As if their offices were anything near comfortable.
Rutherford eyed the bristling dog. “Now. What exactly is Tanaka doing in Boston? It’s time you did your job, Brigid, or you’ll wind up in a cell that’s more like a hole in the ground. And you know what? I’m going to find a similar one for your daddy, now that we know you two are back in contact. No pretty shoes or animals for either of you. Ever again.”
* * *
Raider kept his expression slightly bored as he and Eddie stared at each other, when actually his hands itched to reach across the desk and slam the mob leader’s head against the wood until both broke. The idea that this bastard had killed Treeson made him want to puke. His temple buzzed from the cold gun barrel. Raider couldn’t move fast enough to keep Jonny from shooting him, so he went for sarcasm. “If this is how you treat your business associates, I may be in the wrong organization.”
Silence descended for a moment.
Finally, Eddie smiled. “You’re a cool one, aren’t you?”
Sooner or later, Raider was going to prove him wrong on that statement. “Not my first time with a gun at my head,” he said calmly.
Eddie jerked his head, and the barrel disappeared.
Man, Raider was going to punch Jonny P in the kidneys at some point in this investigation.
Eddie sat back. “All right. You brought me half of the evidence I need, and you seem to be pretty damn calm. My guys have your background, and my sources have secured your federal rap sheet, Interpol rap sheet, and records from California, Massachusetts, Florida, and Idaho.”
Idaho? They’d found the fake misdemeanor charge of pot possession in Idaho? Brigid had buried that one deep. Eddie’s computer folks were damn good at their job. Hopefully not as good as the HDD and Brigid, or Raider would be dead soon. “I’ve learned not to get caught,” he said, as if defending himself. “If you look closely, there are no arrests or even inquiries for the last six years.”
“I noticed,” Eddie said, scratching his neck.
“I’ve been working and making more money than ever before,” Raider continued as if trying to sell himself.
Eddie studied him for a couple of long moments. “What’s your offer, Times?”
Raider leaned forward to convey eagerness. “A partnership. I’m making too much money from my current enterprises, and I need help laundering it so I can set up my own legitimate businesses in the States and then launder it myself. But right now, I don’t have legitimate funds to use as start-up. Not with my records, anyway.”
Eddie flipped through the partial journal. “How have you made so much money?”
It was comical that the guy was so careful not to admit anything, even though the journal chronicling his criminal past was right in front of him. But Eddie hadn’t avoided prison all of these years by being stupid. Raider leaned back in his chair, noting the faint scent of cigar smoke wafting from the leather. “If you’ve read my sheet, you know how. I just got better at it all.”
Eddie reached over and tugged a silver ball on the Newton’s cradle set near his laptop. It hit the next ball, sending the farthest one out and then back in. “The last guy who went into business with me gave me this. He lied to me and is no longer with us.”
Raider swallowed. “It’s very nice.” He let just the right amount of sarcasm into his voice.
“Isn’t it?” Eddie let the spheres stay in motion, their clacking sound rhythmic. “So you work in credit card and identity fraud mostly. Anything else?”
“Maybe. I wouldn’t mind expanding globally to the drug or trafficking trades, but I don’t have the connections yet.” He sank into character to keep from grimacing.
“You think I do?” One of Eddie’s dark eyebrows rose.
Raider shrugged. “Maybe you do, maybe you don’t. I’m not willing to think beyond our first contract with each other until we see if it works out. You’re the first guy I’ve offered a deal to. There are several other organizations in the country I could approach. You were just the easiest.”
Eddie’s chin lifted. “It’s nice when business and pleasure combine, isn’t it?”
Was the asshole talking about Brigid? Yeah, probably. “Sometimes life works out,” he agreed, sounding unconcerned, angling his wrist to check the USB device masquerading as a watch on his wrist. “Let’s get down to business. I have five hundred million—”
“Oh, not yet.” Eddie stood and walked around the desk. “We have some business to do first.” Continuing past Raider, he opened his office door and strode out.
Raider stood and followed, acutely aware that Jonny P had yet to holster his gun. “Where are we going?”
Eddie strode beyond the round poker table to the door directly across from his office and used another keyboard before it clicked open to reveal a back alley. A town car was parked next to a grungy green dumpster.
Raider balked. “What exactly is happening?”
Jonny P prodded him in the center of his back with the gun. “Move.”
