Steal

by Jeff Elkins

  Without stopping, Moe said, “A magician never reveals her secrets.”

  The doctor laughed. “At least tell me what memory you shared? So, I can talk to her about it in the morning.”

  Moe stopped at the door to the entry and looked back at the doctor. She could still feel the cold wind on her face. She could see Sarah’s father smiling and feel Sarah’s laughter in her throat. “I’m sorry. It can be difficult for me after I share a memory, even a good one. I try to escape and clear my head as quickly as possible,” Moe explained. “She was sledding with her parents. Her mom was at the bottom of the hill and her dad at the top. I’d guess it was about two years ago. It was her first time, but it felt like something they did a lot after that.”

  “Sledding,” Doctor Elias said, as he made notes. Looking up from his pad he added, “Thank you. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you trying to help Sarah.”

  There was nothing left to say, so Moe pushed the door open to make her escape.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Moe’s sleep was filled with cold wind on her face, the sound of laughter mixed with the scrapping of racing sleds, and the smiling eyes of Sarah’s parents. She could have spent a whole day and second night in the joyful memory, if it hadn’t been for her alarm.

  Her phone rang out the childlike melody of Chance the Rapper’s Same Drugs. She stretched in the bed, pushing her feet to the corners and reaching her arms to her headboard. Her sheets were warm in contrast to the cold snowy hill her mind had been reliving. Turning, she noticed Bosley’s nose peak over the side of the bed. She reached out with both hands and scratched the dog’s ears. He whined in reply.

  “Alright. Alright,” she said, as she again considered installing a doggy-door, so he could take himself out. Moe had floated the idea to her friend and partner, Stacie Howe. Stacie shot down the plan with visions of city rats making themselves at home in Moe’s kitchen while she was sleeping.

  As Moe’s feet hit the floor, Bosley began to turn in excited circles. “I’m coming. I’m coming,” she said. Same Drugs started over, and Moe decided to let it repeat. She sang the song softly to herself as she walked down the stairs, through her kitchen, past her living room, and out the front door with the dog racing ahead.

  The song was still playing when she returned to her bedroom to pick her outfit for the day. She combed through her t-shirts. Thinking of Sarah, she opted for a black one with small white letters that read, “No one puts Baby in a corner.”

  Moving to the bathroom, she looked in the mirror and said, “Let’s pull it back today. What do you think, boy?”

  On cue, Bosley gave a quick bark from the bedroom where Moe knew he had climbed onto the bed while she wasn’t watching.

  The song radiating from her phone changed, and Chance’s No Problem rang out. Moe bounced along as she released her hair from the scarf that held it. Parting her hair on the side, she combed through it with a wide-toothed comb, smoothing through the tangles. Mixing her conditioners and oils in her hand, she worked them through her hair with her fingers. Grabbing hold of the back of her hair, she used a hair tie to hold it in a ponytail. She parted the front of her hair in the middle, took the left side, twisted it into a roll and then pinned it back. She repeated the process with the left, and then picked out a few ringlets at her ears, letting them fall free. Smiling in the mirror, she said, “I like it. What do you think?”

  Bosley barked again in approval.

  Taking a deep breath, Moe decided it was time to take the final step of her morning routine. She looked to the top right corner of her mirror where a picture of her mother, father, and four brothers was taped. Touching the picture, Moe read the mantra typed at the bottom of it, “Your name is Moneta Watkins. Daughter of Amar and Rashida. Sister to Robert, Joseph, Calvin, and Lance. You grew up happy and strong. Remember the love. Remember the joy. Because no matter what is in your head, this is your story.”

  Stacie was sitting on her front stoop, waiting for Moe, when she opened the front door again. Stacie’s blonde hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and she clasped a steaming mug of coffee in her hands. “Good morning, gorgeous,” she said, as she blew a kiss.

  Moe and Stacie met two years ago when Moe had moved in next door. They became immediate friends Two weeks ago, they had become business partners when Stacie had helped Moe uncover a human trafficking ring that was forcing young Western European girls into lives of servitude as nannies.

