The Bakken Blade

by Jeff Siebold

  “Right. Good. They’ll most likely still be looking for places to keep the money flowing.”

  Zeke nodded. “What do we know about the people in charge of Pawn 4 All?”

  Clive picked up a folder and opened it. “Chester Knowles,” said Clive, closing it and sliding the folder across the table to Zeke. “He’s the CEO.”

  “How long has Pawn 4 All been franchising?” asked Zeke.

  “Quite a while, but not all successfully. Evidently, they started in the 1990s. Struggled for the first few years, but it caught on during the last recession, it seems.”

  “What’s the back story on Chester Knowles?” Zeke asked.

  “He was pretty much a small time pawnshop owner before Pawn 4 All. Had a couple shops in Baltimore. He was charged with receiving stolen goods a couple of times, but the charges were dropped. Lack of proof. One time, there was a break in the chain of custody, you know, for the evidence against him,” Clive said.

  Zeke looked through the folder. There was a DMV photograph of a man wearing a white shirt and tie, with close cropped blond hair and a small moustache. His features were small, and his expression was intense.

  “So we’ll assume that somewhere in the early 2000s our Mr. Knowles connected with someone who had a lot of dirty money that they wanted cleaned, laundered,” said Zeke.

  “Indeed,” said Clive. “Person or persons. For that kind of money you’re probably talking about the drug trade, or maybe sports gambling. Certainly organized crime, I’d wager.”

  “That’s a safe bet.” Zeke smiled to himself.

  * * *

  “Kimmy’s been coordinating with the FBI while you’ve been away,” said Clive. He was seated in his library-like office, talking with Zeke and Kimmy. He was spooning sugar into a cup from the teacart next to his chair. “She’s been in daily touch with FBI Agents Matthews and Robbins, setting it up and coordinating the operation.”

  Kimmy said, “It’s set to go down soon, in the next few weeks. As soon as Donovan has the details in order.”

  “How many locations?” asked Zeke.

  “She’ll end up with warrants for about one hundred,” said Kimmy. “Pretty impressive.”

  “Are they ready? The FBI?” asked Zeke.

  “We’ll see,” said Kimmy, standing up and stretching. “But it seems like they will be.”

  “What’s our role?” asked Zeke.

  “Same as Donovan said before,” said Clive. “We’re to assist and monitor their central coordination. But no hands on.”

  “How will they execute it?” asked Zeke, curious now.

  “Like Donovan said, they’ll be using local law enforcement to serve the warrants and search the premises. But instead of taking what they seize to their property room, it’ll all be kept under the FBI’s purview in the warehouses they’ve rented.”

  “Basically, one in each major city involved?” asked Zeke.

  Kimmy nodded.

  “What exactly are they looking for?” asked Zeke.

  “The FBI? They’re interested in the accounting. Computers, ledger books, printouts, client lists, bank statements, that sort of thing,” said Kimmy. “As well as making arrests.”

  “Publicity?” asked Zeke.

  “Sure. As much as they can get.”

  Clive added, “They’ll tip off the press, I’m sure, and have them waiting at the station when they bring in the paddy wagons.”

  Zeke smiled at the reference. “Is Donovan on a witch hunt?”

  Kimmy smiled and pulled her legs up into her chair. “She is.”

  “What more do we know about the money laundering?”

  “That’s interesting, Zeke,” Kimmy continued. “I spent some time with the FBI guys. They say they see some patterns in the operations. Like the franchises are all processing the laundered money the same way. They’ll know more after the take-down, but they seem to favor the idea that someone is orchestrating and coordinating the whole thing. Across all the shops.”

  Chapter 19

  Francis Donovan sipped her coffee and looked around the room. “How can I help you, gentlemen?” she asked again.

  They were sitting in Clive’s office, a library-styled room with antique furniture and a large window overlooking Pennsylvania Avenue. It was raining lightly outside, a gray and silver day.

  Donovan was flanked by three of her FBI agents who had joined Zeke and Clive in the meeting.

