by A.R. Wise
Chapter One
A handsome man in a tailored suit sat at the bar, sipping a martini so cold it frosted the glass. His large hand delicately held the stem, and when he set the drink down he placed it on the lacquered bar instead of the coaster provided.
“I’m not an alcoholic,” he said to the young man standing beside him. “I’m just drunk all the time.”
The brute in the loose-fitting, department store mockery of men’s wear wasn’t amused, and his frown barely moved as he said, “The boss wants to see you, drunk or not.”
“Your boss,” said the man at the bar, pointing with two fingers up at the man sent to retrieve him. He winked and added, “Not mine.”
“Are you going to make this difficult?”
“My plans for the afternoon were pretty simple. You’re the one making things difficult.”
The enforcer nodded towards the drink and said, “Pay for that and let’s go.”
“You hear that music playing? That’s Etta James singing about watching her lover walk away with another woman, and how it hurts so bad that she’d rather go blind than see it.” He winced as if the music had the power to physically hurt him. “Now tell me, fellow, what could your boss possibly have to say to me that’s more important than letting her finish?”
“Song’s winding down.”
The man at the bar smiled and conceded the point with a lackadaisical nod. He repeated the phrase as if in appreciation, “Song’s winding down, but I’ve still got a martini and a cigar, and there’s always more songs.”
“You’re starting to get on my bad side, Mr. Pierce.”
“Yeah? Well then we’re on equal ground. Considering how little we like each other, maybe it’s best we go our separate ways.” He looked pleased with himself as he put his fresh cut, unlit cigar in his mouth and grinned. A new song came on before he had a chance to get out his lighter. “You hear that? What’d I tell you? There’s always another song. Who’s this? Otis Redding?”
The man with the slicked back hair and lazy excuse for a beard reached into the inside pocket of his brown blazer and took out a thick billfold packed with cards, cash, and torn edges of paper. He took out a five dollar bill and tossed it on the bar before glaring back down at the man he’d been sent to retrieve. “Let’s go.”
“Five dollars? What dive bar slums are you rotting away in that you’ve got it in your head a quality martini costs five dollars? And haven’t you ever heard of a tip?”
The enforcer took his wallet back out and grumbled as he got a few more dollars.
“Keep digging,” said Mr. Pierce. When the enforcer glowered at him, he shrugged and said, “Blame the economy.”
After taking out five singles, the enforcer began to get angry. He threw the money on the bar and the bills splayed out and nearly fell off the opposite side before they got caught in a ring of moisture left behind by the martini.
“Now let’s talk about a tip.”
“Give me that. It’s mine now.” The angry stranger took the martini and then dumped it in the rubber mat that was meant to catch any spills the bartender made while mixing drinks. The enforcer’s knuckles were scarred, probably from beating up a hundred other men his boss had sent him to visit. “You’re done, let’s go.”
“And here I thought this was the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”
“You thought wrong. Now get up before I get nasty.” The enforcer was young but strong, with wide shoulders and a barrel chest. He could easily best the middle-aged drunk at the bar if he needed to.
“Get your money,” Mr. Pierce said as he finally stood up from the stool and took out his money clip. He slid a twenty from the tightly folded bills and set it beneath the coaster. The enforcer picked up his wet dollars and shoved them back into his wallet as Mr. Pierce lit a cigar.
Lincoln walked to the entrance of the bar, where the afternoon sunshine was muted by amber glass. He puffed until the flame blackened the tip of his Churchill. Thick, pungent smoke filled the air as he waited for the other man to finish putting his money away.
“What’s your name, kid?”
“Bentley.”
“You’ve got a name like Bentley and you’re wearing that mockery of a suit? Hurry up and stuff that lunch money back between the Velcro so we can get on with this. I’ve got things to do.”
“It’s not Velcro,” said Bentley as showed Lincoln his wallet before stuffing it back into the inside pocket of his blazer, causing the front to bulge out even more than his ample chest already did.
“You’ve got an A-Class name with D-Class sensibilities, kid. Take that out of there.” He walked over to the young enforcer and reached in for the wallet. When Bentley resisted, Mr. Pierce hushed him and took the wallet out anyhow. “See this library book you call a wallet? Don’t ever put this in your coat pocket again. It bulges out like a third tit. Put that wallet in your pants with your keys and your phone, and not in your back pocket. Look at this thing. What are these?” He flicked the strips of paper poking out from the top of the wallet.
“They’re receipts.”
