Jessi and the Jewel Thieves

by Ann M. Martin

  Half an hour later, we had arrived in New York. We were whizzing along a crowded, traffic-filled street, stuffed into the back of a cab with Stacey’s father. He’d met us at Grand Central Terminal and whisked us out onto the street and into the cab almost before I could catch my breath.

  Manhattan. What an awesome place. I heard Stacey’s dad ask about the train trip, but I let Stacey answer him. I was too busy staring out of the windows as the cab hurtled along. Why do cabs always drive so fast in New York? I guess they’re just going with the flow. Everything is fast in the city. People talk fast, they walk fast, they do everything fast.

  We stopped at a light, and hundreds of people streamed across the street. I saw men in business suits, carrying attaché cases. I saw women in business suits, carrying attaché cases and pocketbooks — and wearing running shoes instead of high heels. I saw women who looked like models, wearing amazingly chic outfits. Even Claud and Stacey don’t dress like that! I saw bicycle messengers flying past, dodging people and cars. And I saw little old ladies carrying shopping bags and walking tiny dogs.

  Everywhere I looked there was something to see, and I wanted to see it all, but I knew that if I looked in one direction I’d miss something in another. Stacey nudged me. “We’re passing Bloomie’s,” she said.

  I gaped at the big building with the brass-and-glass revolving doors, and at the sidewalk merchants who had set up tables in front of it.

  “How about if we hop out and shop for a few minutes?” Stacey teased her dad. “You can wait in the cab.”

  He smiled. “I have other plans for you, young lady,” he said. “I made dinner reservations at the Sign of the Dove.”

  “All right!” exclaimed Stacey. “My favorite.”

  For a minute I wished I could go with them. I love to eat out in fancy restaurants, and besides, I was still a little nervous about seeing — and having my Talk with — Quint. But then Mr. McGill asked, “What time are you due at your friend’s house?”, and I realized that I had to go through with my plans.

  “Not until seven,” I replied.

  “Fine,” he said. “Our reservation is for seven-thirty. We’ll get you girls settled at my apartment, and then Stacey can put you in a cab.”

  Just then we pulled up in front of an old brick building. After Mr. McGill had paid the cab driver, we went inside and up to his apartment. I looked around. I’d been there before, but the last time I’d visited New York, I’d stayed at Laine Cummings’ apartment, since I’d been traveling with the entire BSC and not all of us could fit into Mr. McGill’s place. Laine Cummings used to be Stacey’s best friend in New York, but they — well, they’re not friends at all, anymore.

  Anyway, Mr. McGill’s apartment is nice. Kind of small, but nice. There are two bedrooms, one of which is for Stacey to use whenever she visits. The living room has brick walls and a fireplace, which I thought was pretty cool.

  “You can stay in my room, with me,” said Stacey. “I have a futon that unrolls into an extra bed.” She showed me her room, and I stuck my overnight bag in a corner. Then I just stood for a moment with my hands in my pockets. I was feeling strange and out of place. Stoneybrook is so small and quiet, and New York is so big and noisy. I was kind of overwhelmed.

  “How about a soda?” asked Stacey. “We can relax for a few minutes before you have to go.”

  “Great,” I said. I checked myself in the mirror that hung behind her door. “I don’t think I’ll change. Quint’s family is pretty informal.”

  “You look fine,” she assured me.

  I smoothed my hair and followed her into the kitchen. We had sodas and talked to Mr. McGill for a little while, and then it was time for me to leave.

  Stacey walked me downstairs and to the corner. “I’ll get you a cab and give him Quint’s address,” she said. “When you get there, you pay him what it says on the meter, plus a tip, like fifteen percent.”

  I panicked. “How do I figure it out?” I asked.

  “I usually just figure out what ten percent would be, like ten cents if it’s a dollar. Then I add half again that much. So, like, another five cents would make fifteen cents, which is fifteen percent of a dollar. Get it?”

  Math isn’t my strongest subject, but I got the idea. I nodded.

  “Then, when you’re ready to leave, Quint can put you in a cab back here. If you call me first, I’ll be waiting outside for you. Oh! There’s a cab!” Stacey threw her arm up, and a cab veered out of the stream of traffic and stopped beside us. I was impressed. Stacey is so cool, she’s chilly. (That’s what my friends and I call anything that’s mega-cool.)

