“I want to ask something with all of us here. Felicity knows a little about my past and present life. I hope to have our lives, er, dovetail from this point. Darling, can I please know something about you that’s real? Are you based in Europe? Are you independent or working for someone?”
Paul looked at Morgan. Morgan looked at Felicity. Felicity’s eyes widened, looking for help. Morgan nodded toward her. It was her call, he was saying, but be careful.
“All right Ross,” Felicity said, touching his hand. “Forget all you know. I’ll explain who we are and why we’re here, but not in these public surroundings, okay?”
“What, you think these people are paying any attention to us? Hannibal Lecter could describe his dinner prep here and no one would notice or care.”
Felicity sighed. “ For now, you can know that none of us is a professional criminal right now. I was born in Ireland, but I live in California now. We all do.”
“So how did you come to be investigating J.J.’s operation?” Davis asked. “You’re certainly not police, that’s clear. Private detectives then?”
“Ross, the only reason I ever met you, was that I was on a recovery mission,” Felicity answered, sipping her coffee. “Morgan and I own a security business. We protect people from thieves, violent criminals and terrorists.”
“Am I to understand that you risked your lives because the real Nicole stole something from one of your clients?”
Morgan leaned forward. “There are legal things a guy can do that are just as exciting as being a crook,” he said. “And just as profitable.”
Davis sat back, a thoughtful expression on his face. After a full minute silently chewing his pie, he looked up, at Morgan rather than at Felicity.
“So if I want to stay with Felicity, I’ll have to go straight, won’t I?” he said, mostly to himself. That was the first time he saw Morgan really smile.
Six hours after that conversation, Morgan was under water. Following a beating, a long run and an even longer car ride, there was something to be said for relaxing in an Olympic size swimming pool.
Despite the humidity, the temperature was just right for a man in a bathing suit. Twenty minutes earlier, he had been stretched out on a lawn chair, staring up at the vast skylight that covered the pool and the rest of the hotel’s central courtyard. He could hear planes taking off from Albany International Airport down the road, but couldn’t see them through the skylight’s frosted glass.
Only that morning, he had wondered if he would ever relax again. Now he was swimming lazy laps with long, smooth crawl stokes. Mentally, he catalogued each cut, bruise, and bite as the cool water pushed at it. None of them was serious, he decided. He believed J.J Slash loved his dog as much as he had said, so he had no fear of rabies. His sore, abused muscles were already regaining some of their flexibility.
Satisfied with his evaluation of his condition, Morgan pulled himself out of the swimming pool, stretched a towel out on the cement side area and began a series of slow stretching exercises. He had almost conquered the muscle soreness, but there was residual stiffness involved in the healing process, and bruises healed slowly on him.
Paul took a chair at the table nearest Morgan, setting down a tray with two tall glasses. Morgan stood to sip from one glass.
“Not bad,” Morgan said, putting the glass down. “Certainly not a New York beer.”
“Molson’s Golden Ale,” Paul told him. “Canadian.” Morgan sat beside his employee, who still wore a light blue suit, his tie up and straight. Paul stared out over the pool, as if he were at the seashore. Morgan tolerated the silence for a full two minutes.
“So what brings you out of the air-conditioned room?”
“Noise next door,” Paul answered. Felicity and Davis had sent their clothes out for cleaning, so Morgan guessed they were passing time as couples in brand new love most often do.
“Know what I don’t like about you Paul?” Morgan said between swallows of beer. “You never speak your mind unless somebody asks. Well, I’m asking now. What’s on your mind?”
“You’re not happy,” Paul said.
“Hey, Felicity’s in love.”
“Not that,” Paul said. “You’re not resting. You’re swimming. Stretching. Trying to get back to normal. Driving yourself. You’re not happy.”
“I don’t know, pal,” Morgan said, absently flexing and stretching his right hand, straining to regain flexibility. “Slash is history. His people don’t know our names or where we’re from. So even if they wanted to, they couldn’t find us in a million years. We’ve got the paintings and they’ll be in their rightful owner’s hands tomorrow night. This case had some touchy moments, but it’s over.”