“Receipts? From when? No, don’t even answer that. I don’t care. All you need is your license, a credit card, and cash. The rest of this should stay at home. If your wallet’s thicker than your phone, you’re doing it wrong.” Lincoln noticed a gold chain poking out from beneath the enforcer’s collar. He pointed at it as he said, “And don’t wear a necklace when you’re wearing a tie. What’s the point of that? Didn’t your mother teach you how to dress?”
Bentley laughed and said, “My momma always said never trust a dapper man because all they’re dressing up is their demons.”
“Oh I’m sorry, is your momma the new authority on being a man?”
Bentley was without a comeback, and only frowned.
“I didn’t think so. If you want people to take you seriously then you’ve got to be the one to start.”
“Start what?
“Start taking yourself seriously. Are you even listening? No one in this whole world gives a shit about you until you make them. Except maybe your momma. But do yourself a favor and stop listening when she tells you how great you are as she’s tucking you in at night.”
Bentley practically growled his answer, “I don’t live with my momma.”
“No? So it was you who picked out that dime store cologne you took a bath in?”
Lincoln Pierce opened the door to Pearl Street and the sunshine momentarily blinded him. The tourists were out in force, their arms loaded with bags of knick-knacks they’d bought at the outdoor mall. The air was crisp, although it’d lost the early morning chill.
“Dan warned me about you,” said Bentley as he followed behind Lincoln.
“What sort of warning did he give you?”
“That you could be a difficult person to like.”
Lincoln snickered. “Me? That’s rich, especially coming from someone in your line of work.”
“You don’t know anything about me.”
“You work for Daniel Barr, right?” asked Lincoln. “And judging by those penny loafers on your feet, you’re not concerned with impressing anyone. That means you’re either low-level and don’t know any better or you’re lazy and couldn’t care less. Mr. Barr’s not the sort of man who surrounds himself with corner hustlers, but he needs a certain amount of muscle. My guess is he threw a couple hundred bucks your way to leave a shitty job as a bouncer at a strip joint and come work for him. Then you had to dig in your closet to pull out the last thing you wore to a funeral. Am I right, or am I overestimating?”
Bentley didn’t answer, but Lincoln’s comment had clearly stung. The young man walked silently beside Lincoln as they headed west. They weren’t far from their destination, but the blazing sunshine on the warm fall day still had long enough to make them uncomfortable before they reached the office. The ground floor of the office building was taken up by a restaurant and a tequila bar, and they had to walk between the two businesses to get into the wid
e, open lobby that looked up at the glass walls of the second floor offices. From there they passed the elevators and took the stairs up to where Mr. Barr was watching from behind the glass walls. He was short and stocky, with black hair that still looked wet from the product that kept it in place. Daniel Barr was the type of man who wore pinky rings as thick as knuckles, and tipped everyone who would accept the money. His smile was never a good indicator of what he was really thinking.
“You’re late,” said Mr. Barr as he held the door open for Lincoln and Bentley, smiling like always.
“Considering I never wanted to see you again, I figure I’m getting here ahead of schedule.”
“Lincoln, that’s no way to talk to one of your oldest, dearest friends.”
“You’re right,” said Lincoln as he walked into the office. “I’ll keep that in mind the next time I see one.”
“What did I tell you, Bentley?” asked Mr. Barr as his associate came in after Lincoln. “Is he a world class asshole or what?”
The office was empty except for them. It was the weekend, and the fabric-walled cubicles that stretched the length of the second floor were dark, abandoned by their employees. During a weekday this office would buzz with telephone conversations as Lincoln’s sales force plied their wares, but on this Sunday he was forced to meet with the man he’d hoped to never hear from again.
“Why are you here, Dan?” asked Lincoln as curls of smoke rose from his cigar.
“You want to get right to business?” asked Daniel as he walked over to the large conference table that preceded the cubicles. This was where the office manager would meet with the salespeople each morning to discuss goals and recent successes. There were two closed offices near the conference table, but the vast majority of the time everyone was on the phone in their open cubicles, which was referred to as the ‘salesfloor.’
“I was enjoying my day before now,” said Lincoln as he sat at the conference table across from Daniel. “I’d like to get back to it as soon as possible.”
“Enjoying your day,” said Daniel with a smarmy grin and a sarcastic roll of his eyes. “Drinking yourself to an early grave is what you’re doing.”
“I’ll get there in my own time.” Lincoln slid an empty coffee cup closer to him so that he had a place to flick his ashes. “Let’s cut to the chase. What do you want?”
