by Gina Cresse
“I know you too well, Dev. Sure, I’ll give you fifty bucks-but not for a safe. I’ll take that computer, though.”
“Are you kidding? You’d rather spend fifty on what’s probably some old dog of a computer—if there’s a computer in there at all? Think about it. There must be something pretty valuable in there if it’s important enough to lock up in a safe.”
“You want the computer, don’t you?”
“Yeah. I could keep my records on it instead of in that ratty old binder I have to deal with. Besides, you’ve already got a nice desktop PC.”
“Okay. I’ll take that safe there in the front, the one with the eagle picture on the door. Here’s the money,” Jason said as he handed me two twenties and a ten.
“Thanks, Jason. I take back what I said about you being a jerk.”
“Anytime, Dev. You know I’d do anything for you, like the fool that I am.”
“Did you get your washer and dryer?”
“Yeah, but you wouldn’t believe what I had to give for it. Some crazy lady kept bidding against me. She just wouldn’t let it go—sort of like a female pit bull. I wanted to muzzle her.”
Visions of Beth and Jason duking it out over a washer and dryer amused me for a brief moment.
“I’ll help you load your stuff in your van if you’ll help me with this stuff.”
“Sure thing, Dev, but they won’t be done for a while. Want to go have a hot chocolate or something while we wait?”
“Sure. Just let me go pay up and I’ll meet you in the coffee shop. Oh, can I keep this stuff in your warehouse? No room on the boat.”
“Yeah, but I’m going to have to charge you storage.”
“Storage? How much?” I asked.
“I’m just kidding, Dev. Jeez. Can’t you take a joke?”
I could take a joke, but I’d had a stressful morning and my nerves were on edge. Chocolate was just what I needed.
The safes were heavier than I expected. The two of us struggled to get them in the back of my Jeep. “I’ll have to get a locksmith to open these for me,” I said.
“I have a friend who can open them. He’s one of San Diego’s finest, but in his spare time, he likes to fool around with locks and stuff. He’s out of town today, but first thing in the morning I’ll give him a call.”
“Great. I think I’ll take those brief cases home with me. I bet I can pick the locks. If I can’t, I’ll bring them over and see if your friend can open them, too.”
“Sure thing. Let’s get this stuff over to the shop. I’ve got to open up for business before I lose all my customers.”
We unloaded everything in the warehouse behind Jason’s shop—where he stored all kinds of parts and machines that he was working on. I had a small corner marked off with tape on the floor. That was where I kept most of the larger items—the ones I hadn’t sold yet. Also, I’d stored just a few things I couldn’t part with when I sold my house. A cedar chest my grandma had given me when I was a little girl was stored there. It had become affectionately known as my “hopeless” chest. We placed the locked file cabinet next to it. My safe sat next to the chest, and if I brought any more in there, I’d have to move the tape to give myself more real estate.
I unzipped the case around the laptop. Pay dirt. It was a Gateway Pentium laptop. Those things sold for around five thousand bucks. I tried to power it up, but the battery was dead. No surprise. No telling how long it had been sitting in that storage unit. I rummaged through the case, but there was no electrical cord. I put it in the front seat of the Jeep with the brief cases.
“Thanks for all your help, Jason,” I said. “I’m going to get this stuff home. I’ve got to work for Carla at the Grille tonight. She’s got some party or something she has to go to, so I said I’d cover for her today.”
“Okay. I’ll give you a call in the morning after I talk to Mark. I can hardly wait to see what’s in those safes.”
“I know. Isn’t it exciting? I just love this business.”
It really was an exciting way to earn a living. Any day, I could end up with a chest filled with jewels or a collection of Norman Rockwell Originals.
I carried the computer and printer down the dock on my first trip. Mr. Cartwright was polishing some brass. “Afternoon, Miss Lace. Successful day, I hope?” he asked.
“A great day.”
I unlocked the hatch door and stepped down into my little galley. I set the cases on the table and glanced over at Marty’s bowl. “Darn,” I said under by breath. There he was, belly up. “That’s it. I give up.”
