28. Griffin
GRIFFIN
Once again, I’m freezing my butt off in the snow, preparing a raid on a criminal mastermind. I better not make a habit out of this.
This time, it’s Malcolm Chase’s obscenely ridiculous alpine chateau, and I’m with my ragtag group of friends. Hockey players, wives, and one Irish mobster.
The mountain sun hasn’t fully risen, casting everything in a bluish predawn glow. Chase’s outdoor Christmas lights are still on, but it’s not Santa entering the house this morning. I feel like that guy in Die Hard even though Christmas Eve isn’t until tomorrow.
“You sure about this, kid?” Showalter asks, checking his watch for the fifth time in two minutes. He’s decked out in tactical gear while I’m wearing jeans and a heavy Titans jacket. “You can still wait in the van.”
“Absolutely sure. Malcolm Chase stole from my teammates, manipulated the league, and indirectly got my girlfriend kidnapped by international criminals. This is personal.”
I nod toward my friends. “Besides, I’ve got my support system.”
When I called for backup, I expected maybe two or three friends to show up.
Instead, I got the entire hockey mafia. Behind me stands the most unlikely strike force ever assembled.
Half the Titans roster, three hockey wives, one hockey girlfriend (soon to be fiancée), one parrot, and an Irish mobster in a flat cap.
Otto the parrot chooses this moment to squawk from Maggie’s shoulder, causing several FIS agents to jump.
“Squawk off, Malcolm!”
“Otto! Shh!” Maggie covers his beak gently. “Sorry, he gets excited during raids.”
“During raids?” Showalter raises an eyebrow. “How many raids has this bird been on?”
Otto begins to sing “Bad boys, bad boys…”
“Ummm, none at all,” Maggie lies. “He’s neeeeever been on a raid.”
Sawyer’s uncle Whitey adjusts his Peaky Blinders cap and cracks his knuckles. “Reminds me of the Belfast job in ’99,” he muses with his thick Irish brogue. “Except we had less sports equipment and more explosives.”
Sawyer’s sister Siobhan elbows her uncle. “We’re here in an advisory capacity only, remember?”
“Right, right.” Uncle Whitey mimes zipping his lips. “Advisory only.”
Owen adjusts the GoPro strapped to his chest while Emily fiddles with the settings on her phone. “This is so going on my blog,” she whispers. “Anonymous source reveals Ponzi scheme takedown.”
I squint at her. “You still have that blog?”
Her eyes dart to the side. “Uh, no.”
“Remember sleuthing around the Blizzard Dome in the middle of the night?” Owen grins at his wife.
“Just like old times,” Emily squeaks, popping on tiptoe to kiss Owen.
Showalter looks incredulously at the whole group. “Who are you people?”
Colette raises her hand. “I’m a high school English teacher.”
“And I’m with her.” Hendrix paces nervously, constantly patting his jacket pocket.
Hendrix has been acting strange since he arrived yesterday. I know he’s got an engagement ring burning a hole in his pocket. He plans to propose tomorrow on Christmas Eve at the Gornergrat.
Colette watches him with amusement. “Are you sure you’re nervous about the raid and not something else?”
Hendrix nearly jumps out of his skin. “What? No! I mean, yes! The raid. Totally the raid.”
“Real smooth, bro,” Liam snickers, elbowing his brother. “The Nebraska Knights send their regards to this scumbag, by the way.”
The scumbag, of course, is Malcolm Chase. Liam is here standing in solidarity with his brother and all us Titans. He’s even sporting a Titans jersey, which is big of him considering the Knights are our sometimes rivals.
I take a deep breath, the cold air sharp in my lungs. Somewhere in Toronto, another team is preparing to raid the Blizzard Dome offices. A third group is positioned outside Chase’s Toronto residence. Three simultaneous strikes to ensure he can’t escape or destroy evidence.
“You good?” Owen asks, noticing my expression.
“Are you kidding? After taking down OMbrA, this is a walk in the park.”
Mikael Laakso stands rigid as a statue, eyes fixed on Chase’s mansion. The retired captain’s jaw clenches with every breath. “Six years,” he growls. “Six years watching him underpay staff and squeeze every penny while preaching fiscal responsibility.”
His wife Hannah loops her arm through his. “And now you get to see him in handcuffs.”
Coach Knight smacks a hockey stick against his palm rhythmically. “Should’ve known something was fishy when he started pushing player investment opportunities. Not exactly standard owner behavior.”
Kevin Tate checks his phone. “Leigh says to kick his booty extra hard for making her miss this. Baby’s not due for three weeks, but she’s not taking chances.”
Maggie laughs. “She said booty? That’s so Leigh.”
“We’re parents of toddlers,” Kevin deadpans. Our whole vocabulary consists of potty, ouchie, and uppy uppy.”
“Awww that’s so adorable,” Emily coos. Owen suspects she has baby fever.
Siobhan types on her tablet. “I’ve got eyes on his security system. Ready to disable on your signal.” She looks up. “Also, nobody tell the FIS I’m doing this. Super illegal.”
