Shark's Instinct (Shark Santoyo Crime Series Book 1) Page 10

  “That’s not really what I had in mind when I said not to wear stretch pants,” he commented.

  “What? They have a belt.”

  Marko approached. “OK boss, here’s your silencer. I got that Gemtech you were interested in. Also, your vest. Took a guess at your size.”

  Shark realized that if Marko was wearing one, he’d put it under his clothes. Wishing he’d thought that far in advance, he stripped off his coat and pulled on the Kevlar vest.

  “And Peri, here is your .380,” said Marko. “Remember, don’t use it unless you absolutely have to. And what does absolutely have to mean?”

  “Four feet or less,” she responded dutifully.

  “Eight feet,” corrected Shark. “People move fast.”

  “OK,” agreed Marko, “but remember, we’re not chasing people with bullets. We only shoot when they’re coming at us.”

  “Got it,” Peri said. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to shoot one of our guys.”

  “Everyone always says that,” said Marko. “And then two ricochets later, some low-rent vet is pulling a bullet out of my ass.” He bustled away as Shark took out his piece to install the silencer.

  “Sadly, I’m 100 percent certain that was a true story. And now I have the image of Marko’s naked ass in my head.” Peri tucked the gun into the back of her shorts, then pulled her jacket over it.

  Shark tucked his gun away into his underarm holster. “Are you going to be OK walking from here to the stash house in those boots?”

  “Yeah, I’m good. I never wear shoes I can’t run in.” At his skeptical glance at her footwear she amended, “I’m not saying I’d want to jog a marathon, but walking a quarter mile won’t kill me. Can you give me a ride afterwards? I’m meeting Trey at the game.”

  “You’re going to a football game after this?”

  “I need to keep Trey out of the house,” she said. “I don’t want him caught in the crossfire.”

  “I can’t guarantee when the Ukrainians will strike back.”

  She waved this off. “I have multiple contingencies. It’s fine.”

  “Multiple contingencies? Is that company policy too?” His tone was more bitter than he’d intended, and she looked up in surprise. He shook his head. “Ignore that. I didn’t get enough sleep.” He checked his watch. “It’s your turn. Time to go.”

  “See you on the other side,” she shrugged, and walked out onto Jackson Avenue.

  Marko, Zip, and two of Two Tone’s crew were waiting for him beside the chain link fence. “Using her makes me nervous,” complained Zip, who was wearing a black track suit for the occasion. “Fucking kids always panic.”

  “I think she’ll be fine,” Marko said.

  “Either way, it’s too late now,” said Shark. “Let’s go.”

  They made their way through the greenbelt. Navy SEALs they were not, but he didn’t think they’d been detected. They edged their way into the backyard of the Ukrainians’ house, past the defunct carcasses of three cars and, disgustingly for Zip, into the icy puddle of God-knew-what at the bottom of a plastic kiddie pool. The lights were on upstairs, and two silhouettes moved across the window. According to Peregrine’s intel, the back door led directly into the kitchen, and that kitchen opened into a dining room that led into the living room. There were two sets of stairs, one from the kitchen and one from the living room. Peregrine said that one of the upstairs bedrooms was the cash room, but she couldn’t speculate on which one.

  Shark gestured to Five No. 1, the Asian guy whose name he thought was possibly Eddie, Edward or Tom, who whipped out a lock pick set and a can of WD-40. Moments later the door opened soundlessly. Eddie exchanged his tools for his gun and stationed himself outside the door.

  Marko pushed into the kitchen, nosing through the door gun-first. He took up position on the threshold of the dining room. Zip and Five No. 2—the hippy whose name was Cow? No, Beef—stayed at the bottom of the stairs until Shark caught up to Marko. He gave them the nod and they mounted the stairs. Sticking to the wall side, where the boards were less likely to creak, Shark moved forward into the dining area, which had been converted into a grow room. The windows were boarded over and towering pot plants climbed to the ceiling. Hearing the Ukrainians’ lookout talking with Peri in a half-amicable, half-frustrated tone, he cracked the door and peered into the living room.

