The Intelligence Unit Series
The Grifter Chapter 18

Beck was seriously tired of dealing with goddamn morons. He probably shouldn't be surprised-he'd known Alfie was a complete fuckwad ever since they'd been eight years old. But there was an absolute assload of money on the line, here. The least Alfie could do was put his back into it. "Okay, okay, okay!" Alfie said, reaching across the table with his hand up in an expectant high five. Beck stared him down for a full three seconds before the dumb fucker shifted it to a non-verbal "my bad", then sat back against his side of the booth they'd commandeered at Houlihan's. It was the sort of place you saw on those restaurant makeover shows, equal parts dive bar and greasy restaurant with shitty service and shittier menu selections. But since it was also dark and low budget enough to be free of security cameras, as far as Beck was concerned, it was better than the Four Seasons.

"So, is this meet on, or not?" Beck asked, cutting through any crap Alfie might be tempted to dish up. His supplier was starting to lean on him-not that he'd disclose that little nugget-and as cautious as he wanted to be, he also wasn't going to make any goddamn money by sitting around, waiting for it to fall into his f*****g lap.

"Is this meet on?" Alfie laughed. "You're such a kidder! Of course it's on. Friday night, you pick the place, then I text Frankie to tell her when and where. Just like you said."

"Tell me again where you met this woman," Beck said. Of course, he remembered exactly what Alfie had told him a few days ago, when he'd first come to Beck with the suggestion to bring Frankie and her boyfriend, Shawn, on board. But Alfie wasn't a great liar when he was sober, and right now, the dude was decidedly not. If there was anything Alfie wasn't telling him about this chick or her boyfriend, he wanted to know now.

"I met her at Bang. She parties with my boy, Leo. You know, Ty's brother?"

So far, so good in the honesty department. And Beck had already vetted Ty and Leo, so that was a plus. Still... "How do you know she's good for the job?"

"Seriously, dude. Relax. She's cool. Hot as fuuuuuuck, too," Alfie said, his copper-colored eyebrows moving up and down. "If Shawn wasn't in the picture, I'd totally be tapping that. But, to answer your question, I know she's good for it because she needs the cash." Beck was going to die of boredom, here. "Find me someone who doesn't."

Alfie babbled on as if Beck hadn't even spoken. "Plus, she used to work at some fancy doctor's office and can get a list of rich-a*s people who'd be open to doing business." "What?" Beck sat up, his heart speeding in his chest.

"Yeah, man!" Alfie's already bright eyes glinted in the low light of the dingy bar. "Frankie knows her ex-boss's password and she's going to lift it right from the database. Names, contact info. Prescription history. You name it. She's going to be hooked up with so many contacts, you'll be selling this shit faster than you can get it."

"And you didn't think that was something you might want to, oh, I don't know, lead with?" Beck asked.

Alfie shrugged, and Christ, he was as clueless as he was useless. "I dunno. I figured she and Shawn would tell you about it when you hook up. But I wouldn't get your hopes up, man. They already said they wouldn't share their contacts, and Shawn was serious about it. I mean, dude is kind of serious about everything, but...I'm not sure I'd mess with him."

Well, at least these two had some semblance of brains. Not that it was going to deter Beck in the slightest. If he could get his hands on a list like that, it would break this expansion wide open. He'd gain so much momentum, so fast, that he'd edge out his competition in months rather than years.

Game. Motherfucking. On.

"Okay," Beck said, calculating as he sat back against the booth. The first step would be to gather as much intel as he could on Frankie and Shawn, then get them in the door and assess what he was dealing with face to face. Then, he could figure out how to manipulate-or beat-the list out of them.

But first thing's first. Before anything else, he needed to make sure they were legit. "That sounds promising. We'll see what she and her boyfriend bring to the table."

"I knew it," Alfie crowed, pumping his fist. Who even did that anymore? "You won't be sorry, Beckster. I promise. Frankie and Shawn are gonna write your ticket."

Oh, Beck was counting on it. "They'd better," he said.

He wanted that list. He deserved it. And as soon as he dug around and found Shawn and Frankie's weaknesses, he was going to push on those soft spots until he got what he wanted.

Even if it meant breaking them both in half.

