by Don Easton
“Good luck,” Rose said.
“Thanks.”
“There’s one more characteristic the Ringmaster has that you didn’t mention.” Rose paused. “He murders people.”
Jack snorted. “Yes … that, too.”
Chapter Nineteen
Klaus parked his car in front of the workshop. When he got out, he heard the sound of the band saw from inside and saw that the side door was open. As he stepped inside, he said, “Hey! Hope that fucking pimp is alive so I can saw a chunk off him!”
“Don’t move, shithead!” yelled Jack as he and Sammy appeared from behind him.
Klaus spun around and saw Jack pointing the shotgun at his face.
Most people would not have moved. What Jack hadn’t counted on was that Klaus thought Anton and Bojan were dead and believed he was next. He lunged forward in a panicked attempt to grab the shotgun by the barrel. Jack took half a step back and pivoted the shotgun, using the butt once more to smack him in the mouth. Combined with the momentum Klaus had when he was lunging forward, the blow knocked him sideways, landing him face first on the concrete floor. Seconds later, he moaned and looked back up at Jack.
“What are you? Crazy?” Jack aimed the shotgun at his face. “Don’t move, I said!”
Klaus gurgled and coughed pieces of broken teeth onto the floor. The plate screwed into his jaw to cover the first fracture remained in place, but now his jaw was fractured on the opposite side. Luckily for him, his mouth was still frozen from surgery, and the pain, for the moment, was minimal.
Jack eyed Klaus, who remained sitting on the floor as he held his jaw with the palm of his hand. Damn it. Rose won’t ever believe this. He looked at Sammy, who rolled his eyes in response. Jack then locked eyes with Klaus and said, “That’s what you get for being stupid. Also, don’t ever call me a pimp. I hate pimps!”
Klaus sullenly stared back at him.
“Get up and walk to the back of the shop,” Jack ordered. We’re going to tie you up alongside your two friends.”
“They’re alive?” Klaus moaned.
“See for yourself. Get moving!”
Moments later Klaus was bound and blindfolded with duct tape, and lay beside Bojan and Anton. Unlike the other two, he was not gagged due to his mouth injuries. During Klaus’s capture, Jack had detailed Benny to remain in the den to monitor the closed-circuit television cameras. Now Jack, Laura, and Sammy stepped into the main area of the shop to talk in private.
“What are you going to do?” Laura asked.
“Roche will be calling me in an hour,” Jack replied. “I’ll leave you and Sammy here on guard duty while I go back to the house. I need to use the Internet.”
“You said Rose wants us to cut these guys loose after you talk with Roche.” Laura glanced at the captives in the back of the shop. “That could prove interesting. I have a sneaking suspicion they won’t be too happy with us. Particularly Klaus. Did you really have to smack him again?”
“He tried to grab the shotgun!” Jack looked at Sammy for corroburation.
Sammy pretended to look surprised at Jack’s comment, but then smiled and nodded.
“Bet you broke his jaw again, which means I need to make sure he doesn’t suffocate,” Laura said. “If he does, you can be the one to do CPR. I’m not.”
“It’s not like he has any teeth left to bite you,” Jack replied.
“Yeah, good point.” Laura could see that Jack’s mind was elsewhere and knew he was trying to decide a course of action. “Go,” she said. “Find a quiet place to think and come up with a game plan. I’ve got Sammy for company.”
Jack made his way to the house and sat at the kitchen table, then grimaced as he called Rose. “Klaus arrived and is tied up alongside his two buddies,” he said as soon as she answered.
“Good. Without problem I take it?”
“I was as gentle as the situation allowed. I even assisted in lowering him to the floor, but his mouth appears to be bothering him.”
“I’m sure it is. I can only imagine how he’ll feel when the freezing wears off.”
“Are the French set to go with the phone taps?” Jack wanted to change the topic.
“I’m expecting to hear back any minute.”
“I should go,” Jack said. “I need to figure out how I’m going to play this.”
After hanging up, Jack glanced around the kitchen. He thought of the fun he had with his own family over dinners and tried to imagine what it would be like for Gabrielle raising a child without a father. A father who died trying to save me. What can I ever say to her? Any words I come up with will be trivial against the pain she feels.
He glanced at his watch. I have less than an hour. He pushed the image of a dead policeman and his pregnant widow to the recesses of his brain. Who is the Ringmaster? What do I have that I can use? Roche didn’t seem overly concerned about the drugs and jewellery….
He brooded for a moment about why the head of an organization would risk committing the murder himself. It didn’t match the behaviour of other criminal kingpins he knew. Those jobs are usually assigned to some flunky. The meeting with Kerin could easily have been postponed for such a purpose.
Then Jack came to a chilling conclusion. The Ringmaster enjoyed doing it. He’s a sociopath. What do I know about him? He likes art and murder. I know about murder, and I need to think about art. Telling someone I used to eat crayons won’t cut it.
He used his own phone to go on the Internet to find out what he could learn about a sad clown by the name of Pierrot. He discovered that the clown was a lovable but hapless fool who was in love with a character by the name of Columbina. She left Pierrot for another clown by the name of Harlequin.
