Fire and Obsidian

by Andrew Grey

  “I see,” James said with an odd tone that Mattias couldn’t read. Mattias knew there was no way that James could possibly understand, and he figured it was better to leave it at the simple explanation rather than the one that could take some time.

  He shook his head. “I had a childhood. I didn’t come out of my mother’s womb and decide to steal the buttons off her shirt. All that came later, out of necessity.” Mattias shook his head. “Is this self-righteousness an attitude, or do you bathe in it?”

  “I didn’t say anything,” James said, but it was clear enough to Mattias that the attitude was there.

  He needed to let go of chip he carried, but James got him all stirred up. “I appreciate you letting me stay at your house. And for the record, you don’t need to worry about me stealing your silver or pinching your mother’s jewelry. I don’t steal for a living any longer. With me it isn’t a compulsion. It was a means to make a living… nothing more.”

  James nodded. “I know. You made a living out of the misery of others.”

  “For your information, I had plenty of misery in my life. Heaps of it. I didn’t have a way to make a living, so I learned. It was survival, and I found out I was good at it.” Mattias paused a second. “I’m no Robin Hood, but neither am I the man who robs their neighbor who had less than they do in order to buy drugs. It was a profession, and I made a living at it for a number of years. I’m up front about it, and in a way, I’m working with departments like Solly’s to help make up for the things I did.” He glared at James, meeting his gaze with as much fire as he could muster. “I won’t apologize for what I had to do. I can’t…. I survived and came out the other side.” He heaved for breath as piles of vitriol came out. Mattias had no idea where all of this was coming from. He was normally a relatively quiet, thoughtful guy who helped police departments understand thieves and catch them. His job was generally to stay in the background, support the police officers, and help them do their jobs better. With James, it was completely different. “Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.”

  James scoffed. “What? You can’t take a little heat?”

  “Heat, yes. Know-it-all hatred I can do without.” Mattias rolled his eyes, looking out the window because he needed to watch something, anything, other than James and his intense brown gaze that fluttered his belly each time he looked into it. This was a really bad thought, and Mattias got the idea that it was only going to get worse. Still, he couldn’t very well ask James to take him back to the station so he could sleep on Old Stinky.

  “I don’t know it all,” James said with less power behind the words. “Lord knows if I claimed that, lightning would strike me dead in an instant.” He slowed as they came into town, passing through a commercial main street before turning off. James pulled up in front of a small row house and put the car in Park. Mattias got out, inhaling the warm, humid air, and got his bag when James popped open the trunk. Then he went with James to the narrowest row house he had ever seen. It couldn’t have been more than ten or twelve feet wide.

  “This is where you live?” Mattias asked.

  “Yeah. My grandparents lived here for forty years, and when my grandmother passed, she left it to me.” James unlocked the door, and Mattias followed him inside. “My grandfather remodeled it, and he opened the stairs to add more space to the front room.” James dropped his keys into a bowl and locked the door behind them. It was largely a shotgun house, with one room leading to the next, living room, dining room, kitchen, and then the bedrooms upstairs. The decorating was simple, with honey-oak floors, plain rugs, and cool, subdued colors on the walls.

  “It’s very nice.” Mattias smiled as the décor soothed him. It really was so pleasant and not at all what he had expected. He’d pictured a big, manly house with huge, dark, masculine furniture, dripping with testosterone, all positioned in front of a huge television set the size of Montana. Not that there was anything wrong with that at all. Mattias loved a man cave. But this was warm and inviting, and it lightened his spirit, though Mattias couldn’t quite figure out why. He trailed his hand along the back of one of the chairs.

  “Most of the furniture was my grandmother’s. I had it all re-covered. It was in great shape, but the fabric was worn out.” James set down his bag. “Have a seat. I’m going to get something heating up to eat. Then I can show you the guest room and stuff.” James hurried away, and Mattias sat down, yawning as he got comfortable, glancing around the room to check out James’s clean but warm taste in furnishings. His stomach rumbled, but he figured it was best to stay out of James’s way.

  “Come on,” James said as he breezed into the room.

  Mattias hefted himself out of the chair and headed upstairs behind James, enjoying the amazing view as they climbed. Man, James must have spent plenty of time on a StairMaster. Mattias was willing to bet he could bounce a quarter off those glutes.

  “The guest room is the one right in the front of the house.” James pushed open the door, and Mattias stepped into a calming room with light gray walls and white furniture. The main pop of color was a sky-blue comforter on the bed. “Go ahead and get comfortable. The bathroom is the next door down. I’m going to finish some dinner. Meet you in the kitchen.” James took off fast.

  Mattias set his bag off to the side, sat on the edge of the bed, and then lay back, letting the perfect mattress cradle him, a sigh escaping as he closed his eyes. This was a lot better than that damned sofa, or even the hotel room. This felt like a home, a real home. He tried to remember the last time he’d felt this way, and it was difficult. He went back, allowing his mind to take the trip through time. Then he smiled as his nana tucked him in and told him a story as Mattias listened, taking in every word. Those times had been simple and perfect, something he’d thought would never end.

