Saul spoke first. “Darrin’s in, and Gina’s out after promising to testify for the prosecution.”
“That okay with you?” Artie leaned forward and stared at Gina.
“It will have to be. I think he deserves it, don’t you?”
Artie leaned back and closed his eyes. “Yes. He deserves whatever they throw at him.”
“I’m off.” Saul pushed himself away from the doorjamb and turned to leave.
“Thanks, Saul. For everything.”
“I’ll send you the bill, Artie. I don’t think anyone else has the money to pay me.”
“Go easy on that.” Artie wanted to see him out, but his legs felt too weak. Josie stood with the kitten small enough to hold in one hand and walked to the door with Saul. They murmured goodbyes, and Josie came back. She put the kitten in Gina’s lap.
Gina looked up, startled, then smiled and cuddled the tiny ball of fluff.
“You okay?” Artie asked.
Gina nodded. “Thanks to you. I’ll be fine. I’ve been mad at Daddy for a long time. Ever since I found out what he was really up to.” She smiled. A smile Artie had never seen before.
Slowly, he said, “You knew about the insurance fraud?”
“Yes.” Her smile widened. “I heard him talking to one of his, what? Co-conspirators? He spelled out how everything would work. I don’t think I’ve ever been so furious in my whole life.” Her facial expression turned dreamy as she stroked the kitten. No tears now.
“So what did you do then, Gina?” Josie asked.
Gina’s face hardened. “I thought about how to pay him back.”
Artie’s eyes narrowed. “You set this whole thing up? You dropped the locket on purpose?”
Gina looked startled. “You always were quick, Uncle Artie. Too bad you couldn’t have thought something up years ago to make him stop.” She stood up so fast, the kitten tumbled to the floor and ran to a corner to hide.
Josie gasped and almost stood up to get it, then had second thoughts.
“Yeah.” Artie’s mind whirled. “So, what? You paid me back too by quote running into me unquote on the bus?”
Gina paced, wringing her hands, then spun around to face him. “How’d you enjoy sitting in that police station? I followed you for a few days, figured out how you operated. Today, or was it yesterday?” She glanced at the clock over the mantle. “Yesterday I packed my suitcase and followed you again. Ran ahead of you to be on the bus when you got on. And you know the rest.” She laughed. It had a hysterical ring.
Josie stood up and took her arm. “You need to leave. You’ve had your revenge. Now get out of our apartment. And never come back.”
Gina turned to Artie. “Is that what you want? Just know I have pictures of you leaving the last two places you robbed. If you try to turn me in, it will be turnabout-is-fair-play time. You’re still going to throw little Gina out on the street? With nothing but the clothes on her back?”
Artie shook his head. “Neither of us can rat out the other. And I’m sure you can go home now, Gina, where there are plenty of clothes for you to wear. And a warm bed, good food to eat. All the comforts of home. And you can think about your father in his cell, sleeping on a thin mattress, still loving you.”
“Oh!” Gina grabbed up her purse and flounced out the door. Josie closed it firmly behind her and turned the bolt.
Artie put his head in his hands. Josie came over to him and pulled them away. Holding onto his fists, she said, “You have some delightful friends. We must have them over again for tea.”
Artie couldn’t help smiling. “And you’d better see if the kitten is okay. Darrin should have listened to me all those years ago. I wonder what Gina will do now.”
“Nothing good, I’d guess.” Josie picked up the kitten and cuddled it to her breast.
Artie thought they should probably talk about what had just happened, but he didn’t know what to say. So he just sat admiring the picture his wife and the kitten made. All in all, he was a lucky guy this holiday season. They needed to buy a bow for the kitchen to complete the scene. Since the cops hadn’t found his stash, he figured he could manage the expense.
He would rethink his usual MO of taking the bus home from his heists. He guessed he should be okay as long as he stayed away from red-headed women. Yeah, that should do the trick.
Artie and the Green-Eyed Woman
Artie Applegate stepped into the dark alley and closed the jewelry store door behind him, his hands still gloved. As he turned to sneak away, he bumped into a soft something. For a moment he just stared at the woman in front of him. She stood at least an inch above his six feet. A swift up and down glance confirmed that her body could grace any James Bond film. But the most striking thing about her were her eyes. Green as emeralds. Cool as ice. Absolute gems.
Artie’s burglar heart thumped in his chest. She couldn’t be a cop, could she? He almost lost his grip on his athletic bag, full of recently acquired fine jewelry and expensive watches.
The impression of cop intensified as he watched her draw a gun from beneath her short, black leather jacket and calmly point it at his chest. Said chest seemed to shrivel, and a slight moan escaped Artie’s frozen lips. His grip on the bag loosened. It bounced nosily on the pavement.
“Do not worry,” she said in a throaty voice. “I will not shoot as long as you do as I say.”
“Uh huh,” Artie managed. He couldn’t take his eyes away from hers.
“Pick up your bag. See that door over there?” She pointed with her other hand to a blue door across the alley. “I need you to open it.”
“What?”
“You heard me. Let’s go.”
Artie picked up his bag in a daze and started walking toward the other door. He could sense her behind him. And the gun.
