The Shadow Broker (Mr. Finn Book 1)

by Trace Conger

  Mitch stuffed the keys in his pocket. “Thanks.” He reached into Jackie’s boat and grabbed her red purse. “I’ll take this, too. It’s shiny and looks expensive and the missus got a birthday coming up.”

  “You’re a true gentleman. Tell Dottie I said hello.”

  “I’ll do that,” he said.

  “And I’ll tell Dad you said hi.”

  “Tell him I said he’s an asshole.”

  He fired up his motor, slapped the throttle forward and started off across the water as I slowly fed the towline into the lake behind him.

  BISHOP LOOKED OUT THE WINDOW in the rear of the RV to survey the parking lot before he returned to his laptop on the kitchen table. Fat Sam climbed aboard the RV and the shocks creaked.

  “You hungry, Bishop?” he said. “I was thinking about making a dinner run.”

  “It’s three o’clock,” said Bishop.

  Fat Sam waited. “Early dinner then,” he said.

  “Fine,” said Bishop. “Where are you going?”

  “That Chinese restaurant across the street.”

  “The one in the strip mall?”

  “I’ve never seen a Chinese restaurant that wasn’t in a strip mall,” said Fat Sam.

  Bishop looked over his laptop screen. “Okay, go ahead.”

  “You want me to get you something?”

  “No, I’m good.”

  Fat Sam stepped off the RV and the vehicle leveled.

  Bishop returned to his laptop but noticed Fat Sam hadn’t shut the RV door. He pushed the laptop across the table, almost sending it onto the floor, walked through the kitchen and into the front part of the RV. He almost made it to the driver’s seat when Little Freddie came up the front entry.

  “Hello, Bishop.”

  “Where the fuck you been?”

  “I had to take care of something. Where’s Wallace?”

  Bishop turned around and walked back to the table. “According to the phone call I got yesterday, he’s dead.”

  “Finn got him?”

  Bishop sat down. “Fucking guess so. Now, where was it you said you were, Freddie?”

  “I needed to get out of town. Feds and all.”

  “Next time you might want to warn me when you plan to disappear. Finn’s on his way back to Cincinnati. I want everyone here when he gets back. It’s time to end this.”

  Little Freddie stepped closer. “What about the Feds?” he said.

  “Don’t worry about the Feds. Focus on Finn. We need to close the loop on this.”

  Little Freddie took another step forward. “That’s why I’m here, Bishop. To close the loop.”

  “What the fuck you talking about?”

  “I’m out,” said Little Freddie.

  Bishop moved his laptop to the side of the table. “Out? You work for me, and I need you here.”

  “I don’t work for anyone. And that includes you.”

  “What’s this about?”

  “Family. I’m not going after Finn’s wife and kid. And I’m not waiting around for Dunbar to slice my dick off or the Feds to come knocking on my door. I’m cashing out.”

  Bishop slammed his hands on the table and stood up. “This is bullshit, Freddie. You’re making this thing bigger than it is. I’ve got it all under control.”

  “Tell that to Wallace.” Little Freddie pulled his 9mm from inside his jacket. “Where’s your cash, Bishop?”

  Bishop stepped backwards. “Are you out of your mind?”

  “Nope. I figure you brought this heat on me, so you’re going to pay me to go away. Where is it?”

  “Go fuck yourself.”

  “This is how it’s going to go down,” said Little Freddie. “Give me what you have stashed here, I walk off this RV and you never see me again. If you don’t give it to me, I’ll shoot you and you’ll still never see me again.”

  “Okay,” Bishop said, walking forward.

  “Stay right there. Don’t need you going for a piece. Just tell me where the money is.”

  Bishop hesitated. “Kitchen cabinets,” he said. “Lower right.”

  Little Freddie backed toward the kitchen cabinets. He kicked the lower right cabinet open, training his 9mm on Bishop. He glanced at the open cabinet just long enough to see the metal door and digital combination lock. “Combination?”

  “Forty-two-eighty.”