Harlequin? So that’s where the name came from for those romance novels. His thoughts went back to the painting. Why is it so important? Is it all about the money? Or does it represent something else … something personal to the Ringmaster?
Chapter Twenty
It was nine o’clock at night in Frankfurt, Germany, when the Ringmaster entered Roche’s room and listened in shock at what he had to say.
“He can’t have my Pierrot,” the Ringmaster said vehemently. “Anything else, but not that!”
“I told him it was only a copy. Worthless, but …” Roche paused, uncertain how best to break the news.
“But what?”
Roche swallowed. “He said he’s an art collector.”
The Ringmaster looked at him sharply.
“Only as a hobby,” Roche hastened to say.
“Who is this man?” the Ringmaster demanded.
“I don’t know. He told me his name was Jack.”
“Obviously not some pimp … like you led me to believe.”
“That was what Anton thought, but as I told you, he said he does consulting work for international companies. He wants me to wire money to an account in the Caymans.”
“I can only imagine what kind of consulting he does. Disposing of a body in that manner and cleaning away the bloodstains — by men in suits?”
“Anton said they put on coveralls, but yes.”
“I would surmise that his consulting work is for the Mafia or drug cartels. Perhaps he does corporate spying, as well, with assassination thrown in.”
“My thoughts, too,” Roche said.
“He is an interesting man.” The Ringmaster sounded thoughtful.
“Dangerous is more like it,” Roche said.
“Negotiate with him. I do not care if he takes everything else, but the painting is mine.” The Ringmaster was emphatic. “You better ensure that I get it.”
Roche swallowed again. Hard. “I have tried my best. He does not seem particularly interested in the cocaine or the jewellery.”
“I understood it was cocaine that brought him there to start with.”
“Yes, but apparently that was simply to reimburse the whore for what Klaus and the others did to her. For the rest he said he wouldn’t know what to do with it.”
; “With his connections? I’m sure that’s just a ploy to get more money from us.”
“Perhaps.”
“Is there not someone we can call to deal with him — personally?”
“Not immediately. Anton and Bojan are his prisoners. That leaves Klaus, but I don’t have his number. I fear he may have returned home to an ambush.”
“Yes … Klaus. The man responsible for this whole mess. We knew he was a sadistic animal in the true sense of the word, but you assured me that Anton would keep him in line.”
“I was basing part of my trust on the recommendation of our man here in Frankfurt.”
“It was Wolfgang who initially sponsored him, that is true,” the Ringmaster said.
“Despite his sadistic quirks, or perhaps because of them, Klaus could always be counted on to terminate those who interfered or talked too much.”
“His ability appears amateurish, compared to this Jack,” the Ringmaster noted.
“I agree, but Wolfgang’s original assessment and recommendation to use Klaus made sense at the time. Until now, I’ve never heard of anyone the likes of Jack.”
“Wolfgang has been a juggler for many years,” the Ringmaster said. “He is experienced and was able to control Klaus. It is my fault, as well. I knew Anton was inexperienced. I should not have sent Klaus to work for him. If Klaus is not dead, once this is settled, I’ll order him back to Germany and tell Wolfgang to cut him loose.”
“Klaus will be upset.”
“Upset? He is lucky I don’t put a bullet in his brain.”
Roche nodded respectfully.
The Ringmaster eyed him silently for a moment, then said, “I warned you about the drug trade. It is filled with whores and addicts who are more than willing to sell you out or cut your throat and rob you.”
“I would never deal with those types of people.” Roche wrinkled his nose.
“Not directly, but eventually it will lead back to you. It already has. You ignored my advice and you must pay. Use whatever you need from your thirty-two kilos to pay him off.”
“I’ll try, but he made it clear that he is neither a pimp nor a drug trafficker.”
“That can work to our advantage. If he actually doesn’t know where to dispose of the drugs, he may be forced to come to us. Have him hold the drugs as collateral, then buy them back.”
“What if he mentions the painting?”
“It is not negotiable. He must be made to know that.”
“I understand,” Roche replied.
“Make the call, but keep it short. I’ll sit beside you to listen.”
“Surely you don’t think he has the capabilities to trace my call, do you?”
“I do not know what to think. As always, it is best to be cautious.”
Roche nodded. “And if he does take the painting? He said he is an art collector.”
“If he does that, find him, find my painting … and kill him.”
Chapter Twenty-One
At quarter to one, Rose called Jack to say that the French had fulfilled their judicial requirements for the wiretap and gave him a reminder to keep Roche on the line for as long as possible while they traced the call.
“Did they give you any more info on the Ringmaster or Roche that could help me out?” Jack asked.
“No, what you have is what there is,” Rose replied. “Although I did find out that the murder weapon was a .32 Beretta.”
“Same thing Anton shot Dempsey with. Not overly noisy, and small enough to conceal.”
“Maybe a trace of the gun will give them something.”
“I wouldn’t hold my breath. Probably stolen during one of their robberies.”
“What’s your plan on dealing with Roche when he calls?”