  “Beautiful,” Moe said, as she sat down next to her friend.

  “So, what are we up to today? You said we had a new client?” Stacie said with a grin.

  “Two, actually. We have a meeting out in Ruxton in an hour, and I saw the other client last night,” Moe said. She loved that Stacie was excited about cases in the same way she was.

  “Ooo. Ruxton. Very fancy. What shall we be doing for the rich and wealthy of Baltimore’s northern neighborhood?” Stacie said in her best aristocrat voice.

  “Not sure,” Moe said.

  “Well, I bet it is going to pay well. Maybe we have a shot at a 10,” Stacie said with a laugh. She took a sip from her coffee and then asked, “What about the client from last night? Give me the Moneta number.”

  Moe ranked cases on a one to ten scale based vaguely on a combination of money and altruism. A ten was a case that paid well and changed the world for a better. She hadn’t gotten any of those yet. A seven was a case that made life better for others and paid for her time. A five helped people and covered her expenses. A three did good in the world, even if it didn’t pay. Cases that didn’t do good things for others, even if they paid well, were ones. She had to take some level one cases to stay in business, but she didn’t enjoy them. Truthfully, a case’s rating just reflected how Moe felt about it.

  “I feel great about it, but we’re doing it for free. So, technically it can’t really get over a five,” Moe said.

  “Pro-bono. Very generous of you, darling,” Stacie said, returning to her aristocrat voice.

  “I do my best. You know, helping the rabble and all,” Moe said, giving the voice back to Stacie.

  “So? What’s the case?” Stacie asked.

  Moe remembered how alone Sarah looked and immediately felt bad for joking about it. “There’s a little girl whose parents were murdered. She’s in a mental institution right now. We’re going to figure out who did it and get their ass arrested.”

  Struck serious, Stacie nodded and said, “Sounds like a ten to me.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  With Bosley in the back seat, Moe and Stacie rode together to Ruxton in Moe’s 1985 Toyota Corolla hatchback. The dog panted happily as they went, looking from one window to the next.

  “So, what’s with the third wheel today?” Stacie asked, as she reached back and scratched Bosley’s head.

  “He didn’t eat breakfast,” Moe said.

  Stacie turned in her seat to face the dog and scratched him under the chin. “Are you on a diet? Is the big boy on a diet?” she said, as if she were speaking to a baby.

  “He never skips a meal. I figured since it’s only 60 degrees today he could tag along, so I could keep my eye on him,” Moe said.

  “You can tag along whenever you want. Yes, you can,” Stacey said, still talking like a baby.

  Avoiding Interstate 83, Moe chose to take the scenic route up Charles Street through the heart of the city. As they passed from the gentrifying downtown to the Johns Hopkins undergrad campus and then passed Lake Roland, Moe couldn’t help but think that if this drive was all anyone ever saw of the city, they might think Baltimore was a entering into a second golden era. Unfortunately, the vein of prosperity had yet to extend its branches into the east and west sides of the city, where houses were bricked closed and the murder rate soared. Baltimore was a generally safe city, unless you were a young black man. Moe knew from her work with the police that 274 of last year’s 342 homicides were African American men. The thought made Moe sad. Thankfully, Stacie was there to distract her with
stories of her adventures. It was rare for them to stop at a traffic light that didn’t launch Stacie into some story about this one time when she’d been in that exact spot and this crazy thing happened.

  The stories slowed, as they approached the neighborhood of Ruxton. Home to the wealthy since the early 1800s, Ruxton was filled with old estates that dwarfed the average Baltimore row home. Moe couldn’t help but notice her friend grow eerily quiet as they turned down Boyce Avenue. But when Stacie began biting her lip as they pulled into the long cobblestone driveway, Moe knew something was going on.

  She pulled the car around the circle drive and came to a stop at the walking path to the front door. “You alright?” she asked Stacie, who was staring out the passenger window at the massive home.

  “I think so.” Stacie said. She didn’t take her eyes from the house as she added, “I’ll be fine.”

  Moe took her friend’s hand. “Have you been here before?”