I gave him a brief burial at sea and washed out the fish bowl. No more pets—I just couldn’t take it.
I brought the brief cases to the boat and got ready for work. I’d be late if I didn’t get going soon. I’d have to try to open the cases after I got home. I locked the boat up and jogged down the dock to the Grille. All I could think about was what could be in those cases.
Chapter Four
It was just past midnight when I finally finished up at the Grille and I was beat. The place was much busier than usual. I spent the whole shift racing from table to table, then back to the bar. The clientele were more demanding than usual—I bit my tongue on several occasions to keep from giving some rude drunk a piece of my mind. I’d learned that the ill-mannered ones tended to be the best tippers—I guess it eased their consciences. I really wasn’t cut out for that kind of work, but I could put up with almost any idiot if I knew I had to in order to pay my slip rent that month. I staggered down the dock to my boat. I had been up since five that morning.
I removed a collection of small tools from my purse. Gary, the bartender from the Grille, gave them to me earlier, along with some brief instructions on the fine art of lock-picking. I’d practiced on an olive and a maraschino cherry. Somehow, I didn’t think it was quite the same as a real lock. I sat down with the first case—a very nice brown leather job with the initials RAK embossed on the side. I played with the lock for ten minutes, with no luck.
Growing tired and impatient, I set the case down and went below to get into my toolbox and returned with the Wonder Bar. I strategically placed it under the latch and gave it a good yank. Bingo. The container was unlocked—and now completely useless as a brief case.
I lifted the lid. My mouth fell open, and I began to hyperventilate. I expected to find business papers, brochures, and if I was lucky, a cell phone or a really nice calculator. What I didn’t expect to find was cash—lots of cash. Row after row of bundled hundred-dollar bills. My knees went weak and I collapsed in the chair.
“My God. How much money is that?” I couldn’t bring myself to touch it. I just stared in amazement. Why would someone put that much money in a self-storage unit? And why, for God’s sake, would they let it be auctioned off for lack of payment? Slowly, I reached for the case and picked up one of the bundles. I started counting. I had to start over four times and finally concluded that the bundle contained five hundred bills, each of them being of the one-hundred-dollar denomination. That one bundle amounted to fifty thousand dollars. I looked back at the case. There were nine more bundles identical to that one. My heart raced and I felt faint. That was a half-million dollars sitting there on my kitchen table. I pinched myself and started looking around for Tom Selleck—it had to be a dream.
“Okay. Calm down, Devonie,” I told myself. I got my breathing under control and replaced the bundle of bills. I checked the pockets in the lid of the case. There was something tucked in the pouch—a year-old airline ticket to Geneva. The storage unit account had to be delinquent for at least a year before they would auction it off—according to the manager of the complex. Whoever the money belonged to must have come to some horrible demise at about the time that ticket was purchased. No one still breathing would let a half-million dollars go. Maybe the person was in prison and couldn’t get to the money before he was locked up. No. He would have arranged for someone to get the money before he’d lose it. He must have been dead—that was the only lo
gical explanation.
I checked the pockets for more information. I found a passport for a Robert Allen Kephart. He appeared in the photo to be in his mid-forties. His sandy blonde hair and mustache complimented a pair of deep hazel-blue eyes. He had that younger Robert Redford look—the rugged outdoorsy type. I removed the only other thing I could find in the case—a small notepad. I tried to decipher a name scribbled on the first page, but the writing proved to be illegible. It looked like Carl Hobbs or Hebbs, but I couldn’t be sure. Below that, in clear print, the words PAID IN FULL were underlined in bold ink. A hundred scenarios passed through my mind as to where that money had come from, and none of them even slightly resembled anything legal. I doubted it was anyone’s bingo winnings, or the proceeds from the sale of a car. I glanced suspiciously at the other two brief cases—afraid to think what might be in them.
