He looks away smiles sadly.
“Oh, they intend on interviewing everybody. They just ain’t got to me yet.”
“And,” I say like a question. “When they do?”
“Let’s just say I was asleep when the fortunate unfortunate went down.”
“Fortunate unfortunate?”
“It’s something I overheard Dutch Schultz say on the evening he killed his partner inside the hotel dining room. As the man lay on the floor bleeding from a gigantic hole in the face, Schultz looked down at him and said, ‘What a goddamn fortunate unfortunate.’ Meaning, it was fortunate that Schultz’s brand of rough justice had been served but unfortunate that it had to happen that way to a man he once considered a friend.”
I exhale, nod. “I’m sorry about Sarah,” I say. “I feel somewhat responsible.”
He shakes his head, and for the first time, looks into my eyes with his deep, wet brown eyes. Eyes that have seen everything and then some.
“Please don’t be, Mr. Baker,” he says. “Sarah was a lonely young girl and a fine young woman. But she had a dark side that she inherited from her grandfather, Charlie, and may the good Lord have mercy on her soul.”
In my mind, I see the punji pit inside the Cohoes Falls’ cave, and the bones of the victims it claimed over the years.
“You knew the location of Schultz’s treasure all along. You replaced that bit of pit floor on several occasions. The bones I found inside it are proof.”
He bites down on his bottom lip.
“Yes,” he says, “I knew where the treasure was hidden. I was there when Schultz hid it. I was sworn to secrecy. Under those falls, my family’s blue diamonds would be forever protected.”
“But why not just cash them in? Live like a king?”
“Didn’t feel right, Mr. Baker. My ancestors brought those diamonds here from Africa under the worst conditions imaginable, and my father kept them safe and then Mr. Schultz agreed to keep them and me safe. So, who was I to go selling them off? Besides—”
“Besides what?”
“After a time, I simply got too old to make the hike down there under the cover of darkness. There wasn’t anyone I could trust with the location.”
“Not even Sarah?”
He shakes his head.
“Something in my gut told me she was the wrong person to trust.” Shrugging his shoulders. “But that didn’t mean I wasn’t saving them for her. Or her baby should she ever have one.”
“I guess you could say she died trying to collect her inheritance.”
“For all the wrong reasons,” he says. “It cost her her life.”
“A fortune unfortunate.”
“Nothing fortunate about Sarah dying. Just pathetic is all.”
I get up from the picnic table. That’s when I catch sight of the gurney being transported out the front doors of the hotel. There’s a body laid out on the gurney. A white sheet covers the face. Some of the older male residents remove their hats, place them over their hearts as the gurney is quietly, almost silently deposited into the back of the EMT van. When the van’s multi-colored rooftop lights begin to flash, and the van pulls out, its siren silenced, I raise my right hand, make the sign of the cross.
“You a religious man, Mr. Baker?” Uncle Pat says.
I turn back to him. “Sometimes,” I say.
“You believe in Jesus? That he died for our sins?”
“I guess,” I say. “It’s a good story about a good man, anyway.”
“He chose to die on the cross for you and me and Sarah,” Uncle Pat says. “A fortunate unfortunate.”
“A fortunate unfortunate,” I repeat, reaching into my bush jacket pocket. “Hold out your hand for me. Please.” I say it like a request.
He does it, the thin hand and dry twig-like fingers trembling with age and sadness. I deposit a fistful of blue diamonds into it. He looks at them for a long moment, slowly wraps his fingers around the stones and looks up at me.
“You’re a good man, Mr. Baker,” he says. “Jesus will remember you when it counts.”
“Let’s hope so,” I say.
Turning, I make my way back to the Jeep.
37
Thanks to our last few remaining greenbacks, two hours later we’re having drinks at the bar in Phoenicia. Me, Edge, and Rob.
“Well, Baker,” Edge says, after stealing a sip from his cold bottle of Budweiser. “At least we have something to write about now.”
“How’s the old song go again?” Rob says, running one hand through his Mohawk, and wrapping the other around a shot of Jack Daniels. “So close, but yet so far away . . .” He sings the punk version, grunting the lyrics out rather than singing them with perfect pitch and tone like Carol King did back in the early seventies.
I raise my beer above the bar.
“A toast,” I say. “To a fine adventure with two of the finest fortunate unfortunates I know.”
“What the hell does that mean, Baker?” Edge asks.
“I think he means we’re lucky to be alive,” Rob says, “but unlucky in life. Or something paradoxical like that.” He scrunches his forehead. “It is a paradox right, dude? Like damned if you do, damned if you don’t.”
I laugh. “Just toast me and shut up,” I say.
The two raise their glasses, and together we drink. Slapping my beer bottle back down onto the bar, I reach into my breast pocket.
“Oh,” I say, “almost forgot. You guys need to get paid.”
I set the first small, cocktail peanut-sized blue diamond in front of Edge.
“Edge, my bestselling friend,” I say, “maybe instead of schlepping your words to the shyster publishers from now on, you can buy your own independent publishing house.”
I set the second diamond in front of Rob.
“You, my punk rock friend, can most definitely buy a new Jeep. Or two. Plus a bunch of new bass guitars and a recording studio while you’re at it.”
Grabbing hold of my beer, I drink the rest of it down.
“Got a Metro-North train to catch, fellas,” I say. “Hopefully, I’ll make it back into Manhattan by bed time. I’ve got to catch a flight to Florence, Italy tomorrow evening. Nighty night.”
