She had eaten only half her shrimp when her head snapped up and her smile vanished. Superfine hairs stood at attention on the back of her neck. There was a frantic, but faint buzzing in her inner ear. It was her danger sense, little understood but much respected. She was under immediate threat from somewhere. A quick glance around gave her no clue. Then her subtle instincts fed her more information.
Morgan was near, very near, just outside the restaurant. This wasn’t her own danger warning, but a reflection from him. In combination, it was all very confusing and she knew she didn’t have much time to sort it out. Morgan thought she was in danger, but she didn’t feel that she was in jeopardy. They had both thought he couldn’t get there in time for Skorolos’ payoff, yet he was right there. What did that mean?
Outside, Davis went to the boardwalk’s sea side edge and stood watching the beach below. Daddy Boom slapped Morgan’s shoulder and turned toward Rick’s.
“Now you just watch the entrance until we come out,” Daddy Boom said. “We got other fish to fry.” He laughed with his mouth closed, moving forward. Morgan’s watch told him it was noon.
Inside, Skorolos stood up, pocketed his pay envelope and tried to squeeze out of his seat. He stumbled on the chair next to him. Looking up, he found himself staring into Felicity’s green eyes. Before she could speak his face told her he had jumped to the obvious paranoid conclusion.
“You,” Skorolos shouted while Felicity tried to wave him down. “You’re with them. You followed me. THEY must know what I did. Oh, God.”
Skorolos knocked over two tables lunging for the entrance. Felicity was just figuring out his wrong assumption when Daddy Boom walked in. Skorolos looked up as if God himself had stopped in to ask him about his list of sins. He froze, Daddy Boom stopped, and Ghost stepped from behind him. Felicity’s stomach made a fist. She recognized him as a fellow passenger on her flight from California. All conversation evaporated as customers instinctively shrank against the walls.
“You must know you cheated the wrong people,” Ghost said. “Did you really think we would let it pass? No. We are here to convince you not to do it again.”
To Felicity’s surprise, Skorolos threw a right cross at Ghost. He was faster than she had expected. Not that it mattered. Ghost caught his wrist in his own left hand, and without blinking, gave a sharp twist. There was a loud crack followed by a louder cry from Skorolos. No one moved, except those few who turned their heads.
His eyes wild, Skorolos swung his left arm forward. Ghost again captured the wrist. Felicity clamped her eyes shut and raised her hands to her ears, but could not shut out the sickening crack, or the scream of pain.
Outside, two vacationing couples started toward Rick’s. Morgan put on his best hard look and stepped in front of them.
“Closed for renovations,” he said in a deep baritone. “Come back in fifteen minutes.” Both men looked into his mirror glasses, then took their wives arms and walked on. Perspiration dotted Morgan’s forehead. He spotted three or four private security people on the boardwalk some distance away, but no policemen. Just as well, he thought. A dozen bystanders could fall in the crossfire if anyone interrupted the action in Rick’s Fish Fry. He hated standing with his back to Felicity, but he had to let the scenario play itself out.
Inside, Ghost stepped back behind Daddy Boom. The big man seized Skorolos by the back of his neck, lifting him like a fat Greek kitten. He walked back toward Felicity, and turned left around the end of the counter.
“When people act like you did, we lose face,” Daddy Boom said in an instructive voice. “What happens to us happens to you.”
With little sign of effort, Daddy Boom lifted Skorolos off the ground. Horrified, Felicity saw him smile as he plunged Skorolos’ face into a steel well of hot oil. The sizzling sound, so familiar and even seductive when produced by seafood or vegetables, sickened her now. She felt a ball of greasy fried batter surge up her throat, and she had to clench her teeth to keep it from flying out. Two other women in the room were not so successful.
Less than two seconds after he pushed Skorolos’ head down, Daddy Boom pulled him up straight. That was when the screaming started. Daddy Boom dropped him and turned to walk out with Ghost, leaving Skorolos lying face up, broken arms flailing in a sickening manner, and screaming screams that could curdle an executioner’s blood.