  “The coordinated raid is just about ready to go, I expect,” said Clive.

  “As would be expected,” said Donovan. “We’re prepared to serve arrest warrants on most of the principals.”

  “The franchisees, yes,” said Clive.

  “We’ll miss a few. But things happen. We’ll sweep them up afterward.”

  Clive said, “Zeke noticed something that we thought you’d want us to look into.”

  “Yes? What’s that?” Donovan asked.

  “We’ve been working out the suicide, Bart Conrad’s death just before we went to his shop. We wanted to share our thoughts with you in person,” said Clive. “We may have found something.”

  Zeke nodded in agreement.

  Donovan looked at Clive with a direct gaze, as if she were measuring him. “Do tell.”

  “Well, we wondered about several things about Pawn 4 All. Not so much from the perspective of the entire operation, as you have that under control,” Clive continued. “But rather about the incident at Cassidy’s Pawn.”

  “The pawnshop you visited during your earlier warrant service,” said Donovan.

  “Our thought,” Clive continued, “is that a suicide taking place in that narrow time frame seems queer. That’s why we contacted your team and asked them to review the files.”

  “Looking for what?” asked Donovan, still distant, cautious.

  “For other peculiar deaths of proprietors of pawnshops, particularly Pawn 4 All stores.”

  Donovan sat still for a moment. “What did they find?” she asked.

  * * *

  “They found a pattern of deaths that is very suspicious,” Zeke said.

  “Pawnshop owner’s deaths?” asked Donovan.

  “Yes. There have been seven deaths of pawnshop proprietors in the past year or so. The local cops labeled some suicide, some murder during a robbery, and one a ‘murder for hire’ by the owner’s wife. But we think they’re wrong,” Zeke continued.

  “Similarities?” asked Donovan.

  “Yes. You wouldn’t see them unless you set the files side by side. And Pawn 4 All covers a huge geography, about one hundred thirty locations over a large number of jurisdictions. So it was subtle, tough to find,” Zeke continued.

  Donovan nodded and waited.

  “We thought something was wrong from the start. Why would Bert Conrad kill himself on the very day that we were serving his warrant? And why would he even do so at all? There didn’t seem to be any family problems, and his business was profitable. That was partially due to the money laundry he was running, but it’d been going on successfully for months. He franchised with Pawn 4 All early last year,” said Zeke.

  “Did he have a wife? A family?” asked Donovan.

  “Ex-wife, no children. But they’d been divorced for six years,” said one of the FBI agents. “He lived in a condo downtown.”

  “Also,” Zeke continued, “it looked like he shot himself with a suppressed gun. Why would you bother with that, if you were checking out anyway?”

  “A silencer,” Donovan said, nodding again.

  “Plus, there was a very good chance that his mother would find him. That’s just the opposite of what a suicide victim would want.”

  She nodded again, slowly.

  “But we keep going back to the seven deaths. That’s too high a percentage to be random,” said Zeke.

  “So what’s your theory?” asked Donovan. She made a small note on her pad and waited.

  “Not yet sure about the motivation,” said Clive, “but it certainly looks like a pattern. We�
�d like to look into the connections between the victims.”

  “But we don’t want to do anything to step on your investigation or to get in your way,” said Zeke.

  “Not a problem,” said Donavan. “We’ll keep going, making our case, getting the money laundering arrests, as planned. You see if you can find a link in those deaths.”

  * * *

  “Well, your bona fides check out,” said Jack Thurmond. “And you’ve got the experience. We’d certainly consider selling you a franchise.”

  He looked across the table at Clive and Zeke, who were casually dressed and eating the last of their lunches. Zeke looked back at him and nodded.

  “We’ve been in this business for a while,” Clive said.

  The men were meeting at a trendy restaurant in Morristown, New Jersey, the headquarters location for the Pawn 4 All franchise business.

  “We’re interested in expanding into your territories, actually,” Thurmond continued. “Through our franchises, of course.” He’d finished his Caesar Salad and spoke as the other men finished burgers and drank light beer. He was smiling to himself.

