeling he was being played. “OK, we can go to Wendy’s, but you’re buying me a Frosty.”

  They pulled up to the drive-thru and the speaker spat out a static stream of gibberish.

  “Speaker’s down again. Don’t worry. I got this.” Resting a hand on his shoulder, she leaned in front of him to yell out the window, “Cerise, it’s Peri! Give me the usual and an extra Frosty!”

  This was met with a blast of static that sounded affirmative. Shark pulled forward.

  A black girl who looked about twenty with a staggering tower of braids woven with strands of blue came to the window. Her nails were done, but clipped short—Shark would have expected a longer manicure with that hair.

  The girl looked in muted surprise at Shark. Addressing Peri she said, “That’ll be seven eighty-five.”

  Peri unclipped her seat belt and crawled across Shark’s lap. She kept touching to a minimum, her hands barely grazing over his thighs, and put the premium on visuals with her ass right in his face as she leaned out the window. Now he knew he was being played. That didn’t stop him from enjoying the fact that she smelled like flowers. It wasn’t a strong scent—she hadn’t doused herself in perfume. It was just the hint of something floral that made him want to inhale. She handed Cerise a handful of cash that Shark clocked at about two hundred, assuming that he was looking at fifties.

  Cerise took it without a ripple crossing her face and handed over the bag of food. “Thank you for coming to Wendy’s. Frostys will just be a moment.”

  As soon as Shark had pulled back onto the street, Peri dove into the bag, pulling out napkins, straws, spoons, and something else that went directly into her pocket. It was smoothly done, but he had a few years on her. The important items out of the way, she leaned back and rebuckled. He jammed a straw forcefully into his Frosty. She watched him, and ate fries.

  “I didn’t appreciate that.”

  “Not any of it?” she asked, as if genuinely curious.

  “I don’t like being lied to,” he clarified. The straw had no effect; he couldn’t get any Frosty through it.

  She shook her head, looking amused, and took the cup out of his hand. “You’re doing it wrong. And I didn’t lie to you.” She took the lid off, carefully licked the straw, and set it down on the pile of napkins. “I just didn’t tell you everything. I left you plausible deniability.”

  “That’s bullshit. You used me and my car as an accessory to a crime. I didn’t get to choose what kind of danger I just put myself in.”

  She winced. “I wouldn’t put you in any danger. I don’t do that. It wasn’t actually a crime. I just…” she sighed. “What we’re doing isn’t the only thing I’m working on this week. I’m in a little bit of a time crunch.”

  “Blow it off,” he told her. “You’ve got to have priorities.”

  “No,” she said firmly. “Once I take a job, I finish the job. Call it a company policy.”

  “Then figure it out or ask for help. I’m not playing around over here.”

  “And you think I am? You think because I’m in high school my shit’s not as important as yours?”

  They glared at each other.

  “That isn’t what I said.” He softened his tone. “But we can’t afford to get this wrong.” She made a face like she didn’t want to admit he was right. “And, not to sound like remix, but I really don’t like being lied to.”

  She looked down at the Frosty in her hands. “I’m sorry,” she sighed. “I failed to adjust for the over-eighteen factor. It’s not an excuse, but I’m used to dealing with kids.”

  “You failed to adjust for the he’s already done time factor as well. It carries different risks and a wider knowledge base.”

  She looked genuinely unhappy. It was always hard to discover that you weren’t the smartest person in the car.

  “Also,” he told her, “you need to be smoother with the hand-off.”

  “Really? I thought that was pretty good.” She took out a spoon and dug it into the ice cream in the cup.

  “The actual exchange was OK, but I’ve seen tail before. You can’t rely on it as a distractor, particularly for older guys.”

  She absentmindedly took a spoonful of his Frosty, a thoughtful look in her eyes. That didn’t bode well for the next person she tried this on. “Would more contact help?” she asked. “As a distractor, I mean.”

