The ringing phone woke him about an hour later.
“Artie, is that you?” his mother asked, her strident voice making his ear ache. Why wouldn’t it be him? Had she ever had some other man answer the phone when she called? Silly woman.
“Hi, Ma. How are you?”
“How am I? I’m in the hospital is how I am. You need to come over here and talk to the nurses. They won’t do a thing I say.”
Amazing, Artie thought. Most people did exactly what his mother told them to do. He wanted to see this for himself. But then he wondered how much this was going to cost.
“Which hospital, Ma? And what do the doctors say is wrong? You sound okay.”
“Presbyterian. Of course I sound okay. They gave me some pills. Oh, and an I.V. But you have to get over here. I need you to sign for the bills.”
Artie put his head in the hand not holding the phone. “Ma, what’s wrong with you?”
“Something with my heart, they think. I fell down in the street. For no reason, you understand.”
“You fell down and they think it’s your heart? What about your legs? What about your balance?” What about her mind? That’s what they should really examine. She probably fell down to get some attention. He shouldn’t be thinking these things about his own mother.
“I’ll get there as soon as possible, Ma. What room are you in?”
She told him and they hung up. Josie had just begun to stir. He explained what happened.
“I’ll go with you,” she said.
Artie appreciated it, although frequently his mother was really mean to Josie. He hoped she’d be so concentrated on her hospital stay that she’d pretty much ignore his wife, which was the best he could hope for as far as his mother was concerned.
They arrived to find a doctor talking to Mrs. Applegate.
“We’ll do a few more tests in the morning,” he said, then turned to look at the visitors.
“My son and his wife. Artie and Josie Applegate.”
Everyone shook hands.
“Your mother had a fall in the street, and when that happens to someone her age, we like to rule out several things.”
“Such as?” Artie asked.
“Such as strokes, heart attacks,” his mother said, “aneurysms, bleeding ulcers, gall stones, appendicitis, bum knees, weak ankles and some things I’ve probably forgotten. How about checking out the sidewalk where I fell? Perhaps there was a tree root sticking out, or someone dropped something.”
“The EMTs did look around, Mrs. Applegate, and they could find no cause for your falling down. I’ll see you tomorrow. Have a good evening.” He nodded at Artie and Josie and left the room.
Artie bent down to kiss his mother’s cheek, and then Josie did the same. Mrs. Applegate suffered this attention without comment.
“So, they haven’t found anything wrong?” Artie asked as he sat down in the nearest chair. Josie sat in another one.
“Not yet. You look terrible, Artie. Especially your eyes. As if you’ve been crying. Josie looks good, though. She must get plenty of rest.”
“I haven’t been crying, Ma. It’s work, that’s all.”
“How can being an insurance adjuster make you look so bad?”
“Some cases are very sad, Ma. People lose their homes, or their loved ones.” Or their fine jewelry and expensive watches.
“Yeah. Well, you shouldn’t let it get to you. Would you fix these pillows? They seem to get all bunched up behind me. And I can’t get the nurses to do a thing for me.”
Artie got up and fluffed the pillows. He tried to think how much all these tests might cost. His mother wasn’t old enough for Medicare and only worked part time, so she had no health insurance. So far, he’d paid all her medical bills. So far, they hadn’t amounted to much.
They talked for a bit, and when his mother dozed off, Artie and Josie crept out of the room. Artie stopped at the nurse’s station to be sure they had contact information for him, and they took a taxi home.
The next morning, Artie stepped out to get a few groceries. As he exited his apartment building, he saw a limo idling at the curb. The back door opened, and a gorgeous leg came into view followed by the curve of a hip, then the rest of the green-eyed woman rose out of the car.
She waved at him. She wore the same emerald coat, but it was warmer now, so she had opened it. He could see the bright red dress underneath which hugged every curve. His breath caught in his throat as he looked into her eyes.
She walked over to him and took his arm. “Hello. Here is someone I want you to meet.”
She led him to the limo and motioned him inside. He was astonished to see the new Director of Homeland Security sitting on the other side. Artie climbed in a bit clumsily and sat down. The Director looked the same as he did on TV. What was he doing in New York? Why wasn’t he back in Washington, D.C., keeping the homeland secure?
Maureen took a jump seat opposite, and their knees touched. Artie tried to ignore this but found it impossible.
The Director of Homeland Security held out his hand. The shake was firm. “I’ve heard good things about your talents,” he said. “Maureen said she was having some difficulty persuading you to help us out. Asked me to intervene. So, I’m asking you. As a good citizen, will you help us?”