  “I think we’d do well with the organizational aspects of the franchise,” said Clive. “Plus it would be nice to have the regional advertising. Especially television.”

  “Yes, we’re able to leverage our size and advertising budget to fund a fairly aggressive outreach program,” said Thurmond. “Eighteen percent of all of the franchise fees we collect go back into television advertising. Our franchisees are very happy about that.”

  Clive nodded wisely. “Yes, I can see why.”

  “Well, I’m sold,” said Zeke, who’d identified himself as Darrel Ryder. He’d adopted a slight western accent and took to calling everyone, “Partner.” He pronounced it, “Pardner.”

  “How did you two meet?” asked Thurmond. It was intended as a polite question, although the man had very few social skills. Numbers were his only friends.

  “Well, that’s an interesting story…” Zeke started.

  “Maybe for another time,” said Clive, looking at his watch. Thurmond knew him as Henry Chamberlain, a British transplant. “It’s quite a long story, actually.”

  Thurmond said, “I took the liberty of bringing the franchise paperwork.”

  “Good, good,” nodded Clive. “We’ll have our attorney look it over, and we’ll sign it and get it back to you. Along with the check.” He took the manila envelope from Thurmond’s outstretched hand. “Shouldn’t take but a day or two. We’ll have them Fedex it to you.”

  Thurmond was nodding, too. “Good. You’ll find it’s all pretty standard stuff.

  “And this agreement will cover all seven of our locations? Norfolk, Chesapeake, Virginia Beach, Fayetteville, Jacksonville, Savannah and Charleston?”

  “It does. But I have a question,” said Thurmond.

  “Sure, Pardner,” said Zeke. He smiled.

  “Why did you expand your business into all these secondary towns? Were you looking for failing pawnshops to buy?”

  “Oh, no,” said Clive. “Just the opposite. We’re specialists in our demographic. Each of our shops is located in a town with a military component, a base or at least a presence. We find that customers in the military are the most profitable for our particular business model.”

  * * *

  “But you said you guys have a resource that would fit well with our operation and could make us more profitable. I’d like to know more about that,” said Zeke.

  Thurmond always hesitated at this point in the negotiations. Even though ‘Chamberlain’ and ‘Ryder’ had been well vetted by his team, this was a critical step, a point of no return.

  He said, awkwardly, “Sure. Yes. Well, in addition to franchising the pawnshops, you know, ‘Pawn 4 All’, in addition to that, we have some clients who are…well, let’s say they’re willing to pay to have their money cleaned.”

  Zeke and Clive exchanged a glance. It wasn’t lost on Thurmond, who Zeke realized was holding his breath.

  “Money laundering?” asked Zeke.

  “In a sense,” said Thurmond. “But it’s limited to a very few clients. Our franchisees say it increases their average profits by 25%, all told.”

  “Yeah, we’d be up for that,” said Zeke, nodding slowly.

  “Is that what happened to that guy who committed suicide?” asked Clive. They’d discussed Conrad’s death with Thurmond in the course of their negotiations for the franchise. It had made the evening news on two networks.

  “No, nothing like that,” said Thurmond, looking away.

  “Well, give us the details,” said Clive.

  “After you sign,” said Thurmond. “We’ll talk about it after you sign the franchise papers.”

  * * *

  “Everything looks like it’s in order,” said Jack Thurmond, scanning the signed agreement. “Let me get you gentlemen a copy.” Thurmond called, “Marge?”

  A middle-aged woman with brown hair and the beginnings of secretarial spread stepped into the room.

  “Can I get a copy of this, Marge?”

  She took the stack of papers and quickly disappeared.

  “We didn’t want our attorney to Fedex this, Pardner,” said Zeke, acting as Darryl Ryder. “We’re very interested in the, uh, other source of income you alluded to, so we thought we’d bring back the paperwork and perhaps have a chance to discuss it further…”

  “Now, tell us, old man,” said Clive, acting again as Henry Chamberlain, “about the money we’ll be laundering.”

