Page 132 of Dancing in the Dark

“That small-dick motherfucker! All because he’s mad Fifi prefers my best friend?”

She clicks her tongue. “Bingo. Lawrence went to bat for Mayet, by the way. And Bower threw in for you.”

“He…” I twist in my chair and stare toward the wall. “Captain Bower? Captain Ron Bower stood up for me?”

“Mmhm. He was wrong,” she snickers, “Considering you’re not as innocent as he claimed you were. But you’re also not controlling port access or commanding the M.E.’s office either. Unfortunately, even with Bower having your back, the accusation was made, which means an investigation must take place.”

Fuckkkk. I squeeze my phone until the inner electronics risk cracking. This is exactly what Fletch didn’t want. “Not to sound like I might be colluding or avoiding prosecution, but…”

“IA won’t find anything you don’t want them to have.” She taps at a computer keyboard, seemingly unaffected by the boom of gunshots on her end of the line. “Cordoza’s change in business structure doesn’t touch your online footprint. Your bank accounts are clean. Mayet’s accounts are clean. You’ve traveled to New York in the last six months, but each visit came with a legitimate reason, and there’s no law that says private jets are off-limits. Felix has no open warrants with his name attached, so even if everyone wants to get pissy about you having a relationship with a dude they suspect has criminal dealings, you can’t help the family you were born into, and IA has already had this conversation in the past. On paper, you’re fine. Mayet’s fine.”

“And Fletch?” I slump forward and set my elbow on the table. Dropping my face into my hand, I groan. “Stress kills, Ace, and I’m not sure he can keep taking these hits.”

“Well, since I’m a nice person with a vested interest in keeping my pals happy, and since Mia Fletcher is my baby’s friend ever since that dinner at Lawrence’s house⁠—”

“Cut to the chase, Solomon.”

“I’ve been inside Fletch’s shit for about as long as I’ve been in yours. Even more so after he, uh…” She snickers. “Expressed an interest in hiring my husband’s services last year.”

You mean the time he had a guy killed?

Cool, cool, cool, cool, cool.

“He has no clue he’s living inside a property you own.”

“No.” I jam my thumb and finger against my closed eyelids. “He’s proud, and it would hurt his feelings if he knew I was propping him up a little.”

“You bought the building using a trust account, so a regular person earning a regular income—someone like Fletch or Mayet—wouldn’t know anything was funky. But IA will notice once they start looking.”

“It’s all legit. He’s really managing the building, and the amount he’s being paid isn’t high enough to flag any ethical concerns.”

“Mmhm. You set it up well and protected you both.”

“What about this other shit he’s doing on the side?” I exhale a tired sigh and wish there was a way to simply cut my bank account down the middle and give him half. I don’t need it, and I’d rather his cushioning came from me and not whoever he’s got himself tangled up with. “His phone’s been firing with secret shit for weeks. He’s in bed with someone, and it’s stressing me out.”

“He did a shitty job setting that up. You can’t be a cop and have all those round zeros falling into your account without raising eyebrows.”

“How many zeros?” I rasp. “And can you fix it?”

“He’s been going longer than a few weeks, for starters. Maybe you just aren’t as observant as you think you are.”

I narrow my eyes.

“I see twenty-seven injections spread out over the last three months. Most deposits are in the five to ten grand range. There are a handful that paid twenty.”

I wanna fuckin’ puke.

“That’s a lot of zeros,” I groan. “What has he had to… What did he…” God. Did he have to sell his soul for that money? “Soph?”

“Looks like private security-slash-private investigation to me. A couple of times, he was in charge of delivery or pickup.”

“That’s called being the mule,” I grit out. “Or the bagman. Or the fucking muscle. Dammit, Sophia! And it’s all sitting there in his account, ready for the law to shaft him with?”

“Nah. I cloned and swapped out his accounts ages ago. Figured moving his cash without explaining why would lead him toward a heart attack, especially since he’s keeping this shit a secret from you, too. Instead, I set him up fresh, gave him new accounts, re-populated it with every legitimate transfer in and out for the last ten years, and omitted all the new infusions. Oh, and since I was going, I omitted the couple of times you sent him fat deposits, too. Since any amount from any Malone is a bad look.”

“Right. Fuck.” I scratch the back of my neck. “Good call. Thanks.”

“No problem. Now when IA slides in and takes a peek, they won’t find anything they shouldn’t. Meanwhile, the flaccid state of his pathetic online security bothered me on a soul-deep level, so I beefed that up too. Not everyone who knows how to hack a man’s bank account is as nice as me, Detective. They’re more inclined to clean him out and laugh in their momma’s basement, so you’re welcome for that, too.”