***

Shawn stoodin the storage room that housed all of the Thirty-Third's surveillance equipment and forced his pulse to slow the hell down. The room was far enough away from his unit-mates that he could steal some peace and quiet, yet close enough that they'd find him if anything went tango uniform, so he took advantage of the fact that the place was empty. Taking a slow inhale, he visualized the case board in his head. All the intel Frankie had given them on Beck. Everything he knew about Alfie. Every nook and cranny of his cover alias, and Frankie's, too. Shawn rolled every detail through his mind until they came to him as easy as breathing, instinctive, as if they were true.

He'd been a grifter so many times, sliding from one shady persona to the next. It shouldn't have been so easy, and yet sometimes, being someone else for a while-even a shitty someone-had held appeal.

Now, somehow, things felt different. His cover wasn't an escape anymore so much as it was a means to an end, like a coat he could slide on and off with finality. He only wanted to use it as a tool to do his job so they could put Beck behind bars, where he belonged. And with Frankie at Shawn's back and him at hers, they were going to make it happen.

"Hey." Hollister appeared in the doorway to the surveillance room, lifting his chin in greeting. The guy was so chill, he pretty much had two settings: shit-eating grin and fast asleep. He was a dedicated cop, though, and Shawn had seen the guy channel all that calm into some pretty badass police work on far more than one occasion. "You good in here?"

"Yup. You know the drill," Shawn said. "Gotta get right with the job before a meet like this."

Hollister huffed out a laugh. "Yeah, I know. Capelli's just about finished getting Frankie wired up. Hale and Isabella and I have our positions, depending on scenario. Garza's backing Capelli up in the surveillance van once we're on-site."

They'd been over a half dozen possible scenarios for meeting places-clubs, alleys, private homes-working out a variety of different surveillance and backup options. But this wasn't like all the informal tag-ups and buys at Bang. For a meet with Beck, the whole unit would be involved. Even if they weren't going to take him down until they had a slam dunk of a case.

"Copy that," Shawn said. Capelli had wired him up first, with everything from the panic button he knew how to use in his sleep to the newer, highly sophisticated mics and earpieces that were virtually undetectable. "Has Alfie called Frankie yet?" Hollister shook his head. "She was shooting off a text from her burner cell when I left to come down here. Figured Alfie already knows she's desperate for the meet, so..." He trailed off on a shrug.

"Not a bad play," Shawn agreed. He took a step toward the door, figuring he'd regroup with Frankie while they waited out Alfie's response.

But Hollister had gone full-on statue, blocking the way. "Hey, uh. I know you've got a lot going on right now, and I don't want to f**k with you before a meet. I just wanted to say that even though the circumstances are rough, with Isla's mom and everything, I think it's really great that Isla's in your life. She's a lucky kid. Even if I do pity the crap out of anyone who wants to date her once she grows up."

"Dude." Shawn lifted a brow. "I can barely get my head around making sure she eats a vegetable every day and how much screen time is too much. She's not dating until she's thirty."

"Can't say I blame you," Hollister said with a grin. "But, really. If you need any backup before then...just know that we're all here for you, okay?"

A pang centered itself in Shawn's sternum, the corners of his mouth edging upward into an involuntary smile. "Thanks, man. I appreciate it."

"I will remind you of that when I take her to the amusement park and we ride the teacups so many times that she can't walk a straight line."

Shawn started to remind Hollister that he knew exactly how to hide a body when Garza appeared in the doorway, his expression locked and loaded.

"Hey. Alfie texted Frankie back. It's time to go."

The next few minutes passed in a blur of double-checking comms and hauling a*s to his undercover vehicle. His heart thumped out a steady beat of go-go-go, but he knew from experience that he'd burn out in about four minutes if he gave in to his adrenaline, so he looked at Frankie in an effort to keep his cool.

Her smile did the trick. The jeans that were clinging to her curvy hips and long, strong legs? Not so much.

"Where are we headed?" he asked, ushering the dirty thoughts from his brain. He could examine his red-hot urge to take her jeans off with his teeth later. Right now, he needed to focus.

"Some bar on the pier called Houlihan's," she said.

Shawn muttered a curse. "Yeah, I know it. Crowded. Shitty visibility. Shittier security. There probably isn't a working street cam within a three-block radius of the place."

