I went back downstairs to find Dad lifting up a different floorboard, a wad of cash, a burner phone and what looked to be a passport on the floor beside him.
“Going somewhere?”
“It’s just a precaution,” he said. “Why, want to come with me?”
Before I could decline, the phone hanging in the kitchen rang, startling me. These weirdos and their home phones.
Dad looked at the ID on the display before picking up. “Afternoon! Haven’t heard from you in a while.”
I crashed on the couch, resting my head on the arm. I closed my eyes, my body and brain itching for sleep.
Maybe I’ll have a nap. I wonder if Mr. McFlufferface is around. I bet he’d be up for a nap-cuddle.
“Calm down,” Dad said into the phone. “She’s not avoiding your calls, Audrey. She doesn’t have her phone because it’s on a yacht somewhere.”
My eyes flashed open.
Dad summed up what had happened with Rhys and the boat. I peered over the top of the sofa at Dad. He just rolled his eyes and shrugged as Audrey spoke. His face suddenly turned serious, and he looked at me.
“Your account and the charity account, both empty? …Well, yes, it could’ve been Rhys, but he was likely being threatened,” Dad said.
My eyebrows went up. Oh shit.
Dad put Audrey on speaker so I could join the conversation.
“I believe Ezra or Stan is associated with some people who are slightly angry with me at the moment,” she explained, speaking quickly. “Something went badly with a recent deal—hold on. An email just came in… Something about a cargo ship coming into New York in a few days. They want Molly to sneak on board and steal diamonds off the ship. Rhys and my money will be returned unharmed once the transaction is complete. The email is signed ‘EL’ at the bottom.”
I looked at Dad. “Ezra.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Two days later, I was back in New York. I bought a new phone, had a bed delivered and ran some other errands. That evening, Ezra arrived at my front door.
He smiled. “Can I come in?”
I want to kill you so damn much.
I opened the door wider. He crossed his arms over his chest as he strolled in, his eyes scanning my home. “I never understood why New Yorkers insist on living here just so they can live in million-dollar apartments the size of a hamster cage.”
“You told me to come back to New York,” I said, closing the door. “I’m here now. What do you want me to do?”
“Is your father in New York with you?”
“No. Just as you asked,” I said.
That wasn’t a lie. Dad really wanted to help finish this thing with Ezra, but they insisted I do this alone, and they wouldn’t say why. I just did as I was told. Maybe they hoped I would fail, or maybe they planned to kill me or use me as bait to draw Dad back to New York. I don’t know.
Dad was now back at Aunt Lily’s but told me to contact him if I changed my mind, and he’d be on a flight that day. I wanted to keep him out of harm’s way. I owed him at least that much.
Ezra’s slid his hand down his slicked-back hair, as if it could be any smoother. “Good.” He tilted his head slightly, his eyes wandering the contours of my face. “You’re probably wondering if this is really the last thing I’ll have you do for me before you’re off the hook. First the ring, then the treasure, now this.”
“It crossed my mind, yes.”
I want to stab you in the stomach with a pitchfork and twist it.
“This is the last one, I promise,” he said.
Sure it is, you sentient piece of garbage.
“There’s some people that my father has a long rivalry with,” he began. “It’s another family in a similar business. A few of them are coming in tomorrow night on a privately owned shipping vessel called the Oksana. It’ll dock at Red Hook Terminal at midnight. A couple of the guys on board will depart for the night, and you will go aboard. You’ll have to deal with a few guards once on the ship.”
“You’ll have to forgive me if I’m not jumping for joy at the thought of getting on another boat.”
Ezra snickered. “The diamonds will be somewhere on board.”
“You expect me to search an entire ship for some tiny diamonds? That could take days.”
“I guess you’ll have to be quick then, won’t you?”
I crossed my arms over my chest. “Where is Rhys now?”
“He’s here in New York. He’s fine.”
“Considering Rhys had a black eye and a bloody nose the last time I saw him, I’m not sure I believe you,” I said.
