by Jeff Elkins
“Well, ladies, this has been a treat. I’ve got to run. Rain check on the brain-games. Have a great time with the old man. Nat, it’s been too long. Let’s get together and catch up sometime.”
“Run off now, Thad. The adults need to talk,” Stacie said.
Thad smiled, winked again, and then, left the room.
“Seriously, it’s not too late to get out of here,” Moe said.
“I’m fine,” Stacie said with a forced smile. “Plus, I’d never let a jerk like that chase me out of a room.”
Moe could tell there was something lurking beneath the surface of her resolve. She was tempted to take Stacie’s hand and find the memory on her own, but she knew Stacie would never forgive her.
CHAPTER SIX
A few minutes after Thad left, an older version of him entered the room wearing a large smile, a white polo shirt, pink pants, and a brightly colored belt. His gut, extended from decades of beer and crab feasts, proceeded him. Matched with his rosy cheeks and white hair, Moe bet he made a pretty convincing Santa at Christmas. “Thank you for coming, ladies,” he said, as he crossed the room to shake their hands. “I’m Theo.”
“Moneta Watkins. This is my partner, Stacie Howe,” Moe said.
“Please, take a seat,” Theo said, motioning to the couch. He sat in the leather chair adjacent to them. “I appreciate you coming to see me. You come very highly recommended. I was speaking to Bernie just a few days ago -- Commissioner Bernard Johnson, the Interim Chief of Police? He said that when you assist with a case, it always closes. No cold cases for you.”
Moe nodded, unsure how she felt about the being on the Chief of Police’s radar.
“And uncovering that thing with the illegal nannies? That was really something,” Theo said, as he stood and walked to the cart of drinks.
“The human trafficking ring,” Moe corrected.
“Yep. That one. That was something,” Theo said, as he poured himself something strong into a crystal tumbler. “Would you like a drink?”
“No, thank you,” Moe said.
Stacie shook her head.
“Right, smart,” Theo said, making a gun motion with his finger and pointing it at Moe. “That’s what they said. You were smart.”
Moe had learned it was best just let the client talk. They have to reveal sensitive information about themselves. Most of them needed to work up to it.
Theo continued, “Right, so, like I was saying, you come highly recommended. Lots of people think you are a regular Sherlock Holmes.”
“I’m flattered,” Moe said with a gentle smile. “And please know, discretion is of the upmost importance to us.”
Theo took a drink from his glass and winced at the strength of the alcohol. Nodding, he said, “I heard that, too. And I appreciate it.” He took another drink, exhaled in an exaggerated way, and then sat back in his chair. “So, I asked you here because I need you to find someone for me. But I can’t tell you who it is, until we are under contract.” He yelled into the hall, “Edwin! Do you have that paperwork?”
The man in the black suit and bow tie reappeared carrying a stack of papers. As he passed a copy of the documents to Moe and a copy to Stacie, he muttered, “I’m sorry, sir. Here they are. I apologize they weren’t here before.”
“Thank you, Edwin,” Theo called, as the butler contritely left the room again. Taking another sip from his drink, Theo said, “You’ll see that all of your standard language is there.”
Moe read through the document. It was clear Mr. Thalberg’s attorneys had gotten their hands on contracts from Moe’s previous clients. Moe stopped on the page that discussed payment. The number showed the largest fee she had ever received.
“It says this on page three, but I always feel the need to make this clear when I’m entering a contract and I don’t know the job: I won’t be party to anything illegal. And if you knowingly ask me to do something illegal, this contract is terminated, and I will report you to the authorities,” Moe said, as she placed the contract on the table.
“I completely understand. This is nothing like that. Like I said, I just need you to find someone,” Theo said.
Moe thought about that for a minute. She looked at Stacie for guidance. Stacie shrugged and then nodded her approval.
Picking up a pen from the table, Moe signed the contract and passed it Theo.
“Great, now we can really get started,” Theo said. Picking up the laptop on the table, he typed in a password and handed the computer to Moe. “Hit the space bar and watch the video,” he said.
