Another Case, Another Dollar

Bringing back the Canes was a priority he saw as number one. However, as in life’s most prosperous situations, you first had to build a foundation. You didn’t start a home by putting on the roof. Likewise, he would not be building The Canes by jumping straight into it. He had the new job, new office, leniency from the Mayor, and the list from his father; now, he had to build up to his capping moment. 

Step one was taking advantage of his new post. This meant hand selecting the cases he wanted to oversee. With The Shock, he had obtained himself a computer hacker. That was great. He could get into all the major Intel systems of the city. He could coordinate to receive any information in all Maharris. In reality, that gave him his first real pillar. In his father’s files, he had the utility belt of men. He had hackers, launderers, hit-men, tax accountants, but what he didn’t have were his own men. These were the men in his father’s pocket; now, probably men in the Mayor’s inner circle. He didn’t want to be the Mayor’s lackey; his ambitions were much too high for that. 

Barker flipped another file. He had been looking for three days. He had slid all the smaller cases down to the Marybeth Police Department. They would keep the new guy plenty busy. The son of Rescue’s founder regulated to a peon at the local PD. 

Cases that had no interest to him, but were too big for the local PD, were handed to his new detective unit. That would keep the men out of his hair. He was expected to go over the monthly reports, but he would leave that to his white-haired assistant.

“Can I get another coffee?” Barker yelled toward his office door. The skittish older lady almost fell from her own desk chair. Barker wasn’t even thirsty, it just humored him to watch her squirm. He didn’t even dislike her, well, any more so than other people, it was just that he had to break up his day somehow. 

The Maltese poked her head into the office. “What kind would you like, sir?” she asked. Barker didn’t bother looking up at her. “Surprise me,” he said. The old dog just stood there for a moment, shock building in her eyes. Then, realizing Barker wasn’t going to dig her out, she, slowly, started to close the door. Barker waited and watched for the trigger to touch the latch. “Never mind,” he said, loudly. 

She instantly shoved open the door. “What was that, sir?” She sounded out of breath, but Barker knew it was from worry not running. 

“I decided I wanted a walk,” he said. “Just worry about delegating these last few files,” he pointed to the growing stack on his desk. He grabbed up three that were left to his attention and took them to his bag. 

“I am going to be out of the office the rest of the day. Take my calls and make up appointments to get me out of anything you think will be boring. Tell bird brains to leave me alone about the repairs to his office; let him know I have no plans to ever return his calls,” he glanced back over his shoulder, the woman was scratching away at the notepad in her hands. She would never say these exact words, she would flower them up, and Barker liked that about her. She didn’t try to regulate him to the politically correct dogma of everyday life, however, she kept it civil, so no one was beating down his door in anger. 

Barker zipped up his satchel and slung it over his shoulder. The office was nice, but even with a nice office, work felt cramped at the best of times. 

“Anything else you need?” she asked him. 

Barker shook his head. “Not today,” he said, giving the old lady a break for the time being. He walked straight to the elevator without looking up. The other detectives had gotten used to not bombarding him with questions. They did their jobs, or they talked to the white-haired Maltese behind the desk. 

Barker punched the one on the elevator and waited for the doors to close. As they did, he let his shoulders slouch a bit, but still checked his tie in the metal trim. 

 

* * *

 

If you thought of this city of Urgway like a creature, alive and well, then, it would most likely be an octopus. You could find tendrils of just about anything you needed. Plus, the whole place was dirty, as if sprayed with ink. 

Barker hadn’t walked far from the office, he had grown accustom to the local fare. He dropped into a booth at a diner called The Terraform. Their slogan was something cheesy along the lines of “We will transform your dining experience.” It hadn’t transformed much but money from Barker’s wallet into their cash register. Yet, it allowed him a space to think away from the pressures of getting anything done. 

“Menu, Mr. Barker?” asked one of the daily waitresses. Barker couldn’t remember her name, on account that he had never asked it. “Just a coffee,” he replied, not looking up from the files he had placed before him. 

“Sure thing,” she said, her voice sweet, prying for that extra tip. 

Barker clicked his nails on the smooth surface of the table. He had brought three files with him from the office, not a single one was a sanctioned case. This had been Barkers own digging. He had used his father’s resources for a bit of underground introductions.

Each file was filled with the same basic information: a name, company, and an offense. All offenses were the same. The only thing that really changed was how they managed the crime. 

The woman came back promptly with the coffee and sat it on a coaster. “Nothing else I can get you?” she asked. Barker waved his hand in dismissal. She gave a chuckle. “Just holler if you need me, my name’s…” Barker stopped listening. He wondered for a second if he should feel bad for the treatment of the help, but quickly was lost in other thoughts again. 