“So?”
“So, it doesn’t feel like it’s over.”
-33-
The entire building shook as a U.S. Air 747 fired its jet engines, taxied down its concrete path, and lunged into the sky. From the carpeted observation deck, it just looked too big, too slow to actually get off the ground. Morgan watched the plane bank, circle, and climb past the sunrise before disappearing from sight on its way to Atlanta.
“I guess I should have asked sooner,” he said, more quietly than usual. “Are all four tickets for the same destination?”
“Yes,” Felicity said. After the jet left it was quieter than he could remember any airport being. He looked down at the lower level, watched people moving about in no particular hurry. After a moment, Felicity said, “He asked me to marry him last night.”
“Did you?”
It took Felicity a moment to get it. “No, smart ass, he didn’t ask me to go out and get married last night. He asked me last night if I would marry him.”
“And you said?” Morgan was looking over the railing, down at the gift shop where Davis was poking around. He was putting small purchases into a white plastic sack.
“I said I’d have to know him a good deal longer than this to make a decision like that,” Felicity said. “I’m not an idiot, you know. I know he’s a con artist.”
She looked tense. Morgan wondered if it bothered her that he wasn’t looking at her. “I don’t think I accused you of anything, Red,” he said. “I don’t run your personal life.”
“He says he loves me.”
“He sure does his best,” he said, finally facing her. “Did you get ANY sleep last night?” He smiled, watching her alabaster skin blush crimson.
“Sorry about the noise,” Felicity said under her breath. “I guess we’re very…compatible.”
That brought a genuine guffaw from Morgan. He walked around in a small circle laughing out loud, knowing it would only embarrass Felicity more. Still, it was the only way he could express his guarded approval. Not that he felt she needed it. Despite her being his best friend, his feelings certainly shouldn’t matter in something so private.
“Flight 116 for Chicago and Los Angeles now boarding at gate five,” a tinny garbled voice announced over the public address system.
“That’s us,” Felicity said. The two partners turned, the girl leading the way down the open stairway. Morgan followed, but more slowly. Ahead of him, he saw Felicity slow down also.
His teeth were on edge. He was getting his familiar danger signal. They were approaching some sort of trouble and he knew Felicity felt it too. His mysterious instincts, never wrong, were driving him back, away from the gift shop.
Paul, walking out toward his bosses, saw their tension and started looking around. Morgan felt under his left arm, cursing fate for leaving him without a gun or his fighting knife.
Felicity stood with outstretched fingers, figurative antennae probing the situation, trying to put a name and location on whatever menace was approaching. Her tingle was like a vicious itch, becoming more and more uncomfortable, telling her whatever she was reacting to was very close, straight ahead.
Davis looked up and smiled at her. She had a fix. Was Davis the danger? Was he about to draw a gun, or… no. Not him. Directly behind him. No one wa
s there. Perhaps a weakened wall or a bomb or…
“Ross!” she screamed, and four people moved at once. Davis stepped toward Felicity. Paul spun toward the gift shop, a gun appearing in his hand. Felicity jumped toward Davis. Morgan dived even faster, landing on her, forcing her into the carpet.
The world went silent for an instant, then roared and rocked with an explosive concussion. Shattered glass flew everywhere. The noise of the blast was supplemented and then replaced by screams of terror. Felicity had a momentary flash of deja vu, reliving the day she saw her parents die in the blast of an IRA bomb.
Morgan tasted plaster dust and Felicity’s hair. He shook his head as if that would clear the ringing in his ears. He lifted himself to arm’s length, looking around. He whispered, “Jesus” and got to his feet. Paul, his gun hidden again, helped Felicity up and held her arms tightly. Morgan, sensing the danger over, went forward into the space that used to be a little gift shop.
There was only one salesgirl. She was shaken, but otherwise fine. Morgan’s feet crunched on shattered glass and porcelain knickknacks, jewelry and cigarette lighters. The smell of quarts of perfume mixed together was almost overpowering.