  Little Freddie kept his eyes on Bishop and used his fingers to count out and press the numbers on the keypad. Each key beeped as he pressed it. He turned the handle, and the door swung open. Little Freddie grabbed the duffle from the safe, glanced in to make sure he had everything and then returned his focus to Bishop. He set the duffle on the table in front of Bishop and rifled through the stacks of bills.

  “This all you got on board?”

  Bishop sat back down at the table. “That’s almost two hundred grand,” he said. “It’s enough.”

  Little Freddie zipped up the duffle and walked backward up the aisle to the front of the RV.

  “You walk out of here with that and you’re a dead man. If Dunbar and the Feds don’t find you, I will.”

  Little Freddie thought for a moment. “I know.” He squeezed the trigger and fired five rounds into Bishop’s upper chest. The shots sent Bishop backward into the bench cushion. After the last round hit, Bishop slumped to the side and slunk onto the floor under the table. Little Freddie grabbed Bishop’s cell phone from the kitchen table and stepped off the RV.

  MY PHONE RANG SOMEWHERE NEAR Allentown, Pennsylvania. Bishop’s number.

  “Bishop’s dead,” said Little Freddie. “I already called it in, so stay away from his RV.”

  “You beat me to it,” I said. “I’m a day out.”

  “Bishop said you were on your way back. I left something for you at Union Terminal.”

  “What?”

  “A bag of money. Figured Bishop owed us both for all the shit he brought our way. I split it down the middle. Fifty-fifty. Go to the first-floor men’s bathroom. Last stall on the left. I marked a ceiling tile with a red marker. Lift the tile and you’ll find a locker key. Lockers are on the lower level lobby. Outside the Ruthven Gallery.”

  “A bag of money? Can’t say I expected that from you. Why didn’t you keep it all for yourself?”

  “Don’t get too excited. You’re only getting half. You kept me out of the FBI’s investigation. Dunbar, too. Felt I owed you for that.”

  “Thanks, Freddie.”

  “Finn, I’m you in five years. And I’d rather not be. Take the cash and do what you have to do to make things right.”

  “I will.”

  “It always catches up to you. Every fucking time.” He hung up the line.

  I ARRIVED AT BROOKE’S HOUSE on Tuesday morning. I thought about making the trip from Maine in one shot but changed my mind in Wheeling, West Virginia and stopped for the night. The return trip felt lighter, thanks to Little Freddie’s phone call. My to-do list grew shorter by the day.

  The FBI would be pissed that their case against Bishop was as cold as his liver temperature. Special Agent Anders would think I pulled the trigger, so I withdrew cash from an ATM in Allentown, making sure the camera caught my beaming smile. I also charged my hotel stay in Wheeling and a fill-up in Zanesville, Ohio, so the Feds could track my route. Nowhere near Cincinnati.

  Brooke sat on the front porch with her coffee when I pulled into the driveway and parked behind the Range Rover. The Mercedes was gone. Her jeans couldn’t compete with her yoga pants, but she still looked good. She stood as I climbed out of the car.

  “How was the weekend getaway?” I said. “Everything you thought and more?”

  “It was okay, but I’m glad to be back home.”

  “Only okay? I thought this was going to be the most wonderful trip ever. The romantic getaway I could never conjure up.”

  “Me too,” she said. “Guess I built it up too much. Expectations can be a bitch.” She sipped her coffee. “What about your trip?”

  “Met ever
y expectation I had. And a few I didn’t have.” Albert and Becca’s laughter barreled through the screen door and made me smile. Brooke stared into the depths of her black coffee.

  I looked at her hand. “Half thought you’d come back with an engagement ring on that finger.”

  “He didn’t ask,” she paused. “Not yet.”

  “I’m sure it’s coming,” I said. “You going to say yes?”

  “Don’t know.”

  “Then, why are you with him?”

  She swirled the cup in her hand. “He makes me feel safe, Finn. Do you know how hard it is to be with someone ... who has to drive across the country because someone’s after them?”

  “It wasn’t—”

  She cut me off. “Do you know how hard it is to live with someone like you? What it’s like to wonder if someone was going to put two in your back because you found the wrong guy? Not a week went by when some EMT burst through the hospital doors yelling ‘gunshot’ that I didn’t think it was you.”