On page one of the first file was a picture of an obtuse German Sheppard. His jowls were saggy, and his eyes drooped. His white and brown skin was tight across his overly plump body. Barker noticed also that his suit was a size too small and looked painful around the neck. His hand instinctively went to his own collar and adjusted it. 

Barker ran his finger across the bottom of the picture, where the name was bolded in black: Rupert Manigold. Rupert was a defense attorney. He had graduated from ACLU; which stood for, Acera County Law University. Was a mouthful to say but was accredited as the top law school in Maharris. On the second page of Rupert’s file was a small description from his father’s contact.

Rupert is a thirty-four-year-old defense attorney. Been in business for over thirty years and knows his way around the law. He has helped a few of your father’s old contacts more than once. His specialty, however, is that of moving money from one location to another, without a trace. If you are looking for a man, then this is where I would start.

Barker flipped the page. Barker didn’t know much about money laundering. It wasn’t something he had ever had the experience of doing. Until obtaining The Shock, he had never had money that looked out of place. The detective unit at the Marybeth PD wasn’t exactly what one would call lucrative. 

What he had learned though, is there were three stages to this business of making money move through all the right channels. Barker flipped the other two files open before him. 

Sonney Hilton: Research Professor at TU. Thirty-two years old. No note from Barker’s contact to accompany the file; seemed to be almost an unknown entity. Not even a credible photo. 

The third file was a woman named Gabby Rhodes. Turned out she was a business associate at Cunel Enterprises; which was a car rental organization out of Cunel County in Urgway. 

Barker flipped all the files to the appropriate page; the page where each act had been laid out for him. Now, it was up to him to deduce how things had been done. He started with Gabby Rhodes. 

 

* * *

 

“Hello, I am here to speak with Gabby Rhodes,” Barker had taken a taxi to Cunel. The man behind the desk looked Barker over. He seemed like any normal rental car employee to Barker. He wore a simple grey suit. One of those suits that aimed to impress but were likely from a thrift store. 

“Is there something I can help you with?” the man asked, hoping to not lose his commission to another agent. 

“Yes!” Barker clapped his hands together in theatrics. “You can help me by getting Gabby Rhodes,” he said. Barker made sure to dip the words in sarcasm. The man didn’t seem to enjoy the display. He turned and with his shoulders slumped and went off to get Gabby from the back. 

Five minutes later, Barker was pacing in front of the front counter. He had looked at the pictures of all the agents, but Gabby’s wasn’t there. He had thumbed through a list of new affordable cars. Barker didn’t drive, especially not in Urgway. Not that he couldn’t drive, just a preference.

“Hello, sir, how may I be of assistance?” Gabby asked. Barker turned, adjusting his collar. Gabby was a pretty young woman. She was probably in her early thirties. Her fur was newly cut and washed. She was a silver-white in color and her eyes were an ice blue. Barker reached out his hand, and Gabby did as well to shake it. However, Barker bent his elbow and pulled out his badge.

“Head Detective Barker.” Barker showed her the badge. She pulled her paw back into her body and leaned forward to read the inscription. 

“Well,” she glanced out the window to see how many squad cars he had brought. Seeing none, she visibly relaxed. “What is it I can do for you, today?” she continued. 

Barker stuffed the badge away. “Just a few questions,” Barker was stepping towards the gap in the counter. “If we can just go to your office,” he said, moving behind the counter. No one dared to stop him, a badge had a funny way of making people act very agreeable. 

“Sure,” Gabby didn’t seem sure, but she motioned Barker to follow. “Anything we can get you to drink?” she asked, still walking down the crowded hall. 

“Coffee,” Barker said, running his eyes over the awards won by Cunel. They had seemingly been open for just over eight years and had won an award the last six for best car rental service in Urgway. 

Gabby turned off into a green carpeted room with a single desk and a water cooler. “Take a seat, Mr. Barker,” she moved around the desk and sat in a green backed, cushioned computer chair. 

Barker did take a seat and was promptly given a small Styrofoam cup of coffee; which he instantly decided he was refusing to drink. With the cup on the table between them, Barker reached into his satchel and pulled out Gabby’s file. 

She looked more nervous here cramped in the room. “What do you do here at Cunel?” Barker asked, while he moved to find the right page in the file. 

“I am the CEO, mostly just run the daily transactions and business,” she said, weakly. Her fingers were now drumming on the plastic railings of her chair. Barker was so happy about his own chair, in his office. He did not envy Gabby and her lodgings, not anymore at least. Those lodgings had been given to that white fox. Barker stopped on the page marked “Placement” and he looked back up into the eyes of Gabby Rhodes. 