Artie didn’t like guns. He never carried one. They tended to go off at inconvenient times, as often killing or maiming the person who owned one as it did anyone else. Guns were trouble, with a capital T.
A trickle of sweat made its way down his back as they arrived at the blue door. Someone had obviously attempted to pick the lock—it was badly scratched. The green-eyed woman? He doubted it. She looked too confident to ever fail at anything she attempted.
“Get it open,” the woman demanded, “and be quick.” He glanced at her over his shoulder and saw the gun, steady in her hand, pointed at his back. He set his bag down and unzipped it. His hand automatically found the black case with his tools inside.
He studied the lock a moment, chose a tool, and worked it carefully inside. The lock was one of the newest on the market and considered by the trade to be the hardest of all to pick.
“Hurry,” the woman said. She sounded a bit short of breath.
“I’m going as fast as I can,” Artie said, wondering if he should be fast and get the hell out, or slow, trying to thwart her.
He decided on fast. He leaned near the lock, listening closely. His latex-gloved hand was steady as he slowly turned the door handle. He heard a click, removed the pick, and chose another one from his kit.
Glad the woman knew enough to be quiet, he tried the second pick and finally heard another click. It took a third pick to finish the job. He straightened up and turned the handle. The door opened silently. Artie held his breath as he looked inside.
“Out of the way,” the woman said. The gun pressed into his back.
But not before he got a good look. The place was as big as a ballroom and crammed with electronic goods. He saw no one in the room and stepped aside as the gun pressed even more firmly into him.
“You can go now,” the woman said. “And forget you ever saw me or anything else.”
“But…” Artie began.
“You don’t want to know.”
Ah, she was probably right. Artie moved away from the doorway and put his tools inside the kit, the kit inside his bag. He peeled off his gloves, threw them inside and took out a patterned shirt to slip over his black T. He zipped up his bag and turned t
o leave.
A sound like a hammer hitting a melon made him turn back. The green-eyed woman had a shocked look, and Artie saw a man behind her, gun raised with butt poised to hit the woman again.
But she turned so swiftly that Artie almost missed it. And shot the man in his left eye. A look of amazement came over his face, and then he crumpled to the ground.
Artie and the woman stared at each other a moment. Then she pointed the gun at him again, and he felt his guts clench. How he hated guns.
“I am afraid I need more help,” she said.
He nodded.
“Grab him and put him into the building.” She began rubbing her right shoulder, and he realized that was where the man had hit her. He’d probably aimed for her head, but she was too tall for him. Even rubbing, the gun in her right hand remained steady on him.
Artie set his bag down, and with great distaste, grabbed the man under the arms and pulled him into the room.
“Put him over there.” She gestured with her left arm towards a corner of the room.
Right, Artie thought. Even though the guy was pretty short, he was stocky and a dead weight. Artie grimaced at his own macabre pun.
Grunting softly, he managed to maneuver the guy over to the corner. Artie noticed he hadn’t bled much.
Now what? He realized the woman might kill him as easily as she had this other man. Might find it necessary, after what he’d seen.
She stood looking at him, the gun still unwavering in her hand, her emerald eyes calculating.
“What is your name?” she asked.
“Artie. What’s yours?”
She shook her head. “You do not want to know.
Maybe not. “Can I leave now?”
“I am thinking. Let’s see. You burglarized the jewelry shop across the way. If you report what you have seen here, that little fact will have to be mentioned to the police. You understand this, correct?”
“Correct.” He tried to smile, but it didn’t work.
“Stop grimacing at me and get out of here before I shoot you,” she said.
He almost laughed from relief, but instead walked quickly to the door. He found his bag where he’d dropped it, grabbed it, and loped out of the alley, slowing down when he reached the street. Don’t run, he told himself. Don’t run. Don’t draw attention to yourself. You know how to do this. He found the bus stop and waited, glancing at his watch. Should be here in five minutes or less. Come on. Come on. Usually he timed his work so that the bus came within minutes of his arrival at a stop.
The bus lumbered up, stopped, and Artie climbed on board. Two blocks from home, he got off and walked as fast as he could without breaking into a run. Once safely inside his apartment, he placed the bag next to his favorite chair, sat down, and put his head in his hands. It seemed the best place for his head to be.
A few minutes later, his wife came out and touched his shoulder.
“Bad night?” Josie asked.
“Uh huh,” he said without looking up.
“Want to talk about it?”
He heard her go to the opposite chair and sit down.
“You wouldn’t believe me.”
“Sure I would. Tell me.”
He told her about his evening.
When he finished, she said, “Well, it’s over. You can relax now. Hot shower, and to bed.”
He headed to the bathroom, reassuring himself that he would never see the green-eyed woman again.
*
Two days later he left the apartment house to scout out a jewelry store not far from the place he’d hit last. As he walked through the large plate-glass front door, the green-eyed woman stepped away from the fake gothic pillar holding up the overhang.
“Hello, Artie,” she said.
His gut twisted. “What do you want?” he asked, walking briskly down the street, away from where he had planned to reconnoiter.
