Short Cut (The Reluctant Hustler Book 2) Read online

  In the back of the shop, occupying a corner booth, sat two men who didn’t fit the assembly of animated clichés. One was a bookish-looking, tan-skinned man with wire-rimmed glasses and an open-collared blue button-down shirt. He had a scruffy beard and neat, short-cropped, dark hair.

  Next to him was a stern-looking guy with a dark, penetrating gaze. He wore a tight gray T-shirt over black jeans. He sat facing us with his arms folded across a thick muscled chest. One arm was covered with burn scars from wrist to elbow. I had my share of similar scars so I knew he’d been through the wringer at least once in his life.

  They noticed us right away and I saw the one in glasses (had to be Milosh) glance toward a door at the back of the store.

  Rollie and I stopped at their booth and remained standing.

  “Yes?” Milosh spoke with an accent I couldn’t place right away. The bigger guy was more into non-verbal communication.

  “We’re looking for Milosh,” I said. “We were told we might find him here.”

  The man sat up at the sound of his name and he looked us over. “Who told you this?”

  I lowered my voice. “I am a friend of Terrance.” No recognition. “Beetle?”

  “Who are you?” He gestured toward Rollie. “A grandfather?”

  “He’s here to keep me safe,” I said.

  Milosh smiled at that, which I knew must have pissed off Rollie, but I’d spoken the truth and too bad for them if they learned the hard way.

  Milosh spoke rapidly in what I could tell was an Eastern European language, but not one I knew offhand. The big guy laughed a bit and I figured that was at Rollie’s expense. Judging by the color of my friend’s face, so did he.

  “If I have any business with this Beetle it is not your concern,” Milosh said to me. “Unless you are the police?” His smirk told me he didn’t think we were.

  Familiar but unhelpful anger surged from my chest and heated my face. I forced it back down to try to avoid a head-to-head. “Look, he didn’t understand. He’s like a big kid.”

  “He’s a man. He understands enough to ask for my help.”

  “I saw what you did.” I glanced over at the big dude. “Or was it you?”

  Milosh held up his hand. “I see you do know him. Please step into my office.” Both men stood and I noticed the guard held the jacket draped over one hand, which I assumed held a weapon.

  The office was a storage room of metal shelves and racks of food containers, coffee and deep blue mugs with cow faces grinning in half-lidded, stoned bliss.

  “Why are you here? Beetle is clear on our arrangement now.”

  I reached into my pocket, but stopped when I saw how tense the bodyguard became. “It’s just money. I want to pay the vig now, until I get you the rest. Then you leave him alone and never do business with him again.”

  Milosh laughed and the goon didn’t. “Anything else, asshole? Can I bring my sister by for you?”

  “You want money. I’ll get you your money. What’s the problem?”

  “I don’t have a problem. Beetle does. And so will both of you if you interfere.”

  “I’ll take on the debt.”

  “Fuck you. I don’t even know you,” Milosh said.

  I locked my gaze with the goon’s, and withdrew a hundred from my pocket. “Here. That’s enough for the vig for last week and this week.”

  “Another hundred.”

  “For what?”

  “I don’t like surprises,” Milosh said. The cold stare told me he meant it.

  I didn’t have it on me. I should have seen the shakedown coming. “I only have another twenty.”

  Milosh looked bored. “Never mind, the marker is Beetle’s. He will either pay or become a walking billboard to encourage others.”

  “Wait a minute. We’ll get it to you in a week. Sooner maybe.” I handed the bill to him.

  “I do not do business with strangers.” Milosh flicked the hundred back at me. I let it hit the floor.

  Crap.

  All I could see was that poor kid’s confused, bashed-up face.

  I pointed to the bill. “You take that and choke on it. We’ll be back in a few days with the rest. If either of you touch Beet again, I’ll hang you from a billboard.”

  Milosh placed one white leather basketball shoe over the bill on the floor. He turned to Rollie. “Grandfather?”

