Free Cash Landing by James Grippando

onto the passenger seat. Week one had been a dream. Week two was shaping up to be a nightmare. Pinky’s question had hit the nail on the head: “What, you don’t trust me, bro?”
    Ruban didn’t trust anybody. Gotta take control.
    He started the engine and nearly ran over the homeless guy as he backed out of the parking spot. The driver’s-side window squeaked as he lowered it.
    â€œDog bless you,” he said as he drove away.

Chapter 11
    A ndie stopped by Littleford’s townhouse after dinner. It had been a busy afternoon, and his place was on her way home from the crime lab.
    â€œTire tracks match,” said Andie. “The pickup used in the heist was definitely inside the delivery truck at some point in time.”
    They were seated in matching Adirondack chairs on the backyard patio. The sun had set, and a half-moon was rising over the tall ficus hedge. It was the peak of autumn in south Florida, that one night each November when Miamians step out of their air-conditioned boxes and ask, Hey, where did the humidity go?
    â€œThat gives us something,” said Littleford. “Stay on Tom Cat this week to keep looking for the pickup, but my bet is that it’s probably cruising down the streets of Nassau or Santo Domingo as we speak.”
    â€œOr chopped into pieces that will soon be sprinkled across South America.”
    â€œWhat about the finger?”
    â€œMore bad news: no fingerprint.”
    â€œAnts?”
    â€œNot just ants. Dermestids. Flesh-eating beetles. Every trace of epidermis is gone. I swear, you find the most bizarre insects at these cargo terminals on the river.”
    â€œWhat did you find out about the blood on the chains?”
    â€œB-positive. It matches the DNA from the finger. Male victim. Unfortunately, we have nothing from the MIA warehouse to compare it to, so no way to know if it was one of the perps in the heist.”
    â€œAny other prints to work with?”
    â€œMDPD pulled some from the handwritten note that was found under the visor, and from the cab of the delivery truck. But no hits in the databases.”
    Littleford’s wife came out and handed him a slice of cheesecake on a plate. “You sure you wouldn’t like some, Andie?” she asked.
    â€œI’m fine, thank you.”
    â€œYou know, dessert is actually a required activity in my unit,” said Littleford.
    â€œYou do make it tempting. But my plan is still a steady diet of undercover work after this case is cracked.”
    He shaved off a slice with his fork and savored it. “Great cake, Barbara.”
    â€œThanks, honey,” she said. “Do you bake, Andie?”
    â€œOnly when I lie in the sun.”
    â€œExcuse me?”
    â€œSorry, bad joke. No, I’m not much of a cook.”
    â€œBut she can shoot the cap off a Coke bottle at fifty yards,” said Littleford.
    It was a slight exaggeration, but Barbara didn’t seem impressed anyway. “Michael says you moved here from Seattle.”
    â€œThat’s right,” said Andie.
    â€œAre you seeing anyone?”
    â€œHey, a new world record!” said Littleford. “Fifteen seconds until Barbara puts out the feelers for her poor, lonely divorced cousin.”
    â€œStop, Michael. John is not poor.”
    â€œI didn’t mean he’s—”
    â€œI know what you both mean,” said Andie. “No, I’m not dating anyone. But I’m not looking to date right now. Thank you, though.”
    â€œGreat answer,” said Littleford.
    Barbara rose. “Well, if you change your mind . . .”
    â€œI’ll let you know,” said Andie.
    Barbara smiled and left them alone.
    Littleford set his plate on the armrest. “Well, wasn’t that just dandy? I spend all week trying to convince you to stay in the bank robbery unit, and in two minutes my wife has you running for undercover work.”
    Andie laughed. “Don’t worry about