Deception, p.8
Deception, page 8
Ryker stepped off his bike and headed across the road. He walked alongside the security fence, glancing beyond a couple of times. Definitely no customers in sight. Beyond the dirty windows of the showroom he spotted a few figures though. Three, four men, clustered around a big desk. No cars in there that he could see. Just a near-empty space.
Ryker walked a circuit of the block, coming back around to where he’d parked his bike. Recce complete. He was about to head to the showroom when a high-revving engine somewhere in the near distance caught his attention. At first, the pitch of the engine suggested a powerful motorbike and Ryker’s instincts kicked in and he had a flash of the chase through Rome the previous day. But then the vehicle came into view, bombing along the curve in the road. Not a motorbike, the high-pitched note belonged to a garish orange Lamborghini, its powerful engine being throttled in a too-low gear. The driver slammed on the brakes and the tyres screeched and the motor came to an abrupt stop right by the open gates.
Ryker remained in place as the Lamborghini pulled into the car park, the driver stopping by the Mercedes and Porsche. The two doors opened. A young woman stepped out of the driver’s side. Tall and stick-thin, she wore skintight jeans, a tiny black top that showed her belly, her shoulders, her upper chest. Flowing black hair, showy jewellery on her wrists, neck, ears…
The man who stepped out of the passenger side was several inches shorter, twenties, his clothes as tight as the woman’s to show off his youthful muscular physique. His wide-brimmed baseball cap shielded his face from Ryker. Like the woman he was covered with sparkling jewellery and had a ridiculous swagger to his walk which he’d obviously learned from watching wannabe gangsters on music videos.
The two laughed as they walked to each other and they high-fived – a congratulatory gesture related to her hideous driving? – before the guy grabbed the woman’s arse and nearly took her off her feet with a squeeze. She seemed to like it. The two of them sauntered to the doors of the showroom, the man’s arm slung nonchalantly over the woman’s shoulder.
Ryker crossed the road and headed after them. He reached the doors to the showroom while the newcomers were in the middle of a welcome from their friends which consisted of lots of fancy handshakes and slaps on backs. Ryker opened the boarded-up door and stepped inside and twelve eyes turned to him.
He remained by the door as he eyed the group in front. Of the four men who’d been inside already, two were youngsters who in general appearance, clothing and confident stance looked much like the man from the Lamborghini. The two other men were noticeably different. One was much older, probably early fifties, heavily tanned with bright white hair that had been shaved almost to the skin. He wore smart, but plain clothes and was standing behind the desk in the middle of the room. Next to him stood a thicker-set man, perhaps in his thirties or forties, with a dense, closely-cut black beard that dominated his face and together with his skin colour suggested a Middle Eastern or North African origin.
‘Guten morgen,’ Ryker said as he scanned the odd group.
‘Guten morgen,’ the older guy said, forcing a smile. ‘Can I help you?’ he carried on in German.
‘You must be Schloss,’ Ryker said to him.
‘No. Schloss hasn’t been here for many years.’
‘But you’re in charge?’
‘Me and my sons,’ the man said. So that perhaps explained who the youngsters were, but not the bigger, bearded guy.
‘What do you want?’ the tallest and leanest of the youngsters asked, whose arms were covered in swirling ink, and who had a scar, or maybe a birthmark, that ran from the edge of his left eyebrow to his ear.
‘A car. Obviously. That is what you sell here, isn’t it?’
A glower from Inkman, but a moment later the dad had beckoned his sons over and was whispering to them in a language Ryker didn’t fully understand – one of the many Slavic languages, or a close derivative, he thought.
When they’d finished, the two from the Lamborghini moved toward Ryker, while Inkman and the other son – the youngest of the lot, possibly a teenager even – glowered at Ryker before moving in the opposite direction and beyond a closed door at the back of the showroom.
Ryker stepped aside and the man and woman headed on out. He didn’t follow their path but a moment later heard the roar of the Lamborghini as it flew off down the road.
‘Was it something I said?’ Ryker asked.