“As soon as I get my diamonds, he’ll be back in your loving embrace.”
He’d better be.
* * *
I met Ezra and The Muscle the next night at eleven thirty, thirty minutes before the vessel was due to arrive at the terminal. We went over the plan again, just to confirm the details. I couldn’t help but notice I was alone in the back seat.
“Where is Rhys right now?” I glared at Ezra. “I want him here so I don’t get shafted again like before.”
Muffled yelling came from behind me, followed by a soft nudge in my back.
I nodded and sighed, trying to keep my cool. “He’s tied up in the trunk, isn’t he?”
The Muscle nodded slowly.
“You guys are real gentlemen,” I said, smiling weakly, looking at the shipping vessels at the dock. No sign of ours yet, though. “What are the chances of me getting shot?”
Ezra and The Muscle looked at one another and shrugged.
“Shouldn’t be a problem,” Ezra said, way too casually. “Plus, you’re wearing a vest. It’ll be fine.”
Turns out bulletproof vests are kind of stiff and uncomfortable.
The more you know.
“And if I get shot in the head or in the limbs?” Neither of them responded. “Well, I suppose I’ve already been shot in the arm once recently, what’s another gunshot wound or two?”
A flurry of activity began at the dock as a red-and-white shipping vessel pulled in. OKSANA was written on the side in bold capital letters. We watched from our car, parked a safe distance away and in the shadows, as a bunch of the crew left for the night.
The Muscle handed me a tiny device. “Put this in your ear.”
I raised an eyebrow at him. “An earpiece? Are you for real?”
“Yes,” he said in his usual stoic, stony manner. “I am for real.”
“Just in case you get any dumb ideas,” Ezra added
I sighed and wedged the plastic and metal gadget into my ear. “So uncool. I hope you guys don’t mind if this gets wax on it.”
Ezra twisted his face in disgust. I grinned.
Assholes.
When Ezra and The Muscle were satisfied with the number of people off the ship and the level of calm on the vessel, I left the car. Crouching as I ran, I made my way across to the dock, about fifty yards from where the three-hundred-foot vessel was docked. I wrinkled my nose as I looked down into the murky waters of the East River.
I already regret this.
I took a deep breath, inhaling some of the river’s infamous funk, and stepped off the dock into the chilly waters.
The channel is cleaner than most people think. It’s fine. I’m totally not going to get a terrible disease from this.
I kept my lips shut tight as I swam toward the vessel. The smell was a bit seaweed-esque, but the thought of it getting into my mouth was way worse.
I hope that earpiece is waterproof, ya jerks.
My arms were still a bit sore from the treasure-hauling expedition with Dad and Ezra—and, oh yeah, getting shot—so swimming quickly to the vessel was more of a struggle than usual.
I reached the vessel and climbed up the side using embedded metal rungs. I went slowly and carefully. One slip, one noise, and I was dead meat.
Reaching the top deck, I peered over the edge of the ship. Only one guard was patrolling up there. I slid back down out of sight, hol
ding tight to the top rung. I slid a syringe out of my ankle kit bag and popped the cap off. With the syringe held between my teeth, I peered over the edge again and waited for the guard to stroll to the other end of the deck. I pushed my palm down on the top railing and flipped myself over it, my shoes making a soft, hollow thud on the ship’s rusted metallic floor.
I slid behind one of the many huge storage containers aboard the ship. I could hear footsteps approaching, and I slipped behind the next container over to avoid being seen. The guard was looking around when I came up behind him and stuck the syringe into the side of his neck.
“Sorry, buddy,” I whispered, catching him and gently lowering him to the floor.
After preparing a second syringe, I stepped lightly around the deck, looking up at these shipping containers. Even if the diamonds were in one of these containers, I wouldn’t be able to get in to have a look.
