Cash Out by Greg Bardsley Page A

you okay?”
    â€œYeah.” I get to my feet, shake my head. “Just stay with Kate and the boys.”
    I hear Kate holler, “Dan?”
    Outside, a car door opens and shuts.
    I reach back into the kitchen, feel around for the key hook on the wall, grab my keys, and slap the garage door open again. I try to run, but I suddenly realize I must have strained my scrotum, which is now sinking ice picks of pain into my stomach. I hobble out, see a green BMW 325i racing past my house.
    He might have the fancy German import, and I might have an old Toyota. But I have raced through countless neighborhoods to reach shootings, disasters, and myriad other public-safety events, and I’d bet my life that I can catch him.
    To the Corolla! I think, and limp to the street.
    I just don’t expect to find Detective Bryant when I get there. But there he is, leaning against my shotgun door, toothpick in his mouth. Sly grin.
    I stop for a second and limp toward him.
    â€œLittle bloody there, Danny.” Bryant pulls out the toothpick and shakes his head. “I’d call that a head wound.”
    â€œThat guy.” I shuffle up to him, panting. “You didn’t stop him?”
    Bryant smirks. “You ready to talk, Danny? For real?”
    I stand there and think about it, wipe the blood out of my eyes.
    â€œOkay.”

Three

    B ryant says, “I want in.”
    I squint. “What are you talking about?”
    â€œYou heard me, partner. I want in.”
    We’re in his car, right in front of my house. Kate, Rod, and the boys are standing on the porch watching us. Across the street, Crazy Larry is on his own porch—nursing a coffee and staring.
    I wipe a bit of blood off my nose. “Want in?”
    Bryant folds his arms and glances at me. “I want in. Whatever this is, I want in.”
    â€œWant in,” I repeat, my mind scrambling.
    â€œI want a piece of the action.”
    â€œPiece of the what?”
    â€œC’mon, partner. You think I’m some idiot?”
    I shake my head.
    â€œI looked you up, got your employer. Found out you’ve been there since the beginning, almost.” He pauses. “Read a few stories. They say employees who’ve been at FlowBid awhile—guys like you—are worth millions.”
    You have got to be kidding me. “Sir, I’m not a millionaire.”
    â€œBullshit.” He wipes his mustache real fast, glances at me. “On paper, you’re worth millions, for sure.”
    â€œWhatever.” I look out, and Crazy Larry is still watching us, so calm. “So you want me to give you money I don’t have, or else you’ll make my life a living hell over that sandbox incident?”
    Real slow. “No. No, that’s not what I’m saying.”
    â€œSo what are you saying?”
    â€œI’m saying I learned some things this morning that lead me to conclude you’re in a big mess.”
    I try not to freak. “And what’s that?”
    â€œI just locked down some details on this suspect.”
    My chest tightens. “Did you get his name?”
    â€œWell, that’s just the thing. You see, I wanna help, but my caseload is huge and I got a ton of other cases that need attention.”
    I laugh. “In San Carlos?”
    He smiles to himself. “I’m busy.”
    â€œOh, I see.” I feel the rage building. “Too busy to investigate this guy, unless I make a donation to the Detective Bryant Fund?”
    â€œHell no.” He laughs, folds his arms. “No, I just want in on whatever it is you’ve got going.”
    I think about it a second, realize Bryant must have something good on Baldy.
    â€œSir, I don’t have anything going.”
    â€œLike hell.”
    â€œWell, there’s obviously something going on, but damned if I know what it is.”
    He smiles. “You sure about that?”
    I close my eyes and exhale. Tell him about the geeks? My