Chapter 10: The FBI

Tuesday morning, I was as stiff and sore as I had ever been in my entire life. The nonstop fuck-fest of the day before was taking its toll, it felt like I’d run a marathon!

I skipped my morning run and did twenty-five laps in the pool to stretch out the kinks. I also made a mental note to stay away from the testosterone supplements for a while! Those Mr. Happy pills were gonna get me in trouble if I didn’t watch it. While I certainly enjoyed the sex, things were getting chafed, so I decided to slow it down a little.

After my swim I found Pop sitting at the breakfast bar drinking coffee. “Hey, kiddo, ready for another day of thrills and chills with the Davis family?” he joked, looking up from his laptop.

I poured myself a glass of milk and joined him. “Another day of constant fucking, you mean?” I chortled. “I was so sore this morning I could hardly move! How about you?”

“Not only sore, I’m pretty well worn out. I was awake all night worrying about this funny business with Giancosimo.” Pop said grimly.

“The FBI will set us straight on that, Pop. They’ll know how to deal with Walt,” I replied, trying to reassure him. Pop’s anxiety alarmed me, though. My father doesn’t scare easy, and if he was worried, then there was something to worry about.

“Oh, I’m sure we can suss out how Walt’s trying to cheat us, business-wise,” Pop said. “I have every confidence that our team way outclasses his in the brains department. What worries me is his ruthlessness, and how far he’ll go to make us play ball.”

I stared at my father grimly. “The girls!” I said. He nodded.

“Walt knows that they’re our weakness,” he worried. “No matter what happens legally, we’re vulnerable if he goes after one of the family. He didn’t like Sarah insisting on that one year grace period, not one little bit! I think he’s going to try to grab her, specifically, or one of the girls.”

“Or all of them.” I growled. “Well, there are steps we can take. I’m a hand-to-hand combat instructor, y’know. Starting this week, all the girls can train with me in Marine martial arts and handguns. Do you think we should postpone the car lot inspection until after we talk to the FBI?”

Pop gave a thoughtful nod. “Absolutely,” he agreed. “That trip’s not so important that it can’t wait a bit. Now we need a way to tell the girls about it without scaring them to death.”

I shook my head. “Scare them, Pop. Scare the shit out of ‘em,” I said. “Fear is a great motivator. One thing I learned from training female recruits is that women are a lot tougher than us men have been led to believe. We underestimate women because they’re smaller. Fear of a larger opponent gives women a huge advantage, if they know how to channel it.”

Pop looked at me with a new respect. “That puts my mind a great deal more at ease, son. I think training everybody is a great idea! Got room in your class for a tired old man?”

“Tired old man my ass,” I laughed. “Anybody that can screw five different women multiple times a day should find a little combat training a piece of cake! We’ll talk about it over dinner tonight.”

“Sounds good. Well, I’m gonna go get dressed and head into the shop,” Pop said. “The girls are passed out solid, so maybe I can actually get to work without having to fuck my way out of the house!”

“I’ll ride in with you, if you don’t mind,” I offered. “I could use a break myself, and if they wake up and you’re gone, it’s all on me!”

“Save the swan song, Casanova,” Pop laughed. “You balled all five of them twice before you even went to work yesterday! I’ll bet you a dollar you can’t make it out of the house without tapping at least one of ‘em!”

I feigned outrage. “I should take that bet, you - well, maybe not.” I admitted sheepishly.

Pop laughed so hard I thought he’d wake the whole house up! “Go get some duds on, lover boy! Meet you in the garage in ten minutes.”

I dashed up to my room and put on khakis and a polo shirt. I was gonna kiss Krys goodbye, but she was snoring like a lumberjack with a head cold. I went downstairs and met Pop in the garage. We nailed a fast food breakfast on the way, and walked into the showroom at six thirty. Uncle Miles was there ahead of us.

The three of us sat down and reviewed my audits of Center City and Lubbock. Pop was happy with my conclusions, and Miles showed me the red flag areas to look for when I audited all of the Giancosimo acquisitions. He and Pop agreed that it was more important for us to sort out the used car lot problems first, though, so the new dealership audits could wait.

Sarah came in at eight, looking like a million bucks (as usual) in her trendy blue business outfit. She admitted that she and the other girls appreciated a break from the sex as well, so they could focus on schoolwork and other chores. Pop asked her to call the travel agent to postpone the inspection trip, and to make sure everyone knew to be home for dinner. My beautiful stepmom looked curious, but said she would do as he asked.

