Shark's Instinct (Shark Santoyo Crime Series Book 1) Read online

  “Who else has heard of the Godmother?” asked Shark, looking around the room. Most of the younger ones raised their hands.

  “We heard of her,” said one of the boys. “They say if all you’ve got left is wishing, then yeah, you could go see the Godmother. But I heard you gotta pay.”

  “How much?” asked Shark.

  “Don’t know. I know it’s not always cash though. Sometimes it’s favors.”

  “So she’s a fixer? Who does she report to?”

  The boys looked at each other. “I don’t think she reports to anybody,” said the first kid.

  “What’s her real name?” More shrugging. Shark turned his attention back to Domingo. “I’m assuming that your cousin Martina knows. Why don’t you ask her?”

  The kid looked uncomfortable. “I can ask. I don’t know if Martina is going to like that.”

  Shark cocked an eyebrow. “Do I look like I care what Martina likes?”

  Domingo took out his phone. “I’m just gonna call outside,” he mumbled, edging out of the room.

  “Take your time,” Shark said.

  “What’s the deal?” demanded Paper. “Why you looking for this girl?”

  “What are you doing about the 38th Street situation?” Shark countered.

  “I’m handling it,” said Paper.

  Shark could swear he saw the kid trying to flex. “Hm, interesting.”

  Paper didn’t know what to say to that.

  Domingo came back into the room. “Martina says her name is Peri Hays.” He cleared his throat. “She also said,” he added, his voice squeaking slightly, “and I’m just passing this on, you know, for what it’s worth, that if you... if we... fuck this shit up that she’ll make sure none of us get laid, like ever.”

  He now had everyone’s attention. “I’ll keep that in mind,” Shark said. It was the least reassuring thing he could think of.

  Two Weeks Ago

  3

  Shark: Kos

  Shark took a deep breath and stared at the door to Kos. It was a hell of a fucking way to spend his birthday, but he was out of options. He couldn’t avoid facing Geier any longer. He pushed open the door and stepped across the threshold.

  Inside, the restaurant was preparing for dinner service. Servers were draping the tables in fresh white linens. They looked up at him as he entered. He reached down into that place inside that made people fear him—tried to retrieve that feeling, tried to be that person again. It worked, they turned away, pretending to be engrossed in their tasks. That was the easy test—they were prey. The predators were yet to come.

  He walked slowly toward the back booth, making sure that whoever was watching could track him.

  Geier was sitting in a back booth. Shark didn’t have to see the plate to know that it would be a rare sugar steak with a side dish of potatoes and a glass of whiskey. Geier was on the far side of fifty, with dark brown eyes, set over a beakish nose, and cut his graying hair in a style that Shark considered overly fashionable.

  The bodyguards stepped forward. “You’re not on the list,” rumbled the first one.

  “I’d like a meeting,” said Shark. He slowly opened his coat and took the box out of the inside pocket. He handed it to the second bodyguard, who glanced back at Geier.

  Geier nodded.

  Shark stood and waited and did the usual stare-off with the bodyguard. The warehouse job had been a fiasco, but it had netted him one thing. He’d been holding it back for a rainy day, but as it was currently pouring on him he didn’t see any other alternatives.

  Geier opened the box and looked at the diamond. Shark knew Geier would know exactly where the diamond had come from. He might also think that Shark should have given it up then. He might kill Shark just for that. It depended on his mood.

  The diamond went back into the box and then disappeared into Geier’s pocket. He gave the nod to the second bodyguard who nodded to bodyguard number one.

  Bodyguard number one, displaying a professionalism that Shark appreciated, stepped aside with no trailing of hurt ego.

  Shark sat down and waited for Geier to speak first.

  “I thought the cops confiscated all your shit.”

  Shark tried not to grind his teeth. Geier had known that Shark’s possessions had been liquidated. Of course he had. And, of course, he’d done nothing to stop it. Shark took a breath and let it go. It didn’t matter. It only reinforced his decision.