  Suddenly Mattias sat up, wiping his eyes, pushing away the images. Dwelling on them and what came afterward wasn’t productive in the least. He stood and made a stop in the bathroom before descending the stairs and going to find James. Maybe some snark and sarcasm would banish those memories for a while.

  “Are you hungry?” James motioned him to the small table and set a bowl of steaming pasta and sauce in front of him. “It isn’t the greatest. I had to start with jarred sauce, but I doctored it up, and the stuff isn’t too bad.” He brought over a second bowl, setting it at his own place. “I have some wine if you want it.” James poured himself a glass and then one for Mattias after he nodded.

  “Smells good,” Mattias said, and took his first bite. The sauce had zip and a touch of heat. It was awesome, and Mattias ate faster as his appetite kicked in full force.

  “I generally make some things on my day off that I can heat up when I get home.” James sipped his wine and swirled some of the pasta around his fork. “I have to ask. Do you work on a lot of cases like ours?”

  “I have,” Mattias answered. “Thieves have a number of things in common. First and foremost, they don’t want to get caught, but eventually most of them overreach. They believe that one big score is going to make all their dreams come true. They case expensive houses and break in, triggering alarms, or they steal things that can be traced. A lot of expensive gems and items are actually microtagged with serial numbers so they can be found if stolen. Insurance companies have detailed lists of jewelry and other items, sometimes complete with pictures, so they can be located pretty fast. The last thing they want to do is pay out for a hugely expensive item unless they can help it.”

  “So you work with a lot of insurance companies?” James asked, lightly tapping his fingers on the tabletop.

  Mattias swallowed and took a sip of the nice wine, nodding slowly. “They were some of my first clients. Insurance companies are pretty mercenary. They really don’t care how an item gets returned as long as they don’t have to pay out.” He took another small bite of pasta. “One of my first jobs was the recovery of a small block print that had been stolen. It was a Dürer and was heavily insured. The thieves had broken in, taken a numbe
r of items, and thought that the print might be valuable, so they stole it too.” Mattias shook his head. “That was their first mistake. The theft made news because of what was taken, and the print was suddenly a huge liability. They were going to have a hard time selling it, and they couldn’t be caught with it in their possession.”

  “How did you get it back?”

  “I scoured online auction records and found a listing for an auction house on the other side of the country. They were selling the print there. The thieves had grown impatient and figured distance would work for them. It took six months, but with the help of the auction house, we let the item go to sale. It was only for show, though. The auction house told the sellers that they needed to come in to collect the check because there was an issue with the paperwork. The police took the man into custody, and he gave up the other people he worked with.” Mattias finished the pasta and sat back. “Sometimes it takes patience. The Mona Lisa was gone for two years when it was stolen, and some things are missing for a decade, but they can be returned.”

  “Uh-huh. You know that the more time passes, the less chance there is of that,” James pronounced.

  Mattias couldn’t argue with that. “Yes. But sometimes it takes some patience for things to reappear. The old adage of lying low for a while kicks in, but then impatience starts to take its toll. That’s what happened with the block print. It was recovered. The insurance money wasn’t paid out, and the family got their artwork back… eventually… along with a few other of their items.” Mattias shrugged. He was pretty sure that James had heard stories like that one before. “After that, I was asked to consult on other cases, and then police departments brought me in. And the rest, as they say, is history.”

  “How long before that did you give up the business?” James asked, wriggling his fingers.

  Mattias rolled his eyes and decided to let the “light fingers” reference pass. “A good year. I had plenty of money and was secure. I didn’t want to be one of those people who stole their entire lives and ended up in jail at forty. And it was time to make a change in my life. So I decided to go legitimate, and I guess I got lucky.” He drank the last of his wine. “This is really nice.” He set down the glass. “Thank you for the dinner and the wine, as well as the place to sleep. I really appreciate it.” It was pleasant not sniping at each other… at least for now. “Why law enforcement? Is it a family business?”

  James threw back the last of his wine as though it were a shot of whiskey. “No. I decided when I was a kid that I wanted to be a police officer. I’ve always known it was what I wanted to do. After high school, I put myself through college, majored in criminal justice, and then went through the academy. I started in Philadelphia for a while, but wanted a smaller town, so I got a job here in Mechanicsburg. Solly and I were roommates for a couple of years, but he always knew he was going to return here. This area is where he grew up.” James stood and grabbed the wine bottle to refill both glasses. It seemed that the sharing period of the evening was over, which was fine with Mattias. He’d managed to open up a little without going into the gory details of his past, and if James wasn’t up to sharing, then he could respect that. “How did you get this gig with Solly?”

  “I worked with the Philadelphia property crime division six months ago, and they brought me into one of the regional law enforcement gatherings. Sheriff Briggs was at the gathering, and he invited me here.” Mattias got up and took his dish and silverware to the sink, then returned to the table and sat back down. His grandmother would roll over in her grave if he wasn’t a good guest. “I know you can investigate crime, but the sheriff felt that there was something else going on here and figured some support was warranted.” Mattias thought it was best not to impugn the local police expertise.

  “What do you think is different?” James rested his arms on the table.

