“You’ve got uniforms ready to move on this?”
“Why do you think you’re here? If Stark takes the bribe, I’ll have to go in and make the arrest, bring him downtown.” He tossed Connor a second radio. “That puts you in command of three units. I’m sure his office is under orders to shred evidence if something like this happens. You’ll see to it that they don’t.”
“And that no one leaves with a laptop or safe strapped to their back.”
“Right.”
It felt good, falling back into this pattern. No bullshitting or second-guessing, just getting the job done. It reminded him what it felt like to be part of a team. Until now, he hadn’t realized he missed it or even gave a shit one way or another. Apparently he did. Having someone put their faith in him for something more than a money drop or gang retaliation. Maybe this was more than a job. Maybe he belonged here. Doing this.
Just then, Austin’s voice crackled to life over Connor’s headphones. He exchanged a nod with Derek and placed them over his ears. Gone was the slight British flavor to Austin’s voice, replaced with a distinct Texas twang. If Connor didn’t know who he was listening to, he wouldn’t have believed it was the con himself.
He recognized the second voice as Stark’s based on the audio file Derek had played for them in the second squad meeting. “Good morning, Mr. Caster. Can Evelyn get you a drink?”
“Nothing for me, thanks. I don’t drink while the sun is up and I only trust Texas tap water.” He laughed deep and hearty, voice completely unrecognizable. The sound of hands clasping could be heard, likely from a handshake. A heavy thud followed, metal on wood. A briefcase being set down. “How do you breathe inside all this concrete? I tell you, after K-Worth is up and running, I’m hiring a manager and visiting once a year. No, sir. City life ain’t for me.”
A smooth laugh from Stark. “I don’t know how to breathe anywhere else, nor do I intend to learn. Chicago is where it all happens. And none of it happens without me.” A groan from a leather chair. “Which is why you’re here, Mr. Caster. Correct?”
“You don’t waste time, do you?”
An amused hum. “This isn’t Texas.”
“Fair enough. We’ll get down to brass tacks and you can get back to sucking smog.”
Stark didn’t reply.
“Now, currently the commercial space we have rented to house the first Chicago K-Worth shares parking with three other department stores. And that just ain’t enough.” Connor tried not to look impressed. Obviously he hadn’t given Austin enough credit. The guy had done his homework. “I know how you city people work, carrying shopping home on trains or, hell, walking. But we want our customers going home with more than they can carry in one of them ‘go green’ tote bags. For that they need cars. Cars need parking.”
“What are you asking for, Mr. Caster?”
Another rumbling laugh. “I’m getting there.” A chair creaked, signaling that someone had come to their feet. “There is a huge lot running along the east side of the property. We were hoping to purchase it to use as a private lot, but we’ve run into some zoning issues. Apparently it was created for the sole use of the affordable housing across the street.”
“Well.” A pen tapped against wood. “Finally something I can help you with.”
“I knew I came to the right place. Shall we discuss terms?”
A long pause. “Why don’t you show me what’s in the briefcase?”
Derek leaned forward in his seat to eye the laptop. Looking satisfied that the exchange was definitely being recorded, his shoulders remained tense. They were potentially seconds away from getting their man, only a few days into the job. What would the ramifications of that be? Would they continue to work together or be split up? His head started to ache at the idea of Erin or him being asked to go somewhere else. No. No, that wouldn’t happen. This wasn’t a temporary gig. They’d been assured of that.
Relax, man.
Both of them flinched when a loud crash traveled through the headphones, followed by a high-pitched squeal. “Daddy!”
Connor and Derek exchanged an uneasy glance. Obviously this hadn’t been part of the plan.
When Stark spoke again, his voice had changed completely, going from darkly cultured to bright and enthusiastic. “Kiddo. What are you doing here? Where’s Berta?”
“I am here.” An elderly, Russian-tinged voice. “She wanted to say hello before school. Threatened to hold breath unless we stopped car.”
“Well. Stubbornness runs in the family, I guess.” Footsteps ran across carpeted floor. “But you’ve interrupted an important meeting. Next time, you’ll listen to Berta. Understood?”
“Yes, Dad-dy,” the child replied in a singsongy voice.
“This is Mr. Caster. Say hello.”