The screen showed an image of a large hallway. The video had been shot from a higher angle, so Moe assumed it was a security camera mounted in a corner. At the end of the hallway was a window. Along both sides of the hall hung paintings that were elaborately framed and individually lit. There was a set of double doors made of frosted glass half-way down the on the right side. Moe scanned the screen but didn’t see anything else of note, so she pressed the space bar.
The hall remained undisturbed for ten seconds before the lighting in the hall changed. The individual lights focused on the paintings were off and a colder, bluer light lit the hall from above. Moe paused the video, raised an eyebrow, and looked up at Theo.
“The power to the building was cut. The lighting change is the emergency generators kicking on. At this point, they have two minutes before the power is restored,” Theo said. He took another sip of his drink.
Moe let the video play again. There was motion outside the window at the far end of the hall. Moe jumped as the window shattered. A few seconds later, two men repelled through it. They were dressed in all black, wore black ski masks to hide their faces, and dark goggles over their eyes. One carried a black tube on his back. Moving to the painting across from the frosted glass doors, almost in unison, the two thieves took tools that looked like electric screwdrivers from their belts. With fluid expertise, they took the painting off the wall, turned it around, and within seconds removed the canvas from its frame. They quickly rolled the canvas and the one man tucked it into the tube on his partner’s back. Without looking at any of the other paintings in the hall, the two thieves walked back to the window, attached themselves to the rope, and repelled down out of sight. Then the video stopped.
Moe set the laptop down. “What was the painting?” she asked.
“A Rembrandt. A self-portrait with his daughter,” Theo said.
“How much?” Moe said.
“I bought it for three-hundred-thousand. But I’m told that was a steal,” Theo said.
“What about the other paintings in the hall?” Moe asked.
“Very professional knockoffs. That was the only original,” Theo said.
“What office is that?” Moe asked.
“That’s the first building I owned downtown,” Theo said. He was clearly proud of the accomplishment, “Many of the tenants have been there for 20 years or more. Those doors lead to the offices of Hersch, Hellman, and Heffman. I worked for Melvin Hersch right out of college. He still handles my private affairs. They are a small firm. Contract law mostly.”
“So, you want us to find the thief, or the painting?” Moe asked, making a mental note that Mr. Hersh would be one of the first people they interview. Mr. Thalberg clearly trusted him, perhaps he could provide some valuable insights.
“Both, if possible. I’m more concerned, though, with the guy behind the thieves. I want you to find the mastermind of the heist,” Theo said.
“Why not just call the cops?” Moe asked.
“I called the police, but high-end art theft is not exactly a priority for them. With the city in the state that’s it’s in, they’ve got other things to focus on,” Theo said.
Moe sighed and looked down at her rainbow shoelaces. A ray of light shown on them. She liked the way it made them sparkle. It bothered her when people from wealthy sections of the city disparaged it. It wasn’t that he was wrong. Parts of the city were in bad shape. It’s just that she felt like he didn’t hav
e a right to say that, living in the north with the best schools and the nicest roads, and the most up to date internet providers. She also hated being lied to, and she could tell that he was lying, or at a minimum holding something back.
Moe looked up again and said, “I’ll need a copy of this video. What else do you know about this guy?”
“Just what I’ve told you,” Theo said. Reaching to the laptop, he removed a small thumb drive that Moe hadn’t noticed. He passed it to her and said, “The video is on there.”
Moe stood. Stacie followed her lead. “Email us the address of the theft and the names of the employees that handle your art, please.
Theo stood too. “When should I expect to hear back from you?” he asked.
“I’ll reach out when I have something,” Moe said.
“Excellent,” Theo said with a smile. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled a small business card with a handwritten number on it. “This is my private number. When you find something, use it to call me. I hope to hear from you soon.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
They arrived back at the car to find Bosley still asleep in the back seat. “You think he’s okay?” Stacie asked, once she was in the car.