The second level was made up of shipping containers as well. Rows and rows of long red, blue and white metal boxes. At the front of the ship was an office. The light was on inside, but the guy on duty was having a snooze, his feet up on the desk. I peered through the window of the office. Papers were scattered around a prehistoric-looking computer. A small bookshelf lined the walls above the desk, bookended by a first aid kit and an antique whiskey bottle. The books on the shelf were mostly nautical manuals, a few worn-out mystery paperbacks and a three celebrity memoirs: Winston Churchill, Ernest Hemingway and Marilyn Monroe.
Marilyn Monroe? Really?
My eyes widened. Marilyn Monroe, of course!
The man in the office woke suddenly, his eyelids flashing open, and he stared up at me. He whipped around in his chair and flung the office door open as I slid between two cargo containers. He grabbed my wrist before I could get far and pulled me back out. I winced as the syringe slipped from my grasp, clinking as it hit the concrete floor.
“The hell do you think you’re doing?” he yelled, smashing my forehead hard against the glass of the office window.
“Who are you? Who sent you?” He spit as he spoke, his greasy whisper leaving spittle on my neck. “Don’t make me drag it out of you.”
I snapped down, bent my knees and brought my elbow back as hard as I could, nailing him in the nads, before punching with the back of my fist into his nose. He fell backward onto the floor, one hand between his legs, the other on his face. I grabbed the syringe from the floor, slipped the cap off and stuck him in the calf. His eyes fluttered closed.
I’m not so sorry about that one.
I slipped into the office, carefully took the Marilyn Monroe book from the shelf and put it on the desk to have a closer look. Just like I suspected—the book was hollowed out, a wooden box hidden inside. I lifted the box and opened the lid, smiling with satisfaction.
Diamonds are a girl’s best friend.
I slid the box back into its clever hiding spot and took the book with me back to the top deck, using the main ramp from the boat to the dock. No one was conscious to stop me.
“Do you have the diamonds?” Ezra’s voice said via the earpiece.
Waterproof earpiece? That’s pretty cool.
“Yes. Bring Rhys to me, as we agreed.”
I heard two car doors slam and then the lid of a trunk. Rhys, bound at the hands and blindfolded, stumbled as he walked between Ezra and The Muscle.
“You brought me a book,” Ezra said, eyeing the Marilyn biography.
“They’re in there, I promise.”
“Show me.”
I opened the book and then the box lid, the light from a nearby streetlamp glinting off the precious gems. Tiny but plentiful, that little mound of glittering diamonds had to be worth at least a couple hundred thousand, maybe more. Ezra nodded.
I handed Ezra the book and took Rhys’s hand, pulling him closer to me. I dug the earpiece out of my ear and handed it to The Muscle.
“So, I just want to confirm,” I said, “we’re done. You’re not coming back to fuck with us ever again, right?”
“That’s right,” Ezra said.
“Cool.” I smiled.
Suddenly, floodlights filled the area. Shipping containers from the ship and near to the dock opened up, and police officers and several SWAT members surrounded us, all of them pointing big guns in our direction.
Rhys gripped my hand. “Molly, what’s happening?”
“Raise your hands over your head,” I said, my eyes darting at the chaotic mass of uniforms and authority around us. “It’s going to be alright.”
He let go of me, and I put my hands in the air as police barked orders at us. Rhys and I were separated in the cacophony. Within seconds, my hands were ripped back down behind me and cuffs were slapped onto my wrists.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
I’d never been in a patrol car before. Well, since college anyway.
Officer Grace Evans—yes, Ruby’s girlfriend—slid into the driver’s seat of the patrol car, closed it behind her and let out a long sigh before looking over her shoulder at me.
“Are you alright?” She eyed my nose. It’d gotten a little bloody when my face was smashed into the office window.
“I’m fine.”
“Your friend is getting checked out by the medic, and then he’ll be released, just as you asked,” she continued. “I assume we won’t be able to depend on him to testify against Mr. Lamond and Mr. Baker?”
Who the hell is Mr. Baker? Oh. The Muscle. Right.
“I doubt it. He’ll probably disappear as soon as possible.”
