Dark of the Moon

However…”
    “However…” Stryker repeated.
    “If you look at the tax returns, everything seems okay. But I know the kind of money you make from a fast-food place, because I do all the McDonald’s and Burger Kings and Arby’s around here. A Subway does not do a McDonald’s business, but Junior’s places do, according to his tax returns. They are selling sandwiches as fast as they can make them—which is strange, because if you go into one of Junior’s stores, there’s hardly anyone in there.”
    Virgil said, “He’s reporting more than he’s earning?”
    “Yes. I think so. He’s piping in money from somewhere else, running it through the Subways, paying taxes on it—and then it’s clean. He’s running a money laundry.”
    “Ah,” Stryker said.
    “The downside of that is…” She hesitated, and then peered over the top of her glasses at Stryker. “The downside is, your friend Jesse Laymon could make a claim for half of the loan assets—half of the Subway franchises—and then find out that there’s nothing there. The most successful Subways in Minnesota suddenly can’t sell a sandwich.”
    “So he’s broke?”
    “Not as long as he keeps running those Subways. But without the extra money…he’s in trouble.”
    “Is he sticking it someplace? Like his old man?”
    “Can’t tell you that,” she said. “But I can tell you, he owes taxes and penalties on all his illegal earnings, so after the IRS gets finished with him…” She shrugged.
     
    V IRGIL SAID, “Chris, I want all the paper back. I don’t want you to mention to anybody that you talked to us. I don’t think you’re in danger, but I can’t promise that you’re not. Some people have probably seen us come in here…”
    “…I’m sure.”
    “…so word will get around town. You want to be very careful for the next couple of days.”
    “Then what?”
    “Then we’ll see,” Virgil said, grinning at her.
     
    A S THEY were leaving, Virgil asked her, “You mentioned Jim’s friend Jesse Laymon. Would you have any more specifics on that friendship?”
    She shrugged and smiled at Stryker. “Word was, you were seen heading up toward the dell.”
    Stryker said, “I’m moving to California.”
    “She’s a very pretty girl,” Olafson said. “Too bad about her inheritance.”
     
    A T THE COURTHOUSE, Stryker got out of the truck and said, “I’m running out of gas. Too old for this overnight shit.”
    “Yeah, I’m gonna take a nap,” Virgil said. “Gotta call Joanie. Maybe you should call Jesse, the four of us could go out somewhere.”
    Stryker yawned. “I’ll ask Jesse. Give me a call when you get up, but not too early. Like, six-thirty or seven.”
     
    J OAN ’ S CELL PHONE kicked over to the message service. Virgil said, “I’m just going to bed. Jim and I were talking, maybe the four of us could go out tonight, later on…”
    He took a while going to sleep; went down deep when he did. His cell phone rang five times before he realized what it was. By the time he got to it, it’d stopped ringing. He punched up the number: didn’t recognize it, but it was from the Twin Cities. He redialed, and Shrake came up.
    “Hey, Flowers. It’s me and Jenkins. We’re looking at your old guys. You want us to run them in?”
    “Jeez, Shrake, where are you?”
    “In their living room. Their daughter’s living room,” Shrake said. “You want us to take her, too?”
    “Shrake, what are you doing? Where are you?”
    “Okay, then,” Shrake said. “We’ll leave her. I don’t think she’d last too long with all the muffin crunchers down at Ramsey.”
    “They can hear you,” Virgil said. “You’re scaring them, right?”
    “You got that right,” Shrake said, and he laughed.
    Virgil said, “Okay. You tell them to glue their asses to the couch and I’ll be there in four hours. Tell them if they go anywhere, I honest to God…Wait. Let me talk to them. Let me talk to Gerald.”
    A moment later, Gerald came on the line, and Virgil said, “Gerald, you motherfucker. You know something about that picture. I’m going to put your ass in jail and your wife’s ass in jail, for murder, if I don’t find out what it is. You sit there: I’m leaving Bluestem right now and I’ll be there in four hours. Now: gimme Shrake.”
    Shrake came back up and said, “Yeah?”
    “Take the rest of the day off,” Virgil said.
    “It’s Saturday, dickweed. This was my day off.”
    “Then take tomorrow off, too. I don’t