Artie couldn’t detect any irony in the Director’s last sentence. Speechless, he nodded.
“Wonderful.” The Director slapped him on the back. “Of course, you know we never had this conversation.”
Artie nodded again. The next thing he knew, he was back on the sidewalk, and the limo was pulling out into traffic. Had he and Maureen said goodbye? She hadn’t even told him when this operation was to take place.
He guessed she’d be in touch.
Now, where had he been headed when so rudely interrupted? It took him a moment to remember. Groceries.
* * *
Three days later, he again found Maureen leaning against the apartment pillar. She took his arm, and they began to walk without saying a word. Today she wore a lemon-colored coat with huge silver buckles.
They walked four blocks west, then two blocks north. They entered a tall glass tower, and Maureen pushed the elevator button for the fifty-second floor.
When they arrived, she led him past an empty receptionist’s area, down a hall done in navy blue carpeting and gold flocked wallpaper to a corner office. There were no names anywhere.
She indicated a white barrel chair opposite an enormous walnut desk, and Artie sat down. Maureen sat behind the desk and stared at him for several moments.
He wondered if she was having second thoughts. He certainly was.
“We have decided the job is worth seventy-five thousand,” she announced. “Twenty-five for each lock.”
Artie tried to keep his face straight. Better than crooked, he joked to himself. He nodded. “Okay.”
“You will do it?”
“Yes,” he surprised himself by saying.
She opened the middle desk drawer and pulled out the blueprints of the place they planned to enter. He stood up to get a closer look, and her perfume assaulted him again.
He forced himself to pay attention to her explanation of how they planned to proceed.
“When?” he asked.
“Tomorrow night.”
He took a deep breath. “All right. I get half the money now.”
“Twenty-five now, the rest afterwards.”
“Half. And what does afterwards mean? I’m leaving the consulate before you do.”
“All right. Half.” She reached into another drawer and pulled out a paper sack. “You want to count it?”
He grinned at her. “You knew I’d want half.”
“Of course. As to the rest of the money, I will meet you the following day outside your apartment.”
“All right. But if you don’t make it out of the consulate?”
“Someone else will be in touch. Do not worry. This is your government at work.”
“And you do
n’t want me to worry?” Artie stood up, grabbed the paper bag and turned to leave. He would count the money later.
“See you,” he said and left the anonymous office. He walked home, still debating with himself.
Josie sat at the kitchen table, peeling, coring and slicing apples for a pie. The room smelled of cinnamon and felt warm and inviting.
She looked up at him, her brown eyes sparkling. “I found a new recipe. Sounds good.”
Artie put the sack on the table and sat opposite her. “Can you count to thirty-seven thousand, five hundred?”
“I believe so,” she said. “Especially if it’s in hundreds.”
“I don’t expect it to be in ones,” Artie said, grinning.
He poured the contents of the bag in front of them, and they each began to count.
When they finished, Artie said, “Right on the money. What do you want to buy first? I think a nice coat. You probably have enough jewelry.”
“Artie! A woman never has enough jewelry. But we could both use new coats. And boots. The rest we should put into a fund for your mother’s medical bills.”
“Practical Josie.” Artie leaned over to kiss her.
“When do you hit?”
“Tomorrow night.”
“I hope all goes as planned.”
“Me, too,” Artie said, but he wondered what was really planned.
The next evening Maureen again stood outside, but she was not leaning against the pillar. She wore the short leather jacket she had on the first night he saw her. This time he noticed the fancy buttons which looked like fairies, or maybe angels. She had on skin-tight jeans, leather boots, and a tight black hat under which she’d stuffed her hair. In this stark outfit, her green, green eyes stood out even more.
They began to walk, but after a few blocks, Maureen stopped. A white van pulled up, and they climbed inside. No other passengers littered the immaculately clean interior. Artie had never taken anything but a bus to a job before. Sitting next to the green-eyed woman, smelling her perfume, sure beat sitting on a smelly city bus.
The driver let them off several blocks away from the consulate. A few buildings down, another man stood in a doorway. He fell in beside Maureen, and she introduced them. He wore all black as well and had a pointy little face. He was underweight and only about five feet five. His black boots added a couple of inches, Artie observed.
They walked, without hurrying, the two more blocks to the consulate’s backyard. Maureen showed Artie where the fence had been cut, and they slipped inside. No alarms sounded, no dogs barked.
The first door was really a gate into a smaller yard. Artie got out his tool kit, picked a pick, and opened the gate in less than a minute.
