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.
Artie and the Big-Footed Woman
Artie tightened the grip on his athletic bag as the bus jounced over another manhole cover. How long had he been taking the bus home over the rough New York City streets after one of his heists—um, jobs? He was too tried to count.
Another large jolt, and the person standing next to him bumped him hard. Gripping both pole and his bag tighter, Artie glanced at the woman. Almost his height, just a shade over six feet, her Elizabeth Taylor violet eyes gazed back at him, and her mouth quirked into a sardonic grin. “Friendly place, no?” Sexy voice. Probably a couple of years younger than he, maybe early thirties.
Artie glanced away. He’d had too much trouble lately with sexy women. But he couldn’t help smiling. “Yeah. Very friendly.”
The bus was never this crowded when he used it to get home late at night. But he’d forgotten the concert with a famous band was playing near the jewelry store he’d just burglarized. “You go to the concert?” the sexy voice asked.
Artie glanced down so he wouldn’t have to look the woman in the eye again. Wow, rather big feet, and how can she stand in those five-inch heels? Especially on this bus? Must have really good balance. Not so tall, after all.
Before he could reply, the bus made a wide left turn, again knocking the woman into Artie. His athletic bag hit the pole, and the zipper popped. As Artie watched in horror, it rapidly unzipped itself. Before he could do anything in the swaying bus, both he and the woman were staring at what was inside. When the ride smoothed out, Artie took a chance. Letting go of the pole, he quickly stuffed the bag under his arm, then grabbed the pole again as the bus clanged over another manhole cover.
Slowly, Artie looked once again into those violet eyes. One eyebrow quirked. Her lips had that sardonic grin. She hooked her hand into the crook of the arm now clutching the athletic bag to his side. Horror overwhelmed him. She was a cop. He just knew she was a cop.
He should have replaced the bag a long time ago. He thought it was his lucky bag. By the look on the woman’s face, Artie guessed his luck had just run out. He wished he were sitting down so he could put his head in his hands. His head drooped, and again, he saw those big feet. He figured he was in big trouble.
He pushed his way to the door, the woman clinging to his arm, and at the next stop they climbed awkwardly down the stairs. Not his usual corner to get off, but he needed time to figure out what to do with his new best friend. Several people exited with them, so Artie had to be careful not to draw attention to the woman and himself.
He took a few steps away from the bus stop, then came to an abrupt halt.
“What’s your name?” The woman’s lips were too close to his ear for comfort.
“Jim. What’s yours?”
“You can call me Liz.”
Because of her eyes. He bet Liz wasn’t her real name. So they were even. Well, not quite. She knew more about him than he did about her. For example, she knew he was a jewel thief. He didn’t know if she was a cop or—or what? Obviously, she had something in mind. Artie started walking, but not in the direction of his and Josie’s apartment.
The silence grew uncomfortable. At least for him. Finally, he blurted out, “What do you want?”
“I’m thinking.” She patted his arm with her free hand, then tugged him into a doorway. It was one of those rare, perfect nights in New York City. About seventy degrees, a night to go home with the beautiful jewels in his athletic bag with a jaunty step. Instead, he felt as if a leech had attached itself to his arm, and he didn’t know how to get rid of it—her.
After they were positioned in the doorway so no one could figure out what they were doing, “Liz” said, “Let’s see what’s in that bag.”
“No.” Artie tried to pull away.
Liz was amazingly strong, and she held on tightly to his arm. “Yes. I’ll scream if you don’t show me, and then the jig will be up, right?”
So, she wasn’t a cop. There were a few people strolling by. Artie sighed. He grabbed the bag from underneath his arm. She let go as he opened it. “Too dark to see much,” Liz said. “Use your flashlight.”
“I don’t have—”
“Of course you do. You need one for work.”