Moe rubbed the sleeping dog’s head. “Yeah, this is his normal behavior. If he were awake, I’d be worried. You on the other hand. Are you okay?” Moe said.
Stacie took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and said, “I think so.”
Moe touched Stacie’s leg. She hadn’t seen her friend like this before. Stacie was always carefree and ready to jump in head first. This new heaviness was concerning. “Do you want to talk about it?” Moe asked.
Stacie opened her eyes, looked at Moe, and gave a weak but reassuring smile. “I’ll be okay. Really. Being here and seeing him again just brought up a lot of old garbage. But it’ll pass. Why don’t we go get some lunch or something? Or maybe do something for the case? I just need to get my mind off him.”
Moe started the car. “You don’t have to do this one with me. You can sit it out,” she said.
Bosley popped up when the engine roared and yawned. Stacie laughed and rubbed his head. “I’m in. It’s not like we’re working for Thad, right? We probably won’t even see him again.”
“Why was he calling you Nat?” Moe asked.
“Oh, yeah. Well, I met Thad and my ex-boyfriend, Bruce, in a bar in Canton. I had a fake ID that no one checked because I was famous. I get inside and three or four guys come up to me like they’re going to take care of me. But, not them. They called me over. They were drinking pretty heavy, but I thought they were hot. Anyway, all night they called me Nat – nice ass and tits. And, I was eighteen and insecure and I liked that men like that wanted to be with me. So for the next nine months, when I was hanging out with them, I was Nat.”
“Thanks for sharing that,” Moe said. She felt bad that she’d asked her friend to remember an unpleasant experience like that.
Stacie playfully shoved her friend. “It was a long time ago. So where do we start?” she said, changing the subject.
“Well, for Sarah’s case we need to see my brother, for this case we need to talk to Baba and see if he can get anything for us with his connections, and we need to get this thumb drive to Ami. Where do you want to go first?” Moe asked.
“Let’s go see Robert,” Stacie said with a flirtatious smile. Robert worked in the FBI Field office in Baltimore and had assisted them on their last case. Since meeting him, Stacie had been sneaking comments into conversations about how hot she thought he was.
“Not Robert. I need to see Joe,” Moe said.
“Ooo. Joe. I haven’t met Joe. Is he as hot as Robert?” Stacie asked.
“First, gross! They’re my brothers. And second, Joe’s a priest,” Moe said.
“Let’s get the boring tech stuff done first. Then lunch with Baba, because Desiree will probably hook us up with something good. Then, I can meet Father Joe,” Stacie said, a grin filling her face.
“Ami it is, then. And hey, I was serious,” Moe said, returning to the previous conversation. “If this case gets too personal, say something. Promise me.”
Stacie made an X on her chest with her finger. “Cross my heart and hope to die. Stick a needle in my eye,” she said.
Moe nudged her playfully and pulled the car forward.
“Wait a moment. I spoke a lie. I never really wanted to die. But if I may and if I might, my heart is open for tonight,” Stacie said with a smirk.
“Oh. There’s more. That’s great,” Moe said with an annoyed laugh.
As the car left the long driveway, Stacie continued to recite, her voice increasingly sing-song. “Though my lips are sealed and a promise is true, I won’t break my word. My word to you. A secret’s a secret. My word is forever. I will tell no one about your cruel endeavor.”
“You’re really going to do the whole thing, aren’t you?” Moe complained playfully.
“You claim no pain, but I see right through your words in everything you do. Teary eyes, broken heart, life has torn you apart,” Stacie said with a grin.
“I’m gonna let you keep going because driving me crazy seems to make you happy, and I feel like you need that right now,” Moe said.
As they drove, Stacie continued with the final two verses, smiling as she chanted.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Moe had no problem finding parking on Eager Street. The LaTrobe neighborhood wasn’t an area people wandered through. You either lived here or you stayed away. Up the street, Moe could see the LaTrobe Homes housing project. Made up of three story, red brick, apartment buildings, the low-income housing projects took up several square blocks of the city. Originally built in the 1940’s as part of Roosevelt’s New Deal, the apartments were initially affordable housing for predominately white, blue-collar workers. In the 1950’s, when segregation became illegal, the LaTrobe apartments began to transition to African American owners. In those decades, Baltimore bragged of close to a million residents. Now less than 615,000 lived in the city. The loss of population had left abandon shells of previously heavily populated neighborhoods.