‘You want a car?’ the boss asked. ‘Which one?’
Ryker took a couple of steps forward, and noticed the bearded man tense up.
‘I’m into Opels, actually,’ Ryker said. ‘Do you have any?’
‘I’m sorry, friend,’ the boss said, shaking his head. ‘Nothing like that at the moment.’
‘No?’
‘Sorry. Something else? Or perhaps you want to try another garage. I can recommend one.’
‘You want me to buy a car from someone else? No offence but you’re not the best car salesman I’ve ever met.’
‘You’re not from Austria,’ the bearded man said. ‘I can tell. Your accent.’
‘And neither are you two,’ Ryker said in return, switching his gaze between the two men.
‘Do you want a car or not?’ the boss asked as he plonked himself down in the thick leather chair. His bearded friend folded his arms across his broad chest.
‘Honestly?’ Ryker said. ‘No. I don’t.’
‘Then maybe you should go.’
‘Happily. If you help me first.’
‘Help you?’
‘I need some information. On a car you sold… to a friend of mine.’
Ryker stepped forward again, only a few feet from the desk now. He scanned beyond to the door where the two young men had disappeared. No sign of where they were now.
‘We don’t do refunds,’ the bearded man said. ‘If your friend doesn’t like their car–’
‘I’m not asking for a refund. Only some information.’
Beardy opened his mouth to speak but a hand in the air from his boss kept him quiet.
‘Who are you?’ the boss asked.
‘Someone you’ll never see again if you help me.’
‘I don’t do favours. Not unless I get something in return. And especially not with people I don’t know.’
‘A woman came in here not long ago. A few days maybe. She bought an Opel Corsa from you. A sixteen-year-old model. A heap of shit. The woman was in her thirties. Dark hair. Dark eyes. This is her.’
He turned his phone with the snapshot of Devereaux he’d taken from the web. The boss didn’t look at it as he held Ryker’s eye, but the other guy did.
‘She looks harmless,’ Ryker said, ‘but actually… no, that’s a story you don’t need–’
‘You have one chance to leave,’ the boss said. ‘Take it.’
‘As soon as you tell me what I need to know.’
‘You have five seconds.’
Ryker didn’t budge. More than ten seconds passed. The boss had set the ultimatum. Was he prepared to follow through?
All of that begged the biggest question: why this response? Ryker had an inkling…
Simultaneously the entrance door behind him, and the door in front of him opened up and the two young men strode through. In front of him Inkman held on to a shotgun, behind him the kid had a baseball bat, held around the back of his head as he stepped forward, ready to swing.
Inkman pulled his meanest face. The boss smirked as though filled with pride at his sons. Beardy had unfolded his arms, hands by his sides, ready to pounce. Did he have a weapon?
Ryker didn’t wait to find out. Before any of the men said or did another thing, he made his move.
13
Ryker raced forward. He put his hand to the desk and swung his legs up to lift him to the top. He slid across the surface, thumped the boss in his chest with his leading leg to send him and his chair spinning backward. Ryker landed on the other side of the desk, ducked away from a hook from Beardy. He leaped up, sending a punishing uppercut onto the guy’s chin. Ryker swiped his feet and the big guy plummeted, cracking his skull on the edge of the desk as he went. An unintended bonus, from Ryker’s perspective, at least.
‘I’ll shoot!’ Inkman blurted, but Ryker could hear the panic in his voice.
He spun and lunged for the boss as he stood from his chair, face like thunder. Ryker blocked a straight punch, grabbed the guy’s wrist, pulled him into a hammerlock, clasped his free hand behind the man’s head and slammed his face into the desk. The boy with the bat squirmed.
‘Touch him again, you’re dead!’ Inkman shouted.
Ryker slammed the dad’s face one more time. The crunch and the groan suggested perhaps a broken nose. He crouched down slightly, cover from the shotgun, and ground the man’s face into the wood, pushing up on the wrist to keep him subdued.
‘Drop your weapons,’ Ryker said.