What would she know about his profession? Artie pulled the Maglight from a pocket in his summer jacket. He pointed it at the interior of his bag and turned it on. Diamonds glittered. Pearls glowed. Emeralds radiated. Sapphires shone. And a couple of violet amethysts that matched Liz’s eyes gleamed at them, seeming to mock him. She grabbed them—a pair of earrings. Underneath, a matching pendant with one of the biggest violet amethysts Artie had ever seen. He sighed again when she reached for it and stood staring at all three pieces for a few moments. Artie tried to move away, but she had crowded him into the doorway so that he couldn’t get by without shoving her and causing a commotion. She stuffed the jewels into the front pocket of her slacks and smiled at him. A smile almost as radiant as the jewels in his bag.
She patted him on the rear. “You need to get a new bag.” Then she turned and walked away, soon lost in a small group of people going in the opposite direction from his apartment.
Artie took a huge breath of air, let it out. Turned off the Maglight, tucked the bag under his arm again and walked toward his apartment. Not too fast, not too slow. He felt like running to get there, but his feet dragged him along slowly. He didn’t want to tell Josie about another encounter with a beautiful woman. Josie would be ticked. She had a particular liking for violet amethysts. Not that she could keep them. But she’d be upset she hadn’t had a chance to see them. Maybe he shouldn’t mention that the big-footed, violet-eyed woman was beautiful.
*
Josie slept soundly as Artie climbed into bed, then moved over to hug him, her warm breath tickling his chest. He held her gently and she didn’t say anything, so he knew she was still asleep. Telling her about his latest job would wait until morning. He needed to go to sleep. But he couldn’t get comfortable, couldn’t relax. Around dawn, he fell into a fitful slumber.
Josie stood pouring him a mug of coffee when he entered the kitchen the next morning. She smiled and came over to give him a kiss.
He sat down and put his head in his hands.
“What’s wrong?” He heard Josie sit in her chair and the clink of the coffee carafe against her mug. “Did something go wrong last night? You’re here, so I guess the police didn’t catch you.”
He shivered. No, not the police. But maybe something worse. He forced himself to look at Josie. Beautiful Josie with the soulful brown eyes, full lips begging to be kissed, perfect nose, and glowing long brown hair. The love of his life.
“Everything went all right until I was on the bus.” He put sugar in his coffee and stirred. “It was crowded with concert-goers, and I had to stand. A woman bumped into me, the bus lurched, and the zipper came undone on my bag.”
Josie gasped. “She saw what was inside?”
Artie nodded.
“Oh, no. Then what happened?”
Artie told her. He left out the part about “Liz” being beautiful and having violet eyes.
“Why did she take just the amethysts?” Josie took a sip of coffee, watching Artie over the rim of her mug.
He swallowed hard. “They matched her eyes.”
Slowly, Josie lowered her mug. “She’s beautiful, isn’t she? And her real name isn’t Liz, is it?”
Artie ignored the first questi
on. “I think she might use Liz, though, because of the eye color.” She’d come up with the name too quickly, he remembered.
“But she doesn’t know your name, not even your first one, right?”
“No, I said Jim. Just picked it out of nowhere.”
“Okay, then.” Josie stood up. “Let’s see what you got. You’ll probably never see ‘Liz’ again.”
After they looked through all the swag, Artie left the apartment to buy a new athletic bag. He was going to check out zippers very carefully.
*
Artie had begun to relax and wasn’t obsessing as much about Liz when he entered the lobby two weeks later and saw her chatting with a neighbor. Artie stepped back, but not before Liz spotted him.
“Jim!” She walked toward him. The neighbor gave him a puzzled look, then shook her head and left the building.
“How—how did you find me?” Artie’s stomach clenched as she reached his side.
“I followed you the other night. Nice place you live in. You must be doing well in your chosen profession.” She curled her hand into the crook of his elbow and pulled him toward the door.
“What do you want?” His voice came out in a croak. He swallowed hard and helplessly let her lead him down the street to his and Josie’s favorite coffee shop.
