Chapter 4 - The Debt Collector
The rain was falling in thick, violent sheets over Cermak Road when the black Cadillac Escalade pulled into the alley behind Cermak Gold & Loan.
The pawn shop was closed, its heavy steel security shutters pulled down over the front windows. But through the dirty glass of the rear door, a faint yellow light flickered from the back office.
Mason stepped out of the driver's side, holding a heavy crowbar, while two armed Callahan associates took up positions at both ends of the alley.
Vincent stepped out of the rear seat, holding an unlit cigar between his fingers, his long black cashmere coat absorbing the falling rain.
"Door's locked from the inside, boss," Mason whispered, setting the teeth of the crowbar into the steel jamb.
"Don't break the glass," Vincent said smoothly. "We don't want the police interfering with a private financial transaction."
Mason grinned, braced his foot against the brick wall, and hauled back on the bar.
With a sharp, groan of tearing metal, the heavy deadbolt sheared away from the frame. The door swung open silently.
Vincent stepped inside, his polished leather shoes making soft, clicking sounds against the linoleum floor.
The back office smelled of cheap bourbon, stale tobacco, and old paper. Sitting behind a laminate desk littered with sports betting slips and empty beer cans was Arthur Vane.
Vane was forty-five, balding, with a thick neck, sweat-stained armpits, and a heavy gold chain hanging around his neck. He was currently counting a stack of twenty-dollar bills when the door opened.
Vane reached reflexively for a drawer on his right.
"I wouldn't touch that, Arthur," Mason said smoothly, stepping into the room with a silenced 9mm pistol raised level with Vane's forehead.
Vane froze, his hand hovering two inches from the drawer. He looked up, his eyes widening in absolute horror as his gaze settled on the tall man standing in the doorway.
"C-Callahan?" Vane choked out, his face turning the color of curdled milk. "Mr. Callahan... I... I don't understand. What are you doing here?"
Vincent didn't answer immediately. He walked slowly across the room, pulling a wooden chair out from the corner, turning it around, and straddling it, resting his elbows on the wooden backrest.
"You have a nice shop here, Arthur," Vincent said softly. "Very quiet."
"Mr. Callahan, if I did something to displease you—if one of my guys operated on your turf—I swear I didn't know!" Vane babbled, his hands flying up into the air, trembling violently. "I'll close the shop! I'll pay a tribute! Whatever you want!"
Vincent reached out and picked up a black leather ledger lying open on the desk. He flipped through the yellowed pages with his thumb until he found the letter M.
His eyes landed on a line written in red ink: Miller, Thomas / Grace. Principal: $14,000. Interest/Fees: $42,000. Total Outstanding: $56,000.
Vincent stared at the numbers for a long moment. Then he looked up at Vane.
"Thomas Miller was an electrician," Vincent said flatly. "He died four years ago."
Vane swallowed hard, wiping sweat from his upper lip with his sleeve. "Yeah... yeah, Tom took out a loan for his kid's medical treatments. High-risk loan. He signed the paper."
"And when he died, you transferred the debt to his widow," Vincent continued, his voice dangerously even. "A woman who cleans houses for twelve hours a day. A woman whose four-year-old daughter died in a public ward because she couldn't afford medicine."
"Business is business, Mr. Callahan!" Vane protested, his voice rising in panic. "The contract is legal! I held the paper!"
Vincent leaned forward. The quiet fury in his dark eyes was so intense that Vane instinctively leaned back until his spine slammed against his office chair.
"You called her tonight," Vincent whispered. "You threatened to come to my house. You threatened to harass a woman who is currently saving the lives of my children."
Vane’s eyes bulged with shock. "She... she works for you?"
"She works for me," Vincent confirmed.
Vincent reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a thick, white envelope, and tossed it onto the desk over the ledger.
"There is sixty thousand dollars in cash in that envelope," Vincent said. "Consider the debt settled."
Vane stared at the envelope, then looked up at Vincent in disbelief. "Mr. Callahan... you don't have to pay me! If she's yours, the debt is cleared! Forgiven! I'll rip up the paper right now!"
"You're going to do more than rip up the paper, Arthur," Vincent said calmly.
He gestured to Mason.
Mason stepped forward, pulling a legal document from his jacket and laying it beside the envelope, along with a heavy brass pen.
"That is a full release of liability," Vincent explained. "Stating that Thomas and Grace Miller's debt was paid in full three years ago, that your company overcharged them due to an 'accounting error,' and that you are returning twenty thousand dollars of garnished wages to her bank account."
Vane blinked. "Twenty thousand? From my own pocket?!"
Vincent stood up, slowly buttoning his black coat.
"You have thirty seconds to sign that document, Arthur," Vincent said, his voice dropping into a whisper that made the hair on Vane's neck stand on end. "If you sign it, you keep the sixty thousand in that envelope, you pack your bags, and you leave Illinois by tomorrow night. If you don't sign it... Mason will use that crowbar to ensure you never hold a pen again. And then we will take the shop anyway."
Vane didn't wait for thirty seconds.
His hand flew to the brass pen, his fingers shaking so violently he could barely form his signature. He signed the bottom of the release, stamped it with his official notary seal, and shoved the paper toward Mason.
"It's done!" Vane gasped, tears of terror leaking from his eyes. "It's signed! I'm leaving! I'm leaving tomorrow!"
Vincent picked up the signed release document, checked it carefully, and slipped it into his breast pocket.
He looked down at the sniveling man behind the desk with absolute contempt.
May you like
"If you ever speak her name again," Vincent said softly, "I won't send Mason. I will come myself."
Without another word, Vincent turned and walked out into the rain, leaving Arthur Vane shaking in the yellow light of his empty office.
