Page 18 of Enforcing the Rules

“Doesn’t matter. Did he work for you?”

“Yes. What’s this about?”

I took a chair and folded my arms on the edge of his desk. “Sit down. Let’s talk.”

I waited as Simmons lowered in his chair, his eyes shifting nervously between us.

“I’m gonna shoot straight with you, Jack. We think Cochran’s a crook. Has any money disappeared from your business since you hired him?”

His eyes widened. “I don’t do a big cash business, but some money disappeared out of an account I used for the business.”

“How much?”

“About two grand over a period of a couple months. Then last week a car was stolen out of the garage. We’d closed before the owner could pick it up. When we opened in the morning, the car was gone. Funny thing was, someone erased the recordings from the security camera.”

Memphis and I exchanged a look. “What was the make and model of the car?”

“It was a Chevy Malibu.”

“What color?”

“Silver.”

I tilted my head. “How’d you end up hiring Cochran?”

“I met him at a bar one night after I closed up here. We got to talking. He took an interest in my business and said he was an accountant. Offered to take a look at my books and see if he could save me some money on my taxes. Told me he used to work for the IRS, and he knew some loopholes that could work in my favor.”

“Which bar?” Memphis asked.

“The Pint House on Montrose.”

“Is that your regular spot?”

“No, actually it was the first time I’d stopped there.”

“Did it seem like he’d been in there before?”

“Now that you mention it, the bartender seemed to know him by name.”

I grabbed a pen off his desk and scribbled a number on the back of one of his cards. “You see him, call me. Yeah?”

He picked it up and looked at my name and number. “Sure, Utah.”

“Thanks for your time.” I stood, but he stopped us.

“You think he’s the one who stole from me?”

I paused with my hand on the doorknob. “I do. I think he’s been hitting places all over town. I think this whole accounting thing is a scam.”

His shoulders slumped, and Memphis and I walked out.

We paused at our bikes.

“You think we’re better off walking in the place or setting up surveillance—something a little more subtle?” Memphis asked.

I stared down the street. “Pros and cons to both. We walk in and talk to the bartenders, we might get some info or we might end up tipping Cochran off.” I threw a leg over my bike, still thinking, and Memphis did the same. “What if I went in there tonight? No patch. See if I can spot him, maybe even chat up some other customers. See if anyone knows him.”

Memphis nodded. “Okay. In the meantime, let’s check the rest of this list.”

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