  “So where’d you manage to stash a diamond for four years?”

  “Inmate property room,” said Shark. Geier raised an eyebrow. “Sewn into the lining of my coat.”

  Geier let out a bark of laughter and took a bite of steak. He stared at Shark, contemplating as he chewed. Shark waited. It was a mistake to interrupt Geier’s train of thought. “I have to admit that I’m surprised to see you. It was my impression that you no longer wished to associate with us,” he said, taking a sip of whiskey.

  “My parole officer was riding me,” lied Shark with a shrug. “I thought it would be safer for everyone if I stayed away from the outfit for a while. Now I’ve got a new PO.”

  “Langdon?”

  “Yeah, Langdon.”

  “Wants to get paid?”

  Shark shrugged again, acknowledging that Langdon was indeed a greedy pig who expected his bribes on time.

  Geier sawed off another chunk of steak, his long pale fingers, working the knife with a threatening efficiency. “So now you’re interested in coming back into the fold?”

  Shark nodded.

  Dabbing his mouth with a napkin, Geier scrutinized him. “How long have we known each other? Since you were what, twelve?”

  “Sounds about right.”

  “No one would take you in. Too much Puerto Rican for the skinheads and too white for the spics. But I took you in, didn’t I?”

  It was a rhetorical question, Shark knew. Geier always had to own everything and everyone. “You’ve always looked out for me,” he agreed.

  “Yes, I have, because I always liked you. You were like a teenage crime savant. You saw angles that older guys didn’t even see. That’s why I run an open gang. I like talent. And you’ve got talent. I kept waiting for you to get old enough to move up to the top level, and then just when you were ready you had to go and do something stupid and get yourself incarcerated. Although, honestly, a little time in the pen never hurt the reputation any. And being a little older also doesn’t hurt. What are you now twenty-five, twenty-six?”

  Shark did not bother to mention that it was his birthday. He knew the man didn’t really care.

  “Finally old enough for the dipshits to start taking you seriously without having to prove it to them,” continued Geier. “You could be an asset. I like that you’re creative and unpredictable—it makes you scary to the sheep.”

  Shark sensed a but coming.

  It came. “The problem is that I’ve got some guys working with me now that maybe don’t get along with you so well.”

  Shark cut straight to the point. “You’re worried about Cassius?” He’d heard that Cassius had moved up while he was inside. Cassius had hated him since the warehouse job. The whole damn debacle had been Cassius’s fault. If he had stuck to Shark’s plan, everything would have been fine. Instead he’d decided to try and think for himself, and it had all blown up in their faces.

  “I wouldn’t say worried,” said Geier. “But I have to think about the whole mix, you know? Plus, my spots are all filled. Where would I put you?”

  “I’m not looking to cause problems and I don’t need to run a crew. I liked enforcement, and you know I’m good at it. If there’s going to be any trouble between me and Cassius, it’s going to come from him, and I can handle it. I can also handle any of your problems.”

  Geier’s expression indicated he had no problems. Shark was starting to feel a littl
e desperate. Time to change tactics.

  “You’re king of the mountain. You can’t be everywhere at once. Let me do some of the heavy lifting.” Geier, Shark knew, was a man who liked hair mousse and flattery.

  Geier considered, tapping his fork on the plate. “All right, then let’s start you on the simple stuff. Problem one, someone in the inner circle is snitching to the fucking Ukrainians. That’s more of a long-term problem, but it still needs resolving.” He paused to take a drink.

  “And the second problem?”

  “You ever meet a guy named Big Paulie? Ridiculously fat man with hair like Elvis?”

  Shark rifled through the roster of hitters in his head and came up empty. “No.”

  “No reason you should have. But his last three payments have been light. He’s been skimming the take. I can prove it on the last three, but I think it’s been going on longer than that. Maybe a year. Don’t know.”

  “I can take care of it,” said Shark. He’d started in collections and leg breaking. It wasn’t a skill you forgot.

