Chapter 88
“THEY DECIDE IT is better to pay ten million dollars than seven,” Cobb said quietly when Alice, the waitress who had taken their lunch order, walked away. “Why?”
He and the rest of his men, Watson, Nickerson, Hernandez, and Kelleher, sat in a booth at the Robby Eden Café on Atlantic Avenue. The café offered burgers and interesting sandwiches. But more importantly, it was less than a mile from the garage where they’d been living the past two months.
In that time they’d become regulars at Robby Eden’s, wearing olive-green work clothes that made them part of the crew at L.A. Standard Demolition, a fictional service devised to allow them to move about unnoticed.
Cobb looked out from behind the heavy makeup and the dark glasses he wore in addition to the uniform, peered around the table at his men, still waiting for an answer. Only a few minutes before, they’d seen the phrase “Ten Tomorrow” appear on the city’s website, notifying them of the mayor’s decision.
“Ten million is a lot these days, no matter who you are, Mr. Cobb,” Kelleher offered. “Probably take time for them to get the money together.”
“Sounds right to me,” Hernandez said.
“Who cares?” Nickerson said. “It’s ten million, right? Which is a lot better than seven million. Or am I missing something?”
“We’re not after seven million, or ten million, Mr. Nickerson,” Cobb said.
“Yes, I know, Mr. Cobb,” Nickerson replied. “But that might be all we get if they don’t move the money out of some big government account.”
Cobb shook his head. “That’s where it will come from, and they’ll try to trace the money.”
“You don’t know—” Watson began.
“We do know, Mr. Watson, by deductive reasoning,” Cobb insisted. “It only makes sense, which is why you’re going to send that money off into oblivion, and while they’re chasing that paltry ten million, you’re going to have the account codes and passwords necessary to steal them blind, whatever is in the big account, however much we want.”
“What if there’s nothing?” Hernandez demanded skeptically. “Not a cent beyond ten million, Mr. Cobb?”
With no hesitation, Cobb said, “Isn’t it obvious, Mr. Hernandez? We’ll call the scammers on trying to track the money, and Mr. Kelleher will step up to take No Prisoners out for a spin again.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Nickerson said, raised his hand, and called to the waitress, “Say, Alice, can we get our check?”