  The answer was yes, but there was no scenario in which that conversation didn’t go wrong. “Give me my damn Frosty and tell me what we just did.”

  “Cerise is my go-to for programming and computer-related shit. I have a client who is being blackmailed with some sexts. Cerise has whipped me up a little something to destroy the blackmailer’s hard drive. So what we just did was the purchase of intellectual property—not a crime,” she said pointedly, and held a spoonful of Frosty out for him.

  “What about his phone?” he asked around the mouthful of ice cream.

  “I’m on it. But I need to make sure that the computer gets wiped and I need to make sure his cloud storage gets deleted too. The timing has to be pretty simultaneous tomorrow, so I needed to pick up the virus tonight.” She held out another spoonful. “It’s also good if you dip fries in it.”

  “The virus?”

  “The Frosty.”

  He stopped at a light and took the shake away from her. “Suburbs are weird.”

  “Just try it,” she said, dipping a fry into his shake and holding it to his mouth.

  He bit into it, accidentally licked a little bit of ice cream off her fingers. “I’m not admitting that’s good.”

  “And I’m not admitting to the planning of a felony. But sometimes these things are just out there and everyone in, say, the car, knows about them.”

  He tried not to laugh, almost managed it. The light turned green.

  “Anyway. Sorry.” She didn’t sound excessively sorry.

  “Yeah, well, try that shit again and I’m going to make you ride in the back.” He knew that had not come out believably threatening.

  “Great, I always wanted a driver.” She was biting her lip trying to hold back a smile, her eyes sparkling.

  “I meant the trunk,” he said, but couldn’t stop from smiling back.

  She giggled and dug into her bag of chicken nuggets. He noticed that she was careful to manage the trash, minimizing its impact on his car.

  “You worried about Friday?” he asked, when she’d been quiet too long.

  She heaved a sigh. “Yes. I mean, I think it’ll be fine. And I felt a lot better when you decided to send Two Tone with them. Unless I should be worried about Two Tone? But I don’t think he’s got an angle here, so it should be fine. I’m just worried that maybe using Jimmy’s car is, like, one level too far. But, I mean, it really sells it when you can get multiple eyewitnesses to say what you need them to say. I think it’s a good plan. But these guys aren’t my guys. So, I don’t know…” she turned to look at him. “What?”

  “I meant,” he said, pulling up in front of her house, “are you worried about your part on Friday?”

  “Oh. That. Nah. I go, I chat cute and distract the lookout until you get there. It’s not exactly rocket science. Little bit worried about packing heat, I guess. That’s not my usual thing.” Her expression changed as she realized where they were. “I never told you where I lived.”

  “I made inquiries after you came to see me. You’re not the only one who can do recon. Also, you should really get you
r mom to dial down her privacy settings.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Do you know how many times I’ve had to go in and reset her stuff? I swear if I weren’t around she’d be an identity theft victim every other month.”

  “About the gun thing. I think you should come to the bowling alley tomorrow and have a shooting lesson.”

  Her eyes widened and she sat up straighter. “Really?”

  “Oh God, it really isn’t cars.”

  She went still. “What d’you mean.”

  He leaned over, too far into her personal space. “I have a .357 Magnum revolver, want to see it?”

  Her lips parted and he could smell her cherry Chapstick. “Yes.” She paused, then licked her lips. “I mean, like, whatever. I mean, no.”

  “Yes, you do.”

  She blinked.

  He took one of her fries, then retreated back into his space. “You like big guns.”

  She gave a dignified sniff. “I am not turned on by guns. I’m just interested in how they work.”

  “Sure, how they work.” He grinned and dipped a fry into his Frosty.

  “Fine,” she said, reaching for the door handle.

  “Come on, Peregrine. Don’t be mad.”

  “I don’t like…”

  “Losing?” he suggested.

  “Being that easy to read,” she said, relaxing back into the seat. “I don’t like that you’ve got my number.”

  “You think I like it that you’re not scared of me?”

