Ed Campbell listened to his friend and stifled an urge to slam his beer bottle against anything in reach. His closest friend, Tom Grant had asked to meet that evening at the Yucatan Liquor Stand on Westshore Boulevard, a watering hole that catered to Tampa's office and convention crowds. While Campbell fit neither description, Grant did.

"Christ, Ed," Grant said as he loosened his tie another inch. "I'm scared." The bar’s colored lights reflected off his glasses. The two had grown up together, next-door neighbors.

Campbell relaxed his grip on the Michelob bottle and pushed it around with his finger, leaving a wet trail on the table's worn Formica. He looked up at Grant and pursed his lips. "How long has he owned the place?"

"Maybe six months. We all thought it was a good thing with the leveraged buyout. You know, maybe revive the business, make an investment. We weren't doing well at the time."

"Yeah." Campbell drained the last of his beer and handed the bottle to a passing cocktail waitress. He felt angry over what Grant had been telling him and wanted his hands empty.  "How long has he been bleeding the place?"

"I don't know. Maybe three – four months. I didn't find out until today, when the bank called."

"Nice of them to tell you."

"Yeah." Grant looked into his glass. His hair had started showing gray around the temples, and lines marked his forehead. "We're not going to bounce any payroll checks tomorrow, but I don't know about next week."

"What's this guy usually do for a living?"

"I don't know.” Grant shrugged. “He's just a kid, maybe twenty-seven or something. Stinking rich, old money, MBA, and a condo on Harbour Island."

"He doesn't hang round the cannery?"

"No, he doesn't know shit about packing seafood." Grant  waved his hand, dismissing.

"But he owns the place now." Campbell frowned. Somebody not taking interest in a business and in what it does after buying it didn’t add up.

"He puts in an appearance once or twice a week."

"On his way to the bank to help himself to another thirty grand of company money for 'management fees.'" Campbell wadded up a cocktail napkin and tossed it onto the table. "Little asshole."

"It's his company. He bought it out, so there's nothing anybody can do to stop him." Grant lifted his highball glass and emptied it. "If I wasn't in good with the bank, they wouldn't have told me what was going on."

"But they told you, and now we can do something about it." Campbell held his hand up.

"Like what? Ask the bank not to call in the loan? They told me Steen has been taking a lot of money out of the company, and there's nothing in the law that can stop him. It's his company, so it's his money. He might call it management fees, but he's looting the place.”

“Goddamn thief.” Campbell’s fists tightened. He had seen something like this happen before to his father decades ago.

“The bank'll cut its losses and call in the note before he can take it all. Steen doesn't have the cash to pay off all that debt, so he'll default and declare bankruptcy."

"Then Suncoast Seafood goes down the tubes," Campbell snarled.

"We've been running hand to mouth, just starting to get our heads above water."  Grant rested his chin on his hand and looked at Campbell. "We got four hundred people, and what are they going to do if we close the doors?"

"We're not gonna let that happen." Campbell shook his head.

"What's this 'we' shit?  You're a cop, so what's this to you?"

"You." Campbell leveled a finger at Grant, the friend who kept him sane through a difficult divorce, his brother from another mother.

"Me?"

"Tom, you're my friend," Campbell said, his voice softening. They had grown up together, looked out out for each other, and this looked like his turn. “This Steen guy is out to hurt you and a lot of people who don't deserve it."

"Yeah, but what can we do about it?" Grant  held his hands out.

"I have an idea." Campbell stroked his chin.

"What's that?"

Campbell peered at Grant. "I want to talk to him, and I'll need a little help from you." He remembered his own father and cousins thrown out of work from businesses going under after a buyout. It didn’t have to happen again.

"You want me to come along?" Grant asked.

"Hell, no. I don't want Steen connecting you and me.  That'll spoil everything." Campbell waved Grant’s words away. If he got caught, at minimum he’d lose his badge, maybe end up in jail.

"What are you going to do?" Grant  cocked an eyebrow. "You're not going to try anything crazy?"

"Naw, cops don't scare slick operators like him. They lawyer up. Just get me his address and a description so I'll know him." He beckoned with his fingers.  "That's all I need."

Campbell drove the rented Cadillac CT5 out of the airport and headed toward downtown. He stopped at an Arby's on Kennedy Boulevard to pick up his partner Jimenez, a big Cuban with a sense of humor and a scar on his face. Campbell appreciated having his backup and muscle, and the two had a talent for the Mutt and Jeff routine.