Sting

“Yeah, but…”

“What?” Hick asked as they walked in long strides through the parking garage toward Hick’s car.

Joe pulled open the passenger door. “If last night taught us nothing else, it taught us how long Panella’s reach is. Kinnard is out there somewhere. Doesn’t Josh realize the threat he poses? The little turd needs to surrender.”

“I doubt he will, Joe. He knows we’ll lock him away forever.”

“Yeah. But we wouldn’t gut him.”

“Mr. Panella? Is this a convenient time for us to speak?”

“A convenient time would have been two hours ago when I called you.”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t available. How can I serve you?”

The banker was Asian, but he had cultivated his British accent so that it was as silky as Devonshire cream. It inspired confidence and trust. The amplified distortion of Panella’s voice didn’t shock him. This was the manner in which their business had been conducted for years, and he understood the necessity for Panella’s extreme caution. Nor was he put off by his customer’s rudeness, which he’d also come to expect. Men who used offshore banks to hide sizable amounts of money in numbered accounts rarely wasted valuable time on polite conversation.

“I want to confirm the current balance in my account.”

The banker excused himself and returned shortly to quote an amount. “To the penny,” Panella said.

The banker smiled to himself. Amounts rounded off to the nearest dollar had never been satisfactory to this customer. Mr. Billy Panella tested the bank’s accuracy frequently.

“I also wanted to alert you that I’ll soon be making a sizable withdrawal.”

“I hope the bank isn’t losing your business.”

“Not so long as you do what I tell you, when I tell you.”

“You have my guarantee.”

“I’ll be requesting a wire transfer, and it could be on short notice.”

“I’m happy to facilitate. This institution specializes in time-sensitive matters.”

“Which I’ve always appreciated.”

“The transfer made earlier this week was to your satisfaction?”

“You did what you were supposed to. Unfortunately others didn’t.”

“I regret to hear that.”

“That’s why this additional transfer is necessary, and there can’t be any hang-ups. Understand? I want the money to be ready when I need it.”

“Of course. American dollars, Mr. Panella?”

“Yes.”

“Very good. And the amount?” The banker waited, poised, and when nothing was forthcoming, he prompted gently, “Mr. Panella?”

“Two fuckin’ million.”

Chapter 15

At first Jordie was too drugged by sleep to bother to identify the racket that had awakened her. She lay with her eyes closed, her brain muzzy from dreamless sleep and sultry heat. Subconsciously she was reluctant to wake up, so she fought it. However, the sound was persistent, and it eventually shook her awake and into full awareness.

A helicopter!