  Her hazel eyes registered surprise. “I’m not a threat to you, and I’m not standing between you and something you want. Why would I be scared?”

  “Everyone else is,” he shrugged.

  “Mmph. Everyone else thinks you’re unpredictable.”

  “And being predictable is supposed to make me feel better?”

  “No, I mean they think you act without logic. Whereas I find you surprising, but also incredibly logical. Which, in my experience, is rare. But it annoys me that I’m not equally surprising to you.”

  Shark took a deep breath, suddenly realizing how far he’d swum into the shallows. Jailbait girls weren’t supposed to be this smart or easy to talk to. He wasn’t prepared to be talking about anything real. This was dangerous territory, and he took a moment to figure out how he wanted to navigate the next turn.

  Her phone, next to her on the seat, buzzed and lit up, showing Treyvonne’s face. “Popcorn time?” asked Shark, feeling a flash of hostility toward her boyfriend.

  “We’re supposed to go over his biology paper tonight,” she said, not answering the phone.

  “Time crunch,” he said. “I get it. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  She collected her belongings. Her face had shut down. “I’ll come by after fourth period.”

  Whatever moment they’d been having had passed.

  Thursday ~ October 19

  9

  Peregrine: Ashley

  “Are you sure about this, Peri?” asked Ashley, looking nervously at Liam Jefferies across the quad.

  “He said that if you didn’t give him a blow job, he’d send your picture to every guy in his address book, right?”

  Ashley nodded miserably. “This is my fault. Why did I ever take those stupid pictures?”

  “This is not your fault,” said Peri. “Liam is blackmailing you for sexual favors. That’s rape.” Ashley blinked at her in surprise. “It’s a coerced sexual act. Legally that’s rape.”

  “But I took the pictures.”

  “So what? The second you can’t say no, is the second that it crossed a line. Now, are you clear on the plan?”

  “I say I want to talk to him,” repeated Ashley. “I take him to the bathroom. I get him to take down his pants.”

  “And I do the rest,” said Peri. “OK, wait until you see me go into the bathroom before you go over to him.”

  Ashley nodded. Mentally Peri crossed her fingers. Ashley was a pink cheeked, blue eyed, piece of candy fluff who drifted through classes in baby doll dresses and rainbow colored footwear. She didn’t seem to have much backbone.

  “You can do this,” said Peri. “You don’t deserve to be treated like this and you have every right to protect yourself.”

  Ashley’s chin came up. “Yeah,” she said, sounding more resolute. “I do.”

  “OK,” said Peri. “Just get him into the bathroom and everything will be fine.”

  Ashley nodded again, this time more firmly.

  Peri jogged over to the girl’s bathroom. She and Ashley had decided ahead of time that the girl’s bathroom was better. Always cleaner if nothing else. Peri checked the stalls and stood by the door. A freshman tried to come in and Peri stared her down. Finally, she saw Ashley and Liam heading toward the bathroom. Liam put his arm around Ashley and flicked his head like a horse, sending his floppy brown hair swooping over his eye just so. Peri had always wanted to punch him based simply on his hair.

  This morning when she’d broken into his house, aside from uploading Cerise’s malware onto his computer and cleaning out everything—including all of his homework assignments—on his cloud storage, she’d also taken the time to mix his shampoo with hair remover. Ashley hadn’t requested that, but Peri figured she’d throw it in for free.

  Peri ducked into the first stall and braced herself between the walls, feet up.

  “You really want to do this here?” asked Liam, sounding a scandalized, but also keyed up.

  “Yeah,” said Ashley, making a pretense of checking the stalls. Peri winked at her as she opened the door. “Doesn’t being at school make it more exciting?”

  “Yeah, I guess so,” said Liam, dropping his bag. “So, uh, in the stall or…”

  “Right here,” said Ashley. “There’s more room. Take your pants off.”

  “What if someone comes in?”