I didn’t even bother trying to pick the lock on the next case. I just applied the Wonder Bar and opened it. Any slight hope I might have had that the money was not part of some illegal activity was shattered when I lifted the lid. The case was specifically designed to hold a gun, a very large gun, with several attachments. I was not familiar with firearms or their related paraphernalia, but from what I’d seen in the movies, I was looking at a pretty high tech scope and a silencer. Also in the case, I found ammunition and a pair of gloves.
What have I gotten myself into? I thought. I had a feeling life as I knew it would not be the same after that day.
The third case was not locked. It contained a toothbrush, toothpaste, dental floss, a shaving kit, a new light blue polo shirt, and a clean pair of boxers. I found a small address book tucked into the side pocket. The book, like new, contained only one entry—Kerstin Weibel. Her address was in Geneva. Next to her name was a number, written in a strange format. It must have been a European phone number. Inside the front cover were two sets of numbers penciled in: 10-42-58 and 11-29-47. I stared at the page for a minute and processed the information, then reached for my phone and dialed.
“Jason?”
“Devonie? Is that you? Why are you calling me at… What time is it anyway?” I heard him fumble with something, then he came back on the line. “It’s two in the morning. What’s going on?”
“Jason. Don’t call your friend to open those safes. I think I found the combinations,” I said, my voice quivering.
“You called and woke me up to tell me that? What’s going on, Dev?”
“I can’t tell you now. Just don’t tell anyone about those safes—or anything else I picked up at the auction today. Do you hear me, Jason? Are you awake enough to understand what I’m telling you?”
“Yeah, Dev. I hear you. What’d you find in those cases, anyway? Secret spy stuff or something?”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“That’s it, Dev. I’m coming over. You’re in some sort of trouble,” Jason said, in the most gallant voice he could muster at that hour.
“No, Jason. Don’t worry about me. I’m fine.”
“How do you know you’re fine, Dev?”
“Because if anyone else knew about what was in that storage unit, they’d have outbid me for sure.”
After hanging up, I tore out the two relevant pages from the address book and slipped them into my purse, then replaced the address book and closed the case. I put all three cases in my closet and shut the door. For the first time since I bought the boat, it occurred to me that I didn’t have a very secure place to lock anything up. I slipped out of my clothes and into an oversized T-shirt then climbed into my bunk. I lay there for what seemed like hours, but when I looked at the clock, only ten minutes had passed. I heard footsteps on the dock and voices just outside my boat. My heart began racing. I held my breath. The voices stopped—then I heard laughter. Just a couple of fishermen out for an early start. Relieved, I slowly let out my breath and closed my eyes. I needed to relax and get some sleep so I could think straight. At some point, exhaustion finally took over and I fell asleep.
As daylight peeked through my easterly porthole, I reluctantly woke from another dream. This time, the sweet aroma of Tom’s café mocha and the mouthwatering taste of his ham, cheese and avocado omelet mingled with the usual smells of morning sea air. That Tom, he’s such a sweetheart.
Chapter Five
I secured the two cases closed with some duct tape I managed to scrounge from my tool kit. I had come to believe you could fix almost anything if you had enough duct tape, electrical ties, bungee cords, and Super Glue. My number-one priority would be to get that money to a secure place. I rented a large safe-deposit box at my bank and tucked it away for safe keeping. I wanted to know more about the gun before I made any plans for it.
My friend Joe ran a pawn shop in town. He had sort of taken me under his wing and made it a point to watch out for me. When I first came to San Diego, I had been cheated by some pretty unscrupulous dealers. They convinced me the items I had to sell were basically worthless and offered to take them off my hands for next to nothing—just to save me a trip to the dump. Then one day I met a man in the Grille who was wearing one of the unique watches I had practically given away to a pawn broker. He was only too happy to brag about the newly purchased item on his wrist—bought for a mere six hundred dollars. He swore it was worth twice that much, but he was such a great wheeler-dealer, he talked the shop owner down to his price.