“I’m going to focus on the painting,” Jack replied, “but bring up the passports as a side issue. I’m hoping they’ll want to negotiate on the painting, but if they don’t, I’ll use the passport angle. If I get the feeling they don’t want to meet me in the future, I’ll emphasize that I’m a specialized business consultant and see if I can convince them to hire me. After what’s happened, they may want to use my services.”
“You could tell them that you’d do a better job than Big Joe Investigations,” Rose suggested.
“I don’t want them to know that I know about Big Joe. If they do bring me on board, they may use him to check me out. If they put me under surveillance, it’ll be a good opportunity to enhance my cover story.”
“Gotcha. Good luck. We’ll be listening.”
“Hope the French don’t blow it,” Jack said.
* * *
At one o’clock, Roche called Jack. “We are happy to let you take everything you found for collateral except —”
“Except the painting,” Jack interjected. He was sitting at the kitchen table.
“Uh, yes … and my men will buy the other items back from you over the next week or two at a price I’m sure you will agree is generous.”
“Are you not interested in what happened to Klaus when he got home?”
“Oh, uh, yes. I had forgotten about him,” Roche admitted.
They couldn’t care less if he’s alive or dead. The painting is their top priority. “Well, to let you know, he’s resting in the same circumstance as Anton and Bojan.”
“I see. That’s fine.” Roche was dismissive. “About our offer, I am sure you will be pleased with the amount we are willing to pay for —”
“Actually, I’m not interested in receiving any money from you,” said Jack.
“You’re not?”
“I told you I’m an art collector. I’ve since examined the painting carefully and can hardly believe my eyes.”
“It is a good replica.”
“Replica?” Jack chuckled. “I believe it’s an original. In fact, I have never even seen a copy of it before … which, for me, makes it more precious. I will be keeping it.” He kept his tone matter of fact.
“No!” blurted Roche. “You can’t do that!”
“You are hardly in a position to tell me what I can or cannot do.”
“Yes, of course, but …”
“But what?” prodded Jack.
“For you the painting is a piece of art, but, uh, for a close friend of mine it has great emotional value. You will be paid handsomely for it.”
Emotional value? A painting of a sad clown who’s considered a fool and has lost his love? I don’t see the Ringmaster thinking of himself as a fool … or has he lost someone he loves?
Jack took a deep breath. Time to lay it on thick … and hope it works. “It’s as if a special angel guided it to my hand,” he said wistfully. “It was meant for me. It’s my destiny to have it.”
“Your destiny?” Roche sounded confused.
“Yes. Do you know I have another painting of Pierrot in my collection?”
“You do?” asked Roche. Jack could hear panic in his voice.
“It is only a copy, of course,” continued Jack. “Unlike this one. It is also the only copy I have, as the rest of my collection are originals. Do you know why that is?”
“Uh, no.”
“Pierrot grips my heart with a passion you could never understand. I lost someone. Someone who, like Pierrot, was naive and too trusting of the world. Perhaps, like Pierrot, even considered by some to be a fool. But I loved her. There will never be another … but it is as if she comes alive every time I look at Pierrot.”
* * *
Roche watched the Ringmaster, who was sitting close enough to overhear, recoil in shock. They have experienced an identical tragedy. Fate was playing a cruel trick by bringing them together, both with a blind passion to own the same painting. “Mon Dieu,” he muttered.
“What was that?” asked Jack. “Did you say ‘my God’?”
“I … I, uh,” Roche stammered, “understand that you like the painting, but I am willing to pay you —”
“Like? Mr. Roche, you have no idea what love is, do you? You cannot put a price on it.”
Jack sounded scornful.
“I am sorry to disappoint you, but I believe what you have is only a forgery, albeit a very good one.”
“Good, then I am sure you do not mind my taking it.”
Roche paused, uncertain what to say as his panic rose.
“At a loss for words?” Jack said, his voice dripping with contempt. “You are not a very accomplished liar, so don’t insult my intelligence by trying it. Besides, do you really think I would concede to letting this painting hang amongst some gaudy collection the likes of which a drug trafficker like you would own? Likely placed with a grouping of velvet paintings of naked women?”
“My friend is not a drug dealer,” Roche said lamely.
Jack continued as if he hadn’t heard. “I’ve often been hired by the likes of you to do consulting work. Sure, I admit that some of my clients live in fabulous mansions. Maybe you do, too, but I’ve never met any who had a real appreciation of fine art. For them it is only a facade of civilization. A way to impress people. For me, my paintings are for my eyes only. I will not have strangers cast their eyes on and make uncultured comments about what I treasure.”
Roche felt the tap on his wristwatch and nodded to the Ringmaster. “I must get off this phone,” he said, “but please, I will call you back in —”
“There is some good news,” said Jack.
“There is?”
“I will leave the rest of the stuff for your men on one condition.”
Roche paused as he looked at the Ringmaster. “Are you there?” asked Jack.
“Uh, yes. What condition?”
“I found two passports made out to the same person. One never knows what the future holds. I plan to retire soon, perhaps even in your country.”
“You’re thinking of moving here?” Roche was truly surprised. Who was this man?
“Possibly,” Jack replied. “The French really do have an exquisite collection of art, although I think Italy rivals you in that regard. Do you go to the museums yourself?”