"Actually, it's four," came Capelli's voice over their earpieces, making Frankie laugh.

"Fantastic. Good thing I love a challenge."

For as much good-natured shit as the detectives gave Capelli for the being the King Geek of Tech Island, the dude always, always came through like a boss. Pulling maps and schematics as Garza drove the surveillance vehicle disguised as a utility van, Capelli worked with the unit to strategize the most inconspicuous lookout points, and by the time Shawn pulled the pickup into a parking spot three blocks from the pier, they were all systems go.

"Okay," Shawn said to Frankie as Capelli switched off the two-way function to his and Frankie's earpieces, blocking them from hearing the unit's chatter. Better to go in without distractions, and the team could still hear them-and everything they heard-just fine. Plus, Capelli wouldn't hesitate to switch them back on if shit went sideways. "You good?"

Frankie nodded. "Hollister will be at the bar, and Isabella will have eyes on the back door. Hale's setting up outside across from the front entrance. Garza's two blocks away doing eyes and ears with Capelli. Code word for if our cover is blown is Toledo. I've got it." She rubbed her thumb and forefinger together, so absently that Shawn would bet she had no idea she was doing it. But he knew-Christ, he noticed everything about her, whether he wanted to or not-and even though there was a decent chance Capelli was listening, Shawn reached out to lace his fingers through hers.

"Hey. We've got a really solid plan. Strong backup. This is going to go exactly the way we want it to, okay?"

"I know," Frankie said. But then, her game face turned into a vulnerable smile, and her honesty poured right out. "It's just that I've been tracking this a*****e for months. Now that I'm finally getting a break in this case...I really want it, is all. He deserves to rot in jail for what he did. What he's doing."

"He will. We've got this, Frankie. Me and you." Shawn sealed the promise with a squeeze to her hand.

She squeezed back, and just like that, her game face was back in place, strong and fierce and so, so beautiful. "Okay. We'll have to stay sharp. Beck's cautious to the point of paranoia, and he's slick as hell. It's anybody's guess how he plays this." "Whatever he does, we'll be ready." Shawn said it with the same certainty he'd use on the phrase "the sky is blue", and Frankie nodded back with the same determination.

"Alright, then. Let's go catch a bad guy."

Together, they got out of the truck and made their way to Houlihan's. As he scanned their surroundings, Shawn caught sight of a figure in jeans and a hoodie. Anyone else would have taken in the smaller stature and the pulled-low baseball cap topped with the sweatshirt's hood and mistaken the person for a younger teenager, but Shawn knew better. Hale ignored the hell out of him and Frankie as they passed, pretending to lazily send a text. Although he was sure Frankie noticed her, she didn't show it, her eyes lasered on their destination now a handful of steps away.

Houlihan's front window was either tinted or filthy-possibly both-making it damn near impossible to see inside the place from the street. Shawn pushed the door open anyway, letting Frankie go ahead of him, partly because that's what Shawn Pritchard would do and partly so he could have her back. The rush and murmur of Friday night crowd noise mixed in with the strains of a familiar classic rock song spilling down from a crappy sound system. If the haze in the air was anything to go by, the smoke-free laws that Remington had enacted ages ago seemed not to apply, and it took Shawn a second to let his vision adjust.

He squinted a stare across the bar, then the small seating areas that housed a half dozen booths and a scattering of tables to the right, before taking in the worn pool table and the hallway leading to what a grungy sign promised were the bathrooms. Alfie was sitting in the last booth, across from a guy who had his back to them. Normally, Shawn would think it was either careless or reckless to have your back to the door in a place like Houlihan's. But then, the guy turned, his stare cold and scalpel-sharp, and the hair on the back of Shawn's neck stood on end.

Beck was neither careless nor reckless. He'd just gut anyone who f****d with him, and his only concern would be whether or not he'd gotten any on his shoes.

Alfie caught sight of them when they were three booths away, his grin oilier than a used car salesman's. "Frankie, baby! Looking gorgeous. Am I right, or what, Shawn?" Alfie stood and went to hug Frankie, but Shawn noped that by tightening an arm around her waist and shooting off a hard stare he didn't have to fake. Frankie gave up a demure smile that Shawn was sure she did have to fake, and Alfie lifted his hands in mock surrender.