  “I’ve got a dozen guys that can take care of it,” said Geier. “The problem, the real problem, is that I have a big shipment coming in next month from the Reyes Brothers, and between the Feds and that fucking Scarecrow Jack mob, my cash flow is a bit constrained. If Big Paulie’s payment is light again, I’m going to have to dip into my personal reserves. Which would make me… unhappy.”

  “I can make sure he pays up,” said Shark. The job sounded easy. Too easy. What was the catch? With Geier there was always a catch. “Where’s this guy’s territory? Uptown?”

  Geier laughed. “No, think a little further west.”

  “There’s nothing out west but fucking suburbs,” said Shark.

  Geier grinned.

  Tuesday ~ October 17

  4

  Shark: Lincoln High School

  He parked in the lot and waited. There was a rotating line of parents picking up their precious babies. He watched two different fender benders—one between a teen driver and a light pole, and the other between the side mirrors of dueling parents. The reader board was advertising the Friday football game and the upcoming Halloween dance. There was a maintenance guy blowing leaves around. He tried to remember his high school. This didn’t feel the same. When the bell rang he remembered the teachers scurrying away like roaches, not lingering to chat. He didn’t remember students caring about dances or games. Of course, he’d spent more time in Juvie than at his high school, so maybe he wasn’t remembering right. Or maybe it was just the suburbs.

  He returned to the girl’s Facebook profile on his phone. Peregrine AKA Peri Hays had a profile that was filled with mundane memes, homework posts, and only occasional photos. He’d had to look up Peregrine because what kind of name was that? He liked that it was a type of falcon noted for speed and hunting abilities—it suited her. No selfies of Peri existed on social media. All the photos of her were from someone else’s feed. But even the most banal feed could yield some clues. Spanish club, after school on Tuesdays, had posted a group photo. He searched all of the kids in it. The black kid that had his arm around Peri was Treyvonne Smith. He’d skimmed his profile and that’s when the picture had become clear. Treyvonne Smith was the nephew of James Smith, aka Tall Jimmy, the leader of the 38th Street Crew.

  The flood of people exiting the school slowed to a thin stream and then a trickle. He got out of the car and leaned against the hood, still scrolling through all the Facebook data. She came out five minutes later. Treyvonne had his arm around her shoulders and seem to be talking excitedly about something, his other hand conducting a symphony of visual punctuation. Shark saw her see him, but she didn’t react. She turned to Treyvonne and said something that seemed to cut off the flow of chatter. He laughed, and leaned down to kiss her before jogging off. It was like watching the syrupy first act of a Hallmark movie, before tragedy strikes and someone gets a brain tumor.

  Peri waved goodbye and then dropped down as if she was tying her Chucks. When Treyvonne had turned the corner she rose and walked over to Shark.

  “That isn’t a convertible. Aren’t all the really cool cars convertible?” She went for the unexpected attack.

  “It’s a Charger!” His outrage wasn’t faked.

  “I don’t know,” she drawled, looking unimpressed.

  “It’s a muscle car.”

  “If you say so. How fast does it go?”

  “As fast as it needs to.”

  She was pretending to look the car over skeptically, but she couldn’t stop the smile creeping up the corners of her mouth.

  “Are you hooking up with Tall Jimmy’s nephew?” he asked, and the smile dropped off her face.

  “Treyvonne,” she said icily, “is not your concern.”

  Shark cocked his head slightly, watching her carefully, sniffing for fear. “You made him my concern the minute you walked into the bowling alley. You want this plan to happen; I need to know that you’re not going to double-cross me. For all I know, you and Treyvonne are working for 38th Street.”

  She bit her lip. But that was indecision, not fear. Why wasn’t she scared of him?

  “I understand where you’re coming from,” she said at last. “But the only thing Treyvonne is involved in is studying for the SATs.”

  “That’s not what I hear. I hear Tall Jimmy’s using him for bag drops.”