Morgan backed past two incoming policemen and sidestepped to where Paul stood behind Felicity, still holding both her arms. Tears streamed down her face, but confusion was replacing her grief. She looked at Morgan, who took her hand and began guiding her toward the door.
“Your boy Ross is gone,” Morgan said. “We’ve got to get out of here now.”
The trio headed for the door, but Felicity tore away. In the confusion she slipped through the crowd to grab the bag Davis had been carrying. Morgan followed but didn’t try to stop her from sifting through the bag’s contests. Gum, candy, a lighter. She dropped them all with the bag, except for a single red silk rose Morgan had seen Davis pick up for her.
-34-
Morgan walked back into a hotel room as still as a funeral parlor during a wake. He tossed a box of Winchester nine millimeter hollow points to Paul. Paul sat in the chair by the window, still, emotionless, like an android awaiting new programming. Morgan considered how apt that analogy was.
Felicity sat on the bed, hugging herself. Barefoot, in the bright sun dress, her hair loose and flowing over her shoulders, she looked much as Morgan imagined she must have looked in her native Ireland in her teens. Her face reflected fear, frustration, sorrow, and mostly, anger. Morgan sat in the chair opposite Paul, across the small table by the window. He pulled the miniature Black Widow revolver out of his boot, swung its cylinder out, and slid five fresh twenty-two magnum caliber shells into it.
“Why such an extreme distraction?” Felicity asked herself. “Why not just walk in and snatch him?”
“They respect us,” Morgan said. “They’ve seen me in action. They’ve seen Paul’s courage close up. They figured if they put the arm on him, we’d fight and maybe they’d lose.”
“Wouldn’t have thought any of them was smart enough to figure that far,” Felicity said. “Could Slash still be…”
“No chance,” Morgan told her. “He’s dead. These guys just want revenge for that.”
“But they took him,” Felicity said, standing, starting to pace. “If they wanted him dead, they could’ve just used a bigger bomb. Why keep him alive? Why not kill us when they had the chance? How in hell did they find us, anyway?”
The ringing electrified them, as if an alternating current reached out and jangled their nerves directly. All eyes were on the telephone by the start of the second ring. The third ring still found everyone frozen.
“That may be your answer,” Morgan said, reaching for the telephone. Felicity stood close, her face blank but eyes tightly focused. Morgan could see she was straining to catch all the call’s meaning. All Morgan wanted was to capture the actual words.
“We got Davis.” It was Crazy Ray 9, sounding a little more frantic than usual.
“What do you want, slug?” Morgan asked.
“Your ass,” Ray said.
“You know where I am.”
“We want you and the bitch, but our way, smart ass.” Ray got louder as he went. “I owe you big time for what you did to J.J., nigger, and you gone pay up. You come back to Little Harlem. Just the two of you. Nobody else, hear? No guns. No tricks.”
“And if we do, what then?”
“We give you a chance to fight for your life. Ghost wants to make it an honor thing. You and him, one on one. The woman, well, we’ll have some fun with her, then we let her go. You got three hours to get here.”
“And if we don’t? Suppose we just ride off?”
“I can put thirty-four bullets in Davis inside five seconds,” Crazy Ray said.
“I want to talk to Ghost,” Morgan said, bringing a startled look to Felicity’s face. During a brief pause, a loud click drew Felicity’s attention. Paul had just slid a full magazine into his gun’s magazine well.
“This is Ghost.”
“That guy you studied with was Japanese?” Morgan asked.
“Korean,” Ghost said.
“Even better. I want your word of honor that we’ll have a fair chance to come out of this alive. If it’s you and me, it’s you and me. Period.”
“It is a matter of honor,” Ghost said. “You have my word.”
“Three hours,” Morgan said, then hung up. For a moment no one said anything. Then, as if suddenly plugged into a power source, Felicity picked up the telephone. When the desk clerk answered, she asked him for a large pad and two sharp pencils.
“Not much time,” Paul said. “If we’re to make the deadline we need to leave soon.”