One of the cooks moved, and that broke the trance. While the cook covered Skorolos’ face with lard to cool the burns, customers poured out the entrance behind the two hoods. Felicity doubted any witnesses would be available. A second cook grabbed a telephone to call an ambulance. By the time the other customers were gone, Skorolos’ screams had become pitiful moans and Felicity’s nausea was overcoming her. She ran back into the ladies room and dropped to her knees. Sweat broke on her forehead and she retched hard and loud. Three contractions after her stomach was empty it finally ended.
Outside, Daddy Boom made his best time away from the boardwalk, with Morgan, Davis and Ghost trotting close behind him. One block was about Daddy Boom’s limit for running. Not that any more was necessary. Around the first corner they came to a UPS truck. Morgan smiled. This could be the most inconspicuous, invisible vehicle on the road.
Ghost quickly threw the back open and climbed in. Several parcels of various sizes waited inside. The first three Ghost encountered looked fairly heavy, by the way he moved them. Then he lifted a large box with markings showing it contained a console television, although it was clearly empty, and had no bottom. The parcel behind it was missing a side. Daddy Boom climbed up, and slid his legs into the front box with his back facing the van’s side. Ghost dropped the television box over Daddy Boom’s huge body.
A similar set up on the other side of the van accepted Ghosts legs. Morgan, unasked, fitted the second empty case (shelving units, steel, two each) over him. Then he positioned the full, heavy boxes so an inquisitive visitor would have to go through them all to reach the hidden men. Simple and ingenious, he thought, like everything else connected with J.J. Slash. If that kid worked for IBM or General Motors he would make a fortune. Or would he? Being young, gifted and black seldom helped without a degree and connections.
Morgan dropped out of the van and locked it behind him. Davis faced him when he hit the street. What was he doing here anyway? He should stay as far away from this action as possible.
“This is where we part company for a while, Johnson,” Davis said. “You did real well here. You’re very cool, and you get the idea without somebody having to draw you a map. See you again.”
“Going somewhere?” Morgan asked.
“Not me, brother. You. Daddy Boom and Ghost are kind of conspicuous, easy to spot from a description. You got to drive those two characters back up to The City. And you better get moving. Those are sirens I hear.”
-21-
Felicity returned to the Holiday Inn almost four hours later. She was still shaken and pale. Skorolos was alive when she left the restaurant, and she managed to get out after the Convincers left but before police arrived. Frightened, angry, and confused, she hurried to the Trump Taj Mahal.
First, she had to establish her location. She needed to spot some good marks for Ross, which was her assignment for the day. Second, she needed a chance to think. The case had soured badly, but she was unsure how to proceed. She might consider giving up on the paintings, but what about Morgan? He was no longer nearby, she could sense that. Would he return? How could she contact him if she dropped her present role, and how might it affect him? It seemed unlikely, but Skorolos could connect them, and that could put Morgan in danger if she just disappeared. No, she would have to play it through.
Beyond all that she needed to get lost in case the police got her description from a cook at Rick’s Fish Fry. And if you wanted to get lost, The Taj Mahal was one of the world’s premiere places. Aside from the forty-four story hotel, it boasted the world’s biggest casino. You could lay out two American football fields in that vast cavern of gamblers a
nd, if you cut it up just right, two-thirds of a third one. She was one tiny spot in an incredible sea of laughing human greed, and a bloodhound probably could not track her there.
At four o’clock when she reached her hotel a bellman chased her down. He offered her a handwritten message with a flourish she could only expect from a man who preferred male company. The note, written in fine public school penmanship, said that Davis wanted to see her as soon as she returned. She picked up the desk phone and rang his room.
“Four Fourteen,” he said. That raised a smile on Felicity’s face. He answered with his room number, as she had taught herself to do in her days as an active thief.
“Ross, just got in and got your note,” Felicity said, shutting him out of talking further. “Listen, I have had an absolute bitch of a day and I’m totally fagged out.”
“I don’t doubt it,” Ross said, “but I really need to talk to you.”
“Look, let me go up and get a soak in the tub, okay? Then we can get together.”