  She was leaning against the door frame, one hand on her hip, to emphasize the shortness of her shorts. The lookout was impressed enough that he’d set his gun down on a bookcase beside the door.

  “Are you sure?” she said. “Because this,” she insisted, waving a hand in his face to show him the ink scrawl on her palm, “is the address I was given.”

  “I see what you wrote, but you’re at the wrong house. I wish you were at the right house, but—” There was a squawk from upstairs, abruptly cut off. The lookout grabbed Peri and reached for his gun.

  Shark crossed the distance in one step and pulled the trigger. The body fell sideways, dragging Peri as it fell. Shark caught her with his free arm, pulling her in close.

  Marko swept past them into the living room. There were two more pops of gunfire upstairs.

  Even through the bulletproof vest he swore he could feel Peregrine’s heart beating. Her breath was hot on his neck and he could feel her leg pressed against his. He kept his eyes and gun trained on the stairway.

  “Keys are in my pocket by your left hand,” he murmured. “Wait for me in the car.”

  He felt her hand slide into his pocket, and pull out the keys. He didn’t turn as she left, shutting the door quietly behind her.

  “Living room is clear,” hissed Marko, returning to the front stairs.

  There was a yell from above and someone came charging down the stairs. He was wearing a yellow shirt and carrying a Mach-9. Marko and Shark fired at almost the same time.

  “Coming down,” panted Zip from the top of the staircase.

  “Now you tell us,” said Marko.

  “Little fucker was quick,” Zip complained.

  “Did you clear the floor?” asked Shark. Zip nodded. “Cash room?”

  “Up here. Like the consultant said it would be.” Zip wiped sweat from his forehead. “That’s where that fucker came out of.”

  Marko said, “I’ll stay here and watch the front. You should…” Shark gave him a look. “…do whatever you want to do.”

  “I’ll go upstairs and keep an eye on the money.” Shark knew damn well that’s what Marko had been about to suggest. Marko nodded with a ghost of a smile.

  Zip and Beef were shoveling stacks of cash into black duffel bags when he came in.

  “There’s at least two hundred large here,” Zip apprised him.

  “Good,” said Shark. “That will pay off Big Paulie’s debt and keep Geier from putting us all in a shallow grave.”

  Beef, a white guy with an elaborate man bun, looked up, surprised, like he hadn’t quite realized what the stakes were, before going back to shoveling money. Within a matter of minutes the room was clear. Shark took one bag and Zip took the other. They met Marko back in the kitchen, and Eddie carefully relocked the back door. Shark’s phone buzzed: Paper had Tall Jimmy’s car. They were right on schedule.

  They had barely made it to the overpass when Tall Jimmy’s Kelly-green Cadillac with the gold and purple flames whizzed by them on Jackson. Peregrine was waiting for him at the car. Into the trunk went the duffel bags. In the distance, they heard the distinctive aggressive rattle of automatic rifle fire.

  Marko went to the street and lifting binoculars said, “Lights are coming on. Should be plenty of witnesses, but we need to split.”

  Shark pointed at the Fives. “You two, good work, but lay low for a while.” They nodded and got in their cars, peeling off in different directions. “Marko, Zip, I’ll meet you back at the bowling alley.”

&n
bsp; He looked at Peri. She really did look good in those shorts. “Ready to get out of here?”

  “Whenever you are,” she replied.

  21

  Shark: The Charger

  “Do you mind driving around for a bit? I have to get changed.” She was already stripping off her boots and pulling off the pink jacket. Unbuckling the seat belt she leaned into the back seat to retrieve her backpack, giving gave him an ample view of how short the shorts really were.

  He tried to keep his eyes on the road. “Yeah, no problem.”

  “Thanks.” Under the pink jacket she’d been wearing a plain gray t-shirt, showing off well-defined arms. She pulled black sweat pants, a sweatshirt in her school colors and her blue All-Stars out of the backpack and replaced them with the boots and jacket. With a wet wipe she began to scrub off the make-up. He watched as she carefully utilized every inch of the towelette with an efficiency that spoke of long practice.

  “How do you know how to do all the different make up things?” he asked, letting the car idle at a stop light.

  “YouTube videos,” she said, inspecting her face in the visor mirror. “YouTube has everything.”