“I require your help again. I will pay you this time.”
“You don’t have enough money, lady.”
“Oh, I am positive I do.”
She didn’t say any more, and Artie continued walking fast. But with her long legs, she kept up easily. Artie turned a corner abruptly. Her stride didn’t slacken.
He noticed that today she wore a green coat that matched her eyes. Brown leather bag, brown leather boots with two-inch heels. No hat, so her dark brown hair bounced as she walked.
She was smoother than he, he admitted to himself. “How much?”
“Fifty thousand.”
“What? You want me to kill someone?”
“No. I can do that myself.”
He stopped abruptly and grabbed her arm, pulling her into a doorway so they wouldn’t be trampled.
“Who are you?”
“You do not want to know, Artie.”
He sighed. Guess not, he thought. “Okay, tell me what I would have to do for fifty thou.”
“You have to agree to do it, first.”
“No way,” he said and started walking again.
“If I told you it was in your country’s interest, would that help?”
He glanced at her. She seemed perfectly serious. “Don’t try to con me,” he said.
“I would not. We seem to have run into a personnel problem. We need someone, and we know you are one of the best.”
Okay, he admitted to himself, he was flattered. And fifty large was a lot. No haggling with his fence, either. Just cold, hard cash.
“What’s so difficult to get into that one of yours can’t do it?”
“Our best is, unfortunately, dead. I killed him the other night.”
“Oh.”
“Right. I surmise that he botched the lock on purpose.”
“Oh.” Then maybe Artie himself would have died that night if the green-eyed woman hadn’t killed the other man.
He stopped in another doorway. He needed to think, but she was a huge distraction. Her perfume was obviously expensive. Her eyes—he could hardly draw his gaze away. Then he remembered her gun. This whole adventure could get him killed.
“No,” he said and left the doorway.
She grabbed his arm. “Artie, please. This is really important. It is a small foreign consulate, okay? It should not be difficult or take too long. As soon as the locks are open, you can leave.”
“Doors?”
She cleared her throat. “Only three.”
“Three.” He began to walk faster, trying to get away from her. But again, she kept pace. “Three!” he almost shouted. He entered a coffee shop and sat down at the nearest table. The green-eyed woman followed him inside, and they stared at each other until a waitress approached to take their orders.
After she left, Artie said, “No. You understand the word, right? I’m not gonna do it. Find some other sucker.”
“Artie, please.” She rested her hand on his. He wanted to snatch his away, but remained still. Two beautiful teardrops formed, one in each of her eyes. They balanced on her lower lids a moment before trailing down her high cheekbones and landing on their hands. “At least think about it. We have five days until we go in.”
He took his hand away from hers and put his napkin in his lap, rearranged the salt, pepper and napkin holder, and aligned his placemat precisely along the edge of the table. “Give me all the details, except the name of the country, and I’ll think about it.”
The waitress brought their coffees, and when she turned away, the green-eyed woman said, “Okay.”
Artie noticed there were no more tears. She stirred her coffee briskly and took a sip, nodded and set it down.
“First,” he said, “what’s your name?”
She hesitated. “Maureen. Maureen O’Grady.”
Yeah, sure, he thought, and I’m Robert Redford. But it would do. Not fair. She probably knew more about him than his wife did, but what did it really matter? At least he could stop thinking of her as “the green-eyed woman.”
“Here is what we need you to do,” Maureen began.
“Again the ‘we,’” Artie said. “How many is that, and will they all be with us?” He pictured them behind him as he worked on the locks, falling all over each other to get inside. A reverse Keystone Kops.
“No, no, it will be just you and me, and one other man. There is a back fence, and we will cut an opening in it. No one will be working at that hour, and you will have time to work the locks. When you are done, you will be paid and can then leave on foot. Not two blocks away is a bus stop.” She smiled for the first time. “We know that is your favorite mode of transportation.”
“True,” he said. “Now, why do you want to get into this particular consulate?”
She took a sip of coffee, her emerald eyes appraising him over the cup’s rim. She set it down with a small clink. “We believe this small country is harboring terrorists. We also believe they are financing terrorism, and we hope to get the proof of both things when we are inside.”
Artie nodded. “The room with the goods? What was that about?”
Maureen shrugged, then rubbed her shoulder absently. “Another case entirely.”
Warning bells rang, and Artie looked away. Two cases at once? He doubted it.
“That case is now finished,” Maureen hastened to add. “We are now working on this new one.”
“And have it ready to go so quickly.”
“Others have been working on it up until now. Now it needs you, me, and Maurice.”
“I see.” He watched the waitress fill coffee cups at a table across the room.
“Why the hurry? Why not wait for someone at your agency to be trained in what I do?”
“Time is of the essence. These people are very dangerous. We must stop them quickly.”
Artie turned that over in his mind as the waitress refilled their cups and asked if they needed anything else. They each shook their heads, and she left. Maureen watched him, and he could almost feel her holding her breath.
Artie finished his coffee, threw some bills on the table and stood up. “I’ll let you know tomorrow. Need to sleep on it.”
The Artie Crimes Page 6