Pop, Miles, and I reviewed the used car lot ledgers next, while Sarah went downstairs to handle the day’s normal business. There weren’t any obvious problems with them. The sales figures tallied, but Pop thought the profit margins seemed extraordinarily good for used cars.

“Something’s not right,” Pop mused. “They’re making too much money. Let me see your audit for our dealership, Ken.” I pulled it up on my laptop and let him look.

While Pop compared the audits of our Chevy dealerships and the used car lots, I asked Miles to join us for dinner that evening to talk some business. Miles, the perpetual bachelor, welcomed any chance for a home-cooked meal and accepted happily.

“Found it!” Pop said suddenly, pointing to the comp screen. “Inventory tax. He doesn’t list it as a liability on the cash flow reports.”

“Inventory tax?” I asked. “What’s that?”

“At the end of their fiscal year, every new car dealer in Texas has to pay tax on the new models from the previous year that are still on their lot.” Miles explained. “It’s hard not to think of it as government extortion, having to pay taxes on the new cars you haven’t sold, and then having to charge the customer sales tax when you do sell them. Nobody likes it, but it’s the law, so we just have to accept it as a cost of doing business.”

Pop said, “Every year before the new car models arrive, you’ll see car dealerships having big sales events in order to get rid of last year’s models. The new ones aren’t taxed until the following year, see, so the more of the current year’s models you sell before tax time, the less tax you’ll have to pay. If you have a lot of the current year’s models remaining, it can be a sizable bill.”

He shrugged. “My policy, like every new car dealer, is try not to have any new inventory left when you order next year’s models. It’s a tricky call sometimes, even for somebody experienced. When I was drinking every day, the inventory tax damn near finished us.”

“Used car inventories are taxed differently,” Miles continued. “Dealers have to pay tax on every used car on their lot no matter what the model year is. You gotta pay attention to your stock, though, because you have to pay the tax on every car every year. If a car sits on your lot more than a year, you can end up paying taxes on it multiple times. The tax on used cars is lower than the tax on new ones, but it has to be paid on all of them, every year.”

“That’s a real ball-buster if you don’t know what you’re doing,” Pop said. “It’s a big reason for the fly-by-night nature of the used car business. People sell the lots to get out of taxes, change names, all kinds of shady shit.”

“How much tax could Walt owe on these two lots?” I asked. “They’re not new cars, and there never seems to be more than thirty or forty cars on a lot at any one time.”

“It’s not the amount of tax he owes that bothers me.” Pop replied. “These are used cars, and the most the state could get would be based on blue-book values. What’s odd is that the tax isn’t listed at all, even if it’s only a zero. I could see an omission on one of the lots, but to find it missing on both of them? Something’s not kosher.”

Pop called Sarah. “Baby, see if you can find the inventory tax figures on all the new dealerships. Yes, and bring them up to Ken’s office when you find them, we’re all still up here. Don’t speak with anybody else about it, okay? Bye!”

“Why don’t we go downstairs and see what she finds out, Bobby?” Miles asked. “Were just gonna be twiddling our thumbs up here.”

“We’re safe from prying eyes up here.” Pop said darkly. “We’ll meet with the FBI up here as well. This is a multi-million dollar deal. Call me paranoid, but I think we’d better assume the Giancosimo family has eyes watching our every move.”

“Better safe than sorry.” I agreed, and Miles nodded his understanding. Sarah showed up about ten minutes later, a worried expression on her face.

“There’s no inventory tax info on any of them.” she told us. “Not on the cash flow statements, not in the inventory lists, financial reports, nada. No mention of it anywhere, for any of Walt’s lots. I haven’t had time to file for their IRS tax returns.”

“We can let the FBI do that for us.” Miles said. “They’ll get them a lot faster than we will. I don’t know for sure, but I think we’ve found a clue to Walt’s scheme, whatever it is.”

“Let’s hope so.” said Pop. “Listen, the Feds shouldn’t be here for an hour, so why don’t we take lunch before they arrive? Peewee’s is nice and private, and I need to talk to him.”

He was talking about PeeWee’s Soul of Texas Barbecue, one of our favorite local restaurants. Peewee Johnston is an eighty-year-old African-American gentleman that’s been serving his barbecue in the same location since 1978. The place is hugely popular in the minority community, but Peewee didn’t sell his barbecue to white people. Not until he met my Pop.

