At Their Own Game (7 page)

“Like what?”
 

“Like, did I know of anyone buying stolen property pretty regular. Did I know anyone running credit card scams, or making illegal payday loans. Stuff like that.”
 

I frowned. “You just described our entire business.”
 

“Yeah, but he doesn’t know that.”
 

“So you think. What’d you say back to him?”
 

Matt grinned, his off-key frat boy features making him appear both innocent and mischievous at the same time. “I told him Pawn Central buys stolen shit all the time, from what I hear. And Bank of America has a good credit card scam going right now where they charge folks
28 percent. And then I said that the payday shops on every corner in this town –”
 

“Okay, I get it.”
 

“I shined him on, man.” Matt’s grin widened. “He didn’t get jack all from me. All he managed to do was tip his own clueless hand.”
 

I rubbed my eyes. Maybe Matt was right, but Kyle Falkner didn’t strike me as clueless seven years ago, and it’s not likely a habit he’s picked up since. No, he knew something. He just didn’t want to show how much.
 

“What now?” Brent asked, finally joining the conversation.
 

I dropped my hand. “Ozzy called me last night. He wants to settle up.”
 

Brent nodded. “Good.”
 

“The question is at this point, do we go through with the buy, or get our money back?”
 

Brent and Matt remained silent, considering. Matt bit his lip uncertainly.
 

“What?” I asked him.
 

He hesitated.
 

“Speak, child,” I said.
 

“It’s just that we’ve been hurting a while now. And…well, it’s a lot of money.”
 

“Yeah? So?”
 

“So I don’t think we should walk away from it. At least, we should get one good deal in.”
 

I looked at Brent. “You?”
 

He half shrugged. “The money is worth the stretch. We’ve come this far.”
 

“We’ve come this far?” I repeated. “That’s your reasoning?”
 

Brent finished his shrug, but said nothing.
 

I sighed and shook my head. “With this cop all over us, right now is not a good time to expand into new markets.”
 

Disappointment was plain on both of their faces.
 

“Listen,” I argued, “we should have never gotten into business with that guy, anyway. Our money might be small-time in comparison and yeah, we’re going through a tough spell. But our way is steady, and risks are low. We should stick with what we know.”
 

Matt and Brent stared at me, saying nothing.
 

I pressed on. “We don’t belong in business with guys like Ozzy. We’re not like them. We’re not bad guys.”
 

Matt scrunched his brow in confusion. “Uh, Boss, hate to break this to you, but we’re criminals. We steal shit.”
 

“I know what we do,” I said. “But our business doesn’t really hurt people. Not like drugs. People have insurance. Insurance companies are rich. There’s no real harm there. And the people who borrow money, do they get hurt? No. They just pay it back.” I shook my head. “We are not bad guys.
I
am not a bad guy.”
 

“Okay,” Matt said. “Sure.”
 

“But what about this deal with Ozzy?” Brent asked. “Why don’t we just –”
 

“No,” I said forcefully. “It was a mistake. Now is our chance to correct that mistake with no damage. That’s what we’re going to do. Are we clear?”
 

Reluctantly, both nodded.
 

Matt shrugged. “You’re the boss. We’ll go whichever way you decide.”
 

 “Here’s what I decide, then. I’ll call Ozzy and set up a meet to get our money back.”
 

“You need us?” Matt asked, but he sounded less than thrilled.
 

“Maybe. I’ll call you if I do.”
 

We all walked back down the path to the cars. No one said a word, but the disappointment in the air was palpable. I thought about giving them another pep talk, but bagged it. They were grown men. They could cheer themselves up. I had bigger issues to deal with.
 

I drove up to the community college just a few minutes away. I parked in the visitor’s lot and called Ozzy.
 

He answered on the second ring. “Speak to me.”
 

“We need to meet.”
 

“No shit.”
 

“When are you free?”
 

“I was born free, motherfucker.” He paused a beat, and I could almost see him rubbing his nose with the back of his hand, all the while giving me that dismissive gaze of his. “But I’m not available until later.”
 

“When?”
 

“Say seven. There’s a convenience store at Francis and Wall. You know it?”
 

“Yeah. All the cops hang out there.”
 

“Not no more. They got those cop shops now.”
 

I still didn’t like it. “There’s a Safeway just west of there. Let’s meet in the lot.”
 

“Fine. What rig you drivin’?”
 

“My Honda.”
 

“That green piece of shit?”
 

I didn’t bite. “What’re you driving?”
 

“Don’t worry about it. Just park, and I’ll find you.” He hung up.
 

I leaned back in my seat. Ozzy always sounded like an arrogant asshole, but I tried to decide if he sounded any different than before he had my money. I couldn’t tell.
 

Another thing I had to decide was whether to bring either Matt or Brent. Ozzy would almost surely have Randall there with him, and me coming alone might be somehow construed as weak by mister power tripper. Plus it’d give me someone to watch my back.
 

I decided if anything, I’d take Brent. Better to leave Matt out of this part, especially with his recent police attention.
 

I put the car in gear and drove toward home. After a few blocks, the phone vibrated and chirped. I checked it.
 

Cleo.
 

“Hey handsome,” she said, her voice soft and casual.
 

“Hey gorgeous.”
 

“So I’m here in the Lilac City.”
 

“Yeah? I thought so when I saw your message this morning.”
 

“But you didn’t call me.”
 

“I slept late, and then I had business.”
 

“No worries. I stayed at the Davenport.”
 

I raised my eyebrows. If there was a fancier hotel in Spokane, I didn’t know it. “Alone?”
 