Next came a locked screen door which was even easier than the gate. When he opened it, he glanced at Maureen. Anyone could have opened either of those locks, he thought. Even her.
None of them spoke as they looked at the third and final lock. It was the same brand as the one he’d picked for her the first night they met. He’d need three tools for this one, and he took the first one out.
As he worked with the pick, he began to realize that this lock was different. Sweat gathered under his hat and trickled down his back. His ear to the lock, he moved the pick right, then left, but heard no click. He tried again. His fingers tingled, but nothing happened. He glanced up and met Maureen’s emerald eyes. “Come on,” she mouthed. He nodded. Tried once again. And heard the click. He took a deep breath and exchanged picks. Again, he had problems. It took four tries to finally get that one to work. Disgusted, he tore off his right glove and changed picks again. He worked for tension-filled minutes until he was almost positive he had it. He turned the door handle gently, and the door opened without a sound. Carefully, he wiped off his fingerprints.
Maurice stepped inside a short hallway, and Maureen pointed back to the gate. Artie turned to leave when he heard the gunshot. Followed by several others in quick succession. Artie ducked outside, and slammed his back against the wall. After what seemed a long, long silence, he peeked back inside.
Maureen lay on her back, halfway inside. He saw blood from a gut shot, and he gagged for a moment, but then leaned down toward her face.
“Sorry,” she said. Her beautiful eyes began to cloud over.
Artie grabbed her jacket. “Don’t,” he began. “Wait.”
She shook her head slightly, gave a huge sigh and quit breathing. “No!” Artie shouted. Then he let go of her jacket, but one of the buttons, sticky with blood, caught in his hand. He looked up to see Maurice lying at an impossible angle, but Artie checked for a pulse. Nothing. Two men lay halfway into a room. They were bleeding heavily, and Artie decided it was better if he didn’t stick around.
Picking up his bag without even thinking about it, he left the way he came. When he reached the street he put the button in his pocket and removed his left glove. A taxi cruised by, and Artie hailed it. The hell with a bus.
When he got home, Josie took one look at him and began pouring drinks.
“What happened?” she asked.
He told her, then asked, “Did you spend any of that money yet?”
“No. Why?”
“I need to check it out. Something about the whole thing was wrong. Now I’m not even sure the building we hit was a consulate.”
“But you saw the Director of Homeland Security!” Josie said.
“Maybe. Maybe not.”
“Oh, Artie,” said Josie.
“I know,” he said, and put his head in his hands.
The next day Artie took a few of the bills to a guy uptown. His name was Manny, and he knew his money. It took him two minutes to let Artie know the bills were fake.
Artie left Manny’s place and headed to the building where he and Maureen had met just three days ago. He took the elevator to the fifty-second floor. The offices looked the same, except for the big “For Rent” sign on the receptionist’s empty desk. The place felt as empty as Artie’s gut.
At home, he found Josie drinking a cup of coffee and reading the paper at the kitchen table. On page one was a short article about an attempted break-in at a famous actor’s New York City home. A man and a woman had gotten only as far as the back door when two bodyguards confronted them. There was a shootout, and all four were dead. The address matched the place Artie had opened for them.
“You’re lucky you were not killed, Artie.” Josie’s beautiful brown eyes filled with tears.
Artie nodded.
“So the Director of Homeland Security was a fake.”
“Right,” Artie said. “Maybe an actor they hired. They could have told him they were playing a practical joke on me. Or maybe they were all actors.”
“What about the money?” Her tone of voice sounded hopeful.
“Also fake.” He hated seeing the disappointment on her face.
“What are we going to do about your mother’s medical bills now?”
“I’ll have to get to work, won’t I?”
Josie’s brown eyes clouded. “I suppose so.” She folded the newspaper and began to clear the table.
Artie stood up and stuffed his hands into his pockets, suddenly feeling chilled. His fingers touched the button from the green-eyed woman’s coat. He clenched it so hard, it hurt his hand, but he didn’t let go.
Well, he’d learned his lesson. He worked alone. Never again would he agree to work with anyone else.
When Josie turned to wash the dishes, he took the button out of his pocket and looked at it carefully for the first time. It was a golden leprechaun, he decided. It sported a little green vest and hat. Emerald green. He would keep it as a reminder. It hadn’t helped the green-eyed woman, and he didn’t expect it to help him, either.
He walked into the living room, sat down in his favorite chair and put his head in his hands where it stayed for a long, long time.
THE END
he Artie Crimes Book 3)
Artie and the Green-Eyed Woman (The Artie Crimes Book 3) Page 2