  There was a dragging sound as Ashley moved the garbage can, presumably in front of the door. “Don’t tell me you’re chicken?”

  Peri heard him unzip his pants. There was a clunk and from her vantage point she saw his phone slide from his back pocket and onto the floor.

  “Underwear too,” said Ashley, sounding imperious. Peri counted to ten and stepped out of the stall. Liam gaped as she hit burst mode on her phone. Ashley scooped up his phone as he scrambled, trying to pull up his underwear and pants. Liam screamed angrily at them as Ashley pushed the garbage can out of the way and sprinted out of the bathroom. He waddled, still struggling with his pants toward Peri, but tripped and fell over.

  Peri put down the phone and leaned over him. “Come near her again and I’ll make sure you get tagged as a sexual predator and have to register with the police.” Startled he looked up from trying to do up his pants and zipped too aggressively.

  “Ahhhhhhh!!!” Liam bellowed as he zipped some of his nuts into his pants and Peri took a few more pictures, laughing.

  Ashley already had his phone out of the case and was smashing it with a rock by the time Peri found her at the edge of the parking lot.

  “Hey Peri,” said Domingo, walking in from the parking lot. Peri guessed that he had been making some sales over lunch.

  “Hey D,” said Peri. They watched as Ashley brought the rock down again with an angry yell.

  “I’ve got some lighter fluid in the car if you want to burn it,” offered Domingo.

  Ashley brushed a fly-away strand of blonde hair out of her face, looking up at Domingo. Peri could tell Domingo was impressed. It was hard not to be. Ashley with a wind effect looked like a romantic heroine in need of rescue. “I would really like that. Thank you.”

  Domingo looked at Peri who shrugged. Burning couldn’t hurt. He jogged back to the car, and Ashley stood up, breathing heavily.

  “Thank you for this, Peri. If there’s anything I can do for you, just let me know.”

&n
bsp; “Can you get me out of PE?” asked Peri, half-joking. “That shit is a waste of my life.”

  “Yes,” said Ashley, nodding. “But you’d have to join drill team with me.”

  Domingo returned with a hot cigarette lighter from the car and a bottle of lighter fluid. “We really burning shit?” he asked looking at the girls.

  “God yes,” said Ashley. “I want it to go boom.”

  10

  Shark: The Warehouse

  The thing that no one understood about being a gang leader was seating. Businessmen had offices. When they called a meeting, it happened in a conference room. Calling a meeting of capos got awkward if you didn’t have a big enough apartment, or own a restaurant you could shut down at will. And if you intend to shoot people periodically, then the furniture-replacement bill could get out of hand.

  Geier had chosen to invest in real estate and a staging business and usually called meetings in his warehouse, where all of the staging furniture was stored. It was stocked with boxes and large racks of shelving, but in the center was a large open space. When Geier held a meeting it was staged with a variety of his furniture, usually on some sort of theme.

  Shark thought that today’s theme was probably Hipster Elegance. The side tables were made of mirrors, the seating was all uncomfortable but looked like it wasn’t supposed to be, and there were sculptural vintage signs placed around. Ten or so chairs and loveseats were occupied by the territory bosses, while the bodyguards loitered around, trying to figure out how to look cool standing next to a giant letter A. Shark could usually tell when someone was going to get whacked because the furniture that got put out was black. Today he was sitting on a light tan leather loveseat. The odds were in his favor.

  He was distinctly aware that the other territory bosses hated him right now. He’d had to run the gauntlet of their hard stares when he’d walked in. The settled order of The Organization was disrupted by his presence—he knew that. He was also aware that Geier was reveling in the disruption and hatred.

  “Well, what’s your report, Shark? What are you thinking?” asked Geier, carrying a glass from the bar cart and settling into his own chair. Geier always provided drinks—he called it an IQ test to see who could hold their liquor without saying anything stupid. Shark was currently nursing two fingers of whiskey that he probably wouldn’t finish.