Mr. Big Deal (Mr. Big 4)

At one forty-five,I left the office, briefcase in tow, and went to Jerome’s to pick up my afternoon coffee. Once I was finished paying, I took the sidewalk to the boardwalk along the river and found the closest empty bench. There was no one around, and just the occasional skateboarder or pedestrian. There were no strange men leaning against fenceposts reading newspapers nearby, so I figured we were out of earshot of anyone who might want to spy on us.

I felt ridiculous even thinking that, but if Brian felt a need to be extra cautious, I knew I should be as well.

About ten minutes later, a tall man with dark hair, shot through with grey, dark sunglasses and a beige trench coat took a seat beside me. He pulled out a newspaper and opened it up, then proceeded to look like he was reading intently.

“Mr. Luke Marshall,” he said softly. He smiled as he spoke, without looking at me.

“Mr. Brian George, of Brian George Investigations, I presume?”

“The very one. Thanks for meeting me. Sorry about the need to meet in the open, but I don’t want anyone nearby to hear us. Please turn off your cell and remove the SIM card. I’ve already done mine.”

“Really?” I said, taking out my cell and removing the card from its slot. “You’re that worried?”

“You’re a very wealthy man, Mr. Marshall,” he said. “That makes you a target.”

I held up my hand to stop him. “Please call me Luke, and there are a lot wealthier men than me out there.”

“Luke. If what I recently discovered about the accident that killed your parents is true, there are people who might not want me to talk to you.”

“Please, tell me more,” I said. “Won’t we look strange sitting beside each other, talking? Isn’t that enough to draw people’s attention to us if they’re following either of us?”

“If people know about this and are following us, I don’t want them listening to what we talk about.”

“You’re the expert.”

“I am,” he said. “I spoke to a colleague in the FBI and called in a favor. He was able to access records from the garage that did the repair work on the company vehicle. He searched the files, which were in storage in a warehouse near the waterfront.”

“It was almost twenty years ago. I’m surprised there are still records.”

“Lucky for us, the FBI keeps records from the investigation for one hundred and ten years.”

“Why was the FBI involved?” I asked, still curious.

“There was a short time when the accident investigator thought there might have been foul play involved, and so he sent the records to the FBI because the accident occurred across state lines in New Jersey and there was a thought that organized crime was involved.”

I shook my head. “Wow. I had no idea that the FBI had been involved and that there was even a question about the accident. I thought it was quickly ruled accidental and the case was closed.”

“That’s the story, but believe me, it’s not what really happened.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, hearing a hint of conspiracy in his tone.

“I have a feeling that some of your father’s moral righteousness got him killed.”

I frowned. “I don’t understand what you mean, moral righteousness. Please — enlighten me.”

Brian took in a breath, and folded his paper, glancing out over the waterfront. “There’s a lot of mobbed up business here and in New Jersey.”

“Yes, I’m well aware. My father’s company wasn’t involved in any of it.”

“At the time, no, but since then, Marshall Inc., has been getting involved in the industries that are typically mobbed-up. Your father was a roadblock to that involvement.”

I checked my watch, trying to hide my surprise at what he said. I glanced to my left, wondering if anyone was within earshot who might overhear what Brian was saying. “You mean, Marshall Inc., is now involved in it?”

“That’s what I’m saying. They’re keeping it at arm’s-length, but they are definitely involved through a series of numbered companies, so the main business appears clean. It’s typical for industries involved with the Mafia.”

“Russian or Italian?”

“And Irish. Don’t forget my people. We had a bigger presence back in the 20th Century, but the Russians have become a much bigger player, and believe me, they are not nice people.”

“How do you mean?”

“Well, the Irish would stick a gun in your mouth and shoot you, but the Russians?” He turned to me and met my eyes. “The Russians skin you alive, cut off your balls and dick and shove them down your throat so that you choke to death on them. That’s how I mean.”

“Jesus…”

“Yeah, Mary and Joseph, too. They are, and pardon my French, nasty motherfuckers. The Italian Mafia had rules at least. You do not want to mess with the Russian Mafia.”

“No, I most certainly don’t. So, you think the Russian Mafia put a hit on my parents?”

“I think someone wanted your father out of the way so that he wouldn’t keep putting a brake on working with them, yeah. The question is who.”

“You have any ideas? My stepfather? My stepmother?”

Brian shrugged. “That is the question. The other question is why the accident was so quickly ruled accidental. Who was paid off and why? What were the FBI doing? Why did they quickly shut down the case?”

“You have any theories?”

Brian exhaled heavily and shook his head. “This is just a theory, okay? I’m wondering if it was more valuable to them to have it look like an accident rather than prosecute those who might have been involved. You understand what I’m saying?”

I frowned. “You mean, the FBI wanted the business deals with the Russian Mafia to go through and so they looked the other way? Didn’t pursue the case?” My blood started to boil at the implications. I turned to Brian. “Is that what your working hypothesis is?”

Brian shrugged. “It’s a hunch. Look, I’ve been involved in some cases before where the Feds were involved. Sometimes, they let certain crimes slide so that they can try to catch the bigger fish.”

“What’s bigger than a double murder?”