Jason had introduced me to Joe. He cringed at some of my horror stories. The actions of his low-life peers appalled him. Joe was always honest with me. Sometimes he’d let me sell things on consignment. He had gotten me some very good prices for many of the items I’d picked up. He knew a lot of people—people who dealt in all sorts of things. I knew if he couldn’t tell me anything about the gun, he would know someone who could.
“Hey, Joe. How’s business?” I asked as I stepped into his shop.
“Devonie. Good to see you,” he said as he gave me a big bear hug and a kiss on the cheek. “Business is good. In fact, I just sold that ruby and diamond ring you brought in here last month. I have a check for you in my office.”
“Great. How’s Sarah doing?” I asked.
“She’s fine. She’s on some new health-craze kick now. Gonna sell vitamins and minerals or something. All I know is, it’s gonna cost me a fortune to get her started. I’m gonna have to expand my business just to support hers.”
“Vitamins and minerals? Why don’t you have her send me a brochure. I’ll be her first customer.”
“Sure thing, Dev. What’s in the case?” Joe asked, pointing to my very nice brief case, strapped with six feet of duct tape.
“It’s something I picked up at that self-storage auction yesterday. It kind of threw me for a loop. Do you know anything about guns?”
“Guns? I know a little. I know I can’t sell them. I don’t have a license.”
“I’m not interested in selling it, at least not yet. I just want to find out more about this particular one,” I said as I peeled off the duct tape.
A customer came in the door to look around. I quickly taped the case closed again. “Can I show this to you in your office?” I asked, uneasy about letting any strangers know what I had.
“Sure. I’ll get Margo to watch the counter. Go on back. I’ll be right there.”
I held the case under my arm and made my way back to Joe’s office. I sat the case on his desk and peeled the tape off again. After a few minutes, Joe came through the door.
“Let’s take a look at what you’ve got here,” he said as I lifted the lid. Joe’s eyes widened and he took a full step back. “Oh my. You weren’t kidding. That’s some gun.”
“Can you tell me anything about it?”
Joe picked up the weapon and checked to be sure it wasn’t loaded. “You know, this looks like a serious set up here—I mean with the scope and the silencer and all. I have a friend who knows everything there is to know about this sort of thing. I could call and ask him to come take a look. Would that be okay?”
“Do you know him very well? I’d like to keep this as quiet as I can. I’m a little nervous about having it.”
“You can trust Tony. He and I go way back. We were in the war together—he saved my skin more than once.”
“Okay. Let’s give him a call. I’m really curious about this thing.”
Tony Marino—a tall, slender man with salt and pepper hair and a meticulously groomed mustache—arrived shortly after Joe called him. He wore a very expensive Italian suit and the sharpest shoes I’d ever seen, at least on a man. I admired his taste in clothes.
“How ya doing, Tony?” Joe said as he held out a hand to his friend.
“What’s this handshake business?” Tony asked as he wrapped his arms around Joe and hugged him. “I’m just dandy—you old codger. When are you and Sarah going to invite me over for dinner? It’s been too long since we’ve gotten together and told all those exaggerated war stories.” Tony grinned at me. “Every time we tell them, they get more exciting and death-defying.”
“How about Saturday night? I’m sure Sarah has something she’ll want to show you,” Joe said, giving me a wink. “Tony. I’d like you to meet a friend of mine. This is Miss Devonie Lace.”
“Tony held out his hand. “Very pleased to meet you, Miss Lace.”
“Same here,” I said.
“Joe. You never told me you had such beautiful young women friends. Will Devonie be joining us for dinner on Saturday?”
“Now, you just watch your step, Tony. Devonie is young enough to be your granddaughter,” Joe warned his friend.
Even though Joe was right, it was still nice to get such a compliment. I smiled and graciously accepted his charming comment.
“Actually, Tony, we have some serious business here. We need your expert opinion on something. Take a look at this,” Joe said as he opened the case.
Tony’s demeanor changed in an instant as he inspected the gun. “This is a nine millimeter Spectre, very lethal weapon. Is this yours, Devonie?” he asked.
