Rachel had returned to the loft at least twice after Tarly delivered the bucket of Kentucky Fried cash. Each time she returned, she found the bucket in the same place and still filled with cash. Rachel couldn’t understand it, but Josh understood. These people weren’t hedge fund managers and Harvard MBAs running multinational transaction scams. Richter might be an elected councilman and Locke his chief of staff, but they were as clueless as car thieves. They didn’t have offshore accounts. They hid their take under kibble in their garages. They didn’t know what else to do with it, which was why Richter made Locke keep his money and why Locke let it pile up. They couldn’t deposit it and couldn’t spend too much without drawing attention. Every cash criminal had the same problem.
Josh found the bucket exactly where Rachel told him. He photographed it in place, stacked the cash on the counter, and moved on. He found cash in the freezer and in the cabinets above the double-wide fridge. He found more cash in the pantry, in the utility closet, behind the bar, and taped beneath the dining table. He documented each location.
The mother lode was stashed in Locke’s walk-in closet. Josh was so tickled by the man’s small-time stupidity he set up the selfie stick, checked his mic, and gave a tour.
“I am now in Grady Locke’s home, in his bedroom, and entering his closet. You have to see this.”
Josh adjusted the camera to show a row of sport coats and suits and shoeboxes lining the shelf above. Holding the camera steady while using his free hand to reveal what he’d found in the jackets was difficult.
“Look at this. He’s hidden cash in the pockets. Packs of cash. In the outside pockets, in the inside pockets. Look at this. And here—”
Josh lifted down a shoebox and tipped off the top.
“In the shoeboxes. The man has cash hidden everywhere. This is Josh Shoe, reporting the truth, in Grady Locke’s closet.”
Cut.
Time check. Bad.
Josh stripped cash from the jackets and boxes and found more with Locke’s socks and underwear. He photographed the cash where he found it, carried everything to the bed, and photographed it again. He slid the painting from the duffel, filled the duffel with cash, and carried everything out to the bar.
Josh leaned Rachel’s painting against the wall above the bar. He adjusted it just so, making sure Locke would see it as soon as he entered. Then he shouldered the duffel and went to the door.
Josh set the alarm and watched its digital clock count down from sixty to zero. The system allowed people sixty seconds to leave. You could open the door as much as you liked while the clock counted down, but once the clock hit zero, the alarm would go off.
Three.
Two.
One.
Zero.
Josh opened the door and hurried to the elevator.
55
Grady Locke
Grady Locke nodded with concerned understanding as the three women spoke. They had come to his office to ask for no dogs allowed signs at the public fields used by their youth soccer league. People brought dogs to chase balls and play, the dogs shit everywhere, and nobody picked it up. So when the kids arrived for soccer, the coaches and moms had to pick up shit. It wasn’t fair.
Grady nodded in thoughtful agreement.
“Well, that isn’t right.”
This sort of request was usually handled by a constituent services deputy. But these women ran a league fielding two hundred forty-six children, which meant four hundred ninety-two parents who lived and voted in Sanford Richter’s district.
Grady pursed his lips, pretending to give the issue serious consideration.
“Tell you what, how about we start with signage saying owners must pick up the poop. There’s an ordinance on the books. If they don’t pick up their dog’s poop, they’ll be fined. We’ll give it a couple of months, see if the problem abates. If it doesn’t, I’ll have animal control make the rounds, and ding a few people with tickets. If all else fails, we’ll ban the dogs. Sound good?”
Two of the three went along, but mostly because they found Grady charming.
Grady posed for the inevitable pictures, the women were ushered away, and he called out to his assistant.
“What’s next?”
“Dentist at four. Cancel or keep it?”
The call sheet on his computer showed nine calls he still had to make.
“Is the sheet current?”
“It is. Cancel or keep? You need to leave if you’re going.”
“Cancel.”
Grady was opening a bottle of water when his cell phone rang. The incoming caller ID surprised him. This was the first time his security company had called.