The bat clanked to the floor. But not the shotgun.
‘You shoot me from that range, with that weapon, you’re filling your dad with lead,’ Ryker said. ‘Drop the gun, and kick it to me.’
No response. Ryker pushed further on the wrist and the dad screamed in pain.
‘Nico, please!’ the boy shouted out to his brother.
Nico crouched down and placed the shotgun on the floor. He held his hands aloft as he straightened up again, his face creased with anger.
‘Kick it over,’ Ryker said.
Nico did so. The gun ended up four feet from Ryker. Close enough. He dragged the boss along and grabbed the gun from the floor. Beardy groggily pulled himself up. When he saw the predicament he didn’t show any intention to fight.
‘That way,’ Ryker said, waving the gun in the direction of the door at the back.
Nobody moved.
Ryker took aim with the shotgun and fired and the men flinched and Nico squealed like a small child as the pellets blasted into the floor right by his toes.
Actually, one of the pellets hit his foot, Ryker realised a second later as Nico hopped about, whining.
‘Oops,’ Ryker said. ‘But if you threaten someone with a gun, you better make sure you’re prepared for the consequences. Now move.’
Ryker remained holding the boss as the other three men huddled then slowly moved toward the back door, Beardy feeling at the bloody gash on the side of his head. Nico hobbled on his shot foot, the youngster shuffling along in tow.
‘Inside,’ Ryker said.
One after the other they filed into a corridor and in through what turned out to be a windowless office-cum-storage room.
‘What’s that?’ Ryker said, pointing to a closed door in the far corner.
‘Storage,’ the youngster said.
‘Open it.’
He looked at his brother, at his dad. Neither gave him an indication of what to do. Eventually he stepped forward and opened the door. Another windowless space, about five feet square. A few cleaning supplies here and there. One wall was taken up with racking, only partially filled with various files and boxes.
‘Inside, all of you.’
Once more the trio gave each other a few nonplussed looks, but they decided to comply without the need for more shotgun fire.
Ryker kicked the door shut behind them. He shoved the boss away from him, who skidded across the floor into a heap. The handle of the cupboard door had a simple latch lock which Ryker flipped before he grabbed a filing cabinet and heaved it over and it clattered down in front of the locked door.
‘Better safe than sorry,’ Ryker said as he glared down at the boss who turned himself over on the ground, his face covered in blood from his now horribly misshapen nose. ‘And now, it’s time for you to talk.’
The man didn’t. Instead, he simply glared daggers at Ryker as he sucked air through his blood-filled nostrils.
‘What’s your name?’ Ryker asked, hoping that an easy start might be the way to go, but before the man could answer, thudding from behind the closed cupboard door grabbed their attention. ‘They’ll be fine. You’ll be fine. Just answer my questions, then I’ll be gone.’
Deciding the man on the floor was no longer a threat, Ryker turned from him and scanned around the room – an office. Not particularly well used. The metal shelves along one wall were empty except for four lever arch files. A sole desk with a single computer terminal. A set of drawers. A cupboard.
‘Take a seat, if you like,’ Ryker said, indicating the desk chair, once he’d satisfied himself that there were no weapons, or alarms or anything of the like, either in the drawers or on or under the desk.
The man once again didn’t respond, though his beady eyes remained on Ryker the whole time.
‘So what did happen to Schloss?’ Ryker asked after scanning through a big old-fashioned cashbook ledger that had spilled from the cabinet he’d toppled.
‘He died,’ the man said.
‘A relation of yours?’
‘No.’
‘You bought the business from his family?’
‘I was asked to run it.’
‘By who?’
‘You don’t need to know.’
True. But it was good that he was at least talking.
‘Take a seat,’ Ryker said, indicating the chair once more. This time the man did pull himself up.
‘My name’s James Ryker. And you are?’
‘Bojan.’
‘You’re not Austrian.’
‘Yes, I am.’
‘Sorry, that was simplistic of me. You’ve got roots outside of Austria. One of the Slavic countries maybe. I heard you talking to your boys before.’