  Rollie’s jaw knotted while he produced another hundred. “Stick this one somewhere else.”

  I braced for a struggle, at this point part of me welcomed it, but I didn’t lose sight of the goon’s weapon hand. I thought a face full of stoned cow mugs might buy me the moment I needed if it came down to a fight.

  But Milosh seemed content for the time being.

  “One week. Twenty-two hundred or we find Beetle. We know where he lives.”

  “That’s too high. Where are you getting that number?”

  Milosh gestured for us to leave. “Processing fee.”

  Outside I took a deep breath.

  Rollie glared at the storefront. “That went well, don’t you think?”

  “Where the hell did those bozos come from?” I began to think I wasn’t going to be the only one interested in the answer.

  “Not Ireland,” Rollie said.

  We walked down the block toward Rollie’s car, AKA the Blue Bomber, an eighties vintage Oldsmobile Delta 88 with a tricked-out warhead of a motor.

  “Speaking of the Emerald Isle, how do you think our old friends will feel when they hear about these Eastern European poachers?”

  “From us?” Rollie said. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “I know we aren’t exactly pals,” I allowed.

  “Interesting way of saying we just got them to stop trying to kill us.”

  Rollie had a point. Thanks to some fast thinking while getting out of the mess Ryan had created, we had enough dirt on the Irish Mob to become a real problem for them if we disappeared. The classic “dead man’s switch.” It yielded an uneasy truce, but one that had held up over the last six months.

  “Yeah, but we’d only be passing along information,” I said. “We’re not doing anything to them.”

  We reached Rollie’s car, and he leaned against the window frame. “Why do we want to stick our necks out for this kid again? How did it become our problem?”

  I felt my collar heat up. “Did you see Beetle’s face? He didn’t understand the terms, and if we leave it up to him, he’ll let that debt get so high they’ll make him sign over his car, his house and everything his dad left him for nothing.”

  Rollie smiled. “I just wanted to make sure you knew why we were going back to the lion’s den.”

  The O’Brien brothers ran the Philly Irish Mob, at least in this part of town. Their family always had, as long as I could remember. Over the years they’d tried to lower their profile after a succession of FBI agents had decided to make their careers on busting them up. They were careful, but also had a well-established mean streak that had cemented their power in this corner of Philly. And they were smart enough to know that turf wars were bad business, so enjoyed a cordial relationship with their better-known Italian counterparts.

  My family never had anything to do with the Irish Mob when I was growing up. Like everyone, I knew enough to stay out of their way. Except for high school, when I dated Meg Sheehan, one of the O’Briens’ cousins. Luckily for me, she handled our eventual breakup by falling right into Ryan’s arms.

  Small neighborhood.

  Chapter 3

  Fishtown, The Heather Bakery

  After reaching out to Meg and convincing her that it was a good idea for us to speak to her cousins, she set up a meet at the O’Briens’ place. In what had to be the worst-kept secret in Fishtown, this “bakery,” offering overcooked lace and shortbread cookies, served as a front for the O’Brien brothers’ main office.

  I pulled my beat-up old truck into the “valet spot” right outside of the store. It was always guarded by thick-necked attendants. I did
n’t recognize these particular men and was glad, as some of the older crew weren’t too fond of either Rollie or me.

  The door opened the moment our feet hit the pavement and a scowling thug in an apron put the lie to the welcome sign in the window. Flour dusted the guy’s apron and I noticed old stains that looked like they belonged in a butcher shop. He ushered us inside as though it pained him to do so.

  The shop’s interior was just as inviting as the last time we were here. Back then we didn’t know if we were going to come out alive. Today, I was hoping just to do a little self-serving civic duty.

  “The renovations are coming along nicely, I see,” Rollie said. The worn wood floor felt gritty underfoot and the air reeked of cheap stogies, ginger and cinnamon. Dust coated the display cases.

  “Wait here,” the chef said, and disappeared through a door in back.