“Why don’t we say dinner in my room?” Davis said. “Casa del Sol downstairs has a fine dinner menu.”
That settled, Felicity went straight to her room and pulled off her clothes. A grease spot on her skirt gave a flash of grim memories. It had sprayed across the room when Daddy Boom snapped Skorolos’ head up from the hot oil.
She started a tub running, but before getting in she figured she would check in with Paul. Dialing her own number in New York, she composed a brief report for him to pass to Morgan. She heard three rings, then the click of connection.
“Hello.”
“Paul.” Felicity almost gushed. “Listen, I have…”
“No one is at home.” What? A recording? Felicity listened tensely. “The master is on a motor trip heading north, I believe. My mistress is continuing her recovery by the sea. I am going to the beach to look for a young lady. Please leave your name and number at the tone.”
Felicity quickly hung up and dialed again to make sure she understood the message. It was cryptic enough if the wrong person heard it. At the tone she simply said “Check. Waiting.” and cradled the phone. Then she went to the bathroom and lowered herself into the steaming scented water.
So Morgan had called in. He was heading north, from Atlantic City to New York she assumed. He must have gotten tied up with Slash’s hatchet men and couldn’t get loose. That made sense. He wanted her to stay in Atlantic City and continue her mission to recover the paintings. He had told Paul to join her, and she had no doubt that he would find her. From here it was simple. Do nothing, plan nothing, until she heard from her backup.
A half hour soaking in hot water and bubbles made the world look much better. Felicity dried her hair and gave it a hundred brush strokes. She pulled out something slinky in an off-white chiffon. Its material graded to nearly transparent at the hem. It had a high, tight collar, but left her back bare. She still avoided low cut dresses because of the scar on her left breast, but this dress showed enough of her legs, and hinted at enough more, to still be quite sexy.
After touching her fingernails with a polish so pale pink it was almost transparent, Felicity slipped a single sterling silver ring onto her right wrist. She smiled at herself in the dressing mirror, her best smile since noon.
“I’ll dazzle him,” she said aloud to herself.
When she reached Davis’ door she gave it two soft knocks.
“Entrez-vous,” Davis called, giving her a feeling of deja vu. She opened the door to find him standing behind a cart, still in his immaculate white dress shirt and slacks, but without jacket or tie. The cart overflowed with silver covered dishes, not just the top but a second shelf as well. The room smelled faintly of jasmine, the lights were dim and candles glowed on the window table.
“You are truly beautiful,” Davis said, waving her to the chair opposite him and pulling champagne from an ice bucket. “I hope rack of lamb is okay.”
Once Felicity reached her place at the table, Davis slid her chair in. He pushed a button on a portable stereo he had gotten from somewhere and classical guitar filled the air above them. Felicity was lost for words, but Davis didn’t seem to mind. He went about pouring champagne and filling their plates, hers first.
It was marvelous lamb. That flavor, the hint of incense and the music combined, creating an overall gentle massage for her senses. When Ross Davis held her with his dark eyes she was prepared to shrug off reality and drop it behind her like a bulky sweater.
She matched his smile, soaking in the romance of the situation.
“Felicity. This is hard.” Davis swallowed some champagne. “You know, I’ve played this scene a hundred times but now, well, I know we haven’t known each other long. And I know things haven’t gone very well when we were together.”
“Events seem to have been against us,” she said. “The only real talking we’ve done was travelling. I know you’ve got your work…”
“Yes, and that’s the entire problem.” Davis’ brow wrinkled. “Felicity, there’s something I want to, need to tell you. That’s bad enough. But before I can say it, I have to ask you something.” He turned his head, but she couldn’t tell if it was from embarrassment, worry, sadness or something else entirely.
“Ross, I won’t shoot you,” she said. “Whatever it is, just ask me.”
Davis leaned forward, collecting Felicity’s hand in his own, drawing her fingers up almost to his lips. Felicity felt a slight tremble. Davis stared into her eyes like a kid at a knothole in the fence, trying to see the whole ball game, knowing his perspective was skewed. There was a new intensity here Felicity had not seen before.
