“Break it down. What have we got?” Mace asked.
Levi said, “The good news is that the International Drug Task Force, while already having their eyes and ears on the Minotaurs, had not been following the small group in Ottawa that Clay and Cobb watched. I’ve forwarded the recording from their conversations inside the tent at the festival, and they are now tracking that group as they move back and forth from the Canadian and U.S. border. They’d focused their attention on Montréal and Quebec City, so they’ve now expanded their range of surveillance.”
Clay added, “The cartels might be sophisticated, but the Minotaurs aren’t. What they are is efficient and dangerous as fuck. I can’t believe Steven walked into that group.”
“They move drugs around, and they’re big on selling what comes to them,” Blay said. “But no way are they the brains behind any of this. They answer to the cartels.”
“And Steven?” Mace asked. “What do we know about him?”
“Sorry,” Josh said, shaking his head. “I wish I could give you more. He didn’t mention Jerry by name to them. The part of the conversation that I recorded with the Minotaurs was he knew he was supposed to meet someone that would pass along the message.”
“And the message?”
“He claimed that he’s a middleman. He claimed that money that goes through him won’t be traced.”
Clay shook his head. “Steven isn’t stupid but isn’t very smart, either. He handles the band’s money, but I don’t think he’s smart enough to figure out a money-laundering scheme.”
“No way,” Sylvie piped up. “It’s got to be Jerry behind that, too.” The others turned to look at her, and she shrugged. “I’m still looking. Steven does a piss-poor job of keeping the band’s books clean. Clay, my guess would be you should delve deeper into any other account that’s associated with his name. Or the band’s name.”
“Does Christina’s band have any more trips to Canada coming up?” Mace asked.
“She mentioned that Steven wants them to go to New Brunswick. He said that Jerry has told him it’s a way to make easy money since they don’t have to fly. They can drive like they have before.”
Tate asked, “They’ve been there for concerts before?”
“Yeah, from what she’s said, that was the first place they started playing Canadian festivals.”
Cobb shook his head. “There’s got to be other places Jerry is laundering his money. Christina’s band just isn’t big enough.”
Suddenly, Clay jerked, looking around. “Christina mentioned that Congressman Bennett and his wife supported indie artists. What if her band isn’t the only one where Jerry launders money?”
“That actually makes sense,” Babs said. “Most indie bands aren’t going to have an entourage of people keeping up with their money, schedule, or resources. Plus, they usually want more visibility, and if someone’s willing to help them travel and pay expenses, they’d be perfect.”
Nodding toward Mace, Clay said, “On it.” An hour later, he leaned back in frustration. Glancing toward Josh, he said, “I can’t find any trace of Jerry being involved with musicians or bands. Whatever he’s doing, he’s making sure to stay off the radar. I know he went to the bar where Christina’s band was playing because I saw him, but he’s not tagged at all.”
“See if you can dig in through the congressman. Find out who he supports and then take a look at their money. It’s a backdoor way of seeing if we can tie Jerry in.”
It didn’t take long for Clay to tap into the donation list of Congressman Bennett. What surprised him was seeing Mrs. Bennett’s donation list. It appeared most of the money the couple gave to indie musicians came from her. Sliding down another rabbit hole, he spent another hour poring through the digital surveillance on the Bennett estate, unable to find a time when Mrs. Bennett spent time alone with Jerry. Snorting, he glanced toward Josh and said, “One fuckin’ thing leads to another. I just spent an hour trying to see if the congressman’s wife and Jerry had a thing going on since it looks like she’s the one who deals mostly with the donations to musicians.”
“I take it you didn’t find a connection?”
Shaking his head, he said, “Not at all. No phone records and no private assignations on the estate.” Twisting his head and looking to the others, he added, “And I’m not seeing any boats coming or going from the Bennetts’ boathouse. How the hell are those drugs being moved?” Clay growled, dragging his hand over his face.
Just as he was going back in to investigate further, Sylvie called out to the group, “Marge just called down. She said Horace just got back from the grocery and hit the deli. She’s got a ton of fresh meat and has made homemade bread. She’s ordering everyone upstairs for lunch.”
The Keepers didn’t hesitate. When Marge called, they answered. And considering she was a phenomenal cook, they had no problem taking orders from her.
The house at the base of the lighthouse boasted a large dining room with a massive table. Marge had lined the kitchen counter with platters of roast beef, chicken, ham, turkey, and bacon, as well as lettuce, tomatoes, olives, and onions. The Keepers elbowed each other for position, finally settling into a semblance of order as they made their way down the counter. She sliced long, freshly-baked rolls and put them on a plate so the others could fill them with whatever they wanted. Condiments and bowls of chips were at the end.
Manners counted when Marge was in charge, and they waited until everyone was seated before diving in. Babs glanced at Sylvie and rolled her eyes before quipping, “You all eat like a pack of wolves that have gone starving all winter.”
“Did you know that Portland, Maine, claims to be the birthplace of the Italian sandwich?” Horace wiped his mouth before taking a sip of iced tea.
“We always called them hoagies when I was growing up,” Rank said.
Horace dipped his chin as he stared at Rank over the top of his glasses. “That term came from Philadelphia. The Italians working in the shipyards were in an area known as Hog Island. Therefore, their sandwiches became known as hoagies.”
Walker shook his head. “I thought they were called hero sandwiches.”
“Some people think the term hero sandwich came from the original Greek gyro, but that would’ve been in more modern times,” Horace replied.
Drew burst out laughing. “What I want to know is how did you become the king of sandwich knowledge?”
Horace sat up straight and said, “Grinder. Another name for the sandwich that comes from the Italian-American slang for a dockworker. Those sandwiches had a hard crust, though, and required a lot of chewing.” He cut his eyes toward Marge and smiled. “Your bread is perfect.”
By now, the group was all laughing but their attention was focused on Horace.
“Wedge. That’s from the country sections of New York and Connecticut. They’d cut the sandwich into wedges. Oh, and then there’s always Spukie.”
Clay snorted, almost spitting out his tea. “Spukie?”
“That’s from Boston and comes from the Italian word that means long roll. But, of course, most people just know them as subs since the bread is in the shape of the submarine.”