“Sounds important,” he said. 

“It holds a lot of responsibility,” she said, leaning forward and trying to get a look at what Barker had in the file. Barker sat back and crossed his legs, propping the folder up out of view. 

“I bet it does,” Barker stared for a moment and then went to work. “It’s called the placement stage and I want to deduct exactly how you have done it,” he started. Gabby’s eyes twitched with nerves and she looked down into her lap. 

 

* * *

 

Rupert Manigold was exactly how one would picture a sleaze ball. Barker had heard the word before, had witnessed a few sketchy faces even. However, this man was everything you would look for in the term. His hair was slicked and greasy, with no part, just pushed back toward the crown of his head. There, on the crown, you found a bald spot big enough to park a limo; which was incidentally what Rupert had pulled up to their meeting in an old time, rustic, piece that was well past its best by date. 

It seemed Rupert had missed the memo on suit fitting day. Barker watched the too large sleeves flap in the mild breeze. The man’s gut hung about three feet in front of him. He was the fattest Saint Bernard that Barker had ever laid eyes upon. 

“Rupert Manigold, had word you may be calling,” even his voice sounded like dripping slime. Barker reached up and adjusted his collar, avoiding the outreached hand. The man laughed, uncaring it seemed if Barker reciprocated the handshake. “Let’s venture into the diner. You ever eaten here? Best place in town.” Rupert reached out and placed his hand on Barker’s back, guiding him toward the door. Barker pondered for a moment biting the man’s forearm but thought better of it – due to disease and such. 

“Get me my usual table, Beth,” the oversized grease ball yelled.

 A middle-aged bird looked up over her glasses, putting on a plastic smile. “Be right up, Rupert,” she said, hoarsely. 

Barker took a quick glance around the outfit. It was an old-fashioned place. It was decorated with white and red cushioned booths. The diner’s slogan, “Pete’s ages, but never gets old,” was plastered in block letters across the wall. Barker didn’t get a lot of time to scope out the rest; he felt that big paw on his back again. 

“Let’s go sit down,” Rupert said. He guided Barker over to a small corner booth. The old hoarse voiced lady gave them each a menu.

 “Coffee,” Barker said, unprompted. 

Rupert looked up at him and chuckled. “A man who knows what he wants,” he flipped the menu open, “I’ll take a diet, Beth,” he said. Beth didn’t scratch anything down or ask if they were ready to order, she just turned and made her way to the counter. 

Barker didn’t bother opening his menu, he wasn’t hungry. Instead, he flipped open his satchel and grabbed out his case file. Rupert watched him over the lip of the open menu in front of him. Barker flipped open the page to Rupert’s photo, he wanted to put the man at a little unease. He then flipped the next page, as if he hadn’t meant for the fat man to get a glimpse. 

“Stage one they say it is the most difficult stage.” 

 

* * *

 

University was never in Barker’s plans. He had done his due diligence after high school and visited a few. He didn’t have the money to attend. His family heirlooms had been taken by the authorities. He was a hound and that worked against him too. 

Sure, there were still opportunities to slave away at a minimum wage job, pay his own tuition, and be ridiculed for being a dog. However, that didn’t seem enticing. So instead, Barker had picked up the badge. He had worked his way up to where he was today. Further than any of these prissy do good students would ever reach. 

Barker shook the negative thoughts from his mind. He wasn’t here for that. He wasn’t here to bring up old thoughts of hate. He had come to talk to Sonny Hilton. Sonny, he had learned, ran a research facility in bio-engineering. The quad set up for his facilities was rather nice for a subdivision of Urgway. A large waterfall statue was the beacon for his building and the high glass walls reflected the sun back into the square. Hundreds of students walked across the pathways, Barker was nearly hit by three bicyclist, and one skateboarder. 

When he had finally made it into the building, he realized that they had tinted the inside of the windows to keep some of the sun’s rays from entering. It put a shadow over the black otter at the receptionist desk. Barker didn’t bother to introduce himself, he was already feeling in a certain kind of mood. 

Instead, he just placed his badge on the countertop and said, “Dr. Hilton, if you would please.” The woman flipped through some files on her computer. Barker found it interesting that she wouldn’t know the location off the top of her head, but she was probably nothing more than an intern anyhow. 

“Third floor, room 304,” she said, tapping on the computer screen. Barker picked up his badge and headed toward the signs that read elevator. The third floor was just a group of hallways leading to laboratories behind closed doors. Barker didn’t stop to investigate them; he didn’t care what new discoveries were coming out of Urgway’s finest. At room 304, he gave a loud, knuckled knock. He heard some scrambling and a few choice words as something crashed to the floor. 

