Death, Taxes, and a Chocolate Cannoli (A Tara Holloway Novel) (4 page)

“Of course, you never know,” Hohenwald added, hedging his bets. “Some mob wives cover up for their husbands.”

More food for thought …

The second building comprised three spaces. A frozen yogurt shop occupied the left space, while a photography studio took up the right. Though a sign for
HARD CORE MIXED MARTIAL ARTS
still hung over the door, the center space stood vacant, a
FOR LEASE
banner advertising the availability of the space.

“There’s our man now,” Hohenwald said, cutting his eyes to a man exiting the Cyber-Shield space.

We were too far away for me to get a really good look at the guy. All I could tell was that he was short, bald, and as round as Humpty Dumpty before his infamous great fall. If we were in the belly of the beast, it was a potbelly. But with free access to all the carbs he could eat, it was no wonder Tino had developed a gut. Even so, I was surprised at how harmless the man appeared to be. Heck, I was even a little disappointed. I’d built him up in my head as someone larger than life, yet he looked no different than most men his age.

He made his way down the sidewalk and disappeared into the bistro, but whether it was to launder money or indulge in a cannoli was anyone’s guess.

The local FBI headquarters was in far north Dallas, so rather than go to his office to talk, Hohenwald and I decided to talk strategy in my digs. He pulled into the lot at the federal building, which was rapidly emptying as those with regular eight-to-five jobs headed out.
Oh, to work normal hours. Wouldn’t that be nice?
But no. Although I might enjoy a more regular work schedule, I loved my job and wouldn’t trade it for anything. Working as an IRS special agent was an unusual job, one that required financial savvy, street smarts, and weapons proficiency. Few people had this unique and varied skill set. Not too many gunslinging, ass-kicking accountants out there. We special agents could not only crunch numbers, but we could also crack skulls. Of course, unlike Tino Fabrizio, we reserved the skull-cracking for those who really deserved it.

I stopped in the doorway of my office and held out an arm to invite Hohenwald to enter. As I did, I glanced through the open doorway across the hall, my gray-blue eyes meeting the bourbon-brown ones of Senior Special Agent Nick Pratt, my tall, muscular, dark-haired coworker and the person on the other end of my booty calls. But no need to worry. Nick and I didn’t let our personal relationship interfere with our jobs. Your tax dollars were well spent as far as we were concerned.

Though Nick’s expression remained professionally impassive, he winked an eye to let me know he was glad to see me, that he loved me more than life itself, and that, yes, as a matter of fact, these pants made my ass look like a ripe, delectable peach. It was a very verbose wink.

I closed my door after a return wink that said I was glad to see him, too, and that if he wanted to take a bite of this peach all he had to do was ask.

I plunked down in my rolling chair, retrieved a yellow legal pad from my desk drawer, and plucked a ballpoint pen from a coffee mug on my desk. “Before we get started,” I said, booting up my laptop, “I want to take a quick look at the tax files for Benedetta’s Bistro.”

As they say, numbers don’t lie.

chapter five

M
aking the List

I logged into the system and discovered that Benedetta’s Bistro was operated as a limited liability company, or LLC, a type of hybrid entity that provided the owners with personal protection from lawsuits while giving them more flexibility and less stringent record-keeping requirements than a corporation. The LLC was wholly owned by Tino’s wife. The records also told me that the restaurant had reported consistent and remarkable net earnings, much higher than would be expected for a mid-priced neighborhood eatery. Heck, most small family-owned restaurants were lucky to break even, let alone make a profit.

My nerves buzzed with excited energy as I turned the screen to show the data to Hohenwald. “Either she’s an incredible businesswoman or some of this revenue belongs to Tino.”

“I trust you’ll figure out which.”

“Try and stop me.”

He chuckled. “There’s that determination your boss mentioned.”

I wondered what else she’d mentioned. Hopefully not my occasional stubbornness and rule-bending.

Hohenwald and I briefly discussed our relative duties. He’d lead his team in following Tino and his men, and I’d lead my team in attempting to locate and follow the money trails.

