Page 50 of The Criminal

“My choices are jail or jail?”

“No, your choices are move the watches from the gala heist. Or jail.” He said it slow, like I was stupid and not understanding the situation. In reality, I understood too well. The watches were both valuable and worthless. And leveraging my desire to get out was the last and best option to make any money off them.

I wanted to scream in frustration.

Every law enforcement group in the state was looking for those timepieces. To stay out of jail, the only thing to do with the watches was dismantle them. Scrap the internal workings for parts, melt down the precious metals, and salvage the gemstones. I’d be lucky to realize a fraction of the retail value.

“I can’t give you top dollar. Jimmy’s looking at ten, maybe twenty percent.”

“He wants more like fifty. But I can be persuasive. I’ll see if he’d take forty. For you.” The slick smile on Tony’s face made my skin crawl.

I did some quick math in my head. I could afford to buy my way out. Pay for my freedom. It would take all my cash on hand, and I’d have to mortgage my house. Sell most of my art and a few investment diamonds I kept for a rainy-day fund. I guess this was the storm I’d been planning on weathering. I’d be starting over. The thought of rebuilding my empire but without the dirty money that had helped it grow so fast was terrifying.

Going straight the hard way.

Be careful what you wish for. You might just get it.

“Forty percent. How long do I have?”

A few of my shadier customers, particularly a Russian and a Venezuelan, came to mind. They were part-time Miami residents. They would kill, literally, to get some of the one-of-a-kind timepieces in this haul. God, it was tempting to offer them the opportunity to buy. Their cash would help pay off Jimmy, and they weren’t going to ask questions. My newfound morals were already starting to tarnish in the face of economic reality.

“No rush. Jimmy would like this off his books by the end of the year.”

I cursed. That was less than four months to liquidate my assets and get Jimmy the money. In the meantime, I’d be sitting on a pile of the hottest watches on the East Coast. Working nights to dismantle them in secret. Or trying to sell them without going to jail. Shit. Shit. Shit.

“Year end. Can I have some extra time?” I hated the pleading note in my voice.

“Nope.” Tony shook the ice in his cup and stabbed at it with his straw. The sound grated on my ears, bringing back memories of our brief shitty marriage. It took all my willpower not to knock the cup aside and scream at him that he was destroying my life.

I let go of my .22 and dug out my car keys. The trunk of the Bentley popped open.

“Just put them in there.” I jutted my chin at the open trunk.

“About that.” Tony rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t have them. You’re going to have to…procure them.”

“I’m not a thief.” The words spilled out before I could stop them—a knee-jerk reaction.

“If the shit’s already stolen, is it really stealing? But we’ll save the philosophical discussion for next time.” He waved away the rhetorical question. “I didn’t forget about your weird stealing thing. You’re picking them up from the asshole that backed out of fencing them.”

Based on Tony’s simmering anger, I assumed the asshole in question might be sporting a broken arm or worse after backing out.

My danger warning system kicked into overdrive. There was a third party involved, one that had cold feet. I felt like this was a setup—a trap. One Tony wouldn’t walk into. But he had no qualms about sending me. Cops? FBI?

“The other guy wants them out of his shop ASAP.” He popped the P at the end for extra emphasis.

That didn’t ease my concerns at all. Rushing was bad. Planning was good.

Tony lifted a manila folder from the roof of my car and shoved it toward me.

“Everything you need to know is in there.” He gave me a salute with the bent straw sticking out of his cup and jogged away into the dark parking area behind the shopping center.

Tears stung the back of my throat. I was completely fucked.

I kneeled down and buried my face in Onyx’s fur, heedless of the dirt I was getting on my white slacks. I held him close. After this, he would be all I had left. A dog and a pile of debts. I had to set Derek free. I’d promised my shit would never touch him. I was about to be buried in a mound of it and might never get free of the stench.

The time had come to say goodbye to my beautiful Boy Scout.

I wiped the smudged mascara out from under my eyes and gave Onyx a last pat.

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