Back at the office, the older receptionist was still at her desk, typing away like nothing had happened.
Tom led Henry inside and motioned for him to take a seat. He rummaged through a battered old backpack, dumped out some papers and who-knew-what-else, and pushed it across the desk toward him.
"Put your cash in this. The bag's yours now."
Henry frowned. "Why switch bags?"
Tom leaned back in his chair. "That bank? Any time someone walks out with cash and no bag, they hand out the same exact tote. That tote basically screams, 'Hey! I'm carrying a lot of money please rob me!'"
Henry narrowed his eyes. "Are you saying the bank's in on it?"
Tom shook his head. "Nah, they're not that dirty. But no matter how many times they try to change things up, someone on the outside's always watching. Only clueless rookies walk around flashing those branded bags."
He gave Henry a pointed look. "You're one of George's guys. I'm not about to let you walk out of my place and get jumped half a block later. That'd make me look bad."
Got it.
Henry didn't argue. He stuffed the bank's tote inside the old backpack, zipping it up tight. As long as the flashy logo wasn't visible, he didn't care what held the cash.
Once Henry was packed, Tom tapped his fingers on the desk. "Alright, now that we've got your payday handled, let's talk business. Getting you proper documents and licenses that'll run you two grand."
"Two thousand?" Henry blinked. "That's… way less than I expected. These are real documents, right? Not fake ones?"
Tom cracked a small grin. "Believe it or not, it's cheaper to get legit papers than to fake them. The only reason most people don't is because they don't know the right people or the people they do know don't know what they're doing."
He poured himself a splash of whiskey. "The law has more loopholes than a block of Swiss cheese if you know where to look. Thing is, people who know don't usually share. Why should they? They're not obligated to help anyone else for free."
There's a saying: All the best ways to make money are written in the criminal code.
It's true. And it isn't.
It's true because crime does pay right up until you get caught. But it's also false, because the real high-level players don't bother with small, dirty jobs. Robbing a bank? That's pocket change, and way too messy.
What, you think an average crook can hit a score for millions and not end up on every law enforcement radar from coast to coast?
Henry wasn't shocked. Not anymore. He'd seen enough of the world this one and his last to know how things really worked.
He still wasn't sure how much of Tom's competence was smoke and mirrors, but if George had recommended him, that counted for something. That old bastard wouldn't point him toward a scammer at least not one stupid enough to shortchange his own crew.
Without further hesitation, Henry reached into the bag and pulled out a crisp stack of hundreds. Still wrapped in the bank's band. He dropped it on the desk and slid it forward.
Tom raised an eyebrow, picked up the stack, and gave it a slow twirl in his fingers. "Oh, so I'm counting this myself, huh?"
"I've got a few questions too," Henry said. "If you can help, great. I hear you run a consulting firm, after all."
Tom set the money back down, pushed it to the center of the desk, and leaned in slightly. "Shoot. Can't promise I know everything, but I know a lot."
"Is there a car rental place in town?"
Tom snorted. "Not unless you count the airport over in Hooper Bay. There are a couple private outfits near there that rent to tourists but the prices suck. Why not just buy one?"
Henry shrugged. "I'm not planning to stick around. Once crab season ends, I want to try my luck in Hollywood."
"Oh, chasing the star dream, huh?"
"Not exactly. Maybe I just want to see what the world looks like. Either way, buying a car just to sell it a few weeks later feels like a hassle. Plus, I don't have anyone to store it if I leave."
Tom raised an eyebrow. "If you're open to some advice, I'd still suggest buying. Especially if you're planning to head out more than once."
He pointed toward the backpack sitting beside Henry.
"You really want to drag that bag of cash through airport security without a bank account? Good luck with that."
Henry hesitated. "…Domestic flights would be a problem too?"
Tom gave a weary shrug. "You never know how a person with a badge will choose to use their authority. Trust me smart people stay away from attention. Ferries are simpler. No scans, no guards, no x-rays. You drive onto the boat, you drive off. Done. Hell, you could be hauling a truckload of dynamite and no one would care, as long as you don't blow it up mid-crossing."
He leaned in further, elbows on the desk. "The only downside is the travel time. Takes longer. If that's a dealbreaker for you, I won't argue. I just give the advice. What you do with it's your call."
Henry nodded slowly. "Alright. Help me buy a car then. Or at least tell me where to find a used lot."
Tom perked up. "Any requirements?"
"Four wheels. Runs on gas. That's about it."
That got a real laugh. Tom reached into his pocket and pulled out a key ring, tossing a set toward Henry.
"Used car lots around here are full of junkers. Just take mine."
Henry caught the keys, then stared at them… and then at Tom, who looked a little too pleased with himself.
"That's a Cadillac DeVille," Tom said proudly. "A 1965 classic. Anyone who doesn't love that car has no taste. And let me tell you there's a perk to driving that thing."
Henry raised an eyebrow.
Tom leaned back smugly. "See, the cops around here? They see those plates, they wave you right on through. Even if they do stop you, just tell 'em your paperwork's with Tom. No one's going to hassle you."
Ah. So the real value's in the registration.
Henry quietly slipped the keys into his pocket.
Tom grinned. "Anything else I can help you with?"
Hard to tell if he was thrilled about making a solid profit or just happy to finally have an excuse to upgrade his ride.
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