“Hello, yes,” said the man Barker presumed would be Sonny Hilton, as he opened the door a crack. Barker flashed his badge. 

“A few moments of your time,” he said, without the hint of a question. 

The door opened the rest of the way and Dr. Hilton ushered Barker into the lab. Hilton pulled up two stools next to a small counter. It looked to be that he was the only one in the room now. 

“What do I owe the surprise, detective?” Hilton asked. 

Barker finished his investigation of the room; nothing surprising or interesting; nothing more than a science lab. Although, Barker wouldn’t lie, he didn’t know the first thing about bio-engineering. 

Barker’s eye was caught by a small group of metal trays that reflected his image; he unconsciously reached up and adjusted his collar with his free hand. With his other hand, he placed the file for Sonny Hilton upon the table. 

“Everyone has a game, but not everyone scores,” Barker started, flipping open the folder. 

 

* * *

 

The initial tic of the eye had made Barker almost believe that Gabby would crack like a walnut. However, she proved to be made of tougher stuff. He had flipped through his notes, showed his pictures, and even tried walking her through an act, but she held tight. 

“I don’t think you have the right person,” she said, leaning over and grabbing his Styrofoam cup of coffee. “It would seem that, to anyone understanding the situation, that the new Detective of Urgway has made a mistake,” she was really pouring it on. 

Barker flipped another page. It wasn’t that he thought there would be more information there; he just needed a moment to think. He had really come in blind. His father’s contact had told him Gabby would be easy to crack. They knew the least about her, but she would fold, that was the insurance. Barker ran his nail over the bottom of the sheet and heard Gabby sipping on his coffee. 

“If there is nothing else I can help you with then,” Gabby started to stand up, placing the coffee onto the table. 

Barker looked up from the folder. His hand moved from the folder to his collar. She had him. She had outlasted his initial ambush and he had come with no back up ammo. He let a chuckle escape his throat. “You are clever, I like that,” he said. Then, he looked her straight in the eyes. “Have a seat,” he motioned her back down. “Once upon a time, I would have walked out that door, I would have gathered the needed evidence, and I would have come back. Today, sadly for you, isn’t once upon a time anymore,” Barker closed the file and put it onto the table. 

“You see, we are left with two options today: one of which you won’t like, the other… well, that won’t be much to your liking either.” Barker leaned forward a bit in his chair. “Gabby, I know what you do, your job is to tell me how you do it, if I like it, maybe there is something in it for you. If your story is trying to lead me astray, well, maybe you are introduced to some of my friend’s downtown. It’s not cozy down there.” Barker straightened up his collar again and looked Gabby Rhodes directly in the eyes. 

She didn’t look intimidated; whoever had done the scoop on her was egregiously misinformed. 

“You can go, Detective Barker,” she said, all humor out of her voice. “You can return with a warrant if you can find a judge dumb enough to issue one. However, you will be sad to find out that you won’t find out a thing.” 

Barker stood and grabbed his case-file, “I think you will find that such warrants aren’t always so hard to find.” Barker turned toward the door but stopped halfway through. “Do you own this company?” he asked, without turning around. 

He waited a moment for a long pause. “Yes, Cunel Enterprise is mine,” she finally replied. 

“Can I see one of your cars?” he asked, his brain working on a wild hunch. 

 

* * *

 

Beth refilled their drinks twice and yet they still waited on the food. Rupert was still talking about his company. Barker’s initial move to throw off the jolly fat man had only proved to entice him to talking more. 

“Stage one, therefore, is only a hardship if you haven’t been willing to put your paws in the water,” he laughed. Barker noticed that the man laughed a lot at his own jokes. Barker also realized he really disliked everything about the fat man. He hated the way his jowls shook when he laughed. He hated the way his eyes squinted behind the rolls of fat above his brow line. Barker was also in a constant state of anxiety with the way Manigold’s too large suit kept giving him peeks down the man’s hairy chest. Barker had lost count on the times he adjusted his own collar in fear that he too was sagging. 

“You take my first client,” Manigold stopped a moment. “You still with me, pal?” Barker shook the running thoughts from his mind; he hadn’t noticed he had turned his head towards the window, longing for a way out. 

“Yeah, sure,” he said, sensing that Rupert wouldn’t need much encouragement to continue. 

“My first client asked me how to transpose thirty thousand dollars and at the time, I hadn’t done any laundering work,” the conversation paused again as Beth brought Rupert’s food. 

“You sure you won’t be eating, dear?” she asked Barker, for at least the fourth time. 