"Okay, not a hugger. I gotchu. Anyway, let's get down to business." He laughed after a beat. "Get it? Since we're going into business together? Business?"

"Alfie." Beck nailed him with a stare. "Stop talking."

Alfie clammed up and turned so red that Shawn nearly felt bad for the guy. For a few seconds, none of them spoke, everyone sizing up everyone else. Beck let his eyes travel over Frankie, but not in the same sleazy way Alfie's had. His look was more of an analysis, taking in every variable from her overdone makeup to her threadbare jeans and frayed denim jacket before moving his stare to Shawn. Although it was a bit of a gamble, Shawn returned the favor, locking eyes with Beck and sizing him up in return rather than backing down like Alfie (and probably everyone else in the universe) had. Finally, Beck tilted his head toward the booth.

"Have a seat."

Of course, Alfie was already on one side and Beck on the other, which meant Shawn and Frankie would have to separate. Shawn weighed his options for a split second before moving to take the spot beside Alfie. The thought of Frankie that close to Beck might make his stomach pitch, but she knew how to handle herself. Plus, the leverage he stood to gain from the eye contact of being across from the guy was worth it.

"Heard you used to work at Grand Auto Repair in Detroit," Beck said by way of a hello.

Luckily, Shawn had been ready for the guy to go digging. "For a while."

"I know a guy who used to run cars around there. Mikey Sandival. Says he knows you."

Every last red flag Shawn owned went flying in the wind. His brain screamed through the cover Capelli had created, all the details he and Frankie had gone over and memorized, then gone over again, scanning and searching until-

"Well, that's a neat trick," Shawn said, leveling a stare right into Beck's eyes despite the chill it sent up his spine. "Since Mikey Sandival has been dead for two years now."

"So he has," Beck said after a pause. "Well done."

Shawn pushed a look of annoyance past the relief slamming through him. "If you thought we were cops, you could've just f*****g said so."

"If I'd really thought you were cops, we'd have met in a much more private place, and you'd both be bleeding by now."

The words arrived as pure fact, sending another wave of unease through Shawn's gut. Christ, this fucker was clearly lacking a soul.

Beck continued. "Trust gets earned. You're just lucky you passed the test. So, Alfie tells me you're in a bit of a jam."

He let the rest hang, clearly wanting Shawn and Frankie to fill in the blanks even though he knew the story. Damn, he was going to make this difficult. The less Beck said, the less there would be to hang him by. Either that, or he was looking for inconsistencies in their story. One wrong move, and he and Frankie would blow this.

Not f*****g happening. "A little," Shawn admitted, letting Frankie take the ball and run.

"I work"-her pause was a perfectly timed hiccup-"worked, I guess, in a doctor's office downtown. A plastic surgeon," she added, which had been Isabella's idea, and Capelli had worked a bunch of Internet mojo to make the cover story work. "The office manager got all pissy with me just because I was late a couple of times. Not that she had to make the f*****g haul all the way downtown in rush hour."

Frankie rolled her eyes, selling it just enough. "Anyway, I got fired last week, and I can't find anything else without a reference. Shawn's making okay money, but our landlord is a d**k. He jacked our rent up a couple of months ago even though he knew we couldn't pay it. He's going to kick us out if we don't do something."

"And you think I can help you," Beck said. He wasn't giving them so much as a millimeter, but that was okay. This wouldn't be the first time Shawn had had to work for it.

"Yeah. We heard you're looking for help moving prescription drugs. Trying to break into a new market. That sort of thing."

Beck's stare turned to steel as he pinned Alfie with a glare, clearly not happy that his cousin had run his mouth. To Shawn, he said, "I run a business that has specific needs. On occasion, those needs include bringing in new people. But you have to earn my trust, first."

Shawn weighed his options in his head. Beck was too smart to say anything incriminating at this meet. They could sit here in the land of "business needs" or he could take a risk to get them where they needed to be.

"Isn't that what we're doing right now?" Shawn asked. "I mean, we're here, jumping through all your hoops, passing all your little tests and telling you we can move your product. What else do you want?"

He let enough irritation leak into his voice for Beck to hear it, and okay, looked like he'd officially taken the role of hardball cop.