I tapped my pen on the pad. “Alex Harris mentioned that it was Tino’s salesman who threatened him. I’m guessing Tino also has his staff collect the extorted funds. I can’t imagine he’d do it himself and risk being caught red-handed. Have you and your agents seen any money change hands?”

“No,” Hohenwald said, “but we’ve seen Cyber-Shield’s patrolmen enter some of the businesses late at night, presumably to do security surveillance. It’s possible they pick up cash then, too, though none of my agents have mentioned seeing any of the guards carrying anything out with them.”

Of course it would be easy to tuck cash into a pocket where it wouldn’t be noticeable. I jotted a note on my pad. “Following the money trail will also mean following Tino’s men, so we need to make sure our teams work together and don’t get in each other’s way.”

He nodded in acknowledgment. “I’ve got agents who can follow Cyber-Shield’s patrol vehicles, equipment installers, and salesmen. Whoever you assign to sniff out the cash can coordinate with my guys, maybe work tag team to avoid detection. We’ll equip the task force members who are running surveillance with a secure radio communications system so they can stay in touch in the field. We’ll also get your team new cell phones that can’t be traced to the government.”

“Perfect.”

Hohenwald leaned forward. “I know the IRS is as overworked as the FBI, but the task force can use as many agents as this office can spare. The only way we’ll ever take Tino Fabrizio down is if we’re on him and his men every step of the way. I’ll pull some of my agents off other cases and we’ll make a big push. A surge, if you will.”

I knew my fellow agents were busy with their own caseloads, too. I also knew several who, busy or not, would make time to help take down a mobster. Not only would the case be a challenge, but working a high-profile investigation like this couldn’t hurt an agent’s performance review and might result in a sizable raise. Besides, those involved would get bragging rights when we took Fabrizio and his minions down. Because we
would
take them down. No way would I let a bastard like Tino Fabrizio get away with his crimes and become a black mark on my record.

I wrote the word “team” on my pad and underlined it twice. “I’ll ask around the office. See who I can get on board.”

Three potential names went on my list. The first was
EDDIE
. Eddie had been my initial partner, the only one in the office willing to train the runt-sized recruit. He taught me everything I knew. Well,
almost
everything I knew. The rest I’d learned from
Sesame Street,
various schoolteachers, and
Cosmo.

The next name on my list was
WILL
. William Dorsey was one of the newer agents in our office, having transferred from the Tucson collections office only a few months prior. But he’d quickly proved himself to be tough, capable, and smart.

The third name on my list was
HANA
. Hana Kim was built like a fire hydrant and could be just as unmoving and forceful when faced with an unreasonable defense attorney representing a tax evader. She was also a star player on the Tax Maniacs, the IRS’s softball team. Her batting abilities could come in handy if one of Fabrizio’s henchmen came at her with a nail gun. If nothing else, she added more estrogen to the team. As much as I’d like to rule over an all-male harem, it couldn’t hurt to even things out genderwise for appearance’s sake. Besides, I’d never worked directly with Hana and wouldn’t mind getting to know her better.

“To follow the money,” I said, “I’ll need close eyes on Cyber-Shield’s office. We need to know who’s coming and going over there and when. I noticed a space for lease in the other building. I’ll see about renting it.”

The space would give law enforcement the perfect vantage point from which to spy on Fabrizio’s security operations. And if I were going to put eyes on Cyber-Shield, why not make it those bourbon-brown eyes I mentioned? I wrote the name
NICK
on my pad. He could not only give the FBI agents a heads-up on the movement at Cyber-Shield, but he’d also be able to watch for any cash that might be coming in or out of the office. Plus, as a former high school football player, he was the most physically formidable agent in the office. As much as I hated to put the man I loved so close to danger, he was the most capable of defending himself should things go awry.

“As for myself,” I added, “I’ll see if I can get an interview at Benedetta’s Bistro. If I can get inside, maybe I can figure out whether she’s laundering money for Tino.”

Getting on the inside would allow me to watch Tino and Benedetta’s interactions, and give me access to data that would prove or disprove my theory that Tino was laundering his money through the restaurant.