“Still sure,” he said, adding a toothy smile. He had realized he hated Beth too. She was too persistent for her own good. If Barker had left tips, which he didn’t, she would be getting a very small one. 

“Where was I?” Rupert asked, or tried asking between large bites. Barker noticed that the gravy from the meatloaf was already on Rupert’s jacket front. He wanted to get up and leave right there, but what if Rupert really was the best bet? His father’s contact had seemed to think so. 

“Your first client,” Barker reluctantly urged. 

“Oh, yes,” gravy splattered. “I was indeed,” more gravy. “I was saying that he wanted me to make thirty grand disappear. So, to do that, you need a pathway. My pathway of choice is running it through expensive legal cases; which never occur.” Rupert paused, probably waiting for a question from Barker, but Barker really didn’t care to entice Rupert, he just wanted him to hurry on with the good bits. “What you may ask? How is that possible,” he said, shoveling food in like a plow on a snowy road, “Well, I will tell you.” 

Barker squeezed his eyes shut. Everything about this man was making him want to run for the door. Normally, he would have ended this, but he needed a man. He just wasn’t sure it was this particular man. 

“What you need is a manifest of criminals. You see, crime rings start with stupid criminals. People think that they start with a brilliant idea, but they don’t. You need people to do your bidding, you can’t do it all on your own. So, you have to start from the bottom floor and build. What you need first is a grunt; a man who is willing to take some time for an exchange of goods. My grunts were stupid, still are stupid, but they are well paid stupid. My first grunt wasn’t so well paid, but that’s not the matter here,” Manigold waved his hand for another drink and Beth scurried over, giving Barker a nurturing grandmother look. 

“Anyhow, a grunt is used in my line like this: You convince him to do a crime; usually something small. A burglary or a bad drug deal perhaps. After that you need to rack up his court hearing cost. You arrange to give him the whole entourage. You are going to make him a new man, clean him up, you are making phone calls to everyone. All the while, you are pulling money from the laundering system. You aren’t providing this grunt any services; you maybe don’t even go see him at the jail house. You take the plea from the states’ attorney. You gather what money you could scrape together from your plans and you feed that money into your business.” Rupert polished off the ending of his food and took a long drink. 

“Phase two is the tricky part.” 

 

* * *

 

Sonny Hilton, as it turned out, had been a child prodigy. He had excelled in everything he had ever done. He graduated high school at ten, college at fifteen, and became a doctor at age nineteen. He had been working with Urgway’s top university ever since, developing technology for regeneration. His trials, having worked in voluntary mice, had not yet been approved for other animal trials. 

With all of that said, it wasn’t any of it that Barker cared about Dr. Hilton for. He cared more about the opportunity he could provide in another department; a department more along the lines of financing. 

“So, you sell the cream to older women?” Barker asked. Sonny shook his head yes. “However, it’s not really cream at all, but actually just store bought lotion?” Barker was rolling the idea around inside his head. “So, you buy lotion from the store, and then sell it for five hundred dollars a bottle. You pay two dollars and make four hundred and ninety-eight?” Sonny shook his head again. 

“In the simplest terms, yes,” Sonny replied. Barker was quite impressed. He hadn’t expected to be, but he was. 

Sonny had used his intelligence and position to convince others that he had an anti-aging rejuvenation cream. In all actuality, he went to the store, bought lotion, filled it in his own labeled container, and sold it to the unsuspecting rich women. 

It wasn’t really money laundering, but Barker could see where the unexplained profit could come from. With each new line, more money would be expected. He hadn’t introduced the idea to Sonny yet, but the man seemed very keen on making profit at minimal effort. 

Sonny reached under the desk and pulled out a small briefcase. “University allows me almost free rein. I pick my projects, hours, classes to teach, and whatever else is needed. Then, they give me no supervision. That’s the cue to continue my actual regrowth research, and pretend to use components of that research to make creams.” Sonny flipped open the locks on either side of the latch, then, opened the briefcase. “Each cream has scent, texture, color differences. Each cream I provide a different story on. The result is the same. It’s the generic buy at the local drug store. It does nothing special, but the women convince themselves it works.” Sonny flipped Barker a package. 

It was decorated in advanced looking biology symbols. “What do they mean?” Barker asked, flipping the can over. There, he saw a small description of Dr. Hilton’s groundbreaking work. 

“They don’t really mean anything,” he said. “I traced some of the components of skin DNA and blew them up for a label. People like that advanced look,” He flipped the briefcase back closed. 

Barker had worked on Sonny for thirty minutes before mentioning the reason he had come. For some reason, badge or not, Hilton seemed to open up to him. 