  This didn’t make her happy. “He’s not a part of the 38th Street crew,” she repeated. “He’s living with Tall Jimmy because his mom is sick.”

  “Who cares why he’s there? Bag drops are where it starts,” he said. “If he’s not a part of it now, he will be soon.”

  “Why do you think I need this to happen now?” she snapped.

  “Does Treyvonne know that you’re doing this?”

  “No!” Her eyes narrowed and her chin lowered. “And you’re not going to tell him.” The change in her stance was subtle, but he’d seen it almost every day in prison. That same little shift in the body language that said a fight was coming.

  “Not what I meant,” he said throwing up his hands. “I think it’s better if he doesn’t know.”

  He watched her relax. Did she really think she could take him, or did she not know she’d postured up? She glanced away and rubbed her arm, looking embarrassed. She hadn’t meant to lose her cool. He’d touched a nerve.

  He took off his sunglasses. “Do you know what the kids call you?” Seeing her wary expression he said, “I’ll take that as a no. They call you the Godmother.”

  She looked mortified. “Like I carry a wand? Bippity boppity fucking boo?”

  “It’s possible that they mean more like the Corleone family. Either way, they say you’re the fixer.”

  She shrugged, and avoided eye contact, still embarrassed.

  “And if you’re fixing this for your friend then I’m OK with that,” Shark went on, “but I need to know you’re with me.”

  She looked back at him. Direct eye contact now. No fidgeting. “I’m with you.”

  He found that he’d been holding his breath. “OK.” He settled back behind the shades, putting the armor back on.

  A car honked at them. She rolled her eyes and trudged over to it, leaning into the driver’s window.

  He checked out first her ass, then the car. The ass was fine, curvy, muscular. The car was a sedan in a shade of boring. Its driver was a woman, older, black, with a serious expression. But whatever she said to his little shark made her glance back at him, eyes twinkling mischievously. After another brief exchange, the car pulled away and Peri came back over.

  “Who was that?”

  “My English teacher. She wanted to remind me that cool cars don’t make statutory rape a good idea.”

  His brain jerked to a stop and he tried not to look guilty. He’d only looked at her ass! Everyone looks! It was a great ass.
How was he not supposed to look?

  “I told her I was perfectly safe. Cars don’t do it for me.”

  “What does?” The second it was out of his mouth, he regretted it. This is what came from thinking too much about her ass.

  “Having more than two brain cells to rub together,” she said, after a moment.

  “Well, then, you’re safe with me. But back to the problem, I need assurances that this isn’t a double cross.”

  “I don’t have any,” she said. “I wish I did.”

  “All right, then you need to have some skin in the game.”

  “I’m not cool enough to know what that means in this situation.”

  “You’re coming on the heist,” he informed her. “If we’re at risk, then you’re at risk. You don’t get someone’s head on a platter just for asking. You’re not that cute.”

  And he wasn’t about to make the same mistake twice.

  She blushed adorably. “I can do that. But I’ll need to borrow a gun.”

  “Not a problem,” he said. “Bring whatever plan you have to the bowling alley tomorrow at three.”

  5

  Peregrine: Trey

  Peri knocked on the front door with a firm rat-a-tat-tat. She was about to knock again when Tall Jimmy opened the door. They eyed each other. He sucked down the joint he was working on. He looked past her, out to the front yard where his green Cadillac held pride of place in the driveway. He surveyed the neighborhood and then finally came back to her. Tall Jimmy wasn’t really all that tall, but he gave the illusion of height by being skinny. Today she found herself contrasting him with Shark. Tall Jimmy wore his clothes in an improbable triple XL, his hair in dreads and whether it was his pot use or habit, his eyes were usually at half-mast, watching the world with a sleepy hatred. Shark on the other hand had eyes—dreamy, gorgeous, gray eyes—that seemed to focus with intensity on everything. And she liked that his clothes fit. Actually, she liked a lot of things about Shark, but she was trying not to think about that.