“Two things,” said Daniel as he leaned back as far as the office chair would allow. “First off, I wanted to let you know that I’ve rented the space across the hall from you.” He pointed through the glass wall behind him. There was a hallway that separated Lincoln’s area from another similar office that had formerly been rented by a real estate company. It was now vacant, and had been for a few months.
“The whole thing.” Daniel pointed from the front of the building to the back.
“What for?”
“I couldn’t pass up the chance to have an office on Pearl Street. The food around here is outstanding.” He rubbed his pudgy hand over his dress shirt, and his pinky ring clacked against his pearlescent buttons. “And your operation is a moneymaker if I’ve ever seen one. I want to help you make the most of what you’ve got here.”
“I’m not looking to expand.”
“Sure you are. You just don’t know it yet.” Daniel turned to face Bentley. The young enforcer was still standing, his arms crossed as he leaned against the glass wall separating them from the hallway between the offices. “Bentley, did Mr. Pierce tell you what he does for a living here?”
Bentley shook his head. “Nope.”
Daniel turned back to face Lincoln, smirking with his wormy lips. “He’s a damn genius is what he is. He’s practically printing money on the backs of little old grandmas. Isn’t that right, Lincoln?”
“No, that’s not right.” Lincoln flicked his cigar, sending a wide hunk of ash into the cup.
“It all started with some sweet old lady he knew who used to knit things for his daughter. Hats, gloves, scarves, that sort of thing. People loved them. They kept asking where he bought them. Lincoln convinced the lady to sell her stuff online. He got a friend to help her set up an internet store, and before you knew it she was moving more than she could make. That’s what got our friend here thinking, because that’s the kind of shark he is. Wheels always turning in that head of his. He decided to quit his old job and live off the money he made helping people sell stuff online and to gift shops around the country. All they have to do is sign away some of the profits to Lincoln, and he handles the rest. Isn’t that right? And last I heard, you were up to a thousand clients. Am I right?”
“We’ve got more than four thousand now.”
Danny whistled and shook his head in appreciation. “Damn, that’s incredible. And to think it all got started with a little girl’s cancer.” He looked over at Bentley and said, “Lincoln asked me for a cash infusion to get the ball rolling and to help with some medical bills, and now he’s living the good life as his army of grannies knit their fingers bloody. It’s a crazy world we live in.”
“You run little old ladies like a sweat shop in here?” asked Bentley.
“No,” said Lincoln. “This is a sales office. We build the sites and take the orders, and the little old ladies stay home with their grandkids and knit. It’s a win-win.”
“With certain parties winning a little more than others,” said Daniel with a wink. “Am I right?”
“We do a lot more than sell knitted gloves these days. Everyone who works with me makes a good living. I’m not taking advantage of anyone,” said Lincoln.
“No, of course not. I’m sure you’re earning your cut down at the bar.”
“What does this have to do with you renting the office next door?” asked Lincoln as he grew tired of their conversation.
“I like your business model, and I want to duplicate it…” Daniel wavered his hand and squinted. “With a few tweaks of my own.”
“What for?” asked Lincoln. “I have trouble believing you want in on the Etsy craft market because you’re passionate about knitted booties.”
“I can be passionate about anything when untraceable transactions are involved.”
Lincoln sat up straighter as he sensed the reason Daniel had insisted on the meeting. “You can’t launder money online. There’s a virtual paper trail a mile long.”
“That’s not true anymore, my friend. I’ve got my fair share of cash friendly businesses that help my clients keep their books in order, but when you funnel too much money through those kinds of places you run the risk of a stakeout. There’s nothing the IRS likes more than an excuse to send out a suit with a calculator to spy on people like me. Your thing here though, it’s got potential. Some of the guys I work with figured out a way to use online currency to make everything nice and neat for us. They can send in a hundred orders from a hundred different locations in a matter of seconds if they want. Trouble is, they need to have something to spend the money on that doesn’t raise red flags.” Daniel reached into his pocket and produced a pair of knitted gloves that he tossed onto the table. The gloves slid across the slick top and stopped at the side of Lincoln’s cup. “Recognize those?”
Lincoln looked at the hand-made gloves with the distinctive pattern of waving lines and snowflakes. “You bought a pair of Barb’s gloves?”
