Many thanks to Purdy's Pal for reading through this chapter. It's, as always, greatly appreciated.

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Chapter 4

"Sam," Michael nudged the man in the passenger seat.

"Hmmm?" Sam came awake slowly, a huge yawn taking over the lower half of his face. Rubbing his eyes, and with a wistful smile he turned to his friend, "Ah Mike, I was having this beautiful dream."

"Sorry Sam. After you tell me if that's our guy, I'll let you go back to your dreams of wild women," Michael held out the binoculars, his eyes still trained on the car lot across the street. .

Sam accepted the binoculars with a whine, "Women, nothing. I was sleeping in this down filled bed as it floated through fluffy clouds." He sighed heavenly as he adjusted the eye pieces. Looking where Michael directed, Sam watched three men look over a newly arrived Bugatti. "If you were thinking the guy in the gray three piece suit, I'd have to agree." Sam brought down the binoculars, an appreciative gaze making him look more awake than he had since their stakeout began at Platinum Performance Imports two hours ago. "When you go car shopping, make sure you take that silver Veyron out for a drive. I'll wait around the corner. Me, that car, the women…Oh, it'll be a little piece of heaven!" Sam was practically drooling with anticipation.

Michael took back the binoculars and trying not to sound annoyed, said "Sure, Sam. Do you mind if we check out the dealer first?"

If Michael wasn't going to allow any fun distractions, there wasn't much reason for him to stay awake. "You know as well as I do," Sam muttered, his eyes closing as his head leaned against the window. "Everything is going to be above-board. They'll have their i's dotted and t's crossed. Why do you think my police buddy was so willing to fork over the information? I think he's hoping we make enough of a ruckus to give the police justifiable cause to enter and search the place."

Michael cast Sam a questioning look, which was totally missed by his near-comatose partner. Michael sighed. It wasn't worth the energy to be upset with a guy who was probably right anyway. Still, he'd have to go in and make sure. The police were bound by procedures and civil rights as to what and how they processed evidence. Michael usually found his clues outside of those rules.

"I'm going to need a cover I.D." Michael poked Sam in the ribs, making sure his comment was heard by their in-house craftsman.

With his arms crossed over his stomach, Sam waved his right hand vaguely at Michael's poking finger, as if it were nothing more than an annoying fly.

"You may have to co-ordinate things with Barry," Michael turned slightly in the driver's seat, getting a better view of the man in the passenger seat. "Are you getting this?"

Sam gave a low grunt and his hand fluttered slightly. If Michael hadn't seen it, he wouldn't believe the man had been awake and talking only seconds ago.

Michael sighed and turned back to watching the lot and the man in the gray suit. The designer clothes did nothing to hide the menacing vibe radiating off of the Russian. There weren't going to be a lot of sales on the lot with Kolpec standing there.

The men must have finished extolling the virtues of the high-performance car as they each gave the machine a loving pat and headed towards the building. Before they reached the front doors, an older model sedan drove up and parked. A fashionably dressed man exited the car and after a few quick strides, he was greeting the three men of Platinum Performance Imports. Michael couldn't read lips, but the handshakes and smiles all around looked friendly enough. Now all four men continued into the offices of the dealership. One of the men, Michael placed him as a salesmen's lackey, held open the door for the rest of the group.

"Sam, wake up," Michael was now sitting straight in his seat, focusing on the new-comer. "Do you know who that guy is? He looks familiar."

Sam returned to full consciousness quickly, but while he was blinking his eyes into focus, the door closed behind the man Michael wanted to identify.

"Sorry, Mikey," Sam apologized. "That his car?" he pointed to the blue sedan parked by the doors. At Michael's nod, Sam wrote down the license plate. He'd get his buddy to run it for him later.

It all happened so quickly, Michael couldn't be angry that Sam missed it. He was content with the tired man's powers of observation. Since arriving, Sam hadn't spent more than ten minutes looking at the lot and he spotted the new arrival quickly. Of course, the Grand Marquis didn't exactly blend in with the luxury cars on the lot. Still, he'd noticed the addition and would find out who it belonged to. The guy didn't look like a customer; he hadn't looked at any vehicles. Could be nothing, but then again, Michael wasn't about to trust his, or anyone's life, to assumptions.

An hour later the man emerged from the office. In the few seconds he had been able to see the man, before he had hidden himself within the darkened sedan's interior, Sam had the vague notion he recognized him, but couldn't come up with a name. It would have to wait for his buddy to run the plates.

They spent the rest of the morning and their lunch time watching customers come and go from the car lot. Each time, Michael would poke or swat Sam to ensure each vehicle's license plate was logged. By early afternoon, Michael noticed Sam was fighting to retain even a low level of alertness. He started up the Caddy. "How about I take you home and you can get started on that Cover I.D. You can even have a nap in your own bed."

Sam shifted slightly, stretching his legs, "Great idea. Wish I'd thought of it." He'd only whined all morning about losing the ability to recognize his own pillow and the health hazards of sleep deprivation.

Michael grinned as he pulled away from the curb. He'd drop Sam off and return to continue surveillance on the lot. He'd make plans after noting the comings and goings of the day.


Fiona entered the highway diner where Barry set their meeting. She had never been here before, and if she had any say in the matter, she would never be here again. The smell of fried, greasy food was thick in the air. Large men wearing baseball caps were sitting at the counter, hunched over their meals.