  “I’m fine. You don’t have to worry about that.”

  “After this weekend, you can really look me in the eye and believe your own bullshit?”

  She was right. I did have a hard time believing it. More risk, more reward. It started with Masterson Medical, and that gig took my license and my ability to make a living. The other jobs followed out of necessity. Those gigs ran the moral fiber out of my soul and ran Brooke out of my life.

  She sipped her coffee. “That’s what I have with Daryl. I know he’s going to come home every night. He’s going to walk in that door and be with his family whether we’re married or not. He’s not going to bleed to death in a back alley somewhere.” She took another drink. “He’s going to come home, Finn. He’s always going to come home.”

  She sipped her coffee again as Albert burst out of the house.

  “I thought I heard your voice, Son. Good trip?” he asked as he walked past me. He headed to the SUV and checked the back seat through the window, probably looking for his plastic bin. He walked back and slapped me on my shoulder. “Nice work, kid. Glad everything went well. Everything.”

  Albert headed for the house when Brooke grabbed his arm and yanked him back next to me. Her arm bar almost took the old man down. Her face was blank. No smile. No frown.

  “I want you two to understand something. I don’t know what exactly happened this weekend, and I don’t think I want to know, but if you ever put my family in danger, or give me any reason to think we’re in danger, I’ll murder you both myself. And they’ll never find the bodies. I promise.” She didn’t take her eyes off me. Albert nodded and headed back into the house.

  “I’ll get my bag,” said Albert. “I’m sure this fine young thing here is ready to spend some time with her daughter without me around.”

  Albert disappeared into the house and returned a minute later with his bag and Becca by his side.

  “Hi, Daddy,” she said.

  “Hello, sweetheart. Did you take it easy on your old grandpa here?”

  Albert jostled the bag in his hand. “I’m not that old,” he said.

  “Yes you are, Grandpa,” said Becca. “We had a lot of fun. He made pancakes this morning.”

  I knelt down and hugged Becca. “He always flipped a mean pancake,” I said. “Daddy’s got to get Grandpa home. We’ve got a lot to do today. But I’ll see you in a few days. We’ll go out for pizza again.”

  She smiled. “Can Grandpa come?”

  “I couldn’t keep him away even if I wanted to.” Brooke put her right arm around Becca and ushered her inside.

  “Take care you two,” she said. “And remember what I said. I mean it.” Brooke and Becca went into the house and closed the door as Albert leaned toward me.

  “You’re lucky your wife doesn’t know your friend Wallace stopped by on Friday. She’d cut both our balls off.”

  “Ex-wife,” I said.

  Albert and I were almost to the SUV, when he turned and ran to the side yard.

  “One sec,” he said. “Almost forgot something.” A moment later, he returned, jogging toward me with his right arm cinched to his left side. The butt of my sawed-off shotgun stuck out from the bottom of his windbreaker. “Dropped it from my window into the geraniums this morning. Figured Brooke wouldn’t be keen on seeing me carry it down the stairs.”

  “Probably a good idea,” I said. “I’ve been wondering where that was.” Albert stashed the shotgun on the rear floor, and we both climbed into the SUV.

  We pulled out of Tangerine Court. “Thanks for your help, Dad. I really mean it. I don’t know how Wallace found you, and I’m sorry he got to you. I really thought you were safe.” The thought of Wallace in the same house as my daughter made my legs weak.

  “That’s what family’s for, kid. Speaking of Wallace, you ditch his little GPS thing?”

  “Left it in a truck-stop trash can near the New Hampshire state line.”

  “Good.” He turned, reached out and smacked the gray plastic bin on the back seat. “Real good. Where we going?”

  “You still got that newspaper? With the classifieds?”

  He shook his head. “Tossed it, but we can get another one.”

  “Let’s do that,” I said. “I really hate that boat.”

  Albert gazed out the passenger window. His reflection in the glass betrayed his smile. We drove in silence for a few minutes before Albert turned toward me.

  “So this whole thing behind you now?”

  “Just have one loose end to tie up,” I said. “Almost forgot. Mitch Skinner said to tell you hello.”