Peewee had been a Black Panther during the sixties, in LA. He’s still bitterly prejudiced against most whites, and discourages their patronage. My father helped him finance a couple of catering vans, though, when nobody else would, and had testified on Peewee’s behalf to the City Council. (Local church and civic organizations had petitioned to pull the restaurant’s business license, on the grounds of Peewee’s former political affiliations. Pop told the Council that he admired what the Panthers had tried to do for the Watts community in LA, and that Peewee was as honest, upright and hard working as anybody he did business with.) Ever since then, Peewee has made us welcome in his place, and makes a point of shaking my father’s hand and introducing him to his friends when we visit.

The old man told me when I was about ten years old,” I’ll tell you the same thing I tell my kids, Kenny. I treat your poppa like a man because he treats me like a man. Treat everyone with courtesy and respect, until they proves they don’t deserve it. Respect begets respect, never forget it.”

I never have, either. I try to treat everybody the way I expect them to treat me.

“Just bring Ken and I something back, will you?” Sarah asked. “I need to get some work done, and Kenny can help me. We need to compare the new car delivery invoices with the sales receipts for all the new lots for the past five years. That will tell us how many new cars they had left at each year’s end, and we can determine approximately what the inventory tax should have been for each year. Kenny’s got the info I need in those audits of his.”

“Can do, Sarah!” I said, reaching for my laptop. Pop and Miles left. “I don’t know if I have all five years’ figures for those lots -” I began, but I was interrupted by Sarah hoisting her skirt, grabbing my head and shoving her sweet, dripping pussy in my face!

“I just said that to get Miles out of here!” Sarah gasped, sitting on the edge of my desk, spreading her legs wide and pushing my eager mouth more tightly against her juicy quim! “I’ve gone all morning without a hard cock in me! I want some of your big dick, mister, and I want it now!”

I spent a couple of minutes munching my beautiful stepmom’s juicy slit. I stood up and tongue-fucked her mouth, kneading and pinching her hot ass cheeks! She expertly unbuckled my belt, dropped my khakis, and grabbed my stiffening prick!

I felt the blood rushing in to engorge my big cock as I slipped into her steamy wetness. The horny brunette moaned as she felt the thick meat shaft growing harder and harder, deep in her eager cunt!

“Fuck a bunch of barbecue!” I told her as I increased tempo. “My lunch is a hot twat! I’m gonna make you squirt slut juice all over this big, hard fuck stick, you sexy bitch! Ride that cock!”

Talking dirty is a turn-on for every woman in my family. I hoisted Sarah’s blue skirt and sat her on my desk, and she wrapped her freshly shaved, deliciously long legs around me. She laid back on the desktop and I pounded her tight, wet twat with hard, hammering thrusts! Her tongue flicked in and out of her mouth, and she unbuttoned her blouse so I could manhandle her fat titties!

“Fuck it!” she cried, “fuck me with that big dick, baby! Gotta cum! Gotta fucking cum! Fuck meeee!”

Her luscious hips writhed as she climaxed, and she lay there gasping for breath. She grinned when she saw the trusty jar of Vaseline I pulled from my top drawer, put there for just such occasions as these!

I yanked my beautiful stepmother off the desk and tongue-fucked her mouth again, and slathered petroleum jelly all over my fat prick. Sarah turned and bent over to grab the edge of my desk, shrieking as I stuffed three fingers up her ass with a big dollop of Vaseline! Sarah moaned and gibbered as I fucked my three horny digits in and out of her rectum, getting it good and greasy!

The gorgeous brunette’s panted, her pink tongue clenched between her teeth in a grin of anticipation! Sarah and I may have had sex once or twice when I didn’t shove my dick up her ass, but I can’t really remember when! That beautiful, tight butt is a pure cock magnet!

I yanked my fingers from her anus and crammed my slippery flesh log deep! Her lovely long legs stiffened, and she swayed from side to side, ass wiggling and big tits flopping as she pushed back into my hard thrusts, wanting more and more hard dick up her butt!

“Cock my ass!” she gasped, loving the feel of my rigid tool cornholing her delicious ass! “Slammit! Crammit! Dickit! Fuckit!”

The sound of my groin slapping her fantastic derriere sounded like I was applauding! (Of course, Sarah’s ass is worthy of applause!) When I reached underneath her to frig her swollen clit, she gasped and clawed at her titties!