  Stacie sighed. “In another life.”

  “We don’t need this job. We already have a client,” Moe offered, squeezing Stacie’s hand reassuringly.

  “What do they want us to do?” Stacie asked.

  “I’ve got no clue,” Moe said with a shrug. “Which means, I’m not sad if we drive away right now.”

  Stacie sighed again. “I don’t want to do that. They’re probably going to pay a ton of money.”

  “Yeah, maybe. But they’re probably going to ask us to do something horrible. Like kill someone or something,” Moe said in jest.

  Stacie forced a laugh. “Or maybe they want us to catch a bunch of cats and drown them in the river,” she offered.

  “Rich people hate cats,” Moe said.

  “Rich people,” Stacie said, still not taking her eyes from the old home.

  Moe squeezed Stacie’s hand again, as she said, “Talk to me. What happened?”

  Stacie looked down at the floorboard. Her voice filled with embarrassment. “It was just another life. I was acting. I’d just turned eighteen, and I didn’t know what I was doing. I came to some parties here with my boyfriend. He was friends with the son of the guy who lives here.”

  Moe thought about the gun Stacie had strapped to her ankle, the wear-and-carry permit she had, and how she had used the weapon in their last case to save them from human-traffickers. “That settles it,” Moe said, as she cranked the engine. “They can find someone else to murder cats for them.”

  Stacie took her hand and said, “Thank you. But, it’s okay. It was a long time ago. I think I can handle it.”

  Moe eased the car forward around the circle. “Nope. I have a no-working-for-people-that-make-my-friends-uncomfortable rule.”

  Stacie reached over and grabbed the top of the steering wheel. “Seriously, I’m a different person now. It’ll be fine,” she said. “My ex’s friend probably doesn’t even live here anymore. He probably moved on to New York, or LA, or DC, or one of those other places horrible people with money go to make more money.”

  Moe looked her friend in the eye. “Are you sure?” she asked.

  “Let’s go see what they want. If we don’t like the job, we can always walk,” Stacie said.

  Moe pulled the car back around the circle and parked it again in front of the walkway. “You’re sure about this?” she asked one more time.

  “I’m sure,” Stacie said.

  Looking at the sleeping dog in the back seat, who hadn’t stirred since they turned on Charles Street, Moe said, “Bosley, stay.”

  The dog responded with a snore.

  Stacie opened her car door. “Rich people have mysteries to solve too, right?”

  “The second you’re uncomfortable, we are out of here,” Moe affirmed again, as they walked up the path to the front door.

  “The code word will be cat,” Stacie said, as they walked up the cobblestone path.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Moe didn’t get a chance to ring the doorbell. As they stepped onto the porch, the front door swung open. A tall man with broad shoulders and an impressively short haircut stood in the doorway. He wore a dark blue suit and a matching solid-color tie. Moe thought all he needed was an ear piece and he could have stepped out of a movie about the Secret Service.

  “Ms. Watkins. Ms. Howe. Welcome to the Thalberg estate,” the man said with a nod. Turning to make way for them, he motioned for them to step inside the house.

  “I’m Moe,” Moe said, extending her hand.

  The man took it and replied, “I’m Mr. Hayes. I’m Mr. Thalberg’s head of security.” His handshake was firm, but not overwhelming. Moe could tell from the power in his arm that he could have crushed her hand if he’d wanted. “If you don’t mind,” he said, motioning again for them to step inside.

  “Nice to meet you, Mr. Hayes,” Moe said.

  The entry had a vaulted ceiling and two curved staircases leading to the second floor. Moe looked at the stone floor and wonder if it was real marble. She liked how her rainbow shoelaces contrasted with the polished white tile.

  “Please put your cell phones, electronic equipment, and weapons in here,” he said, holding out a small black box.

  Stacie looked quizzically at Moe. Moe shrugged and a placed her cell phone in the box. Stacie removed her ankle holster and placed it and her cell phone in the box.

  Shutting the lid, the man said, “You can retrieve them when the meeting is over. Now, please hold out your arms.”