  I hopped in and Stacey gave the driver Quint’s address. He pulled away before I even had time to say good-bye, so I just waved out the back window. As we drove along, I watched the scene on the street again, but I was a little distracted. It was getting awfully close to T-time: the time when I’d have my Talk with Quint. In my mind, so that the cab driver wouldn’t think I was nuts, I started to rehearse the lines I’d worked out. “Quint,” I’d say. “We need to talk. I like you a lot, and I’m glad we’re friends, but —”

  The cab screeched to a halt.

  “What happened?” I asked.

  “Isn’t this the address your friend told me?” the driver asked.

  I checked the building. “Oh, I guess it is,” I said. I looked at the meter and was relieved to see a nice, even number. Six dollars. Ten percent of that would be sixty cents, and half again would make it ninety. I gave the driver seven dollars. “Keep the change,” I said, feeling cosmopolitan and also a little pleased with my generosity, since I’d given him an extra dime.

  “Thanks-have-a-nice-day,” he droned, as if he said the same thing a thousand times a day and could hardly be bothered.

  I stepped out, looked up at Quint’s building, took a deep breath, and went inside.

  The moment I saw Quint I felt less nervous. I really do like him a lot. He didn’t kiss me or anything, either, which was a good thing since his little sister and brother, Morgan and Tyler, were standing right there. Morgan’s six, and Tyler is nine. They would have teased the daylights out of us if Quint had acted like I was his girlfriend.

  “Jessi,” said Mrs. Walter, entering the room. “Nice to see you.” She’s soft-spoken and a little shy, but she seemed genuinely glad to see me. Quint’s father came in, too. “Welcome,” he said, smiling.

  “Jessi! Jessi!” cried Morgan. “Watch what I can do!” She started to turn a cartwheel in the middle of the living room, which was not that huge. In fact, it’s both the living room and the dining room; a big dining table is in the back, near the kitchen. “Uh, Morgan,” I said. “That’s nice, but —” I never know whether it’s a good idea to tell kids what to do when their parents are standing right there. I mean, I don’t want to act as if I’m in charge or anything, but I am used to taking care of kids and I know that things like cartwheels in the living room aren’t a great idea.

  “Not here, honey,” said Mrs. Walter, to my relief. “That’s an outside trick.”

  Morgan looked pouty for a moment, but then she brightened. “I love your earrings,” she said, looking at the fish-shaped silver ones I’d chosen to wear that night. “I have some jewelry in my room,” she added, grabbing my hand. “Come on, I’ll show you.”

  Tyler spoke up, too. “I have a new computer game,” he said. “Want to see?”

  I glanced at Quint, and he took over. “You guys,” he said, “Jessi just got here. Anyway, I have something to show her, and she’s my guest.”

  He led me to his room and showed me the program for his ballet recital. “Isn’t this cool?” he said. “I feel like a real professional.”

  “I can’t believe you almost didn’t go to Juilliard,” I said. Quint had had some doubts about being a dancer when I first met him. He loved ballet, but he didn’t love all the teasing from boys who thought ballet was for sissies.

  “I know,” he replied. “It’s the best thing that ever happened to me
. And I owe it to you. You’re the one who talked me into auditioning for the school.” He smiled and leaned toward me with a look in his eyes that made me draw in my breath.

  I was about to say, “Quint, we have to talk —”

  But just then, Mrs. Walters called to say that dinner was ready. Saved by the bell.

  The table was beautifully set, the chicken stew we had was great, and the conversation at dinner was fun, but I still felt just a little uncomfortable around Quint’s family. I wanted them to like me, but I wasn’t even sure whether I’d be having anything to do with Quint in the future. Maybe he’d hate me when I said what I had to say. Then his family would hate me, too. I tried to shrug off my nervousness, but it didn’t go away entirely.

  After dinner, Quint and I sat down in the TV room (which doubles as Mrs. Walters’ study) to watch a Fred Astaire movie on the VCR. Tyler and Morgan followed us in, but the second they started to tease Quint about my being his girlfriend, he kicked them out. “We want to watch this movie in peace,” he told his mother. “Isn’t it their bedtime, anyway?”

