“Long as you pay taxes.”
“Look, we already went over this.” Sorrentino hitched up the corners of his mouth in what appeared to be his best approximation of a disarming smile. “You guys gave me a pass. Are you seriously here to bust my balls for selling some sports equipment at my own establishment? It was quality stuff, everybody loved it. It wasn’t like I was ripping anyone off or anything.”
“Except your nephew,” Nina said, unable to resist needling him. Sorrentino could have been more helpful to his own family. “How come you could sell the gloves when he couldn’t?”
She must have surprised him with the question, because his eyes widened as he seemed to notice her for the first time. “Heeeey, aren’t you the famous FBI chick?” He snapped his fingers. “The Warrior Girl, that’s it.” He gave her a speculative perusal. “You want to do a cage match? We could bill it as a special event. Guaranteed we sell out—hell, we could charge double for admission.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Mr. Sorrentino, let me assure you that I have zero interest in a cage match.”
“You sure? You’re small but I saw that video where you kicked that guy’s ass in the park. I bet you could take most of the female fighters in the circuit.”
She also figured he’d seen the other video the Cipher had released and knew he could get free publicity from media coverage and make a fortune in ticket sales. He was an opportunist, but not a very bright one.
“I don’t think you’re hearing me.” She had a strong urge to clean out his ears with the barrel of her Glock. “I will not fight in your club. Or anyone else’s. Ever.”
Sorrentino shrugged. “Your loss.” He seemed to struggle to pick up the thread of their conversation. “Anyway, the guys all know me. I been around a long time. They trust me. Once a couple of them tried out the gloves, the word spread, and the rest came asking. What was I supposed to do, turn away business?”
“How many did you sell?” Wade asked.
“A few.”
Wade glanced at his notes again. “Last time you said it was over fifty pairs.”
“Well, if you include the fighting gloves and the tactical gloves, yeah, that’s about right.”
“Tactical gloves?”
“MMA fighting gloves are fingerless,” Sorrentino said. “My nephew used the same material to make full gloves too. He was hoping to sell to the military or police as a backup plan, but that didn’t work out neither.”
“And you never told your nephew about all the sales you made?”
“Hey, he’d already declared the loss on his taxes. If I split it with him, it would only mess him up with the IRS, and nobody wants that.”
Nina rolled her eyes. “You’re a real humanitarian.”
“We need the names of the people you sold them to,” Wade said. “And don’t tell us you don’t know. A guy like you keeps records.”
Sorrentino spread his hands, palms up. “Look around. Do I seem organized to you?”
He had a point.
Wade persisted. “You’re a businessman, and you know about tracking money. Perhaps a search warrant would turn up more information in your files and computers.”
“I don’t need another rectal exam from the Feds. You guys didn’t find anything last time, and you won’t this time either.”
Wade scowled. “Because you make sure everything’s off the books.”
“Because there’s nothing there to find,” Sorrentino said, his voice rising with the righteous indignation of the truly corrupt. “Look, I keep track of my business, but this wasn’t my business. It was my nephew’s. I figure anything I sold was making up for my original investment.”
Apparently conceding defeat on that front, Wade moved on. “Do you have a copy of the club’s schedule? One that shows which fighters were in a match and on what night?”
“Sure. How far back you need to go?”
“How far back can you go?”
Sorrentino opened his arms wide in a magnanimous gesture, the picture of honesty. “To when I converted the club from boxing to MMA about twelve years ago, when I started selling them gloves to the fighters.”
Wade leaned forward, eager. “Do you have the schedule here?”
“I keep it on the computer at my club. I can email it to you.”
“See that you do,” Wade said. “Today.”
“What’s the hurry?” Sorrentino’s entire demeanor shifted as he went from defensive to calculating. “Hey, you guys are investigating that serial killer, the Cipher. This doesn’t have anything to do with that, does it?” His beady eyes darted back and forth between them. “If I provide information, I should get a reward, right? I mean, that Hollywood guy’s offering a million now, so what are the Feds paying?”
“We’re offering you the opportunity to continue to operate your club,” Wade said. “As opposed to sharing a cell with a guy half your age who wants to show you his fighting skills in a cage match behind actual bars.”
“No need for threats.” Sorrentino held up placating hands. “Just asking is all.”
“Now you’ve got your answer.” Wade handed him a business card. “I’ll be expecting an email from you within two hours.” He stood. “Same as last time. You are not to speak about the subject of this conversation with anyone, understood?”
“Who am I going to tell?” Sorrentino struggled to his feet. “I never said a word to anyone last time and I won’t now. It only makes me look bad.”
“That goes for your wife too.”
Sorrentino waved the notion off. “I don’t tell her shit. She’ll only be disappointed you two aren’t taking me away in cuffs.”
As they left Sorrentino to his domestic bliss and treaded out to the SUV, Nina considered the situation. They had learned precious little from the fight club owner, but perhaps his database would provide useful information. At least they could eliminate fighters who had been in the cage during the times they knew the Cipher had been active.
It wasn’t much to go on, and she was growing frustrated. The unsub continued to land solid blows, damaging her reputation, thwarting the investigation, and humiliating her in the process. She, on the other hand, was shadowboxing.
Despite days of intensive investigation, he remained as much of a cipher as ever.
Chapter 30
After a long day poring over old case files from the Beltway Stalker investigation, Nina craved a long, hot shower. The shower she’d taken in the locker room at Quantico after her run had been slightly above lukewarm. She had managed to clean herself up before going out on the interview with Sorrentino, but it hadn’t been a pleasant experience.
She’d come back to her apartment that evening and headed straight for the bathroom, only to be interrupted by her doorbell. Hair dripping, Nina tightened the satin belt around her short bathrobe and picked up her gun. Palming the weapon, she padded to her door and stood on tiptoe to peer out the peephole. A mussed pile of jet-black hair with an artful streak of cobalt took up most of the small portal.
Sighing, Nina ducked into the kitchen to stash her Glock in an upper cabinet. She darted back to the door and flung it open, beckoning Bianca inside. “Don’t you have homework or something?”