  A moment later I saw a familiar face, though we’d never been introduced. The thin guy with the diamond earring and receding red hair was the next gatekeeper of the place.

  “Out of your clothes,” he said, like a cop asking for license and registration.

  “Sorry?”

  “Down to your boxers.”

  “I didn’t realize it was going to be this sort of party,” Rollie said.

  I saw where this was going. “Getting paranoid in their old age?” I knew better than to poke the bear, but sometimes couldn’t help it.

  “Clock’s ticking. You want to see them or not?”

  We both shrugged. I kicked off my shoes, dropped trou and pulled off my shirt. The guy actually winced when he saw the twisted burn scars along one side of my torso. More parting gifts, along with my bum knee, courtesy of that Sand Box IED.

  “He’s the before picture and I’m after,” Rollie said. “We good now?”

  Red looked us over and decided we didn’t have any recorders or rocket launchers on us. But he didn’t touch the pile of clothes at our feet. Instead he reached under the counter and produced a pair of plush robes. I noted the logo.

  “Four Seasons? They only steal from the best,” I said.

  “Leave your stuff and come with me.”

  “No slippers?” Rollie asked.

  The guy just looked at him.

  Rollie glanced back at me. “The service in this joint has really gone to pot.”

  We followed Red up a narrow set of back stairs to a non-descript hallway with a faded blue runner carpet down the center. At the end of that stood a big dude I’d seen at the same spot half a year ago. The security camera in the ceiling was the same as well.

  We walked to the thick door and the guard stood aside.

  “You know the drill. Wait for them inside.”

  We stepped from the dingy hallway into a brightly lit luxury apartment. The red-tooled leather chairs faced the brick fireplace. There were cut crystal tumblers on the wet bar opposite the fireplace. Amber whiskey filled the decanters.

  “Cozy as always,” Rollie said.

  We heard an interior door open followed by heavy footfalls that pulsed through the hardwood floor under my bare feet.

  “The return of the Hardy Boys,” a voice called out. This would be the burly younger brother, Charlie.

  His older brother William was shorter and had the look of a scrapper who’d traded the boxing ring for a library. Charlie looked more like a wrestler ready to fight at the drop of a hat.

  When Charlie emerged from the short hallway at the end of the room, he looked like he’d bumped up another couple of weight classes since I saw him half a year ago. Fat or no, I’d learned from past dealings not to underestimate either brother and to try not to piss them off.

  “We were just talking about you,” William said as he followed Charlie into the room. Neither offered to shake hands.

  “You were?” I crossed my arms, then realized nothing was going to make me look tough in this damned robe.

  “Indeed,” William said. “We were wondering what took you so long.” He and Charlie turned the fireplace chairs to face us and left us standing while they made themselves comfortable. Charlie’s seat cushion hissed a considerable amount of air as he sunk into it.

  I glanced over at Rollie on the odd chance he knew what they meant. Nope. He stood like a soldier awaiting a dressing down. But in a big fluffy robe. I bit back an urge to laugh.

  OK. I’d bite. “What do you mean ‘so long’?”

  Now it was the brothers’ turn to look confused.

  “Before we get to that …” Charlie used both arms to hoist himself to his feet with a grunt. He picked up a metal wand from the mantle.

  “We were searched already,” Rollie said. “Hence the new uniform. Or are these goodwill gifts?”

  “The robes stay here. You want one, go boost your own.” Charlie swept the wand up and down our torsos. He nodded to his brother. I saw William relax after the electronic frisk confirmed we weren’t carrying any recording devices, even in the most uncomfortable of places.

  “You think we’d set you up?” I asked. “After everything?”

  “Considering ‘everything’ includes you and the old man holding a figurative gun to our heads, we can’t be too careful.”

  I couldn’t let that go. “And you and your brother held actual guns to ours. We aren’t here to upset that balance.”

  “I’m glad we still understand each other. Particularly if you intend to take our relationship to another level.”

