Sharks - Matt Rogers (classic books for 11 year olds txt) 📗

‘Hell no.’

Slater looked into his eyes. Saw fear, but no guilt.

‘What did you do in New York? What do you do here?’

‘You know … provide security, make connections. Get people talking to people. I’m a people pleaser.’

‘Drugs?’

‘No.’

‘Why not?’

‘That ain’t me.’

He was telling the truth. Unambitious for a mobster.

Slater took the gun away. ‘Get out of town. This place isn’t the right fit for a small-timer like you.’

D’Antoni sat there, looking stupid.

‘You need me to hold your hand?’ Slater said.

‘I can go?’

‘Be quick about it before I change my mind.’

‘Thank you, man,’ D’Antoni said. ‘And I’m sorry for all this.’

Like that meant anything.

He got up and waddled away.

Slater stewed on the sidewalk in the dark, wondering, as always, whether he was making the right choice.

He thought he was.

If he went around executing everyone who dipped a pinky in the criminal world, he’d have the blood of half the country on his hands. Everyone was willing to do it to different degrees, even if the most egregious crime you’d ever committed was selfishness. Slater had clear lines he’d formed after years of exposure to this world, and he wasn’t about to break them. If he had the time, he’d make sure to steer D’Antoni toward the light, but there were more important things on his mind. The mobster was a hapless fish in a bloody pond.

They were going for the sharks.

He waited patiently for King to wrap up business inside Lagoon.

10

As the cashier led them into a private meeting room with armchairs arranged in a broad oval and a coffee table as the centrepiece, King heard in his ear, ‘Lieutenant Dean Cohen. It’s cash from one of Ray’s income streams — unsure which — but we knew that already. You get the rest.’

He grunted softly and brought his forearm to his mouth to muffle it with a cough.

Cohen placed the three bags on the table and said, ‘Where should I sit?’

King said, ‘Wherever you want, Dean.’

Cohen tried not to react, but he may as well have been told his family was under threat. If this mystery man knew his name without being told, then this was more of a test than he’d anticipated. They were all watching him, making sure he didn’t screw up the transaction. There was money at stake, after all.

Cash makes the world go round.

Cohen took the armchair furthest from the door and shifted it round so he could face the whole room. ‘You shouldn’t have done that, you know.’

King raised an eyebrow. ‘Done what?’

‘Given me time to think.’

‘And why’s that?’

‘Because D’Antoni is just the middleman,’ Cohen said. ‘I’m new to dealing with this particular casino, sure, but you honestly think I’m new to this world? You must. I’ll have you know that I’ve been partnered with Keith Ray in a number of ventures for years. Why else do you think he’d trust me to do this? You think he’d hand this off to anyone?’

King stayed quiet.

Let the cop dig his own grave.

Cohen couldn’t handle the silence. He was on a roll, so he continued. ‘You’re not the key to this deal. I am. Sure, you’re big and you look mean, which was supposed to do the trick, right? It worked for a minute or so. Threw me off. But now I’m realising that you’re just the big dumb muscle and I’m the guy who dictates where these duffel bags — and hundreds more in future — end up.’

King said, ‘What were you running with Ray before he bit the bullet?’

‘None of your damn business.’

‘It’ll earn you my respect.’

‘I don’t care about your respect.’

But he did. King might be beneath Cohen on the imaginary pyramid of power, but there was still the fact he was fifty pounds heavier and a couple of inches taller and a whole lot meaner. They were cooped up in this windowless meeting room with a middle-aged cashier as the only witness. There was still the very real physical threat, despite the fact that Cohen was more important.

So when King said, ‘Guns? Girls? Drugs?’ hiding his real question in the middle, Cohen said, ‘All of the above.’

He couldn’t help himself.

Thanks, King thought. I’ll remember that.

He sat down beside Cohen and gestured for the cashier to sit across from them. The woman had her arms folded in front of her, a blank expression on her face. Waiting for the two men to finish their petty quibbling. Now she sat and said, ‘Shall we get down to business?’

King slumped back in his chair and lifted two big palms off the armrests, feigning surrender. ‘Go right ahead. Pretend I’m not here.’

Cohen nodded, reassured by King backing down.

He said, ‘Ray didn’t give me the particulars before his … untimely passing. So that’s what this little introductory session is for.’

The cashier nodded. ‘Of course. There’s always been protocol in place, in the event something happened. I know every step of the process.’

‘Just you?’

The woman nodded again. ‘My staff underneath me know pieces. But it’s only fragments. Where to transfer, when to transfer, which account numbers, when to look the other way. No one has the whole puzzle but me.’

‘Deniability,’ Cohen said. ‘ I take it you’re not actually a cashier.’

The woman gave a subtle shake of the head and a knowing smile.

Cohen said, ‘I’m Dean, by the way.’

‘Deborah,’ the woman said.

They reached across the duffel bags and shook hands.

Cute, King thought.

Cohen looked over. ‘Well, you know my name.’

King nodded.

Didn’t say a word.

Cohen shook his head in feigned frustration and turned away. ‘Pleasure to meet you, Deborah.’

‘Likewise. I hope you can see this relationship is beneficial for both parties. Keith and I had a good thing going.’

‘If it ain’t broke,’ Cohen said with a smile, ‘don’t fix it.’

She smiled back. ‘Just one thing…’

‘Yes?’

She pointed to King but kept her gaze fixed on Cohen. ‘You told him what you do. You implied where the money came from. I don’t want to know that. Ever. I just want to know how much to send on its way.’

‘And if you don’t