“What is it you want from this, Detective?” he asked, sliding the briefcase back under the table. “I know you wouldn’t have come in here for a brief chat if you didn’t want something in return. So, I am ready to hear you out.” 

Sonny was playing the game with him. He had his own motives and he could tell Barker had his as well. He was hoping they would mesh. Barker wasn’t so sure yet, but he did see the benefits of what Sonny had to offer him. 

“Well, Mr. Hilton.” 

 

* * *

 

The show floor of Cunel was quite impressive; especially for Urgway. Barker reached down near the tires of one fancy car and swiped his hand across the floor. He turned back to Gabby but said nothing. 

“Can I sit in one?” Barker asked her. “Never been in an expensive car.” Reality was Barker didn’t do much driving at all. In Urgway, it was much easier to hail a taxi. Gabby hollered back toward the front desk and a gentleman threw her a set of keys. Gabby pointed toward the red sports car. Barker took the keys and unlocked the door. He placed the key in the ignition and turned it over. “Just want to hear the music,” he said not bothering to mess with the dials. 

Gabby didn’t seem to be interested in what he wanted with the car. She stood, hands on hips, and waited for him to turn it back off. He did so and tossed her back the keys. “What about your lower end stuff?” Barker asked. “You know the working man rental.” 

Gabby tossed the keys back to the man behind the counter. Gabby led Barker into another room hidden away in the back. She showed him what he was really interested in seeing; about twenty cars that had wear and tear upon their wheels. He patted them down and walked around them. “These get rented quite a bit?” he asked. 

“Not usually,” Gabby said, looking around. “People want to look fancy in a rental, not poor.” 

Barker nodded. 

“Do you want to sit in one of these as well?” she asked, producing a set of keys from her pocket. 

“Oh no, I am sure there is nothing to entice me in these things,” he answered back. “However, I do think I caught your lie. It was a good one. I mean, it was at least valiant. I may not have even noticed if I wasn’t…, well, me.” Barker gave a chuckle and adjusted his collar in the side mirror of the old brown car. 

“What are you talking about now?” Gabby tried to hide a bit of confusion. She even gave a sideways glance toward the brown car’s interior. 

“Well, honestly, I just had it as a hunch. You’re smart, clever, maybe even semi-genius? I haven’t made up my mind on any of those actually, but you have potential for all three,” Barker paused a moment, as if to think. “Never mind all that. What I really want to say is this. The front lot cars haven’t moved in months. They have gathered dust around the perimeter of the tires. I noticed that first.” Barker rubbed his fingers together in mimic of finding dust. “Second, the show room miles are still just that, show room miles. The particular car I sat in had less than five hundred miles; quite low for an everyday rental. I figure I would find much the same with the others. This isn’t an operation much too obliged to actually renting cars. You rent a BMW to a customer, who actually gets a small beater. The beater is filled with the criminal goods. Brought back, never checked out. Cops could come check your records, but you didn’t have a brown beater out that day. You had a red BMW cruising the city streets. All the while, you move the money from point A to point B; all in a car that could potentially break down at any moment.” Barker kicked the wheels; almost wondering if that would be the end of this particular car. 

“You have a vivid imagination, detective,” Gabby said. She started to turn away. 

“Maybe, probably, however, the final straw comes from this.”

 

* * *

 

Rupert ordered a large slice of apple pie for dessert. Barker had to wave off the waitress again, expressing that he wasn’t hungry. She seemed still very unwilling to leave the table without getting him something, so, he let her refill his coffee. 

“Where was I?” Rupert said, filling running down into his chin fur. Barker wondered if a partnership with this man would even be valiant. He was clearly going to die of a heart attack in the next few years. How much work could Barker pry out of him before that? 

“You were saying something about the second phase being much more difficult,” Barker replied. 

Barker knew that the second phase was referred to as the layering phase; the phase where the money was separated from the crime. So, if Rupert laundered the money into the system by providing fake crimes, the question now became how did he move it from the business to the outside world?