A muscle in Beck's clean-shaven jaw jumped. "How about a little respect? You came to me, remember?"

Alfie stuttered, his glassy eyes wide. "Hey, guys, why don't we just-"

Shawn didn't hesitate to cut him off. "And you said yes to a meet"-he pointed at Beck-"which means you need us, too. Otherwise, you wouldn't bother. So, are we going to do this, or not? Because seriously, I don't have time to f**k around." Tension stretched across the table, binding all four of them together in a loaded silence. In another gamble, Shawn counted out three long seconds before he looked at Frankie and played his ace in the hole.

"I told you this was a waste of time. We have buyers on the line, ready to go. If this guy doesn't want in, we can find someone else to run product for. Let's go."

A flare of surprise moved over Frankie's face, but it only lasted for a nanosecond before she scooped up her good cop role and played it to perfection.

"Baby, let's just take a breath, okay? Please?" She turned her doe eyes on Beck. "He's just tense because we're in a bad situation. But it's like I told Alfie. We have a plan. If you're looking to move a lot of weight, we can make that happen." Beck stared at her, but it was clear he was-yes-measuring his options. Finally, he said, "I'm listening."

"Well, a lot of Dr. Preston's patients would call in for more pain meds than they needed. 'Drama queens,' he used to say. He never really gave in, but he did flag their charts when they got grabby with things like Vicodin and Oxy. So, there's a list of people who asked for something they didn't get, just sitting on that database...and I have it."

"You already got the list?" Alfie asked, his mouth hanging open.

Frankie smiled and split her nod between Alfie and Beck. "Yeah. We went to an Internet café a couple days ago. I logged in using the office manager's password and made a bunch of screen grabs. Names, addresses, phone numbers. All of it."

"So there's no download record that can be traced back to the café. Or you," Beck said.

"Well, we're not interested in getting caught," Shawn said. "So, yeah. We played it smart."

Beck gave the tiniest nod of approval. "How many potential clients are we talking about, here?"

Clients.Damn, Beck wasn't going to say a single syllable that couldn't be played off in court. "Dozens. And you can bet they have friends with similar needs who are just as rich."

"It sounds like a lot of money," Alfie said hopefully, and Frankie nodded.

"And none of them want their names splashed all over the Internet for something like a drug bust. They're all, like, lawyers and investment bankers. Even a couple of local actors. They'd have to be careful to protect their reputations."

"I don't give a f**k about their reputations," Beck bit out. "I only care about their habits. The more they want, the more they'll spend."

Frankie's brows went up. "Well, yeah, but...don't you worry they'll want too much? I mean, what if they overdose or something?"

"Then they die." Beck shrugged. "It's not great for business, but it doesn't sound like it'll be a problem, considering the size of this list you claim you have. You can always go to the next person, right?"

"Yeah, sure," Shawn said, so Frankie wouldn't have to. God, this guy was sick. "We'll be fine. No one's tracing anything back to us."

"You'd better be sure of that." Beck leaned in, his voice low and loaded with promise. "Because-and I'm speaking hypothetically, here-if you do get caught doing anything you shouldn't be doing and my name comes up in any conversations at all, for any reason, you won't like what happens next."

"Is that a threat?" Frankie whispered.

Beck pulled out his cell phone, tapping through a handful of screens before sliding it across the table, face up. For just a beat, Shawn couldn't reconcile the video clip playing on and endless loop in front of him. But then, his brain connected the dots, adrenaline kick-starting his pulse as the image of a man tied to a chair came into focus. Although his face was hidden by a ski mask, his fear was palpable, his body bowstring tight and his clothes damp with sweat. Another figure loomed just off-screen. Judging by size, Shawn would guess it was a man, but he couldn't be sure. Only the person's gloved hands and the sleeves of his generic black long-sleeved shirt were in view. The man in the chair shrank back as the other figure approached, his lips moving in rapid speech that had been muted. He pulled back, thrashing and trying to twist in the chair as the other person brandished a pair of gardening clippers.

The glint of the steel flashed only once before the figure struck, cleanly severing the man's pinky finger in a brutal strike.

"That is a promise," Beck said, sliding the phone back into his grasp with a smile. "Just something to keep in mind as we move forward. For now, you're in."