  Zeke smiled a sincere smile at Thurmond and maintained eye contact.

  “Yes, well, it’s a part of the business, you might say. We have a corporate client that needs some of their revenues ‘washed’, and they’re willing to pay for it. So, you’ll receive an extra hundred thousand a month, you’ll work it into your bookkeeping, and you get to keep 25% of it,” said Thurmond.

  “How exactly does that work?” asked Zeke.

  “Well, we’ll get the hundred thousand from our client,” said Thurmond, “And you’ll launder it, build it into your receipts and such. Then, each month, we’ll deposit it into your bank account at Union First Bank of New Jersey. You’ll show most of it as paid out for invoices you’ll receive and for merchandise you buy. But you’re not really buying anything. The money that goes through the process comes out clean, you pay some bills and you get to keep 25% of what we deposit for you. Simple. We’ll get into the details on your next visit here to our headquarters for the training.”

  “Will that be for all of our locations?” asked Clive.

  “Eventually,” said Thurmond. “We’d like to start with one, show you the process and then build on it over the next few months. It’s a solid system.”

  “Sounds like it, Pardner,” said Zeke.

  “And, when you’re ready to expand, we can arrange favorable financing for you and Mr. Ryder, Mr. Chamberlain.”

  “Let me guess. First Union Bank of New Jersey,” Clive said.

  * * *

  “How was Morristown?” Sally asked as Zeke entered her office.

  “Easy. It’s only an hour flight from D.C., and a short drive from Newark,” said Zeke.

  They were at dinner at the Valor Brew Pub. Zeke had chosen a seat against a sidewall where he could see the front and the back entrances.

  “Sally, I need a favor,” Zeke said.

  “Of course you do,” said Sally, sounding slightly ethereal. “I had that feeling…”

  The restaurant was a long, narrow space with brick walls and a stamped concrete floor. It had a bar on one side and a long row of two-top tables on the other.

  Sally had ordered the Flank Steak, and Zeke was working on a plate of avocado toast on grilled garlic bread.

  Zeke said, “We’re almost directly across the street from the Marine Barracks.”

  “We are?” asked Sally. “That makes me feel safe.”

  “It’s the oldest post in the Marine Corps,” said Zeke.

 
; She nodded.

  “What’s the favor?” asked Sally.

  “I need you to check on the former Sheriff of Monroe County with your law enforcement friends. A guy named Billy Forester, down in the Keys. Something doesn’t add up. He was involved in a gang of locals, back when my folks died,” said Zeke. “When they were killed. I don’t know if there’s a connection. But I’d like to find out more about that.”

  Sally took a bite of her chicken and closed her eyes, enjoying the taste as she chewed. Then she said, “You want me to check with some of my FBI sources?”

  “Some of yours and some of Clive’s, I think,” said Zeke. “Whatever it takes. This was thirty years ago, so I can’t imagine it’s still classified…”

  * * *

  The next day, Zeke stopped by Sally’s workspace.

  “How’re you doing with the Keys research?” he asked.

  “I’ve been burning the midnight oil,” Sally said. She was dressed in a hunter green turtleneck sweater that accentuated her shape and contrasted nicely with her green eyes. “We need to go back to Valor.”

  “The food was good,” Zeke agreed. “I enjoyed that. What do you have on Billy Forester?”

  Sally swiveled, picked up a thick file from her desk, swiveled back and handed it to Zeke.

  “In addition to the normal background check, I did some digging.” Her voice sounded wispy again. “I called a friend at the FBI and found that Billy Forester was under investigation for something back then.”

  “Back then?” asked Zeke.

  “In the late 1980s. An FBI informant told them that Forester was involved in the cocaine trafficking that was going on in the Keys. Said he was head of the group responsible for getting the dope into the country, mostly by fishing boat.”

  “If that’s true, there would have been a link between Forester and someone in South America, maybe Colombia,” said Zeke.

  Sally nodded. “It’s possible the fishermen you told me about, down in Florida, were all involved.”