CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

"That's the hotel," said Ian. "Time to see if anyone is home. I'm just a lowly hotel employee checking a bathroom leak."

"Be careful, Ian. These guys are capable of just about anything," said Ghost.

"I'm touched that you care," he smirked.

"Bastard," laughed Ghost.

Ian walked past a utility closet and grabbed a cloak with the hotel name on it. He pulled it over his own shirt, buttoning it as he walked. When he reached the hotel door, he knocked several times.

"Hotel maintenance," he said. No one responded, and he knocked. "Hotel maintenance, I'm coming in." He used the key card he'd stolen from the cleaning lady and opened the door, his hand on his weapon. Searching around the space, he found nothing and tapped his comms, indicating it was all clear.

When Nine, Gaspar, and Ghost entered, they began to thoroughly search the suite. There were five or six suitcases of clothing, dozens of pairs of shoes, and at least seven computers in the small space.

"Get the laptops into the truck," said Nine. They closed the lids, powering them all down and pushing them into an empty duffle bag. Just as they were about to continue, they heard a shuffling at the door. Gaspar, Ghost, and Nine ducked back into the bedroom.

"Who the fuck are you?" said a man, staring at Ian.

"Oh, sorry, sir. I'm with maintenance. I knocked several times, but no one answered. We had a report of a bathroom leak. I just needed to make sure it wasn't going to flood the rooms below."

The man eyed him suspiciously, then nodded, moving into the room. The door shut behind him, and they knew they had him trapped. Nine walked out of the bedroom first.

"What the hell is this?"

"Sit down," said Ian. Gerald started to back up, but Gaspar was behind him, shoving his shoulders downward, forcing him into the seat.

"My friend asked you nicely to sit down. You'll learn that we don't ask twice. Now sit your ass down and listen."

"Who are you?" he asked softly.

"We're friends of Shelby's." The look on the man's face told them he knew exactly who they were talking about. "She's pretty upset, and we're fucking pissed. Not a good place for you to be."

"I didn't touch her."

"I didn't say you touched her. But you did touch her things. Her money. Her home. Her computer. You touched it all."

"She got her money back. The bank gives it back."

"You know," said Ghost. "I'm getting fucking sick of that being the response from you and your friends. That's right. We've met Brenda and Topper. Both are in a fuck-lot of trouble. Brenda is probably adequately drugged right now. Psychiatric hospitals tend to do that."

"What? No! No, why did you do that! She's not crazy. She's wonderful."

"Oh, someone has a crush on the boss's girl," said Gaspar.

"She's not his. She's her own person, and he treats her like shit."

"You mean like you all treated everyone you fooled on those websites. Like you thought you fooled the Syrians." The man looked up, shocked. "That's right. We know. And they know that you've screwed them over. Not smart, by the way. You unwittingly fucked over one of the most vicious terrorist organizations in the world. They're coming for you."

"Who else besides you, Brenda, Topper, and Frank are involved?" asked Ian.

"No one." Ghost kicked his foot, growling at him. "No one! I swear to God. Frank is the one who runs everything, makes up the rules, all of it. Brenda thinks she's in control, but she's not. She's too good for him and too good for this shit, but she stays."

"And that pisses you off," said Nine.

"Yes, it pisses me off. He treats her like shit. All they do is fight and argue, and it makes it worse for us. We just wanted to make a few bucks and have the banks pay."

"Why? You got something against the banks?" asked Ian.

"Frank does. He got fired from a job in Chicago because a bank said he was mishandling funds. I'm pretty sure he was, but he said he didn't do anything. Ever since then, he's been trying to stick it in the banks' asses."

"He's deranged," said Gaspar.

"I didn't say he was sane. But we've made a lot of money doing this."

"Where is he?" asked Nine.

"I don't know. That's the truth. He had a date with some rich bitch tonight and was headed to Cisco's." The men looked at each other. He was the one who reached out to Shelby. She was going to meet up with Frank.

"Where's all the evidence?" he asked, looking at the young man.

"You've got it. It's all on the computers. Topper created a few programs to track everything, and all of our data is on those," he nodded. He leaned his head back in the chair, running his hands through his hair.

"Headache?" smirked Nine.

"Yeah. Yeah, I've got a fucking headache, and I'm tired. I'm tired of all this bullshit and doing whatever Frank wants us to do. I should have left months ago."

"What other cities were you in?" asked Gaspar.

"Mobile, Pensacola, Ft. Walton, and the last one was Galveston. He likes to keep the cities fairly small but not too small. I'm just ready to move on."

"Move on?" said Ian. "I hate to break it to you, but you're not moving on to anywhere. You're going to jail."

"Jail? That seems harsh. I mean, it's not like these women didn't offer themselves up to us."

"Listen to me, you little bastard," growled Nine. "These women didn't offer up anything except trust, and you damn sure abused it. You're going to die a lonely old man. It may not be in prison, but it will damn sure be without a woman."

"Whatever," he frowned. "Just arrest me."

"Good news. We're not cops," smirked Gaspar. He sat up, staring at the men.

"What? What the fuck are you doing here?"

"Oh, we're helping a friend. That's what we do."

Gerald stood, shaking his head at the men. He paced the room as they watched him. Suddenly, he shoved the chair toward Ian and darted toward the door. Nine pulled his weapon.

"Stop!" It was too late. He opened the door and was met with a dark, menacing man. The man held up a gun, firing directly into his forehead. As Gerald fell, Nine fired, killing the gunman.

"Shit," muttered Gaspar. "Pull them into the room."

It was simple to pull Gerald inside. He never even got a foot out the door. The other man was the mystery. Or at least he was until they pulled him inside the room. Searching his pockets, they found nothing. But the tattoos on his arms and neck told them who he was.

Syrian. Specifically, he was with Tahrir al-Sham.

"I guess they found a way into the country," frowned Ghost. Ian nodded.

"Yep. Leave them here. We'll call NOPD and let them know what we found. Syrians trying to get their money back."