Liz didn’t answer until they sat down and she ordered coffee and a Danish assortment from Artie’s usual waitress. As she jotted down the order, she gave Artie the evil eye, probably wondering what he was doing with this strange, beautiful woman instead of Josie. When the waitress was out of earshot, Liz said, “I want to do what you do.”
Artie gaped at her. After he closed his mouth, he found he couldn’t say anything.
Her violet eyes sparkled. “Since we met, I’ve been practicing picking some locks I bought. I’ve been studying gems and jewelry companies, learning to identify both.”
Artie put his head in his hands, no longer able to look at her. “I don’t work with anyone else. Ever.”
Liz pulled gently on his wrists. “Why not?”
“Because it doubles the risk.” He took his hands away from his face and looked directly at her. “The only two times I got caught I had accomplices.”
“Oh.”
“Yes. Oh. And remember this. If you’re with me when I get caught, you’re caught, too.”
“Wouldn’t happen. I bet you had some clumsy men with loud voices who lumbered around and got in your way.”
Artie laughed, but he wasn’t amused. “One. The other was small—smaller than you.” He almost said “with smaller feet.” “Never talked above a whisper. Tripped a motion detector. Caught.” He almost said “flat-footed.” He needed to stop obsessing about her eyes and her feet. He needed to get rid of her.
Liz took his hand. “I would follow you like a shadow. I am like a cat. You will hardly know I’m there.”
He cocked his head, then shook it at her. “No.”
“No? Just like that?”
“No, just like that. I can’t do it. I will give it up before I will take anyone with me ever again. It’s too risky, and I’d be so nervous something would go wrong. No doubt about it.”
Violet eyes stared at him. “You have ice running through your veins when you are on a job. You would not be nervous. You are lying to me. I don’t like that.”
Artie started to put his head in his hands, but made himself keep looking into those eyes. What did he have to do to get rid of her?
Then she dropped the bombshell. “If you don’t take me with you, teach me, I’ll go to the police with the amethysts. They will be very interested in my story, I’m sure.”
Head in hands, Artie muttered, “I don’t believe this. Why me?”
Then, without another word, he finished his coffee, ate a Danish, asked for a refill, avoiding the waitress’s eyes, drank more coffee while he decided what to do next. Liz didn’t interrupt his musing.
Finally, he said, “Pay the bill. We’re going to your place so you can show me what you can do with those locks.”
Liz looked startled, but meekly paid the bill, then led the way outside and whistled for a taxi. Maybe a woman who could whistle like that would do okay on a job. No, he mustn’t think that way.
She snuggled up to him in the taxi, rubbed his thigh. He tried to ignore her, sitting stiffly against the door. “You married?” she asked.
“Yes. Happily.”
“I see.” She removed her hand from his leg and sighed. “What’s your real name?”
He chanced a look at her. “What’s yours?”
She laughed. “Jane, plain Jane. But I go by Liz now. All the time. Yours?”
“Artie.” He might as well tell her. If she had to say something urgent to him on the job, he might not respond to “Jim.” He resigned himself to the fact he’d have her for his shadow for a while. What will Josie say?
Liz lived in a walkup in a part of the city Artie never visited and wasn’t familiar with. The stairwell smelled of onions, cabbage and grease. After climbing to the third floor, she used two separate keys to unlock her door. They stepped directly into the living room. The first thing he noticed was the scent of furniture polish and candles. Red velvet drapes hung at the tall windows, puddling on the floor, and the furniture was all gold-trimmed Queen Anne style. He guessed reproductions, but couldn’t be sure without looking more closely. A Persian rug graced the wooden floor. It looked as if a movie star could live in the apartment. A movie star like Elizabeth Taylor. Old and some newer movie magazines were piled high on two end tables.
