Page 101 of Filthy Little Games

“No gossip from the NYPD either?” I ask in surprise.

“No. My guys and gals had no idea that you and your crew would even be in the club that night. They were told it was a drug bust set up by a confidential informant.”

“Well, that was obviously a lie. And the two cops who led the men into the club put a bullet through their own heads.”

“Did they?” Weston asks. “Or did someone want to make it look like suicides?”

“Either way, they’re not going to be talking,” I remark, since I don’t see why it matters.

“Right,” he agrees. “So, what is this business deal you need from me?”

“I need the best identification, documents, and passports that money can buy, and I need it today or tomorrow at four at the latest.”

Since Weston’s employees need to get in and out of countries regularly without being noticed, he has one hell of a forgery team creating documents. I’ve heard he even has plastic surgeons and all sorts of makeup and costume artists as well to change the looks of hit men and women as needed.

“How many individuals are traveling on such short notice?”

“Three women and a child.”

“Do you have their photos?”

“Yes.” I asked the guards to get the photos after Zara requested the nannies accompany them, and they didn’t let me down.

“I can try and ask my... representative at the State Department to expedite your request, but it’s going to cost you.”

I have no clue if he actually has someone working for him in the State Department, or if he’s just saying that to cover his ass. Either way, I don’t care as long as he gets it done.

“Name your price.”

“Twenty million that Andre is going to invest and turn into fifty million.”

“I can’t make any promises about investments,” I admit. “But I can make you as much money as possible.”

“Why not just make him pay it now?” the son, Bowen, asks.

His father raises an eyebrow in his direction in warning making me assume that he’s supposed to be seen but not heard in this conversation.

“I apologize,” Weston says. “Bowen has a thing or two to learn about how to clean money and make it multiply.”

“Right.” While twenty million in his hand right now might be nice, he needs the cash to be laundered through legit means like investing.

“Do we have a deal?”

“Do you have any sort of time limit for when you want to make this fifty million?”

“Let’s say a year?”

“A year,” I agree. That should give Dre plenty of time to invest and get great returns on Weston’s money. He can get it all set up, hopefully, before our prison sentences begin.

As I get to my feet, I offer the old man a handshake, but not his idiot son.

“I’ll have the documents hand-delivered by four p.m. tomorrow. Not a minute later.”

“I appreciate your help.”

“Of course,” Weston says. “And if you find out who is behind the failed attack on you, I hope you’ll share their name with me. I don’t want to be in bed with amateurs.”

I nod my head in agreement, and then Tristan and I are shown out of the office. On the elevator, Tristan opens his mouth to say something, but I shake my head in warning. God knows Weston has video and audio recorded in these elevators.

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