Shadow Rider
Page 19
Edgar ruled his family with an iron fist. He did the same with the prostitutes he frequently hired. He was warned repeatedly that the beatings and damage he was doing wouldn’t be tolerated, but so far, the pimp had been unable to protect his women. At first the money Edgar had paid for the damages to the women had been enough to keep the pimp quiet, but after a while Edgar’s urges couldn’t be controlled at all, nor did he bother to try. The pimp had taken his money and Edgar expected him to continue to do so. Two women had been hospitalized. They knew better than to talk, but the pimp had had enough. There was no way for him to get to Sullivan, not without the law finding out. So he’d appealed to the Ferraro family for aid.
Anyone could make the appeal for a meeting. All meetings were conducted in person. Stefano’s parents took those meetings. They chatted casually with a potential client. That was always necessary. Every person had a natural rhythm. Patterns of breathing. Of speaking. Heartbeats. Inflections in their voices. That casual conversation allowed the “greeters” to establish those patterns. From there they could almost always detect lies.
Essentially, “greeters” in the Ferraro family were people born as human lie detectors. That was their psychic gift. They listened to the petition for aid, but that was all. No promises. Just listening. If an undercover cop tried to infiltrate their organization, he couldn’t fault the greeter for simply listening. Greeters never responded with any kind of commitment. They mostly remained silent through the entire interview. Once they got the casual conversation out of the way and established the pattern of truth, the greeters simply asked their potential clients to explain why they’d come. Former Shadow Riders often took jobs as greeters when they retired because all were born with the ability to detect lies.
Stefano wouldn’t be standing outside of Edgar Sullivan’s home now if the greeters hadn’t passed on their client to the investigators. Stefano’s family had two teams of investigators. His aunt and uncle formed one team, and his cousins, both men, formed the second team. It was the first team’s job to find out every possible fact about the client. It was the second team’s job to find out every fact about the crime. Both teams worked carefully and quietly. They wouldn’t have the job unless, like the greeters, they were human lie detectors, and their voices could also influence others to talk, to open up and tell them anything they wanted to know. To be an investigator, they had to be a family member and also have both specific psychic gifts.
Stefano studied the shadows surrounding the Sullivan home. Lights were on in three rooms on the second floor. Stefano called up a blueprint of the house from his mind. He’d studied the house plans from the data the investigators had turned in. He read every scrap of information provided on both the client and the target.
Greeters, investigators and the shadow rider had to all agree before the job was taken. To do that, the shadow rider needed to know every fact about both parties, where they lived and who lived with them. Their routines, their friends. Everything. A shadow rider had to be able to slide through the portals, have a photographic memory and enough energy to disrupt electrical devices should there be need.
Stefano slid his burner phone out of his pocket. This was one of the very few times he would be vulnerable. He had to be out of the shadow’s portal to make the call. That meant, if he didn’t blend perfectly with the shadow, anyone could spot him. Like his brothers, he wore the signature three-piece suit—gray, pin-striped, the stripes giving the light-and-dark effect needed. At any given time, they were ready to enter a portal if necessary. The suit was synonymous with the Ferraro name, but it served a vital purpose.
He punched in the numbers and didn’t give a greeting when the line was opened. “Do we have a go? Am in ready position.” It was necessary to triple-check everything. The investigators continued to work even after they were certain. No one wanted a mistake. They also didn’t do the work, if money was involved, until the client complied and paid.
The money would be deposited first into one of their offshore accounts. Once the money was there, it would be layered through several banking institutions the Ferraro family owned or had interest in, through several countries until the source was impossible to trace. The money came back to them through legitimate businesses the family owned. The family had managed their way for the last couple of centuries, the businesses growing along with their bank accounts.
Even now, with Stefano in place and his brothers partying it up, the transaction could be called off. He waited, uncaring of the outcome. It was a job, nothing more. He was good at what he did, but he could walk away easily if it came to that. The money had to be deposited before the job would be done. The investigators had to be completely satisfied that justice had to be served. No life could be taken lightly.
Anyone could make the appeal for a meeting. All meetings were conducted in person. Stefano’s parents took those meetings. They chatted casually with a potential client. That was always necessary. Every person had a natural rhythm. Patterns of breathing. Of speaking. Heartbeats. Inflections in their voices. That casual conversation allowed the “greeters” to establish those patterns. From there they could almost always detect lies.
Essentially, “greeters” in the Ferraro family were people born as human lie detectors. That was their psychic gift. They listened to the petition for aid, but that was all. No promises. Just listening. If an undercover cop tried to infiltrate their organization, he couldn’t fault the greeter for simply listening. Greeters never responded with any kind of commitment. They mostly remained silent through the entire interview. Once they got the casual conversation out of the way and established the pattern of truth, the greeters simply asked their potential clients to explain why they’d come. Former Shadow Riders often took jobs as greeters when they retired because all were born with the ability to detect lies.
Stefano wouldn’t be standing outside of Edgar Sullivan’s home now if the greeters hadn’t passed on their client to the investigators. Stefano’s family had two teams of investigators. His aunt and uncle formed one team, and his cousins, both men, formed the second team. It was the first team’s job to find out every possible fact about the client. It was the second team’s job to find out every fact about the crime. Both teams worked carefully and quietly. They wouldn’t have the job unless, like the greeters, they were human lie detectors, and their voices could also influence others to talk, to open up and tell them anything they wanted to know. To be an investigator, they had to be a family member and also have both specific psychic gifts.
Stefano studied the shadows surrounding the Sullivan home. Lights were on in three rooms on the second floor. Stefano called up a blueprint of the house from his mind. He’d studied the house plans from the data the investigators had turned in. He read every scrap of information provided on both the client and the target.
Greeters, investigators and the shadow rider had to all agree before the job was taken. To do that, the shadow rider needed to know every fact about both parties, where they lived and who lived with them. Their routines, their friends. Everything. A shadow rider had to be able to slide through the portals, have a photographic memory and enough energy to disrupt electrical devices should there be need.
Stefano slid his burner phone out of his pocket. This was one of the very few times he would be vulnerable. He had to be out of the shadow’s portal to make the call. That meant, if he didn’t blend perfectly with the shadow, anyone could spot him. Like his brothers, he wore the signature three-piece suit—gray, pin-striped, the stripes giving the light-and-dark effect needed. At any given time, they were ready to enter a portal if necessary. The suit was synonymous with the Ferraro name, but it served a vital purpose.
He punched in the numbers and didn’t give a greeting when the line was opened. “Do we have a go? Am in ready position.” It was necessary to triple-check everything. The investigators continued to work even after they were certain. No one wanted a mistake. They also didn’t do the work, if money was involved, until the client complied and paid.
The money would be deposited first into one of their offshore accounts. Once the money was there, it would be layered through several banking institutions the Ferraro family owned or had interest in, through several countries until the source was impossible to trace. The money came back to them through legitimate businesses the family owned. The family had managed their way for the last couple of centuries, the businesses growing along with their bank accounts.
Even now, with Stefano in place and his brothers partying it up, the transaction could be called off. He waited, uncaring of the outcome. It was a job, nothing more. He was good at what he did, but he could walk away easily if it came to that. The money had to be deposited before the job would be done. The investigators had to be completely satisfied that justice had to be served. No life could be taken lightly.