I felt my load rising and knew I was about to inject Sarah’s tight ass with a big wad of hot, sticky man goo! I grabbed on to her fat tits and buried my hard cock up her ass to the hilt!

“Oh, Jesus Christ!” I shouted! “Here it comes, bitch! Take it up your hot ass! Fuckin’ slut! Gaaah!”

My molten semen rocketed into my stepmother’s colon, and she shouted in ecstasy as her soggy cunt spewed her own climax all over our naked thighs! My still-spouting cock slipped out of her anus and spewed hot, white cum all over her butt! Sarah mad yummy noises and reached behind her to smear the sticky mess all over the lovely, soft ass cheeks then licked her fingers. After a loving, passionate kiss, she squatted down to lick and suck my balls and softening prick, sticky spunk draining from her asshole to puddle on the floor.

“You always know just how I like to be fucked, baby!” she declared huskily. “You know I have to have your hard prick ream my ass at least a couple of times a day!”

“You’re gonna wear me out!” I told the gorgeous brunette. “I can’t get enough of your sweet ass, but damn, I’m only human!”

“Bullshit!” Sarah laughed. “You’re a goddam fuck machine, that’s what you are! You and your dad just can’t get enough ass!” She licked my ear. “Bobby fucks me nonstop too, but you’re more of an animal than he is. I love the way you destroy my ass with that fat cock of yours!”

I checked the clock. “The FBI will be here soon, Sarah,” I said, “We’ve been fucking for half an hour. If we’re gonna get those spreadsheets reconciled, we’d better get cracking.”

“Oh, I already did all that,” she giggled, “I just wanted to get Miles to leave so we could fuck. Now help me wash.”

We got dressed and cleaned up. Pop and Miles came back a few minutes later, and we eagerly gobbled up the barbecue sandwiches they handed us. For some reason, we were both starved!

Pop said, “I put a bug in Peewee’s ear about Giancosimo. His grapevine reaches everywhere in this city, from the churches to the City Council. We’ll know every move Walt makes in Center City just about as soon as he makes it.”

We went down to the showroom, and a casually dressed young couple that had been looking around approached my Pop. They looked like newlyweds, very clean-cut and fit. The guy looked like he could have played football in college. His head was shaved bald, but his eyebrows were blonde. The gal was a tall, leggy Hispanic, with an athletic build and long, dark hair. She looked familiar, but I couldn’t quite place her.

As they came near, the girl spoke softly. “Mr. Davis? I’m FBI field agent Martin from the Dallas office, and this is Special Agent Crawford from D.C. I believe you’re expecting us.”

“Call me Bobby, agent Martin.” Pop said with a wink. “The judge calls me Mr. Davis. Makes me nervous.”

“Well, sheee-it!” I exclaimed. No wonder she was familiar! “What in Sam Hill are you doing in Texas, Trini?”

“Keeping your big ass covered as usual, Gunny.” the pretty FBI agent riposted, giving me that wide toothy grin that I remembered so well.

“Pop, Sarah, Miles, allow me to introduce Trini Martin, formerly First Lieutenant Martin, Marine Martial Arts Training Command, Quantico.” I said with a sweeping gesture. “Those civilian clothes and long hair threw me for a minute, Trini.” As a Marine, she had worn her hair short.

“You do know him! Better and better!” exclaimed her partner. He offered me his hand. “Bill Crawford, Gunny. I’m FBI now, but I belonged to Third Special Forces a few years ago. I took the liberty of researching your personnel file before I flew down from Washington. Impressive.”

“Just plain old Ken Davis now, Bill. I worked with Special Forces a lot, in combat and out.” I smiled as we shook hands. “Pleased to meet you. If you’re with Trini, here, I know you’re good people.”

“Can we talk somewhere a little less public?” Trini asked. “Chances are we’re under surveillance.”

We all went up to my office. Bill and Sarah occupied the two chairs, while Pop took my chair and Trini and I leaned against the wall. Miles grabbed a folding chair and his laptop from downstairs, shut the door, and sat in front of it.

“Trini and I were assigned to the same training battalion at Quantico.” I explained to the others. “She has two tours in Iraq under her belt, and knows hand-to-hand as well or better than any other Marine anywhere. We trained commando units from all the armed forces. She was my boss.”

“Don’t let the Gunny kid you, folks.” Trini said with a wink. “I might have outranked him, but he taught me more about hand-to-hand combat than I ever learned in combat. He might be just plain ol’ Kenny to you, but Gunnery Sargent Kenneth L. Davis is death on two legs. Whoever messes with this family is about to see hell from the inside.”

