Page 18 of Talk to Me
“Right, I’m at my desk. To what do I owe this honor of a before fucking dawn phone call? Do you need bail money?”
“You’re a regular fucking comedian,” I told him. “No, I don’t need bail—today anyway. But it’s time for you to earn that ten percent you charge me.”
He chuckled. “I earn that ten percent plus interest every single day. You’re up by thirty across most of your accounts. You also doubled your investments in that shipping company you took a liking to.”
That happened when the CEO of the opposing business died while in the middle of a brothel in Asia. But I didn’t judge.
At least not after they were dead.
“Glad to hear it. You should be getting a fresh infusion to the Carmichael accounts.”
Didn’t matter what jobs I took or what name I gave them. I spread out the payments to a wide variety of accounts. Every single account was designed to filter the money through investments, to clean it, then forward it on to where Isaiah could route it to my personal accounts, business expenses and more.
“Good. Probably close them after this payment. Unless you’ve already taken another job there.”
I thought about the files I’d just read. “No,” I told him. “Might be taking a vacation.” I tried the words out. They seemed easy enough to say.
“I’m sorry, who are you and what have you done with Michael Remington?”
I snorted. “I can take a vacation.”
“Name one you’ve taken in the last seven years.” Then before I could comment, he said, “And Cabo doesn’t count. When you’re recovering from gunshot wounds, it’s not a vacation.”
I made a face. “Clean the money up, make sure you pay Patch first. Add a bonus for me, she’s done some good work lately.”
“You really taking a vacation?” Isaiah asked.
“Don’t know yet,” I said. “I’m thinking about it.”
“Well, that’s further than you’ve gotten any other time.”
“You’re an ass.”
“That’s why you like me,” he retorted. “Let me know if you take the vacay, I’ll free up some cash and it’ll be in the right accounts.”
“Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it. In fact—don’t call so early next time.” With that, Isaiah hung up and I shook my head.
It was the middle of the night here, but I wasn’t sure what time it was for Patch. I could call, but I didn’t need to call. At least—not yet. For now, I checked in for my flight and got the hell out of Los Angeles.
It took almost half a day to get back to my place and it was afternoon when I pulled up her number on my work phone.
I’d made myself wait all day. I’d even come up with some questions about the files.
The only problem was, she didn’t answer.
I frowned and tried the call again. It rang.
It rang and she didn’t answer.
Patch always answered.
One more attempt, even if I already suspected the outcome. I was on my feet and had a go bag in hand while I waited for her to pick up. When she didn’t answer that one, I headed to my garage. I needed to track that number and find her location.
That meant I needed computer access and I couldn’t go through the Post Office.
Not this time.