A few people strolled passed and an occasional car sped down the neighboring streets, but the block Moe parked on was empty and still. There was a small corner store on one end and a liquor store on the other. Both were open, but neither had customers. The parallel rows of homes had four occupied houses, two homes with “For Sale” signs, a beauty salon, and one abandon unit that looked like it might collapse at any minute. It was a typical Baltimore block.
Moe snapped Bosley’s leash onto his collar, let him out of the car, and walked toward the house with the purple beauty salon sign in the window. In yellow block letters the sign read, “Naheela’s Hair and Nails Experience.” A sign on the door indicated the salon was closed.
Stacie looked up and down the street. This wasn’t a part of town she spent much time in. “Are we getting our hair done? I thought you said we were going to see Ami?”
“We are. Ami can do anything with tech. She’ll hack the thumb drive in a heartbeat,” Moe said, looking back to smile at her friend.
“She lives in a beauty salon?” Stacie said.
“She’s got to take care of all her lovely locks,” Moe said with a grin, but as she walked past the front steps of the salon and ducked into the thin covered alley between the row homes, she clarified, “And actually, she lives behind a beauty salon.”
The alley was dark and musty. Created as a cut through in the middle of the block, sunlight never touched the inside of the thin tunnel between the two houses. Locals called paths like this one Mugger’s Alleys because it was the perfect place for a mugger to hide and wait to jump out at you as you walked down the sidewalk.
Behind each house was a four-foot long patch of concrete or grass. Most were surrounded by chain-link fences and contained patio chairs and small grills. Some were completely overgrown with weeds. Behind the salon was a set of stairs going to a basement entrance.
Moe and
Bosley went down the small steps together. The door was two-thirds the size of a normal door, rounded at the top, and made of steal. To the right of the door handle there were four doorbells. Moe bit her bottom lip as she tried to remember the code.
Emerging from the Mugger’s alley and seeing the hidden basement entrance, Stacie declare, “So, Ami – the tech wizard—is actually a hobbit with lovely locks?”
Moe laughed and then said, “Shhh. I’m trying to remember.”
Stacie came down the first two steps and peered over Moe’s shoulder. “What’s with the doorbells?” she asked.
“If I ring them in the wrong order, she won’t answer the door,” Moe said.
“There’s a camera right there. Even with her lovely locks, she must be a grumpy hobbit to make her guests work so hard to visit,” Stacie said, as she waved to the camera.
Moe laughed again and said, “I don’t question Ami’s ways.” She stared at the buttons for another few seconds searching her mind for the pattern.
“Oh, the irony. The woman who can see other people’s memories can’t remember her own?” Stacie asked with a smirk.
Moe sighed. “Well, watch me do it, so if I get it right, next time I can just pull it from your brain.” Unsure of her memory, Moe pressed the second button three times, the first button twice, and the fourth button twice. A sweet chime rang out from inside the house. “Nailed it,” Moe said.
“Nice job,” Stacie said, impressed.
“Thanks,” Moe said.
There was the sound of locks being undone on the other side of the door. It creaked open and a smiling face appeared. “Moe! I didn’t know you were coming,” the Ami said. She pulled the door open wide and gave Moe a hug.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t call ahead,” Moe said.
“You don’t need to call ahead,” Ami replied, as she motioned for them to come inside. Ami, who rubbed Bosley’s head as the dog strolled in the front door, looked nothing like a hobbit. Tall and lean, her head was shaved, and her smile was bright. Her dark skin was a beautiful contrast with her mocha colored eyes. As Moe expected, Ami wore black sweatpants and light green t-shirt. In the two years Moe had been working with Ami, it’s the only outfit Moe had seen Ami wear.