“Right,” he said, shoveling another bite into his overly large mouth. “You have to make that money disappear,” he said. Rupert washed down his pie with a large swig of a root beer float. “To do that,” he started, wiping his frothy mouth on his suit sleeve- making Barker cringe- “To do that, you have to find a great investing company.” Rupert pushed his empty plate and cup up to the edge of the table. “You take that excess money and you invest it into a foreign company. Probably one you made up just for this situation. You see the government here doesn’t have the jurisdiction there to investigate. Most countries do not extradite business information without solid proof, and you can’t get proof if you can’t investigate. It is a fool proof system. So, you take that money that you have now accumulated through fake billings. You invest it back into your company. It will sit there for some time. That is hard for some of your clients, but time is essential. You have to let that money be cleaned. You have to let it sit and be forgotten. Setting up a company abroad is difficult, I won’t lie. You have to have all the right permits, the right paperwork, and, in most cases, know the right people. Even after you have it set up, that company actually has to provide a service. Most of the time, it is something simple; a dry cleaner, a car wash, a diamond exchange store. Something that should make money anywhere it is placed. Then, that money is sent through the ringer. You buy thousands of dollars-worth of supplies. You take those supplies and you sell it to other companies back in Maharris. Now, the money is back in the system. You have a service provided by a company to another company. Now, that money is clean.” Rupert looked up to see if Barker was still invested, satisfied, he continued. “The money is, then, put back into the companies account and stocks are paid to investors over a time period. Investors are the people the money came from in the first of the place. Now, the money is clean, you can buy your new house, your new car, your mail bride. You can take that vacation you have been pining for.” 

Beth came back over, hovering over their shoulders. “Anything else for you two boys?” she asked. Barker shook his head no, to her disdain. 

Rupert patted his belly, leaning back. “Think I may be getting stuffed,” he chuckled. The waitress gave him a smile and placed the check on the table. “You have this one, don’t you, pal?” Rupert asked. 

Barker flipped the check over and seeing the bill, highly overpriced and stacked with items that he didn’t order. Rupert gave him a smile. 

“Sure,” Barker said, pulling out a couple of twenties, handing them to the waitress. 

“Thank you, dear,” she said and started to walk away. 

“I’ll need that change,” Barker said to her. 

She turned back around and looked at him with growing contempt, “Of course, you will, dear,” she said without the mask of hospitality. 

Barker turned back to the conversation, un-phased by her hatred of him. “So, now you have made a reasonable list for the money. Put that money back into the system by funding it through a fake company. It has come back to the original owner. What do you get out of this all?” 

 

* * *

 

“I will be straight forward with you, Dr. Hilton.” Barker reached up, adjusting his collar. “I have heard from a reputable source that you are a man with contacts; contacts in the business of making money disappear and then magically reappear.” 

Sonny nodded his head. He seemed to be enthralled, or, at least, interested. 

“I may know a few avenues to that goal,” he stated. 

Barker stopped for a moment. He wondered how much the old dogs of his father’s operation really knew. They had given him the most information on Rupert the lawyer, an old hat from the good old days. They had given him such a small script on Sonny Hilton. A professor and a scam artist, that’s what Barker had come to learn. 

“If I was to need a lot of money moved from source A to source B, how would you make this happen?” Barker asked. 

Sonny was quiet for a few moments. Barker chalked it up to him considering his options. Barker was still a detective. He was still holding a badge on the inside of his jacket. Even with the candid conversation, it was a risk for Hilton to open up on anything about his criminal operations. He had already made the leap though; he had shown Barker the fake products. His toes were wet as some may say, now, he was considering how deep the pool was. 

“I don’t honestly know,” he finally said. 

Barker was taken aback for a moment. That wasn’t the answer he had expected. He knew that Sonny was more of a scam artist than a launder, but he wasn’t willing to bet on his defeatist perception. 

“You couldn’t do it?” Barker asked, without letting the shock show. Had the hounds of his father been wrong? Did the Canes not know as much as they had let on? 

“I didn’t say I couldn’t do it, just that, at the moment, I am not sure how I would,” Hilton replied. 

His eyes were now darting across the room. This man would be of no help to him. Barker knew that. If you had to think about it and you got nervous, then you weren’t the man for him. 

“I believe I could still help you,” Hilton said, trying to salvage his chances. “I just need time to develop a plan is all. I thought you were here to get in on the product, honestly. I didn’t expect you to have your own line of incoming funds.” 

Barker had heard all he needed to hear from this conversation. He had hopes for the man. His line of products and his credentials were something Barker could have used. However, without a solid plan, this man was nothing to him. He wasn’t looking to build a foundation. He was looking for an already set foundation that he could build upon. 

“Thank you for your time,” Barker said, standing to his feet. Barker looked into a nearby glass beaker and adjusted his collar in the reflection. 

Sonny Hilton stood up with a screech of his stool. “I can help,” he said. “I just need a few days to call some people, set some things into motion.” 

When had this man dropped the pretense of nonchalance? It was like the whole perception had faded. Barker shook his head. This man would have cracked under the slightest pressure. He couldn’t afford the liability of a man without a shield. 

“You’ve helped enough,” Barker said. 

Sonny Hilton had helped, honestly. He provided Barker with a solid back up case. Anytime Barker needed a big score, this was where he would turn. Other than that, the man was useless to him. 