Back in high school, I’d worked at Big Bob’s Bait Bucket, a combination bait shop and convenience store that served anglers heading out to the various lakes in east Texas with the hopes of catching bass, crappie, or trout. Though the creaky old building housing the business had been ancient, the cash register was a computerized model that could track inventory, remember a customer’s purchase preferences, and print out total sales figures on a daily, weekly, and monthly basis. I’d seen similar registers in restaurants. More than likely, the bistro utilized this type of register, perhaps more than one. If I could gain access to the bistro’s registers, I could print out sales reports and compare them to the figures entered on the bistro’s tax return. If the figures were comparable, my theory that Tino could be laundering his funds through the restaurant would be proven wrong. But if the numbers didn’t jibe, it could be just the break we needed to finally put Tino behind bars.

The restaurant would also provide a second location from which to spy on Tino’s operations. If nothing else, maybe I’d overhear something important or be able to wheedle some valuable information out of Tino’s wife or daughters.

“Fabrizio trusts no one,” Hohenwald said. “I’ve tried to get agents on the inside, sent a couple of them to interview for jobs at Cyber-Shield, but they can never seem to land a position. It’s like Tino’s some kind of bloodhound who can smell a mole. Chances are he’ll do some digging to make sure any of the bistro’s new employees and any new tenants in the shopping center are legit. My office can provide you and your team with new identities. They can arrange apartments for your team, too. It would be a good idea for you to move into a different place while you’re working this case. Fabrizio might send his men to snoop around and you don’t want to lead them to your real home.”

I’d already had one wacko break into my town house and attack me. I certainly didn’t need another. It had cost a pretty penny to have the bullet hole in my bathroom floor repaired.

“Got anyone who can hack computers?” Hohenwald asked. “I’ve had our best guys on it and nobody seems to be able to get into Fabrizio’s system. Hell, North Korea was easier to hack into than Cyber-Shield. If we can get in, we might be able to prove that the videos were doctored.”

We’d also need to hack in to access Cyber-Shield’s financial records, too, so I could peruse them for evidence of tax evasion. “I’ve got the perfect guy for the job.” I added the name
JOSH
under Nick’s on my notepad. “There’s no code Josh Schmidt can’t crack.”

The former martial arts studio would be the perfect place for Josh to work from, too. I knew diddly squat about technology, but I was smart enough to realize that the close vicinity could make it easier for him to attempt to hack into Cyber-Shield’s system. The bistro’s, too. If he could get in, he could access their financial data and maybe even the security camera video files.

“Do we need to get a court order before we start?”

Hohenwald assured me that the FBI had secured the necessary search warrants authorizing the team to attempt to infiltrate Tino’s computer networks. “We’re good to go.”

When we finished our discussion, I walked Agent Hohenwald back to the elevators. “I’ll be in touch once I get all the details sorted out.”

“Great.” He stepped into an open, empty car and turned back around to face me. “One more thing, Tara.”

“Yes?”

“Tell your team to watch their backs.”

chapter six

M
ale Makeover

The door slid closed with a
shwupp,
leaving Hohenwald’s words hanging in the air.
Tell your team to watch their backs.

I scurried to Josh’s office, hoping to catch him before he left. Fortunately, he was still at his desk, three laptop computers in front of him. One was his government-issued computer, while the other two were higher-end MacBook Air models apparently seized from a suspect.

Josh had a beautiful mind that could crack computer encryptions in seconds flat, but with his blond curls, baby-blue eyes, and diminutive stature, he nonetheless looked like a young boy on his way to cotillion. He’d been an unlikable, sniveling weenie until Nick returned to the IRS last year and showed him how to be a man. Now, the rest of us not only tolerated Josh, but he’d become our go-to guy for technical help.

I rapped on his door frame. “Whatcha doing?”

His eyes remained on the screen of the laptop in front of him and his fingers continued to work the keyboard. “Blasting through firewalls, finding evidence of transfers to offshore accounts.”

Like a supercomputing superhero. All he needed were some tights and a cape.

I stepped into his office. “Any chance you’d be willing to help me on a mob case?”