First Lie Wins(26)

I wait on the other side of the fence, near where Ryan’s employees park, until a truck pulls up, then I quickly make a small opening using a wire cutter from my belt. When a man leaves the small office to greet the driver, I slip through and walk the short distance to the back side of the building, just like any other employee would. I pick the lock quickly then quietly open the metal door.

There’s only one guy inside, but he’s in the back right corner stacking boxes. He seems focused on his task, so I edge my way through the warehouse, toward the office that sits in the front left corner of the building. I peek through the small window set in the door to make sure the room is empty and then slip inside right as one of the bay doors begins to open to allow the truck through.

The office is a complete mess. Stacks of papers cover each of the three desks, along with empty coffee cups and a couple of pizza boxes. Thumbing through the filing cabinets seems like a better use of my time than picking through the trash.

I’ve turned information on this business over to Mr. Smith twice now. The first time was the general sort that described the day-to-day activity and key personnel, which I was able to get from some of his files here. While that information was helpful, it wasn’t what I needed to complete this job. That wasn’t surprising given that there are several employees who use this space while running the legitimate side of Glenview Trucking on the days Ryan isn’t there. He wouldn’t be so careless with sensitive information.

The second delivery included crucial data that make the takeover possible—all the financials, including where the money is and who the clients are. Lists of where he gets the stolen goods and merchandise as well as contacts in local law enforcement and border patrol who turn a blind eye. That treasure trove of information was retrieved from Ryan’s laptop. The same laptop he keeps with him at all times. I spent weeks patiently waiting for the right moment to access it.

I had found everything Mr. Smith needed to take what Ryan has spent years building and I was surprised by the pang of regret that hit me when I thought about how huge his loss would be. It was the first time I felt bad for doing my job.

The first time I wanted to give a mark a fighting chance to keep what was theirs.

I’ve also tried not to analyze why I was feeling this way, especially since I knew how important this job was for my own survival.

So even though I’m back to look through files I’ve already searched, there’s no real expectation I’ll find anything helpful. I just want at least one more look in case something new jumps out at me, given that my main focus has now shifted.

The idling engine of the truck inside the warehouse is loud enough that I don’t hear the approaching voices on the other side of the door until they are seconds from opening it. The small bathroom is the only spot where I can hide. I scramble into the shower stall, pulling the opaque white curtain closed just as the office door opens and two men enter.

I crouch down, lean against the shower wall, and put my head as close as I dare to the curtain.

From the small gap between the shower curtain and shower wall, there is a sliver of view into the office from the open doorway. The office chair closest to me is occupied, but I can only see the side of the chair and part of the man’s shoulder.

“Go ahead and call him in here.”

His voice is like a punch in the gut. It’s Ryan. Ryan is here. Not meeting clients back in Louisiana but sitting about six feet from me.

A door opens then shuts, and we’re left alone. I lean away from the curtain in case he heads in here to use the bathroom.

This is sloppy of me, and I’m never this sloppy, despite Mr. Smith’s feelings about my last performance. But if he could see me right now, I wouldn’t blame him if he questioned my ability to successfully complete this job.

The sound of paper shuffling is the only thing that lets me know he’s still at that desk, since I’ve lost the visual.

A few minutes later, I hear the door open again, and two different sets of boots shuffle across the concrete floor.

“Hey, man, what are you doing here today?” a man’s voice says. The inflection is high, like he’s surprised, but there’s a nervous quiver to it that gives him away. He’s scared.

There is no answer, so the man keeps talking as if his words are less dangerous than the silence filling the room. “I know I’m only supposed to work on Thursdays, but I needed a few extra hours this week. My ex is on my ass about money again. Wants to send the kids to some damn summer camp up in Arkansas. I’m like shit, they don’t have to go all the way to the damn Ozark Mountains to play tag and whatever other bullshit they do up there.”

Silence.

“I’m sorry, Ryan. I know I’m not supposed to be here today.” His voice breaks when he says Ryan’s name, and this has me more curious than anything else. Ryan has yet to say a word, and this man is terrified. All I’ve ever seen is sweet Ryan. Romantic Ryan. Fun Ryan.

Scary Ryan is intriguing.

“Come on, Freddie. Did you really think it was possible to make a side deal and have my trucks come through when I’m not here?”

His voice is now a bit deeper.

“No. It was dumb. Stupid. Really fucking stupid,” Freddie answers. The third person in the room hasn’t spoken yet.

There’s a squeaking sound as if maybe Ryan is leaning back in his chair and the springs need to be oiled. I can almost picture him. He’d have his hands laced behind his head. Maybe his feet are propped up on the desk. He would look calm, almost casual, but the voice lets you know he’s anything but.