  “It really does,” he agreed.

  There was a faint trace of eyeliner around her eyes, but it was apparently deemed an acceptable amount. She snapped the visor closed and tucked the used wipe into a plastic bag before returning both to the backpack.

  “I thought you were being polite before,” he said. “Not trashing my car. But it’s really about not leaving any evidence, isn’t it?”

  “It’s a habit at this point.”

  “Company policy?”

  She smiled thinly. She seemed stretched tight, like a drum skin.

  “Are you OK? If you need to talk about what we just did…” What was he, her guidance counselor? If she needed to talk about it, then he was certainly not the one to talk to.

  “No, it’s fine. I thought it went great. I didn’t realize silencers weren’t really that silent, so that surprised me. But I thought it went really well.”

  “Then what’s up? You’re stressed.”

  She hesitated, plucking at her pile of clothes. “My night’s not over, OK? You guys get to go back to the bowling alley or wherever and chill, but I’ve still got to make sure Trey has a solid alibi and everything.” She dropped the .380 onto her pile of clothes.

  “You said you had contingencies.” The light turned green and he hit the gas.

  Arching her hips, she unbuttoned her shorts. “Yeah, well, some parts of a job are easier than others. For me, the social aspect is the harder part. I have to monitor everything I say to make sure I’m girly enough, or smiling enough, or enthusiastic enough.” Stripping off the shorts, she wriggled out of the fishnets, baring turquoise panties with a pineapple print.

  “If you have to do that for Treyvonne, why are you even with him?” He was surprised, again, by the anger in his voice.

  “It’s not for him. It’s for everyone else. Everything has to look natural at all times. And frankly, that takes a lot of effort.” She pulled something small, black and lacey out of her bag and pulled it onto her right leg. He was pondering the choice of garter with sweatpants when he realized it was an elastic thigh holster. She produced a jackknife—he clocked it at just skirting the five-inch legal limit, with a black Teflon coated blade meant for one-handed quick opening—and tucked it into the pocket of the holster. “I’ll just be really glad when this job is over, that’s all.”

  He pulled into the school parking lot and found a spot at the back while she pulled on her sweatpants. By the sound of it, the game had already started. The bleachers were lit by bright fluorescent lights. On the far side of the lot, he could see Treyvonne waiting by the ticket booth.

  “Peri, why are you doing this?” He knew he shouldn’t ask; it was none of his business. “Treyvonne doesn’t know you’re doing it, and you say it’s a job. If it’s not him, then who are you working for?”

  She ignored this, lacing up her shoes.

  “You just went through a lot of trouble to get Tall Jimmy killed. Killing isn’t your normal gig. I know you’re… with Treyvonne or whatever, but this… why are you doing this?”

  She sat up and stared out the window at Treyvonne. Her face was grim. “Trey’s mom has cancer. Last year she sold her house to pay the medical bills and they moved in with Tall Jimmy. Three weeks ago, she went into the hospital. Two weeks ago, we went to visit her. I didn’t want to go. Tonya—his mom—doesn’t like me. But Trey said she asked for me, so I went. At the hospital, she wanted to talk to me in private. I didn’t know what she was going to say.”

  Shark waited. She licked her lips and finally turned to him, forcing a smile onto her face. “This doesn’t matter. I’m sure you don’t care.”

  “Don’t smile for me unless you mean it,” he said. “I want to know. What did she say?”

  “She said she didn’t like me because she knew I was up to dirt.”

  “So what? I get it, Trey’s her precious baby, but tell her to mind her own business.”

  “That wasn’t it,” she sighed. “She said she was going to tell Trey she was happy he was with me. She said it was going to be fine, because now I could finally help her.”

  Shark could see where this was going, but he still felt a gnawing sense of dread in his stomach.

  “Tonya said that when she sold her house, she also took out an insurance policy on Tall Jimmy that names Trey as the beneficiary. But the policy’s up at the end of the year and she can’t afford to renew it. She said that she kept hoping that he’d get shot in a drug deal. She thought of calling the cops on him or poisoning him with her cancer meds, but that she always chickened out.”