“Felicity,” Davis said, “What were you doing in that fish fry place at noon today?”
-22-
Morgan parked the van around the corner from Slash’s brownstone. When his feet reached the pavement he stretched hard, twisting his neck in all directions. UPS vans were built for neither speed nor comfort, as he now knew. Between the van’s limitations, afternoon traffic and all those blasted toll booths, a long four and a half hours separated him from Atlantic City, New Jersey.
Seconds later he pulled the back doors open. If it was a long drive for him, it must have seemed eternal for his passengers. Morgan cleared a path to Ghost first. His eyes fluttered as Morgan lifted the shelf box.
“You okay, Ghost?”
“Indeed,” Ghost said. “It was a long ride. I chose to spend most of it in a light trance.”
Morgan soon discovered that Daddy Boom had simply slept inside his cardboard camouflage. He looked puzzled when he poked his head out the van’s back door.
“Hey, man. Where are we?”
“I didn’t think I ought to park this thing right in front of Slash’s door,” Morgan said. “We’re just around the corner.”
“Pull us around,” Daddy Boom said, never stepping down from the van. Morgan bristled just a bit, but Ghost slapped him on the back and joined him up front. Morgan started the vehicle and put it into gear. He figured seniority established the pecking order, so he should expect everybody to order him around. He still didn’t like it.
Two men watched from the stoop as Morgan pulled up and applied the emergency brake. Gun sized lumps under their sweaters were all too obvious. Morgan’s passengers climbed out of the truck right away. As Morgan hopped to the street another man jogged over and hopped up into the cab. The vehicle was moving before Morgan reached the first step.
“He’ll put that thing away, until we need it again,” Ghost said, standing at Morgan’s side. Daddy Boom stretched stiff limbs and lurched up the reddish sandstone steps behind the more athletic Morgan and Ghost. In front of the door, Morgan noticed an irregular stain beneath his feet. He suspected it was somehow connected with the two new grim faced button men on the landing. Ghost pressed him through the door, and the trio climbed the stairs to Slash’s floor-sized apartment.
“All right now,” Crazy Ray 9 said as Ghost led the procession through the door. “The gang’s all here
.”
“Yeah,” Morgan said, standing in front of Ray on the sofa. “I’m starting to feel like a yo-yo, yanked back and forth.”
“This here’s where the action is, bro,” Ray said. “J.J.’s about to go to war.”
“We already at war,” Slash said, stalking in from the front of the house. Ripper was bouncing with excitement at his side. “I’m a God damned prisoner in here, and that ain’t gone last past tomorrow, you feel me?”
“Johnson, he don’t know what went down.” Daddy Boom spoke as he settled into the sofa, forcing Ray to one end.
“Well, I’ll tell you, Slick,” Slash said, pointing at Morgan, his face alight with rage. He began pacing frantically around and between the love seat, sofa and arm chair. “Launched a double strike, them sons of bitches. Sent a guy around on a bike, just as I’m heading out. Tosses a thing of acid at me, right on my own stoop. It breaks, splashing the shit all over the place. Just lucky I seen him and thought something was shaky. Got behind the door just in time.”
“Who?” Morgan asked.
“Who?” Slash repeated. “Who? Them wop, guinea, dago, grease ball mother fuckers downtown, that’s who. I finally got that pimp Minelli off my ass, and now his shithead son’s taken over, doing the same old shit.”
“You mean trying to kill you?” Morgan asked.
“I mean with the bitches, homes.” Slash was almost ranting now. “Here I am trying to set these broads up as independent contractors, you know, doing business, making money. That asshole’s still picking up kids barely old enough to bleed and shoving them out there on the street. Oh, yeah, they on the j-o-b all right, cause they too scared to say no. But grabbing that young stuff pisses the man off something fierce. Plus which, they grab anything with a dick, and get all diseased up and shit. And on top of that, he’s got the balls to try to hit me in front of my own house.”
“You said a double strike?” Morgan prodded, trying to get Slash back on the subject.
Lost Art Assignment Page 11