She laughed softly. “Next time, answer your phone. Then you won’t have to ask questions like that.”
 

“Fair enough.”
 

“I’ve got the room for another night.”
 

“That’s sounds promising.”
 

“How about some dinner first, and we talk? Then the promising part.”
 

“I’m up for that.” Then I remembered the meeting with Ozzy. “How about a late one? Say after eight?”
 

“I was hoping for earlier, to be honest.”
 

“Sorry. Work.”
 

She was quiet for a second. “Okay. They’ve got a spa here. I’ll make a day of it.”
 

“You deserve it.”
 

“Every woman does. I’ll see you at the Peacock Lounge at 8:30. Don’t keep me waiting, Jake. Lots of rich eligible bachelors in that room, or so I’m told.”
 

“Don’t believe everything you hear.”
 

“Even if it’s on the Internet?”
 

“Browse more carefully. I’ll see you at 8:30.”
 

There was that moment’s hesitation at the end of the call, just like every call between us. That point in time where I-love-yous should be exchanged if they’re going to be, followed by that awkward silence when the window of opportunity had passed.
 

“See you,” she said, and hung up.
 

I put my phone back on the passenger seat. The day was shaping up nicely. I’d go get some grub, read the newspaper, do some business, and then go get my money back from Ozzy. After that, a night with Cleo, which would start classy and almost certainly end up a little bit nasty. In a good way.
 

Things were looking up.
 

That’s when I heard the chirp of a siren and saw the flashing red and blue lights behind me.
 

EIGHT
 

I pulled over to the side of the road and turned off the car. In the rear view mirror, I could see the marked black and white stop, its nose angled slightly to put more of the engine block between the driver and my car. A moment later, a uniformed patrol officer exited the cruiser.
 

He had the efficiency and swagger of a cop somewhere in the three to eight year experience range. Still dialed in on all the safety procedures, but exuding enough confidence that you figured he probably didn’t need them.
 

I stole a glance at the patrol car as he approached. No one in the passenger seat.
 

At my trunk, he reached out and, without breaking stride, checked to make sure it was latched. Just in case someone was hiding inside.  He stopped behind my door frame, his stance bladed, gun side away.
 

This guy’s tactics were tight.
 

“Sir,” he said in a clear, commanding voice, “I am Officer Burke, Spokane Police Department. I stopped you today for a traffic infraction. I need to see your license, registration, and proof of insurance.”
 

“What infraction?” I had to crane my neck over my left shoulder to make eye contact.
 

“License, registration, and insurance card, sir,” he repeated. “Then I’ll answer any of your questions.”
 

I raised up in my seat slightly and fished my wallet out of my back pocket. I fumbled with it for a moment to cover the motion of sliding my .45 over to the right. Then I withdrew my driver’s license and handed it to him.
 

Officer Burke took it with his left hand, his eyes never leaving me.
 

“Do you have a registration and insurance, sir?”
 

“Of course.”
 

“I need to see it.”
 

I leaned to my right, reaching toward the glove box. The handle of my .45 bumped the center console, making a clunking sound. I coughed to cover the noise, letting the glove box fall open to further mask it. There was no reaction from Officer Burke while I rummaged around for the paperwork. I saw it right away, but took a few moments to find it anyway. Let him think I’m like everyone else he’s stopped today.
 

When I leaned back and handed him the paperwork, he glanced down at each item, and then gave me a curt nod. Instead of turning around to walk away, he backed away down the length of my car, his eyes trained on me. When he reached the back of the car, he turned and walked away, watching me over his shoulder.
 

It’d been a long time since I’d been stopped, and even longer since I’d been the guy doing the stopping, so his vigilance seemed to border on paranoia. But I remembered all of the dash cam videos they showed us all in the academy and at training. Examples of cops who weren’t vigilant enough, and got beat to death or shot on routine traffic stops. Sort of blurs the line between vigilant and paranoid. I just never realized how much vigilance made us look like assholes.
 

Burke slid back behind the wheel of his cruiser. I watched him in the rear view. He glanced back and forth between his computer monitor and me, tapping keys intermittently. Then he picked up the microphone and spoke into it. Waited. Spoke again.
 

All the while watching me.
 

I sat and waited, keeping my eye on Burke the entire time. Another minute or two passed while he waited. Then he reached for a phone and pressed it to his ear. He spoke, listened, spoke again. Then he nodded and hung up.
 

I let out a slow sigh. I was pretty sure he wasn’t just talking to his girlfriend on the phone. This was no routine traffic stop. Falkner was behind this.
 

While Burke fiddled with his computer, I wondered about Falkner’s strategy. How long had he been working on me? Since the charges that got me booted off the force? Or had he picked up the trail again recently? I knew I’d been careful, and there shouldn’t be any threads for him to pull at, but no one is perfect. He might be able to find something.
 

Burke exited his cruiser before I could consider any further. He approached in the same careful manner as before. He even checked the trunk again. You know, in case I released the trunk latch while he was in the car and the killer that was hiding inside was now free to attack.
 

Christ.
 

I knew I shouldn’t think that way, but it was awful hard not to. Especially when I saw the smirk riding just under the surface of Burke’s professional demeanor.
 

“Sir, what I have for you today is an infraction for illegal use of a cell phone while operating a motor vehicle.” He held out a paper printout that looked more like a receipt than a traffic ticket. “Make sure and respond by the date at the bottom, or your license may be suspended.”
 

I didn’t reach for the ticket.
 

Burke continued to hold it out for me. He gave me a cold, chiseled stare.