“Ken’s name popped up on the computer when Trini researched your call, Bobby.” Bill explained. “The next thing she did is call me. I’m with the Organized Crime Task Force in Arlington. We’ve been watching Walt’s brother, Fast Freddy Giancosimo in Miami, for years. Trini is the OC field agent for Central Texas, and after she found out Ken was involved with your tip, she asked me to handle your case personally. She said your tip was red hot, and if Gunnery Sargent Davis was involved, it would be like having a trained tornado on our side. After what I read in his file, I tend to agree.”

I looked at my former colleague and nodded my appreciation. “Thanks, Trini,” I said. I turned to her boss. “There’s no Marine I’d rather have at my back than Trini Martin. She’s one of the finest fighting soldiers that this country has ever produced.”

“I trained her at the Academy.” Bill said. “I agree with that assessment completely.”

Trini grinned. “If we’re all done bragging on each other, tell us what’s up with the Giancosimos.”

We told the agents about the pending dealership acquisitions and what we suspected. Bill nodded and gave us tacit approval for our actions so far.

“The Bureau has been more or less aware of Walt, because he’s suspected of laundering cash for his brother,” he said. “We’re aware that he’s five years behind on his state inventory taxes. He never pays them on time, asks for extensions every year. Texas law permits him to file five extension requests before having to pay anything, but he can make partial payments on the taxes he’s behind on without penalty, if he pays the total tax within the year in question. In other words, if he’s caught up on his taxes from six years ago, he’s good to go. Extensions are a convoluted way of doing business, but it’s legal.”

“I did it a couple of years ago myself.” Pop said. “Otherwise, I’d have lost my dealership. I had the extension paid off within the year, though. It’s a whole lot easier to stay current on taxes than to get current on taxes. The easiest and best thing to do is sell everything, or almost everything, before the tax is due.”

“Well, if Walt’s sold his lots to you, he’ll have included a clause in the contract that you will assume whatever outstanding liabilities he owes.” Bill smiled grimly. “What that would mean to Davis Enterprises, though, is that instead of being able to make payments, since you haven’t filed any extension requests for those particular tax years, the entire tax debt would become due and payable immediately upon the closure of the sale.”

“Eight to ten million bucks.” Pop whistled. “That’s his game. Walt knows we don’t have that kind of ready cash on hand, and we won’t have it a year from now, either. He’ll be able to repossess his lots.”

“Especially if he’s doing his best to kill your profits.” said Bill. “He’s used rumor and falsehoods to ruin reputations and drive the competition out of business before. A false rumor in the right ear could cost you a lot of business.”

“Our reputation’s as solid as a rock.” said Miles. “That would take some work.”

“That’s not his game.” I said.

Everybody looked at me. “What are you thinking, Ken?” Pop asked.

“This is waay too easy to find,” I said. “Any auditor in the state of Texas would find these inventory tax omissions in a heartbeat. They’re glaringly obvious.”

“A red herring?” said Sarah. “Ya think?”

“To distract us us from what?” asked Miles.

Trina rubbed her (very attractive) chin thoughtfully. “I agree, Gunny.” she said. “I think that you folks were intended to find this. The Giancosimo family is proud of their bad reputation, they cultivate it. It’s easy to shake people down and keep their mouths shut when they’re scared. Walt expects you to look for something crooked here, he would count on it.”

“Walt thinks we’re dumb enough to take this bait,” Miles mused. “He thinks we’ll be so confident that we’ve uncovered his scam, and are so busy raising cash for the back taxes, that we won’t be looking for other schemes.”

“What other schemes?” Sarah asked. “If we pay those inventory taxes off, he can’t touch us.”

“He won’t be able to touch us legally.” Pop said gently. “But remember baby, this is the mob we’re dealing with, and they play for keeps.” Sarah looked confused.

“You and the girls, Sarah.” I said bluntly. “That’s Walt’s plan. They’re planning to kidnap you, or Krys, or Jackie, or all of you.” Every bit of color drained out of my beautiful stepmother’s face.

“And ransom you for all our ready cash, forcing us to default on the back taxes.” Pop said. “That way, Walt makes an easy six or seven mil profit, repossesses his own car lots, along with this one and Lubbock, too, for defaulting on the purchase contract. They’re our collateral, remember?”