‘We’re Austrian. But we’re human, not purebred animals. We have roots in different countries, like most people if you care to look. Don’t you?’
‘I really don’t know,’ Ryker said. ‘My family tree only has me on it.’
‘Mine’s more complicated. But it’s not your business.’
‘Maybe not. Or maybe it is. It depends on how much involvement you have in my business.’
Bojan said nothing.
‘I get why she came here,’ Ryker said.
‘Who?’
‘My friend. The woman I showed you the picture of. Leia. I get why she came here.’
Bojan’s eyes narrowed – suspicion? As though he already didn’t like where Ryker was going to take this conversation.
‘She needed a car. For something important. She needed to get it from somewhere that would only accept cash. Somewhere where the owner, the workers, have as much to hide as she does, in order to help keep her trail clean.’
Bojan remained silent. Ryker could tell he was clenching his jaw shut.
‘One question for you,’ Ryker said. ‘Are you the top boss, or do you just work for him?’
‘I own this garage.’
‘Not really a full answer. But… I’m going with, you’re just a go-between. The top boss… I don’t know who he is, she is. I’m guessing, though, that they’re not exactly the law abiding type. And even in this day and age, many criminal empires tend to be cash rich. Maybe that’ll change soon, with cryptocurrencies…’ Ryker shrugged. ‘I’ve never got into that much.’
Bojan still didn’t say anything but any remaining confidence he had was draining by the second.
‘Whoever you work for uses this place, probably a load of others too, to launder their money.’ Ryker flipped through the ledger again. ‘I see a hell of a lot of transactions in here, but, no offence, I’m pretty sure you’re not selling that many cars. You’re just not very good at it. Plus your selection is a pile of crap. Probably deliberately so. You don’t want customers here. Only the cash coming from drug deals, or whatever, which you store in that safe in the cupboard over there until it’s pick-up time. What do you take? Thirty, forty per cent?’
No answer.
‘Less?’ Ryker shook his head. ‘You need to renegotiate. You’re taking a lot of risk.’
‘You think you’re clever, don’t you?’
‘What did she say to you, when she came here?’
Once again Bojan chose not to answer.
‘Was she alone?’
‘Yes.’
Ryker saw a flicker in Bojan’s eyes. ‘You’re sure about that?’
‘She was alone.’
‘Okay, good. So you are at least now confirming you remember her. Did you sell her the car. Or one of your sons?’
‘I did. I always do.’
Ryker smiled. ‘I thought as much. Your three boys just get to enjoy the lifestyle, driving fancy cars paid for through illicit money.’
‘Two boys.’
‘Sorry?’
‘I only have two boys.’
Bojan glanced briefly to the closed door, beyond which the three captives had quietened down.
‘Daughter,’ Ryker said, nodding as the story fit together in his head. ‘That was your daughter in the Lamborghini. Wow, I mean, the guy she chose for her boyfriend… she obviously didn’t want to stray too far from the family look.’
Bojan looked really pissed off now. Apparently he didn’t like people talking about his daughter.
‘Your two boys work with you here. Getting their hands dirty, a little bit, at least. But her? Daddy’s girl, I’m sensing. She gets what she wants, when she wants. Am I right?’
Bojan looked like he wanted to rip Ryker’s head off. But alone in the room, unarmed, he was no threat and both men knew it.
‘So you sent her away to protect her. I thought perhaps they were off to get backup.’
‘Maybe they are.’
‘Maybe indeed. Let’s wait and see. And the big guy in there. Not a family member, I don’t think, going by his looks at least. Bodyguard? Or does he work for the boss, coming here to keep an eye on you, and to make sure you’re not skimming.’
‘Enough about me.’
‘You’re right. You’re not important. So my friend came here alone. She paid you in cash.’
‘She also told me that you’d come asking about her.’
‘Me?’
‘Someone. She said people might come asking questions. And that if they did, we were better off to attack first, ask questions later. She was very clear about that.’