“Thank you for your time.” Barker reached for the door. 

He felt Sonny’s paw try to grasp his wrist. Barker turned, looking him straight in the eye and Sonny’s hand fell like a scalded puppy. Barker twisted the knob and stepped back out into the hall. 

 

* * *

 

Gabby was in mid-turn as Barker spouted his last words to her. As she heard them, she paused, waiting for his revelation. 

“You could have had it. That model wasn’t used, so the dust occurred. You could have said that model was for show, so, the miles were low. You could have claimed many things. Yet, one thing I really noticed that was quite odd. You asked for the keys to the luxury model. You didn’t have them with you, matter of fact, they had to be looked for; which wasn’t really a problem, until you made your mistake of offering me the keys to this hunk of junk right from your very own pocket.” Barker looked up and flashed his canine filled smile. 

Gabby placed both of her feet back solely on the ground. She wasn’t so much in the mood to turn and storm off anymore. “Coincidence,” she stuttered, but she knew she had messed up. Barker could see it in the look on her face. He could see the growing panic. 

“You ready to talk with me now?” he asked, adjusting his collar in the side view mirror of the broken-down car. 

Gabby watched him in silence for a few moments. She had been had. She was out of angles. She was smart, but she wasn’t Detective Barker. 

“I think we should head back to your office, it was at least a smidge more comfortable in there. Or we could go to my office, I have plush chairs,” Barker chuckled. It felt good knowing he had cracked her. It felt good knowing he had plush chairs.

“My office will be fine, Detective,” she said. 

Then, she turned and scoffed all the way back to her office. She didn’t offer Barker coffee again. She didn’t suggest he sit down. She plopped into her chair and looked at him with complete disdain. That was when he knew he had made up his mind. He knew who he wanted to be part of the new and improved Canes. 

 

* * *

 

“I get a portion of the goods,” Rupert started to say. 

Barker held up his hand. He had watched more slobber float from the jowls of Rupert onto his shirt front and he couldn’t take it anymore. 

“Do you realize how much food you fed to your suit?” Barker asked him. 

Rupert looked down at his suit and used his thumb to smear some of the apple pie deeper into the cloth. He gave a chuckle. “Seems I dropped a bite or two, huh?” 

Barker didn’t bother to hold back his contempt. He let his face fall into the utter disgust he was feeling. “You may as well have dumped your plate onto it,” he said. Barker stood and waved the waitress down. “My change,” he reminded her. The woman didn’t seem pleased that Barker had remembered, but she fished out the change from the front of her apron. 

“Come again,” she said, sarcastically. 

She didn’t have to worry though; Barker had no intention of coming here again. He had no intention of meeting this slob of a dog again either. 

“I think we are done here, but I want to thank you for the information you gave so willingly,” he said. 

Rupert looked perplexed. “What do you mean we are done?” 

Barker adjusted his collar and pressed the wrinkles from his suit front. 

“I mean, I am leaving, and you are staying, or going home; wherever that dump may be,” Barker answered. 

Rupert placed his palms face down on the table abruptly. “No, I was told you were ready to do business,” he growled. 

Barker wasn’t sure if Rupert intended to scare him, but it wasn’t working in the least bit. 

“Well, I am ready to do business, Rupert, just not with you.” 

Barker turned to leave the diner. 

“You will regret this action if you leave that door,” Rupert yelled after him. 

Barker paused a moment. He didn’t pause out of fear of the threat. Instead, he paused, debating on if he wanted to tell Rupert he would be going to prison for a very long time soon. He decided to let it be a surprise for him. He wondered if his heart would even be able to handle the shock, then again, what did he really care?

Barker made for the door and let the bells of the diner say his goodbyes to Rupert. 

 

* * *

 

In reality, it never was much of a choice for Barker. Rupert the overweight lawyer was too close to his father’s old operations. The old hats had their shot at the glory days, and they failed. Most of them were dead or behind bars. They had ushered in the worst for the dogs left out in the streets after their demise. They had been brought down by a fox, the same fox whose son now worked under Barker’s detective division; the same fox that Barker would have to keep a close eye on in the upcoming months. Keep him occupied and busy, that was the motto of Barker. 

Meanwhile, he would build his own empire. He would do so with smart individuals like The Shock and now, Gabby Rhodes. 

Barker sat down at his desk and looked out over his detective unit. He had the seat of power below him. He had the keys to the city gates. 

“Coffee?” the old Maltese asked, poking her head into his office. 

Barker shrugged his shoulders. He was feeling very generous today, “I’ll have that American espresso off of Uniker Drive,” he said, only making her walk seven miles.