“It’s revenge for beating him on the Lubbock franchise, and for Sarah’s escape clause.” I said. “Walt wants to ruin us, just for getting in his way.”

“Ten to one it’s Freddy’s idea,” Bill said. “Walt doesn’t have any criminal history that we know about. He’s not really a mobster, either, he’s not smart enough. He’s always been on the outskirts, as a fence, or a legit front to wash his brother’s dirty money. An abduction plot sounds like the mob, so I imagine Freddy cooked it up after Walt bitched to him about losing the Lubbock franchise.”

“Oh my God.” Sarah exclaimed, her face pale and her voice trembling. “The Miami mob is involved in this, too? Call it off, Bobby. Call the whole thing off. That inventory tax omission gives us all the reason we need.”

“You’re right, baby.” Pop reassured his wife. “I’m not about to risk you or the kids. We can keep our lot here, and the one in Lubbock, and tell Walt to take his deal and shove it.” Sarah looked slightly reassured.

“Maybe or maybe not.” Miles interjected. “We’d have to prove cause. Walt can’t do anything for at least a year, anyway, because of your escape clause, Sarah.” He grinned at the two FBI agents. “She really blindsided them with it.”

The two feds looked at Sarah. “Tell us about the escape clause, Sarah. How does it work?” Trini asked.

“The car dealerships operate as normal, under our supervision and direction, for a probationary period of one year.” Sarah said. “Each dealership pays normal operating expenses as usual, but all profit generated goes into an escrow account until the final closing. Davis Enterprises can back out of the sale without penalty anytime during that probationary year, provided we show a sufficient deviation from the sales agreement, or outright malfeasance.”

“Walt looked ready to spit nails when I sprang it on them.” Sarah said, smiling in spite of everything. “He signed the deal anyway, but we didn’t give him time to think about it. He took it as a personal slap in the face. If he wants to target anybody, I’ll be his first choice.” The deer-in-the-headlights expression returned to her face as she turned to Miles. “What do you mean, ‘maybe not?”

“I see what you’re saying, Miles,” said Bill. “Who determines what “sufficient deviation” is? If you go down there today and tell Walt the deal’s off because he didn’t include his tax liability, he could claim the omission was merely a paperwork snafu. An arbitrator or judge might keep the deal intact, especially if they’re in Walt’s pocket. You would have to show proof that Walt deliberately omitted the back tax data to force you to default, and that would be just about impossible.”

“I hate to tell you this, guys, but even if you could prove it, the Texas Rangers would have jurisdiction,” said Trini. “There’s no Federal crime here. Kidnapping is, but Walt hasn’t kidnapped anyone yet, or threatened to. Didn’t you say you had evidence of some kind of odometer fraud?”

“Look at these.” Miles showed the agents our evidence of odometer tampering at the two used car lots. “This is another case of finding a scam far too easily. These lots belong to Walt, but we don’t think he knows about the mileage tampering.”

“Just a minute.” Bill asked Ski for her laptop and did some quick research. “I thought so,” the bald agent said as he straightened and closed the laptop. “These cars are listed as being purchased from Alamo lots all over the country, but their invoices all list the same purchasing agent. Alamo sends all their previous year’s models to one of two locations, one on the East Coast, and one out West. These cars came from the big Alamo Service Center in Miami.”

“Fast Freddy’s turf.” said Trini. “This wouldn’t be the first time a wise guy has tried to make money busting miles on used rental cars. They’ve been trying it ever since the sixties, and they’ve been busted every single time. They’re stupid like that. They always think they’ve spotted something nobody else ever has. Like you say, Miles, he wouldn’t have sold the lots to you if he knew somebody had been tampering with odometers, but one of Freddy’s crew in Miami might have set up the scam without telling his boss.”

“Whichever it is, it’s definitely FBI business,” Bill said with a grin. “Mileage tampering is a federal offense, up to seven years for each car involved. Depending on the number of cars we find, somebody could be looking at thirty or forty years, for that charge alone. Since we’ve got our foot in the door with this, we might as well investigate the dealership acquisition too.”

The tall agent bent to his laptop and started typing. “I’m sending a secure e-mail to Arlington that your tip is not only hot, Bobby, it provides enough evidence for me to officially begin a covert investigation into the Giancosimo Family here in Texas, under my authority as Special Agent. I will remain in the Dallas office and request coordination with the Miami task force. I’ll also request that your family be put under Federal protection.”