Spotting Barry in the far corner, Fiona made her way over. She cringed at the duct taped, orange vinyl bench seat, but remembering the new pair of shoes that came with this case, she sat down across from the money launderer.

"Hello Barry," Fiona greeted him. She sat straight with her hands folded in her lap. She didn't want to touch any more of this place than was absolutely necessary.

Barry swallowed a mouthful of hash browns as he eyed Fiona's stiff posture and the look of disdain on her face. "Fiona," he greeted her, "Afraid of the unwashed masses?"

"Hardly," Fiona watched Barry shovel another forkful of food into his mouth and grimaced. "What are you eating?"

"This place has the best breakfast. Just like mom used to make," Barry rubbed his tummy in pure enjoyment of his meal.

Fiona couldn't hide her disgust, "Your mom cooked everything in a pound of grease? Didn't she like you?"

Barry looked surprised. "This is comfort food. Makes you feel warm and safe."

Fiona shook her head, "Comatose is not safe, Barry."

Barry shrugged, accepting the fact that he and Fiona were not meant to agree on food. "So what do you guys need from me this time?" He continued shovelling.

"An account to buy a new car," Fiona answered with a smile.

Barry's eyes narrowed, and after a moment's pause his fork continued on its way to his mouth. "What's so special about this car?"

"It's on a lot owned by the Russian mafia."

"Care to be more specific?" Barry mumbled around his mouthful.

"Platinum Performance Imports"

Barry choked. Using the tip of her finger, Fiona pushed a glass of water across the table to be within Barry's reach. After taking a sip, followed by some coughing, Barry could breathe normally again.

"Why is it you always want to piss off the big guys?" Barry asked with concern.

Fiona was curious about Barry's information. Sam had to do some pretty deep digging and connect things together with his special magic, "Tell me what you know."

"Not much, and that's the way I'd like to keep it," Barry looked hopeful that Fiona would accept that answer, but wasn't surprised when she glared him into answering with more.

"There's talk," he started

"Who's talking?" Fiona interrupted.

"No one…Everyone," Barry was frustrated. "It's just talk, OK?"

"OK," Fiona raised her hands, letting go of her question.

Barry took a deep calming breath. "There's talk," he started again. "I get a fair amount of business from those types," at Fiona's questioning look, Barry expanded, "Russians. The ones that still have strong ties back home. Lot of those guys want to keep a little Western capitalism for themselves. They can't go home with an American bank account full of ill gotten gains. A call goes out to someone like me…" Barry shrugged innocently. "But I've never heard of a call coming from Platinum Imports. It's been said that they brought in their own money manager to take care of their accounts."

"Maybe they're clean," Fiona pointed out the possibility.

Now it was Barry's turn to raise an eyebrow, questioning Fiona. "You ever hear of an above-board, Russian run 'anything' in Miami?"

Fiona looked to be considering the possibility, but shrugged, "That's why we keep you around, Barry. So we don't have to follow these things. Well that, and to set up bogus accounts so we can buy cars from those decadent, western loving Commies."

Barry put down his fork, having finished his breakfast, and sighed. "And this is why I need comfort food. The more time I spend with you guys, the more I eat here."

"What do you need to get this done?" Fiona asked, snapping her fingers. She could feel the oils in the air settling on her skin. She needed to leave and get herself somewhere healthier. The next time she was stuck at Madeline's, with the cigarette smoke and the teeth-splitting cookies, she'd remember this diner, and just soak the cookie in her tea a few extra minutes and keep critical comments to herself.

Barry thought for a minute, muttering up at the ceiling as he wrote a mental list. He paused mid mumble for clarification, "Should I assume Michael will be going for a Bugatti?"

"You can only make one first impression," Fiona smiled. She had never been in a million dollar car before. She looked forward to the drive she was sure she could talk Michael into.

Barry frowned at the thought of manipulating the large sum, but nodded agreement. He understood that in a con, you don't aim for middle ground. Good thing Barry was used to this kind of work.

"Will it matter where the account is based?" Barry asked as he worked out details.

"Any place that won't bring the Feds knocking on our doors with their guns drawn," Fiona specified. There were banks tracked by government agencies due to known associations with Al Qaeda. Michael wouldn't appreciate having an authentic reason for being burned.

Now for the question Barry dreaded, "How much time do I have to do all this magic?"

Fiona stood up; happy to be answering what she thought of as Barry's last question, "Lots of time on this one."

Barry smiled with relief, but Fiona's grin caused it to falter.

"Michael won't need it until tomorrow morning," Fiona turned and was on her way out.

Barry stood up and started after her. He almost had to shout to catch her attention, "What name should it be under?"

Fiona didn't stop or turn around; she just kept getting closer to the exit. She threw her hand up in the air, signalling Barry to stop following. "Call Sam."

Barry stopped in his tracks, two steps away from his table. He noticed he wasn't the only one watching the north end of the south bound woman. Fiona always drew eyes. She was vibrant and sexy. As Barry sat back down to finish his coffee, he thought about Fiona. Her size was very misleading as to the power contained within her small stature. A huge grin took over his face as he sipped his coffee. He had a conversation with Fiona that lasted longer than ten minutes, and not once did she threaten any part of his anatomy. He was making headway on their relationship.