Free Cash Landing by James Grippando Page A

it.”
    â€œOkay. Let’s talk about this week. I want you to coordinate with MDPD to find out who lost a finger.”
    â€œNo problem.”
    â€œAny reason to go back to the MIA warehouse?”
    Andie considered it. “I still think one of the guards—probably Alvarez—called the perps from the warehouse and told them when to come. But we’ve practically turned that warehouse inside out looking for a phone. Nothing.”
    â€œYour initial reaction is probably spot-on,” said Littleford. “He went into the bathroom, made the call, smashed the phone into a thousand tiny pieces, and flushed it down the toilet.”
    â€œWe should keep our eye on Alvarez. At some point he needs to meet up with someone and get his cut of the stolen money.”
    â€œUnless someone else is putting the money through the laundry and it ends up in his Cayman Islands account. Maybe we go back to Braxton and talk to Alvarez again.”
    Littleford’s wife was back with two demitasses. “Espresso?” she asked.
    â€œIs it decaf?” asked Andie.
    Littleford made a face. “Real dessert, real coffee. Get with the program, Henning.”
    Andie smiled and took the cup.
    â€œI forgot to ask,” said Barbara. “How do feel about lawyers?”
    â€œBarbara, give it a rest,” said Littleford.
    â€œSorry.” She went back inside.
    â€œMy wife has a great heart, but she’s one of those married people who will never rest until the rest of the world is married, too.”
    Andie felt the need to shift gears. She opted for the perfect diversion with any man and made the conversation about him. “Not to change the subject, but ever since those interviews at Braxton, I’ve been meaning to say that I loved the way you worked in those eighteen robberies in three days after the Lufthansa heist at JFK. I thought you were bluffing, but I Googled it. That was no bull.”
    â€œNope. August 1979.”
    â€œSo, your dad was with NYPD?”
    â€œNo. That part of the story I made up.”
    â€œAre you kidding me?”
    â€œNo. He was never even a cop.”
    â€œOh, man,” she said, smiling. “You had me totally buying it. What did he do? Wait, don’t tell me. Aromatherapist, right?”
    He smiled, then turned serious. “He drove an armored truck in the Bronx.”
    â€œFor real? Why didn’t you tell the folks at Braxton?”
    He shook his head. “I don’t really tell anyone.”
    Andie paused, confused, not sure why he’d be embarrassed by it. “Why not?”
    â€œYou really want to know?”
    She wasn’t sure. “Yeah. If you want to tell me.”
    He put down his demitasse and looked out across the yard as he spoke. “It happened on a Tuesday,” he said. “I was in my last week of the third grade and couldn’t wait to start summer vacation. My dad was in the parking lot outside a shopping center. Four men stormed the truck. Two of them had guns. They got away with two hundred and ninety-two thousand dollars. No one really knows why, but they shot both guards before they ran off with the money. One lived. Dad was dead before I got home from school.”
    Andie didn’t know what to say. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”
    â€œIt’s okay. I don’t really talk about it, especially with the armored-transport companies. Can you imagine what they would say? ‘Oh, there goes Littleford again, bumping up the reward money, still trying to make us pay for never finding out who killed his daddy.’”
    Andie studied his profile, which was more like a silhouette in the dim afterglow of the sunset. “Did they offer a reward?”
    â€œSure did.”
    â€œI’m going to take a guess here,” she said. “Was it good only for information leading to an arrest, conviction, and return of the money?”
    Finally, he looked at her. “Smart