Page 112 of Oddly Fine

“Absolutely not,” Matthew interrupted Beckett. “We have nothing to go on but inside information. It’ll be a dead giveaway,” he refused.

Beckett—showing uncharacteristic restraint—shrugged and didn’t pursue the issue.

“If he’s working with the Serbians, then his part of the deal would be housing the people they’re transporting, correct?” Beckett inquired, a new idea beginning to brew.

“Yes,” Matthew replied.

“Then that’s where we start—with good old fashioned paperwork,” Beckett said.

“Paperwork?” Matthew asked, thoroughly baffled.

“Tenant registration—official declarations of revenue. We track each tenant down—whoever’s not paying but using power and water is probably connected to the Serbians,” Beckett explained.

“And how do you propose we get that information?” Matthew asked, scoffing. “My uncle owns the buildings; he doesn’t deal with the tenants. He hires people to do that.”

“Then that’s what how we get him—by raiding his employee data.”

It sounded simple—like it was only a matter of finding the right door and breaking it down.

Matthew stared at Beckett like he might have lost his mind before he turned to Hayes.

“Is he seriously—I mean—” he sputtered, like he couldn’t find the right words. “Even if we did find the right employee, getting access to that data would be next to impossible without someone to interpret it.”

“Ahhh—and this brings us to the next segment in our show. Say it with me, kids. It’s time to ‘Call a friend’!” Beckett announced grandly like a game show host.

“Call a friend?” Matthew asked, staring at Hayes like he might be able to translate the madness.

“Gill—” Hayes said, sighing, and turning to Beckett to see if he was right.

“Gill!” Beckett confirmed with a big smile.

Gill was far from pleased to hear their plan.

It wasn’t exactly the first time they’d pulled on this particular string, and he certainly wasn’t a willing participant when it came to illegal activities—but it seemed like he might have had a weak spot for them because all he did was sigh as Hayes laid it out for him.

“And what happens when you geniuses get caught sneaking in?” Gill asked.

“Give us a little credit,” Beckett sniffed, clearly offended. “We won’t!”

“Credit?” Gill scoffed. “Do I have to remind you of the episode involving my mother-in-law? Or of the many times I’ve had to bail you out of jail?”

Beckett fell silent and crossed his arms over his chest defensively.

“I think getting on the wrong side of a mob boss might be incentive enough to keep even Beckett extra cautious,” Hayes said, stifling his laugh.

“And that is the delusion of love talking,” their boss said cynically. “The tenant of all his properties in Montreal is the same,” he added, having pulled up the registration information. “Listed here as John Clemens.”

“Is that his real name?” Beckett asked.

“Seems like it. He became a standing tenant about a year ago when Mario Rosario bought the properties. There are hundreds of apartments listed here. It’ll take forever to comb through,” he warned them, not entirely convinced yet their plan would work.

“A problem for later us,” Beckett said, waving away his concerns. “Let’s say we get in, so then how do we get access to the information? Can you get access remotely? Or do we have to pull the old ski mask and broken kneecaps trick?”

“That would be the opposite of subtle,” Gill growled.

“Not if we dump him in the river afterwards,” Beckett pointed out calmly.

Hayes disguised his laugh with a cough.