  “I have a couple of theories. The first is that this is a group that moved into the area a few months ago. They stake out their victims, go in, do the jobs, and get out. As soon as we turn up the heat, they’ll move on and go somewhere else.” Mattias met James’s intense gaze. “Sort of a traveling band of burglars. I’ve met some of these people, and you don’t want to cross them. They’ve done this sort of thing for a while, and they get in and out fast.” Mattias paused to think. “But I doubt that’s the case this time. Professionals would have new equipment, a business name professionally painted on the side of the vehicle, and their van wouldn’t pee oil all over the driveway. That would leave too much of a presence behind. Those folks are like ghosts, and they don’t stay very long once the jobs are done. In and out of the houses, and the area.”

  “I agree with that. A well-financed group would be just like you said. They’d even have a phone number on the van that would be active. Maybe just an answering machine, but something to throw off suspicion.” James smiled slightly. “So what’s your next theory?”

  “Homegrown thieves who organized. Most likely they have someone organizing them.” Mattias raised his gaze. “There could even be more than one group, which would explain the different-colored vans, or maybe the one died and they replaced it. I bet the witnesses did see the thieves’ vehicles, and the reason they saw different-colored ones is because there is more than one.” He nodded as a picture began forming in his mind.

  “A local version of organized crime?” James asked.

  “Or it was put together by one of the gangs or crime organizations. It’s hard to say. This area has enough people who are desperate and hanging on by a thread. Now imagine the chance to make some real money fast. It’s the same lure as the drug trade.” Mattias sighed. “People don’t just do this to do it. It’s dangerous. You can get caught, or killed by a neighbor or law enforcement if they happen upon you and believe you’re a danger to them. You are on someone else’s property, and you have no right to be there. But when people get desperate, they will do just about anything.” He nodded and waited for James to contradict him or present his own opinion, but he stayed quiet.

  “What do you suggest we do?” James asked, which surprised him a little.

  “We have to start with good police work. That’s where you come in. I’m only here to help and try to provide any insight that I can. There’s a pattern to all of this, and we need to look closer until we find it. That’s the one way to catch these folks. We can wait for them to make a mistake, but by then more people will be robbed.” Mattias knew he wasn’t telling James anything he didn’t know, and their conversation fell off.

  James finished his wine and brought in the newspaper, setting it on the table. He took the front section and pushed the rest of it to the center of the table, and Mattias grabbed the What’s Happening section.

  “There are a couple of charity events, and….” Mattias spread out the paper to read it and then lifted his gaze once James had closed his section. “What’s a house tour?”

  “Some of the groups in town put together home tours to raise money.” James’s eyes widened.

  “And it’s an excellent way for people to case a number of homes, and no one would be the wiser.” Mattias passed over the page with the article. “Our thieves buy tickets and get to go through ten nicely decorated, pristine homes that the owners are very proud of… to case the joints.” He understood why it was a fund-raiser, but the danger was also very real. If he were one of these thieves, he’d certainly buy a ticket.

  “Do we ask them to cancel it? The historical society is running this one. They normally do one at Christmas, but this is a special one of the most historic homes.” James set the paper aside.

  “I think we need to contact them and maybe volunteer—watch people and see if there is anyone who doesn’t fit the profile of their customer. It’s a long shot, but we can give it a try. It’s Saturday from two until five. It’s only three hours. Talk to one of the guys who lives in Carlisle and see if they know anyone who can get us in.” Mattias took back the paper and pointed to another article. “There’s also the benefi
t for the theater. It looks like that is going to draw a crowd of some of the most well-heeled in town. Another chance for them to watch people and find potential victims.” He sat back and finished the last of his wine. “I’ll go ahead and swing two tickets for that.”

  “How?” James looked over the paper. “Aren’t they pretty expensive?”

  Mattias nodded. “I can handle those tickets. You manage the arrangements for the house tour, and we’ll be all set.” He stood and put his glass in the sink. “If it’s okay, I’m going to go up to bed. It’s getting late, and we have plenty to do in the morning.” Mattias headed out of the room and stopped. “By the way, the theater benefit is black-tie. Do you have a tuxedo?” He wagged his eyebrows, because he was sure that James in a tux would be stunning, and it would be more than worth the price of two benefit tickets to see that.

  James growled—the man actually growled—and Mattias paused. He had been teasing him. Mattias hadn’t wanted to make him truly angry.

  “We don’t all live like James Bond.”

  “I don’t either,” Mattias snapped and forced himself to calm down. “I don’t have a tuxedo here with me either. Don’t worry. I’ll get the tickets, and then we’ll arrange for the clothes. It’s no problem.”

  “I could just wear my dress uniform,” James offered, and Mattias waited for him to think about that more clearly. “Yeah… okay… that would defeat the purpose, wouldn’t it?”

  “Yes. Like I said, don’t worry about it. I did some work for a friend a few years ago who has a formalwear shop on Carlisle Pike. If you can get up there, I’m sure he’ll be able to help us out.” Mattias patted the doorframe and stifled a yawn. “I really need to try to get some sleep.” He was dead on his feet, and fatigue was catching up with him a lot quicker than he wanted to admit.