“It’s insane how much she charges for those. Thirty bucks! And it can take up to a month for them to ship out,” said Daniel. “It’s almost like she’s an artist in demand. I’m no economics expert, but I know a little something about supply and demand. If something like that became popular, there’s no telling how high she could drive her price. And if all we’re shipping out is empty boxes, then she doesn’t even need to step up production.”
“You can’t be serious,” said Lincoln. “You’re going to drag a bunch of little old ladies into a life of crime? I don’t think so.”
“They don’t have to know a thing about it. You’re the one who handles the sales and shipping. As far as they’re co
ncerned, nothing has to change at all. We can transfer a few hundred of your current accounts over to the new sales group across the hall and no one has to be the wiser about what we’re…”
“No way,” said Lincoln as he emphatically shook his head. “Not a chance. The people in this office aren’t getting dragged into your world. I told you when we started this that I wasn’t going to have anything to do with your business. Sorry, Dan, but you’re going to have to find someone else to take on this little scheme of yours.”
“This is happening, with or without you,” said Daniel. “The same investor who paid for you to open this office is renting the space across the hall, doing the same thing you’re doing here. Now either you help us put it together right, or I’m going to have someone else try to fumble their way through it, and if they screw things up then you’re going to be implicated right along with the rest of us. Before you know it, you’ll have the IRS knocking on the doors of all those little old ladies working for you. Imagine how betrayed they’re going to feel when they find out the nice man who convinced them to let him handle the sales side of their business is actually a mobbed-up drug peddler laundering money with their hard work. That’s not what you want, is it?”
“A drug-peddler, huh?” asked Lincoln, his annoyance bordering on fury.
Daniel raised his hands as if in surrender. “Hey, I’m not saying that’s the line of work I’m in, but some of the folks I deal with have got their hands in all sorts of things. I’m the money man. That’s all. I don’t ask questions about the people who give me their money. But if the IRS comes snooping around, I guarantee they’ll link all of us to whatever shady businesses my friends are associated with. That might include drug dealers and mob guys. You never can tell.”
“Never can tell, right. Why the hell are you doing this to me?” asked Lincoln. “I haven’t done anything but make you money.”
“I know, and now you’re going to help me make some more. Listen, pal, I wouldn’t be doing this if I didn’t have to. There are some changes happening around here that I’ve got to be proactive about. Some of my other money laundering outfits are closing shop, and I’ve got to come up with some new fronts real quick. This is my best option right now. I’m not asking for charity out of you, Lincoln. You’ll get a cut.”
“I don’t want your money.”
“Of course you do,” said Daniel with confidence. “That’s why we’re friends.”
Lincoln’s cigar smoldered between his fingers as he glared across the table at Mr. Barr. He tried to think of a way out of this, but couldn’t come up with anything. If Daniel wanted to start an identical business across the hall, Lincoln couldn’t stop him, and the fact that they were linked would be hard for the cops to overlook if things went bad.
“Why don’t we come up with a new business model? Something completely different from this one. That way we’re not dragging anyone in who doesn’t deserve it.”
“If you can come up with something, I’d be willing to entertain it. What were you thinking?”
Lincoln shook his head and looked down at the cigar. “I don’t know, but I’ll figure something out.”
“Then we’ll move ahead as planned until you do. My nephew will bring in the office equipment next week. I want him to spend time with you. You can mentor him a little. You know, like you used to do back before you opened this office.” Daniel looked over his shoulder at Bentley and then back at Lincoln. “It’ll be good for both of you.”
“You’re his nephew?” asked Lincoln.
Daniel answered for Bentley, “He sure is. He’s my little brother’s oldest, and he’s looking to join the business. Isn’t that right, kid? His dad sent him to me to try and shape him up a little. I figured, who better to help him out than the famous Lincoln Pierce?”
“I don’t do charity cases.”
Daniel laughed and then said, “He’s not a bad kid. He’s just got no direction in his life. I want Bentley to manage the new office for me, and I want you to teach him the tricks of the trade. You two can be my little used car dealership.”
Lincoln looked puzzled.
“I got me a Bentley and a Lincoln,” said Danny, amused. “Next I’ll hire some Asian kid named Mitsubishi and we’ll be set.” He laughed heartily at his own joke. “Benny’ll be here bright and early Monday morning, and he’s going to keep me up to date with how things are going. Don’t disappoint me, Lincoln. I’ve got some associates who are real interested in getting this operation up and running fast. I’m looking forward to working with you again.”
“That makes one of us,” said Lincoln as he stamped his cigar out on the top of the conference table.