Showalter pretends not to hear her. “Plausible deniability,” he mutters.
Uncle Whitey adjusts his flat cap. “In me day, we’d just go in swingin’,” he says with his thick Irish brogue. “None of this digital nonsense.”
“In your day,” Sawyer counters, “phones were still attached to walls, Uncle Whitey.”
“And we liked it that way, boyo!”
“Everyone remember the plan?” I ask, surveying my friends.
Kevin Tate nods. “Distraction at the front gate while FIS enters through the back.”
“And no punching,” Liam adds, glancing pointedly at his brother Hendrix. “No matter how much Chase deserves it.”
“Speak for yourself,” Hendrix mutters.
Showalter’s headset blinks a red light. He listens, then gives me a curt nod. “Toronto teams are in position. We move in thirty seconds.”
I raise my stick slightly, and fifteen hockey sticks rise in unison behind me. We must look absolutely ridiculous. I love it.
Coach Knight grips his stick tightly, knuckles white. “Twenty-five years coaching, and I’ve never wanted to check someone into the boards more than Malcolm Chase.”
Uncle Whitey cracks his knuckles. “Remember, lads and lasses, go for the kneecaps first.”
“We’re not actually assaulting anyone,” Showalter clarifies with alarm. “This is a legal operation.”
“Right.” Uncle Whitey winks. “Legal kneecapping.”
“Remind me why we brought the actual mobster?” I whisper to Sawyer.
“Irish charm,” Sawyer winks. “Plus, he knows a guy who knows a guy who can make Chase’s offshore accounts very uncomfortable.”
“Fifteen seconds.”
Hannah pulls out her phone, snapping a quick photo of our assembled group. “This is going to break social media when it drops.”
“Delete that,” Mikael growls.
“Just kidding, Stern Daddy.” Hannah winks, tucking her phone away. “This is just for the Christmas card.”
Mikael shoots her a hard look, and she throws up her hands. “Kidding!”
“Ten seconds,” Showalter whispers and nods to Siobhan.
Siobhan glances up from her tablet. “Security disabled. Cameras looping empty footage. And I’ve frozen the backup generators. He’s digitally blind.”
I glance at my friends…my family really…all wearing Titans colors like we’re about to hit the ice together. A wave of gratitude washes over me.
“Five…four…”
Uncle Whitey spits and adjusts his cap.
“Three…two…”
Sawyer and Owen exchange a fist bump.
“One…Go time.”
Showalter signals his agents, who move efficiency toward the mansion’s various entrances. We follow behind like a bizarre parade.
As we approach the front door, Showalter holds up a hand. “We go in first, secure the scene, then you follow. Clear?”
Uncle Whitey chuckles. “Sure, lad. Whatever you say.”
The FIS team breaches the door with a battering ram.
“FEDERAL INTELLIGENCE SERVICE! NOBODY MOVE!”
The FIS agents sweep through Malcolm’s mansion, room by room. Their tactical lights create eerie shadows as they call “Clear!” through their comms.
“Clear to proceed.” Showalter signals the all-clear for us to enter as they move to the back and side exits.
We enter the mansion like a bizarre sports-themed SWAT team. The place is a monument to excess. Vaulted ceilings, marble floors, custom woodwork everywhere. It’s the kind of wealth that only comes from stealing other people’s money.
“Split up,” I direct. “We need to find Chase before he destroys anything important.”
Our group fans out through the mansion’s first floor. I hear doors banging open, closets being checked. Otto provides a running commentary of “Where’s daddy? Where’s daddy?” as Sawyer and Maggie search the kitchen.
Uncle Whitey whistles low, running his finger along a gold-trimmed sideboard.
“Place like this, the silverware alone would fetch six figures,” he muses, eyes twinkling.
Sawyer coughs loudly. “We’re here to witness justice, Uncle Whitey. Not steal the spoons.”
“Speakin’ academically, boyo. Just keepin’ me skills sharp.”
Mikael stalks through the living room, examining framed photos of Chase with various celebrities and dignitaries. “Look at this,” he growls, picking up a photo of Chase with the commissioner. “Smiling while he robbed us blind.”
Hannah rubs his arm. “At least now everyone will know the truth.”
Hendrix paces anxiously, still patting his pocket. “Can we hurry this up? I’ve got things to do.”
“Like propose?” I whisper.
He shushes me. “Dude! Not so loud!”
“Your secret’s safe,” I assure him. “But everyone knows. You’re about as subtle as a freight train.”
Colette appears beside us. “What are we whispering about?”
“Nothing!” Hendrix squeaks.
Owen and Emily return from the east wing. “Eight bedrooms, six bathrooms, and a home theater that seats twenty,” Emily reports. “No sign of Chase.”
“He must’ve known we were coming,” Kevin says, looking disappointed.
I shake my head. “No. He’s here. I can feel it.”
There’s only one place he could be.
“The study,” I announce. “I know where he is.”
Everyone stops and turns toward me.
“Follow me.”