The only odd note was the half dozen or so locks on the coffee table along with a locksmith’s tool kit and an open book, Practical Lock Picking. He wondered how helpful that would be. He’d learned by trial and error. He slipped out of his jacket and sat down in the chair opposite the couch. “Let’s see what you can do.”
Liz smiled and perched on the couch. She choose a tool from the kit and worked it into a lock. Picked up a second tool and within two minutes, the lock opened. Without looking up at him, she opened another lock, and went through them all, opening each one with her tools, until they all lay open on the table.
When she finished, she relaxed back onto the couch and grinned.
“Lock them all up again.” Artie reached for the tool kit. As she locked each one, Artie opened them. He was done in half the time she had taken.
Liz’s violet eyes widened with surprise.
“Can you do combination locks?” Artie set the last one down and looked up at her.
“I haven’t tried those yet.”
Artie stood up, put his jacket on. “Come see me when you’re ready. Not before. I would say in about six months. Maybe longer.”
“No.” Her bottom lip trembled, and she caught it in her teeth.
“Yes. I can’t take the chance, and neither can you. Don’t be a fool.”
He turned to leave, but not before he saw the tears gathering in those beautiful, violet eyes. He looked down at the big feet to distract himself, then left her there, hoping to never see her again.
Josie was not happy when he told her all about Liz after he arrived home. Well, not all about her. He didn’t tell Josie about the hand on his leg or about how often he’d looked into and thought about those eyes.
“What are you going to do?”
“See if I can get the amethysts back.”
Josie’s brown eyes widened. “Good idea,” she murmured. “But risky.”
“You can come with me.”
“What?” He didn’t know her eyes could get that wide.
“Not go in with me. Here’s the plan.”
That night they both slouched in the shadows underneath a torn awning of an old, abandoned apartment building across the street from Liz’s place. At midnight, they left without seeing her, Artie feeling morose. The longer it took to search her apartment, the more likely it would be that she’d stashed the jewels somewhere else, if she hadn’t already. He had to take the chance. He was sure s
he hadn’t sold them. She wanted them for herself.
The next night they waited again. Josie barely spoke, just leaned against him sometimes. He figured her feet hurt, but she never complained. Again, no Liz.
Third night a charm. When he saw Liz exit the building, he straightened up.
“That her?” Jose whispered.
“Yes. Remember, if she comes back before I come out, call my cell, then waylay her, try to get her facing away from her building, and keep her occupied. When she enters the building, call me again.”
“Got it.”
They watched Liz hail a taxi. Artie sprinted across the street and into the unlocked apartment building. At Liz’s door, he tried the handle. Locked, but he always tried first. A couple of times he’d walked right into a place. He picked the two locks with no problem and entered the apartment. No sign of any locks on the coffee table. He went directly to the bedroom. It, too, was furnished in Queen Anne style, and he took a moment to just look around, deciding where a woman like Liz would hide real jewels.
Night table was the most obvious, so he opened both drawers, searched inside and ran his hand along the underside of each one. Not there. Just lotions and a couple of well-read paperback books. An old John D. McDonald and Jackie Collins, he noticed. More movie magazines on top—he shuffled through them to be sure nothing was hidden.
Closet next. Good, expensive clothing, but nothing really new with shiny price tags, and not a whole lot. He figured she haunted the thrift shops and knew how to pick out the good stuff. He checked the walls for any possibility of hidden compartments and didn’t find any. Looked inside each and every size ten shoe. Looked in every pocket, purse, tote bag, and box. Nothing.
After backing out of the closet, Artie turned to the jewelry box on the bureau. He figured that would be the last place Liz would put the amethysts, but you just never knew with women.
He opened the lid, and there they were, all three pieces set carefully on top. He squinted at them. Something was wrong.
Fake. They were fake. Not really good fakes, which was why he knew. What the hell was she playing at? He closed the lid. Thoroughly searched the rest of the apartment and came up empty. As he reached for the apartment doorknob, his cell phone rang.
The Artie Crimes Page 8