“You’re not in this,” Felicity said. “They only want the two of us.”
“You could simply not go,” Paul said, standing.
Felicity stared at him, daggers flying from her eyes. She was about to reach out and slap him. Then her eyes widened in what Morgan interpreted as understanding. Or maybe acceptance.
“All right, I guess I’ll have to be saying it out loud, just to get it out of the way.” Calmer, she pulled out a weak smile and picked up her silk rose. She sniffed at it, then looked up. “Not go? That’s not an option,” she said. “At least not for me.”
When the paper and pencils arrived, Felicity tipped the bell boy and went to the window table. She turned a chair backwards and sat straddling its back, putting a pencil between her teeth before she realized how she must look. That raised a smile, and she started making a list.
“Morgan, this is my gig,” Felicity said, talking down into the lined yellow pad. “Send Paul for clothes for us. Jeans, tee shirts, sneakers, athletic sox. I need a good hair tie. Want a new knife?”
“They never took my boot knives,” Morgan answered.
“Good. And I need you to draw me a map to scale of the Harlem set. You saw a lot more of it than I did. Then we hustle to the library and spend about a half hour in anything they’ve got on those four places. If they’re really built to be exact replicas like Slash said, we might just see something that could be helping us.”
Two minutes later Paul was gone and Morgan sat drawing Slash’s hideout as well as he could from memory. When he completed his drawing he looked up.
“Red, do you really think we can take those three out? You got a plan?”
“That’s just it, Morgan,” Felicity said. “I know that’s what they’re thinking too, but we don’t need to take them out. All we need to do is find Ross and set him free in those woods. That’s our only advantage. They think we’re coming to fight. All we really need to do is get Ross and run.”
Morgan stared into her green eyes but said nothing. It wasn’t over, he knew, and there would have to be more death before it was. He only hoped he could determine whose. On a wild impulse, he reached into Felicity’s closet, pulled out the big garbage bag and unrolled one of the paintings. He looked closely at the boy pedaling serenely along some Greenwich Village street. It seemed so incredible that this boy, so involved with his
immediate task, could have started all this.
-35-
Felicity pulled her sports car to the right on the obscure dirt road. Paul popped the back door open but leaned over the front seat before getting out.
“You should take my gun, Mister Stark,” he said.
“No, Felicity’s right,” Morgan said. “They’d only take it from me as soon as I arrived. I think she’s got it pegged, Paul. They want some kind of confrontation. They won’t kill us right away. That’s why we’re not sneaking in. Then they might shoot on sight. We don’t know exactly how many of them there are. You’re most useful getting out here, approaching slowly and quietly after we’re already there, and maybe taking the well timed shot if I’m getting my ass kicked by Ghost. Got it?”
“Yes sir,” Paul said, slipping out of the car. In seconds he had disappeared among the trees. One mile from the model Harlem crossroads, he would reach the buildings in about twenty minutes. By then it would all be over but the grieving.
Felicity pressed the accelerator, moving her car toward the battle. They had drawn a perfect day, warm and sunny, with low humidity and an almost cloudless sky. Van Morrison crooned from the car’s sound system, “Have I Told You Lately That I Love You?” For some reason Felicity had prepared as if for a date, including just enough perfume that Morgan caught the scent while sitting beside her. Felicity’s scent was oddly calming to him. He rested his elbows on his knees, curling his hands into fists, opening them, and balling his fists again.
Paul had found them matching black denims and tee shirts and for Felicity, a wide black elastic band to hold her hair in place. She wore black Air Jordans, pumped up for perfect fit. Morgan still wore boots, his jeans hanging over them to conceal his weapons.
When they reached the paved road, Felicity took her foot off the gas, coasting slowly forward. Three men stood in the street facing them. Ghost, in the middle, stood most relaxed, his hands held in an easy ready position. Daddy Boom stood on the right, in front of The Apollo. On the left, the Cotton Club side, stood Crazy Ray 9. No guns were drawn, but Morgan knew it made no difference.
Lost Art Assignment Page 19