  So much for understanding each other.

  “Fuzzy robes and ‘relationships’?” Rollie blurted out. “What the hell’s happened to the mob, anyway?”

  Even Charlie smiled at that. William pressed his lips together and returned his attention to me.

  “William,” I said, “the last thing on our mind was any change in our earlier arrangement. We just wanted to tell you, in person, that you have some competition in your territory.”

  “What kind?” Charlie said.

  “I’m surprised we’re the first to mention it, but there are some guys sharking. And unless you’re hiring from the old Eastern bloc, they aren’t yours.”

  I figured Charlie would at least look pissed. Instead the corners of his mouth twitched.

  William spoke. “You got Meg to arrange a meet, came all the way here, all for that? What do you care?”

  “The guy hangs out at—”

  “We know. Answer the question,” Charlie said. All hints of a smile had vanished.

  “All right. A friend. Well, more a guy I know … got himself into trouble with them. I guess you’d call him mentally slow. He didn’t grasp the stakes.”

  “People make bad choices all the time. Sometime the best teacher is pain.” Charlie cracked the knuckles on his beefy fists.

  “He could have gone somewhere else for the money,” William said.

  “Yeah. Apparently, the kid would borrow money from Ryan sometimes.”

  “So much for that,” Charlie said.

  The O’Briens hadn’t killed Ryan. But they sure knew all about it. It hadn’t been their wish, but they shed no tears about his death, that was for sure.

  William spoke. “Perhaps this slow ‘boy’ knew the old adage about one door closing and another opening.”

  “What does that have to do with anything?” I felt my temperature rise. “You should see this kid’s face. I think those goons were happier he didn’t pay, just so they could tune him up.”

  “It happens. Let’s get to it. What do you want us to do about it?”

  “I thought you’d mind that a rogue outfit was running a shylock business right under your nose.”

  Rollie made a groaning sound. “Jaysus, I must be getting senile.”

  “I see why you keep him around,” William said. “Care to fill him in?” he said to Rollie.

  “Kid, they know Milosh.” Rollie turned to the O’Briens. “The commies in the coffee shop are paying rent. Am I getting warm?”

  Charlie waggled the metal detector wand and then did an exaggerated slow-motion sh
rug. These guys hating talking shop outside their own circles.

  William leaned forward in his chair. “We embrace the concept of diversification for risk management,” he paused, I assume to let me twist in the wind like the fool I was. “That said, business, like nature, abhors a vacuum.”

  “And Ryan closed up shop, so to speak,” Charlie said.

  “He was handling small loans for you?” I asked.

  William said, “Was. And any arrangement we might have had with your friend left town when he did.”

  “Look, I don’t know what you had going with Ryan—” I began, but they laughed out loud at me. “I got dragged into that one fiasco with Ryan. Other than that, we were friends. I know he was into some gray-area stuff, but that was him, not me.”

  The brothers shared a look and stared back at me. “You have a weird negotiating style, I’ll give you that,” Charlie said.

  William spoke next. “You let us know what you want to do, but when you come back, know that we’re resetting the arrangements at that time. It’s all on the table, clear?”

  Hell no, it wasn’t clear. By this point even Rollie was looking at me funny. “And my friend with the debt?”

  “Pay the marker yourself if you’re that worried about the retard,” Charlie said.

  “As for everything else, make up your mind quickly,” William said. “We can’t hold these things indefinitely. I get the sense Milosh is ambitious.”

  I wanted to ask about these “things” but all of a sudden it felt more dangerous to play ignorant. I nodded. “Okay. I’ll be in touch.”

  Chapter 4

  Fishtown

  “What the fuck was that all about?” Rollie at least had the decency to wait until we’d dressed and were sitting in my truck. His place was only a few blocks away, but I suspected the ride would feel much longer.

  “I’d love to say I have no idea, but the way they acted makes some of the craziness of the last couple weeks start to make sense.”