The Drifter (Peter Ash #1)(69)

“He smells like strawberries,” said Charlie. “You gave him a bath.”

Dinah’s glare could have started a fire. “Peter.”

Little Miles wandered over. “Hello, Mr. Mingus,” he said, and put out a hand to the dog, knuckles up like Peter had shown him. The dog licked his way up the boy’s arm, cleaning off what looked like spaghetti sauce. Miles giggled. Dogs always liked little kids. They tasted like sweat and table scraps.

Dinah sighed. It was the sound of a mother who knows when to give in.

“You better be the one to feed him,” said Peter. “So he knows you’re in charge.”

She gave him the stinkeye. “It didn’t work with you.”

Peter gave her his most winning smile. “One more thing,” he said. And held out the chrome .32 he’d taken off the scarred man.

“No, no.” She took a step away.

“The safety is here.” He showed her. “On, off. Point and shoot.” He held it out again. “Take it, Dinah. Just in case.”

She shook her head but opened her hand. Peter put the gun in her palm.

She held it out from her body like it might explode. “Lieutenant Ash.” The muscles worked in her jaw.

“I’ll be back,” he said. “I promise.”

She looked at the boys, who were busy with the dog, then at Peter. She reached across the space between them and tapped him hard on the chest with a pointing finger.

“You had damn well better.”





32



The thin November light was fading, night coming earlier as winter came on. Peter and Lewis sat in the Yukon, waiting.

Through yet another Web search, Peter had found a newspaper article about Skinner’s house in Fox Point, three suburbs north of the city. It had forested lots, narrow curving roads, and a distinct lack of streetlights. The most expensive area was between Lake Drive and Lake Michigan.

Skinner’s place was on the lake.

They were parked on the verge, where they could watch both the road and the house through the thin screen of leafless trees. Although “house” didn’t quite describe the place. It had wings, like a museum. Dinah’s little cottage would fit inside it ten times. Maybe twenty. From the road, it was hard to know how big the place really was.

It looked like some kind of castle. Not a storybook castle with towers and turrets, but more like a Norman keep, high stone walls with tall, narrow windows and minimal plantings. It looked like a fortress with a six-car garage.

But Peter knew from the article the house was only a few years old. New construction being what it was, the stone likely was a thin veneer over particleboard and drywall. Even if he didn’t want to break a window or pry open a door, he could get inside with just a crowbar and hand sledge. Most people would be appalled at how easy it was to break into a house. Especially if you didn’t care about making noise.

Lewis said, “You think he’s gonna tell you anything?”

Peter shrugged. “This guy faced down the cops over killing his wife, and the SEC over securities fraud. He’s not going to get scared by a couple of guys knocking on his door. But if we get up his nose we might break something loose, get something in motion.”

“We not just a couple of guys,” said Lewis. He smiled his tilted smile and put some street in his voice. “We sho ’nuff not the po-lice. An’ we def’ny not the SEC.” The smile got wider. “We can apply leverage they can’t.”

Even sitting still, he conveyed the impression of contained power, the mountain lion not quite at rest.

Peter still wasn’t quite sure what to make of Lewis. He’d been a soldier but was now a successful criminal. He knew his way around computers well enough to search state and federal databases. And with his mention of the SEC, Peter thought maybe he knew something about finance, too.

“You know what the SEC is, don’t you?” asked Peter.

“Securities and Exchange Commission,” said Lewis. “I gotta explain why the repeal of the Glass-Steagall Act led to the banking crisis of 2008?”

“Please, don’t,” said Peter, who had followed the financial crisis and its aftermath from a war zone and was now thoroughly sick of the whole thing. “But why are you interested?”

“Modern criminal needs to know. The financial system’s designed to favor established capital. Investment banks, hedge funds. Corporations. They in business to hoover money out of the pockets of small investors like me. You want to keep your hard-earned green, you better know how this shit work.”

“That doesn’t explain your interest in Glass-Steagall,” said Peter.

Lewis smiled his tilted smile. “You want to be good at your work, you study up, right? Some of these finance guys are the biggest fucking thieves out there.” He shrugged. “So it’s educational.”

Peter looked at him. “You’re not who I expected you to be.”

“Nobody is,” said Lewis. His face was unreadable in the dim light. “Anyway, I get interested in shit. Man can’t have a hobby?”

Peter grinned at that. “Well,” he said. “We can definitely apply some leverage.”

Lewis tilted his chin at the road ahead. “Here comes your guy. Home from the salt mines.” He shifted the Yukon into drive.