  “I sincerely doubt that,” said Albert. “He’s an asshole.”

  I DROPPED OFF ALBERT AT Manhattan Harbor with a Cincinnati Enquirer and instructions to find us a few properties to visit this week. The plan was to get out of the boat by the end of the month before we started smelling like the river we lived on.

  After swapping out my T-shirt for a gray hoodie, I left Albert to play realtor and headed to Union Terminal. The key and the cash were right where Little Freddie said they’d be. I gave it a quick count in the car. Close to one hundred grand. Twice what Bishop owed me for the Rollo job.

  I pulled out of the Union Terminal parking lot and went on the hunt for my loose end, Dunbar. Dunbar had no idea where to find me. His tail never made it back from Maine, so that connection was gone. Since Bishop was staying away from Dunbar, that meant he didn’t have access to Bishop’s intel on my identity or my family. The coffee shop was his only point of reference, considering his crew pinched me there a week ago. I figured they’d stake out the place, since it was their only option. They didn’t disappoint.

  If I were a smart man, I’d just stay the fuck away, but while he was in the dark now, Dunbar had the time and the resources to dig up enough information on me, or worse, connect me with Brooke and Becca. Then, he’d come knocking. I wanted Dunbar off my ass, and that meant going directly at him. Men like Dunbar only care about the money. They’re businessmen, and I spoke business pretty well.

  I drove west on Ninth and turned left on Walnut, slowing so I could get a good look at the cars parked on the side of the street. I’d circled the block three times before I saw the four men sitting in the SUV with Michigan plates. I turned left onto Seventh and parked at the lot on the corner of Eighth and Sycamore.

  I wasn’t much for hoodies. Like skinny jeans and ball caps, hoodies aren’t meant to be worn by anyone over thirty. But it was more function than form, and I was glad I found it stuffed in the bottom of my drawer. I stepped out of the Navigator, grabbed Little Freddie’s leather duffle, slipped my .45 into the oversized front pocket, pulled the hoodie over my head and walked three blocks on Eighth and then turned onto Walnut. To anyone else on the street, I probably looked like any other ad agency creative or college kid.

  Gunning down a car full of people in downtown Cincinnati wasn’t what I had in mind. I didn’t know how connected Dunbar was in Detroit. There had to be someone above him, and given
Dunbar’s ruthless temperament, I didn’t want to meet whoever pulled his strings. I was about to find out how committed Dunbar really was to scrubbing me out.

  The SUV was like a clown car bulging at the seams. Dunbar looked somewhat comical stuffed into the SUV. A crime boss isn’t supposed to play stakeout, but with Rollo and Hickman gone, he didn’t have a base of operations in the city, and he was probably eager to find me.

  When I walked up on the SUV, I slipped the .45 from my pocket and tapped the business end against Dunbar’s window. He turned to the man next to him and then rolled the window halfway down. The man who snapped the gas mask over my head in that dingy basement sat to Dunbar’s right. Three Fingers tried to conceal a Glock in his hand, but like the giant sitting next to him, it was hard to miss. I kept my .45 pressed between my body and the SUV’s rear window, inches from Dunbar’s head and out of sight of any car coming down the street.

  “Hello, Dunbar,” I said.

  “Well, look who showed up,” said Dunbar. “You got some real balls to be bringing that thing up in here.”

  “Tell your three-fingered friend to release the weapon and put his hands on the headrest in front of him, or I’ll put a bullet in his liver. And it’s got to go through you to get to him.”

  “You’re not in the best position to make demands,” said Dunbar. “We got you four-to-one.”

  “You’re all in seated positions, and you’re in a confined space.” I nodded to Three Fingers and then to the man in the passenger seat, who was inching a shotgun up from the floor. “And only two of you are armed. I’ll get four shots off before either of these two clear their weapons. And if your friend up front tries to fire that shotgun, he’s going to shell you and your driver. So I’d say your advantage isn’t as strong as you might think.”

  Dunbar thought for a moment and then motioned to his men to lower their weapons. Three Fingers grabbed the headrest in front of him, and I heard the shotgun fall back to the floor in the front seat.