  We settled in, on opposite corners of the couch. Quint seemed a little shy — maybe because we hadn’t seen each other in a while — and I was glad. I tried to pay attention to the movie, but once again I was distracted by the idea of T-time drawing near. I peered over at Quint. He looked distracted, too. Then he grinned at me. “I’m really nervous about tomorrow night,” he confessed. “It’s an important performance.”

  That was it. I decided that T-time could wait until after the concert. I didn’t want to upset Quint.

  The movie ended, and we sat quietly for a while. I started to gaze out the window at the building next door, which was only about six feet away. It was kind of cool how you could see into other apartments. I saw a homey-looking kitchen, a starkly modern living room, and a playroom full of toys. Some apartments were so close that I could even hear snatches of conversation drifting across the airshaft. (Everybody’s windows were open since it was a warm night.) “Great dinner, honey,” said a man in a kitchen to his wife. “How about Mozart?” asked a woman standing by a hi-tech stereo in a modern living room.

  One room was just opposite “my” window, but it was empty. It was a cozy-looking living room, with big over-stuffed sofas and chairs. I was just thinking how nice it looked when two men walked into the room. One of them sat down, and the other stood near him. Almost immediately, they started to talk in loud tones.

  By now, Quint was looking over my shoulder. I guess we were being nosy together. We stared at the men, fascinated by being able to hear almost every word they said. Suddenly, I turned to Quint. “Quint,” I whispered, “I think they’re fighting!”

  Within two seconds, there was no doubt about it. The men were fighting, and fighting very loudly. We probably could have heard them even if the windows had been closed.

  The man who was sitting in the chair had red hair and a straggly beard and looked scary. The other man had thick, black hair and looked strong.

  “You double-crossing weasel!” the black-haired man said.

  “I’m not double-crossing you, Frank,” replied the red-haired one. “It’s just that I’m not so sure about this plan of yours.”

  “What are you talking about? We’ve worked on this plan for three months. It’s foolproof, Red!”

  Red shrugged. He looked sullen. “So you say, but I just don’t know.”

  “What are you afraid of, you lily-livered, chicken-hearted wimp?” asked Frank. “You make me sick!”

  “I’m not afraid of anything — except getting busted.”

  “Busted?” roared Frank. “By the incompetent cops in this town? Forget it. This is the heist of the century. It’ll go down in history as the perfect unsolved crime. The detectives will be going crazy, and we’ll be in the islands, living the rest of our lives in luxury. Girls, rum, mangos, and papayas …”

  I glanced at Quint and raised my eyebrows. Heist? Papayas? This was one of the most interesting — and confusing — conversations I’d ever heard. Not that I make a habit of eavesdropping. Quint looked back at me, and his eyes were big and round.

  “I don’t believe this,” he whispered. “They’re planning some kind of robbery, and we’re hearing the whole thing. If they knew we were listening —” He looked scared, suddenly.

  My mouth went dry. He was right to be scared. No crook likes to be overheard when he’s planning a crime. In the movies, anybody who “knows too much” gets killed. Without a word to each other, Quint and I simultaneously scooched down in our seats so that we couldn’t be seen from the window. But there was no way we were about to stop listening.

  The argument seemed to be gathering steam. “I’ve had it with you!” said Frank. “You may be an expert on jewels, but that’s not enough. I need a partner who isn’t going to wimp out on me.”

  “Just give me some time! These aren’t just any jewels we’re talking about, you know. The cops are going to go wild when this stuff turns up missing.”

  Jewels! This was getting better and better.

  “I keep telling you,” said Frank, “we don’t need to worry about the cops. We’ll be long gone before they even know the jewels are missing.”

  “I don’t know,” said Red again, looking stubborn. “Let’s go over the plan one more time.”

  “No!” yelled Frank. “We’ve been over it a million times. You’re either with me or not with me. And I gotta tell you, if you back out now, I’ll kill you!”

  Quint grabbed my arm, and I grabbed his. This was serious. I had no doubt that Frank meant what he said. He looked totally capable of killing somebody. He was tough and mean, and if I were Red, I would run out of the room.

