subtle, I’m afraid. They don’t leave evidence of any kind, and citizens end up too frightened to ever come forward. No charges ever seem to stick to them.”
“Fucking police department,” Cunningham agreed, nodding and throwing back the dregs of his latest Scotch. “I swear they’re in bed with the Dogs. Why else wouldn’t you arrest them for dealing all that shit?”
“Do they deal?” Fox asked.
“They’re a biker gang! Of course they do.” He grinned, then, ugly and uneven. “Let’s just say, their marketing is a whole lot more explicit, lately.”
“What do you mean?” Ian asked.
“Oh, you know. Sometimes people gotta see something with their own eyes before they realize it’s a problem. We know the Dogs are bad for Knoxville.” He splayed a hand across his chest in demonstration. “But the little people don’t always know what’s best for them. We have to help them along.”
“Who is we?” Fox asked, too sharply, and smoothed his face. Signaled to their server for another round. “Are there efforts being made to snare the Dogs in some sort of sting?”
Cunningham’s bleary smile was triumphant. “You could say that.” He hunched low over the table, voice dropping – slurring noticeably now. “Something just fell into my lap. I’ve – and if you wanna talk investments, don’t look at Knoxville, this city is absolute shit. You wanna invest with someone who can guarantee you some real return. A few months ago, I sank some assets in a group out of New York. Abacus – that’s who you want to get in touch with. When I explained the problems down here with the Lean Dogs, they sent a rep down to advise us, and boy, does he have some ideas, let me tell you.”
“Abacus?” Tenny was typing on his phone. “The…” His brows lifted. “It says they’re a financial consulting firm.”
“They are. They consult you on how to get rich. Ha! Smart, smart group. Lots to offer.” He winked. “Get hooked up with them, you won’t regret it. They’re getting rid of the Lean Dogs for me.”
“How?”
Cunningham made an impatient sound, hand flailing – nearly spilling the new Scotch that the server set before him before retreating in a hurry. “Come on, don’t play stupid. A rumor here, a bag of Dog-labeled pills there. Enough people turn against them, make it too hard for them to do legit business around here, and they’ll show themselves for what they really are.”
Too vague. Time to take it up a notch.
Working some delight into his voice, Fox said, “Wait, are you setting them up? Are the bags – it is bags, right? – with the Dog logo on them, are they coming from you?”
“Damn straight! Sometimes you gotta do shit like that for the greater good, you know?”
“Oh, I know.”
“Tell me more about Abacus,” Ian said, and, obligingly, he did.
~*~
“That’s the number I just called,” Ghost said, tone grim, when Carter showed him the photos he’d taken of Cunningham’s day planner. The number listed for R. “Wherever the phone is, I’m gonna guess Ricky isn’t with it. Luis left us a little message.”
“Abacus?” Tango said, frowning as he looked over Carter’s shoulder. “Where have I heard of that?”
“Hold on,” Ratchet said, clicked a few keys on his laptop, and turned it to face them.
It was YouTube, a video labeled “Abacus ad NEW.” Ratchet clicked play, and the video faded in slow, with artful, soft piano music, a shot of a man standing on a cool beach, hands in the pockets of his linen pants, staring out at the waves with a look of deep contemplation. The image faded, melted into one of a family playing in a yard, parents pushing a child on a swing. Then an elderly couple holding hands on a quiet front porch. A young woman clutching a briefcase and satchel, dashing along a crowded sidewalk in heels and a skirted suit.
“Big dreams? Whatever they are, Abacus is here to help you count them,” the voiceover said. A title card flashed up at the end, the company’s name and logo in elegant script. The logo looked like some sort of geometric flower done in yellow.
“Okay, but what the hell do they do?” Aidan asked.
“Consult, apparently,” Fox’s voice called from the door, and everyone turned to see him striding in, Tenny in his wake – both of them wearing slim-fitting, flashy suits.
Aidan chuckled. “What’s up, Al Capone?”
“A crime syndicate alliance, apparently,” Fox said, not rising to the bait. “It took an obscene amount of Scotch, but we