Grace nodded. “I figured. Thankfully, we have plenty of evidence to put them away for a long time.”
Remember when I said I ran some errands the morning before? Seeing Grace and discussing some terms was one of the errands.
“We were even able to point investigators in the right direction over in Amsterdam,” she said, the corners of her mouth turning up just slightly. “Stan Lamond was arrested last night for the murder of Alistair Delacroix.”
“Wow,” I said, genuinely impressed. “You’re putting all the creeps behind bars. You’ll make detective in no time.”
Grace’s smile faded to a stern frown. “I meant what I said yesterday. If you step foot back into New York ever again, I will arrest you so fast, your head will spin.”
I nodded and then paused. “New York City or State?”
“Don’t push it.”
I sat back in my seat. “Yes, Officer.”
Grace started the car, and we drove a couple blocks away from the dock so the other cops wouldn’t see me leaving the scene of a crime. She opened the back door, and I slid out and turned around so she could take the cuffs off. I think she was a little reluctant to do that last part.
I shook her hand and nodded in polite acknowledgement of the crazy night we’d just had.
“I wish things were different so we could’ve been friends,” Grace said.
I think she was being honest. But friggin’ cops, ya know?
“Me too,” I said.
After a quiet walk back to my neighborhood, I spent a few minutes in my apartment, just sitting in the middle of the empty floor, looking around at my well-decorated, modern, perfect little home. And I felt nothing. All the jobs I’d worked to be able to afford this place in a nice neighborhood in my very favorite city in the world.
I felt … nothing.
I pulled a suitcase from a closet and packed my most precious items: some family photos, my laptop, a few pieces of clothing and some personal documents.
I dragged my suitcase out the front door and locked it behind me for the very last time, not bothering to look back.
Since it was such a clear, warm night and the city was quiet, I walked the forty-five minutes to Ruby’s place, rolling my suitcase behind me on the sidewalk. I wanted to savor my last night of freedom in Brooklyn. I wasn’t sure when I’d see it again, so I wanted to absorb it. Breathe it in. Really feel it for the last time.
I called Ruby’s number on my phone as I reached her
apartment.
She answered, sounding very sleepy. “Hello?”
I’d obviously woken her up. It was 3:30 a.m., of course I’d woken her up.
“Hey. It’s Molly. I’m outside. Can I come up?”
She woke up immediately. “Oh my god, yes! Of course!”
As I reached her apartment door, she whipped it open and flung her arms around me. “Hi!” she exclaimed, forgetting about her neighbors in nearby apartments who would certainly be sleeping. “I’m so sorry—”
“No, I’m sorry.” I lowered my voice. “Maybe we should—”
“Yes, right.” She moved aside so I could roll my suitcase in.
She got us both a glass of wine, and we sat on her sofa like we used to. She kept apologizing over and over.
“I was selfish. I should’ve still been able to handle your financials on the side—”
“No,” I said. “No. I made you feel bad about you wanting to improve yourself. I was such an asshole to you. Ruby, I am so sorry. I was the one being selfish. I’m basically the most selfish person alive.”
Ruby smiled weakly. “You’re definitely not. I’m an accountant. I’ve seen some shit.”
I told her about the last week or so: getting shot by The Muscle, travelling to Milan to steal a ring from supermodel Jazz Washington (“Like, the Jazz Washington? Oh my god!”), gathering pirate treasure and getting marooned on an island in the Florida Keys.
And then I told her about what had happened that night and why I had a suitcase in her front hallway.
Her eyes went wide. “You can’t come back to New York? Are you serious?”
I nodded slowly. “Yup.”
“Where will you go?” She waved her free hand, the other one gripping her wine glass tight. “Never mind. I already know the answer.”
“Yeah,” I said quietly. “You do.”
“By the way, I know you mentioned you were worried about money, now that you’re starting fresh with your career.” I stuck my hand in my pocket and fished out a set of keys. “My place in Park Slope is yours.”
Honor Among Thieves Page 13