  His gut was roiling and his hands were clenched in a white-knuckled grip around the steering wheel, but he couldn’t make them relax. “So she asked you to do what she couldn’t?”

  “The doctors don’t think she is going to be around very much longer. And without his mom, Trey doesn’t stand a chance against Tall Jimmy. If she’s dead, so is his future.”

  “That is up to Trey. He doesn’t have to give in.”

  “You have to understand, Trey has a 4.0 grade point. He helps at the homework center after school. He helps at the homeless shelter. He wants to go to Stanford. He wants to be a doctor. He feels bad that Tall Jimmy is supporting them and that he can’t repay him. He’s a good person. And I really…” she hesitated, and then turned to him, her smile strained, “I really am not. Sooner or later he’s going to realize that and at least this way, he can go to Stanford and become what he was meant to be.”

  “Leaving you here with the dirt bags where you belong?” he demanded. He’d never wanted to punch a cancer patient before.

  “Leaving me to excel in my chosen lifestyle,” she said with a miserable laugh, picking at the strap of her bag. She looked dull and dark, as if she were the fading wick on a candle.

  He kissed her. It wasn’t what he’d intended to do. He was too angry for it to even be that romantic. But she kissed back with a fierceness that felt like pain.

  “Go to Stanford,” he told her, pulling back. Her eyes were enormous, the pupils widened to take up most of the iris in the shadowed interior of his car. “Don’t tell me you’re not smart enough, and don’t believe that bitch. If you want him—go to Stanford too. You deserve Stanford just as much as anyone else. Do what you want to do.”

  She blinked. “I don’t know what I want to do.”

  “Well, figure it out. But either way, don’t let anyone tell you what you deserve. Fuck them if they don’t think you’re a good person.”

  Her cell phone pinged. Treyvonne. you coming?

  “You’d better go,” he said, trying not to feel bitter. Trying to feel like releasing this little bird was the right thing to do.

  She shoved her phone in her poc
ket, shoveled her clothes into the bag, and grabbed the strap. “Thanks. For everything. And for the record, I’ll vouch for you anytime.”

  22

  Shark: Rolling Thunder Lanes

  When he got to the bowling alley, Marko and Zip were waiting for him.

  “No kid?” asked Zip, cocking an eyebrow.

  “She’s on to the next gig.” Shark tossed the duffel bags behind the bar and stripped off his coat. “Independent operator, remember?” With a measuring look, Marko handed him a drink. “Any movement from the Ukrainians?”

  “None yet,” said Zip. “But the odds say they’ll hit back before morning. Eight will get you ten, if you want in on the action.”

  “No thanks. Marko, did you get the plans?”

  “They’re in the office. I was just about to go take a look.”

  “Good. I’ll go with you. Zip, watch the door.” Zip looked disgruntled, but trudged to the front of the bowling alley with his beer.

  The office had been cleaned. Marko disliked disarray as much as Shark did. It was a small office, maybe ten by twelve. Shelves on the wood-paneled walls, filing cabinets, a desk. Whoever had broken in had left holes punched in the paneling in their hunt for a wall safe. It was a logical course of action, because there weren’t many hiding places. Marko unrolled the plans.

  Shark had never worked construction so he didn’t know if it was normal to have so many separate sheets of paper, but Marko was flipping through them like a pro, and when he found the page he was looking for he spread it out on the desk. “This is the CD set, so it ought to show everything pretty close to as-built.”

  “I have no idea what that shit means,” said Shark. “Break it down.”

  Marko blinked. “Uh… CD is construction drawing, and an as-built set would be made post-construction to show if anything was changed during construction. You know, showing it as it was built.”

  “Got it. I thought it would just be one page.”

  “No, you need a plan for each of the trades—electrical, plumbing, etcetera. Then you need a furniture plan. If there’s multiple floors, you need a page for each of the trades for each floor. A really big building, and your drawing set can be massive. This is actually pretty small. And honestly, sometimes the plan isn’t really good for the layperson. What you need…” He flipped to the cover, checked a list there and then turned to a page in the back. “Is the elevations. See here? It shows what a slice of the room would look like from each of the compass directions.”