  Just then, Quint’s father cracked the door to the TV room. “Quint! Jessi!” he called. “Turn down that TV! Morgan and Tyler are trying to get to sleep.”

  Quint and I looked at each other. My first impulse was to giggle. This was a real fight we were listening to, not the TV. We couldn’t turn it down if we wanted to. But then I saw the panicked look in Quint’s eyes, and I realized that this was no laughing matter. Quint’s dad had just yelled out our names, loud enough for Frank and Red to hear. I turned to look out the window, and saw that the two of them had stopped arguing. Instead, they were staring across the airshaft — at us.

  Quint jumped up and hit the light switch, and we were plunged into darkness. Then he grabbed me and pulled me to the floor. My elbow bumped against the couch on the way down, and it stung, but I was too scared to care. “What are you doing?” I hissed.

  “I didn’t want them to see us,” he whispered back. “I had to move fast.”

  “Quint?” I said. “You were fast, but I don’t think you were fast enough. I think they saw us.”

  He groaned. “They heard our names, too.”

  I lifted my head slowly so that I could peek out of the window again. If I saw Frank and Red staring back at me, I knew I would just die on the spot. But I didn’t see them. In fact, I couldn’t see anything: they had pulled down the window blinds, and their apartment looked dark. “They’re gone,” I whispered to Quint. “Or at least, I can’t see them anymore.”

  He stood up slowly and peeked across the way. Then, crouched down, he moved to the window and closed it. He scooted to the side of the window and pulled the cord that let the blinds down. Then he sat down next to me. He put his arm around me, and it felt good. I didn’t think for a second about The Talk I’d wanted to have with him. I was feeling pretty shaky, and his arm was comforting. “Quint,” I whispered, “we have to call the police.”

  He shook his head. “What would we tell them?” he asked. His voice sounded loud to me, and I tried to shush him. “It’s okay,” he said. “The window’s closed.” Quint seemed much calmer.

  “We’d tell them that we witnessed two criminals planning a crime,” I said, impatiently. I was still keeping my voice low.

  “But we don’t know what they were planning, or when it would happen,” he s
aid. “We don’t have any real information at all. The police would probably just laugh at us. They’d think we were a couple of excited kids.”

  I started to argue, but I knew he was right. “But, Quint,” I said. “They saw us. They heard our names! And they know where you live.”

  He gave my shoulder a squeeze. “Don’t worry,” he said. “We’ll probably never see them again. Do you know how many hundreds of people live just on this one block? I wouldn’t know most of my neighbors if I tripped over them.”

  New York is so weird. I can’t imagine not knowing my neighbors. But Quint sounded so sure of himself, and I wanted to believe him. “Maybe you’re right,” I said. “I mean, they probably didn’t even think twice about a couple of kids overhearing their fight. Right?”

  “Definitely.” Quint sounded confident, but he didn’t really look it. I could see doubt in his eyes. “Anyway, there’s nothing we can do about it now.”

  “Quint,” called Mrs. Walter. “I think it’s about time for Jessi to go back to her friend’s house. You need your rest tonight.”

  “Okay, Mom,” replied Quint. “I guess she’s right,” he said to me. “I almost forgot to be nervous about my performance, after seeing that!” He gestured toward the window, then shook his head and grinned.

  “Well, that’s good, I guess. Anyway, you don’t have to be nervous. You’re going to be great.”

  “Listen,” he said, ignoring my compliment. “Maybe we can spend some time tomorrow trying to find out more about those two guys. Maybe if we got enough information, we could go to the police.” He looked excited.

  “I don’t know. That could be dangerous.”

  “Not if we’re careful. Come on. It’ll be kind of fun. We can be detectives.”

  I felt like Red, arguing with Frank. I didn’t want to be called a lily-livered chicken heart. “Well, okay,” I said. I had a feeling that Quint was looking for something to take his mind off the dance concert. If we were very careful, playing detective might be just the thing. Anyway, the scene we’d witnessed was already beginning to seem unreal. Could we really have seen and heard two jewel thieves in the midst of planning a heist?