Heading across the bar room floor, I wrap my hand around the door opener. But before I pull the door open, I turn around quick to catch a glimpse of the two faces I’ve gotten to know so well over the past day and a half. Their lower jaws have dropped against their chests, their eyes opened wide, their systems shocked. They’re rich men now. Well, correction, not Dutch Schultz rich, but definitely rich enough to make life a little easier from now on.
I feel for the last of the three blue diamonds I was able to save from the handful I managed to snatch up for Uncle Pat while the FBI were invading the Cohoes Falls cave. Releasing the diamond, I lift the now empty hand out of my pocket, raise it up, give the boys a quick wave. I then pull the barroom door open, head out into the night.
Epilogue
Gramercy Park
New York, New York
Two weeks later
The knock on the door comes just as the woman is cleaning up the breakfast dishes. The tall, brunette sets the plate back down on the drying rack in the sink, dries her hands.
“I wonder who that could be?” she says.
“You want me to get it, Mom?” says the twelve-year-old girl seated at the kitchen table. She’s making pigtails out of her long dark hair with little colorful rubber bands.
“Not on your life,” the woman says. “It’s a crazy world out there. You just keep getting ready for school, young lady.”
“Be careful, Mom.”
The woman exits the kitchen, crosses the vestibule of the townhouse, goes to the front door, peeks out the peephole embedded in the door. It’s the FedEx man.
She opens the door, is handed a small package which she signs for. After wishing the FedEx man well, she closes the door and engages both deadbolts.
Heading back into the kitchen, she says,
“Package for you, sweetie.”
“Who’s it from?” she says.
“I think it’s from your dad, judging by the address in Florence, Italy.”
“Oh goodie,” twelve-year-old Ava Baker says as she rips the package open to reveal a small white box.
“Open it,” the woman says.
“I wonder what it can be?” Ava says, anticipation painting her voice.
Slowly, she opens the box to reveal a blue diamond. So brilliantly blue, so crystal clear, it sparkles in the overhead light.
“Sweet Jesus,” the woman says, gasping.
“Oh my God,” Ava cries. “It’s sooo, sooo beautiful.”
“Look,” the woman says. “There’s a card.”
Setting the diamond into her mom’s hand, Ava opens the card and reads aloud.
Dear Squirt,
I wanted to give you this in person. But I had to catch a plane back to Italy. What you hold in your hand is not just a diamond, but a very special diamond that came from a far away place, a long, long time ago. Tell Mom to keep it in a safe place for you. If you want, you can pay for college with it, or you can make a nice life for yourself in a beautiful, exotic location. Whatever you choose to do is fine by me.
Love always,
Dad
The woman holds the diamond up to the light to see it sparkle once more.
“Can I hold it again before I go to school?” Ava begs.
“Of course,” the woman says, setting it gently into the palm of her only child’s hand.
She stares not at the rock, but into it. It’s as if she can feel its energy, hear it singing to her. After a long few beats, she once more looks up at her mother.
“So, what should I do with it, Mom?”
“Like Dad says,” she states, “you can pay for school with it.”
“But what if I do something more special? Like save it for my daughter one day.”
The woman smiles and kisses her daughter on the top of her head.
“You’re a sweet and generous girl, Ava,” she says.
“Just like Dad?”
Her mom giggles.
“Sure thing,” she says. “Just like Chase Baker. Your Dad.”
THE END
We hope you enjoyed this Chase Baker action/adventure. Now we invite you to try out the first novel in the series, The Shroud Key or the second novel, Chase Baker and the Golden Condor. For all the Chase Baker novels go to WWW.VINCENTZANDRI.COM
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About the Author
Winner of the 2015 PWA Shamus Award and the 2015 ITW Thriller Award for Best Original Paperback Novel, Vincent Zandri is the NEW YORK TIMES, USA TODAY, and AMAZON NO. 1 Overall Bestselling author of more than 25 novels including THE REMAINS, MOONLIGHT WEEPS, EVERYTHING BURNS, and ORCHARD GROVE. An MFA in Writing graduate of Vermont College, Zandri's work is translated in the Dutch, Russian, French, Italian, and Japanese. Recently, Zandri was the subject of a major feature by the New York Times. He has also made appearances on Bloomberg TV and FOX news. In December 2014, Suspense Magazine named Zandri's, THE SHROUD KEY, as one of the Best Books of 2014. Recently, Suspense Magazine voted WHEN SHADOWS COME as one of the Best Books of 2016. A freelance photo-journalist and the author of the popular "lit blog," The Vincent Zandri Vox, Zandri has written for Living Ready Magazine, RT, New York Newsday, Hudson Valley Magazine, The Times Union (Albany), Game & Fish Magazine, and many more. He lives in New York and Florence, Italy. For more go to WWW.VINCENTZANDRI.COM
Vincent Zandri © copyright 2016
All rights reserved as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
Bear Media 2016
4 Orchard Grove, Albany, NY 12204
http://www.vincentzandri.com
Cover design by Elder Lemon Art
Editing by Plot2Published Editing
Author Photo by Jessica Painter
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to a real person, living or dead is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Published in the United States of America
The author is represented by Chip MacGregor of the MacGregor Literary Agency
Vincent Zandri © copyright 2016
All rights reserved as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
Bear Media 2016
4 Orchard Grove, Albany, NY 12204
http://www.vincentzandri.com
Cover design by Elder Lemon Art
Editing by Plot2Published Editing
Author Photo by Jessica Painter
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to a real person, living or dead is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Published in the United States of America
The author is represented by Chip MacGregor of the MacGregor Literary Agency
Chase Baker and the Dutch Diamonds: A Chase Baker Thriller Book 10 Page 12