  “It’s like we’re getting on a plane or something,” Stacie said, as she held out her arms.

  From a small table by the front door, the man picked up a round black wand that was covered in pulsating dull blue lights. “Do either of you have an insulin pump, pace maker, hearing aide, or any other mechanical devices?” he asked.

  “No,” Moe and Stacie both said.

  “Great,” the man replied as he ran the wand around the outlines of their bodies.

  “That’s a weird metal detector,” Stacie said.

  “It’s a localized EMP meant to knock out any recording devices you might be hiding. Mr. Thalberg does not like being recorded. If you wouldn’t mind waiting in the study, Mr. Thalberg will be with you in a moment,” the man said, as he motioned to the right.

  “Thank you,” Stacie said with a smile and a nod.

  The study was more like a mini-library. Excluding the two large windows that looked out on the front lawn, the walls were covered floor to ceiling with bookshelves stuffed with expensive looking books. In the center of the room, there was a circle of brown leather coaches, matching straight back chairs, and dark wood side tables.

  A man, who Moe guessed was in his early thirties, sat on the couch. The way he dominated the space with his arms sprawled across the back of the sofa told Moe he was not part of the help staff. “Mr. Thalberg?” Moe asked.

  “No,” Stacie said in a sharp voice.

  The man flashed a smile that radiated charm. “Not exactly,” he said. Standing, he pointed to a small table in the corner of the room and asked, “Can I make you a drink?”

  “No, thank you,” Moe said. She noticed that even though Stacie had barely entered the room, she looked as if she might bolt. Her eyes were locked on the man.

  “I’m Thad. Thad Thalberg. Son of Theodore Thalberg. He’s the one who invited you here. I just came in for a second to see it for myself,” Thad said, as he sipped his drink.

  “See what?” Moe asked.

  “The psychic and the has-been,” Thad said with a grin. Winking at Stacie, he said, “How you doing, Nat?”

  “That’s not my name, Thad,” she said, filling her words with as much contempt as they could hold.

  Her response made him laugh. Looking at Moe, he asked, “So, what am I thinking right now?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Moe said.

  “You think we didn’t research you before we extended an invitation? Please. We know everything about you. Both of you,” he said, smirking at Stacie. “So, come on. Read my mind. What am I th
inking about right now?” he asked, leering seductively at Stacie.

  Stacie sighed and shook her head in disgust.

  Moe wanted to shield her friend from whatever past this man represented. She knew Stacie had been fighting off creeps like this for most of her life. When Stacie walked past her to take a seat, Moe saw the resolve in her eye, and she knew Stacie wouldn’t let her history with this one get in the way today.

  Moe walked over to the chair next to her friend and took a seat. “I don’t know where you are getting your information, but I don’t read minds,” she explained. “I relive memories.”

  “Even better,” Thad said. “Why don’t you tell me what I did last night?”

  “We’re here to discuss business, not play games,” Moe said.

  “Nat, your new girl’s got some bite,” Thad said, as he leaned back and stretched his arms out across the couch again.

  “I’m ready to walk about of here whenever you are,” Moe said to Stacie.

  “Can I come too? I’ll grab some of the stuff Nat used to beg me for and we’ll make this a real party,” Thad said.

  “It’s fine, Moe,” Stacie said. “He’s just a spoiled brat with nothing better to do than talk crap,” she added.

  Thad was about to respond when a small man appeared in the doorway. He was dressed in a black suit and a black bow-tie. His hair was white and slicked back. He carried a small laptop computer under his arm.

  “Excellent, Edwin. I was wondering where you’d gotten off to,” Thad said, his demeanor changing. Jumping to his feet, he acted as if he hadn’t just been harassing Moe and Stacie.

  As Edwin set the laptop on the table in front of Moe and Stacie, he apologized, “I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to be unavailable. How may I be of assistance?”

  “Call a car for me. I’m going out for a while,” Thad said.

  Edwin looked at the ground and replied, “Of course, sir. Right away, sir.” Moe realized he was the butler and took note of how quietly the man walked out of the room. It was as if every step he took were an apology.