Curse of the Jade Lily: A McKenzie Novel

by David Housewright

  “Cid,” I repeated.

  The bartender returned with our drinks. “Twenty-two fifty,” he said.

  Chopper was shocked. “Wha?” he said.

  “I got it,” I said and handed the bartender the fifty that I had offered Heavenly Petryk earlier. “Keep the change.”

  Chopper looked at me as if I were insane. Cid smiled some more.

  “McKenzie,” he said, “you didn’t come here to throw around your money. What can I do for you?”

  “I have it on excellent authority that if anyone between Chicago and the West Coast knows what happened to the Jade Lily, it would be you.”

  “I appreciate the flattery, but why bring Chicago into it?”

  I spread my arms wide, the palms of my hands facing upward, as if I couldn’t think of a single reason.

  “I know that the assistant director of security walked it out of the art museum Sunday night and handed it off to his associates,” Cid said. “I know that the next day he turned up dead, call it an occupational hazard. I know the artnappers contacted the museum Monday morning and offered to sell the item back for one-point-three million. I know that you were enlisted to act as go-between. Beyond that…”

  This time he spread his arms and hands apart.

  “Have you ever met the assistant director of security?”

  “We don’t exactly travel in the same circles.”

  “Do you have any idea who his associates might be?”

  “Why would I?”

  “I think it’s obvious that they stole the Lily with the intention of selling it back to the museum. However, with two shootings and the heat on, they might now be interested in a fence. Who else would they go to?”

  Cid did indeed appreciate the flattery. He smiled and leaned against the wooden wall of the booth.

  “There is no one else,” he said, “and I prefer the term facilitator. Unfortunately no, McKenzie. I haven’t heard anything.”

  “Would you tell me if you had?”

  “Yes, I think I would. I don’t appreciate it when out-of-towners piss in my soup without asking permission first. It’s a sign of disrespect.”

  “You’re sure they’re from out of town?”

  “I inquired among the usual suspects when I first learned of the heist—like I said, I was upset that the job was initiated without my consent.”

  Good Lord, this guy is full of himself, my inner voice said. Who does he think he is, Kid Cann?

  “I am now convinced that no local talent was involved,” Cid added. “It’s an out-of-town crew, all right. Maybe they recruited Tarpley, maybe he hired them, that I can’t say.”

  “It does raise a question—why ask for me?”

  “To act as go-between? I don’t know. After I spoke to Chopper, I had you checked out as well. You seem capable, but you’re inexperienced. You don’t have a history of this type of work.”

  You’re telling me, my inner voice said.

  “Based on your expertise, what do you think of this crew?” I asked aloud.

  “It’s hard to say after the fiasco in Loring Park last night.”

  “You know about that?”

  “Of course. Now understand, the park was a good move. It demonstrated care and forethought. It was a test run, you see. That’s why they chose such a public place. They wanted to know if you could be trusted to come alone. Probably they hunkered down hours before, watched the exits and watched the traffic, saw how you handled the money, if you were nervous, if you were stand-up. When Noehring appeared, they should have just walked away. I don’t know why they didn’t. Shooting him was careless. In matters such as this, you invite as little police intervention as possible. Now—a cop killing? Everybody with a badge is looking for these guys. It’s bad for them. Bad for me. Bad for business. Bad all around. The police are leaning on anyone they can find.”

  Cid looked at Chopper. “Have they rousted you yet?”

  “No.”

  “I’m sure they’ll get around to it. They’ve already chewed on my ass a number of times. And, gentlemen, the pressure isn’t going to let up until someone takes the fall. It doesn’t matter that Noehring was as dirty as they come. You knew that, didn’t you, McKenzie, that Noehring was dirty?”

  I winced at the question. “What makes you say that?” I asked.

  “Me and Noehring, we’ve had dealings, and they were always to his benefit.”

  “Why do you think the artnappers killed him?”

  “The only way it makes sense to me is if they thought Noehring was there to fuck them over—steal the money, steal the Lily. It puts them in a bad spot, though. Now the Lily is too hot to fence. Before the killing, they had the option of taking the Lily underground, wait a few years, and then find a private buyer. I know a dozen men in the Twin Cities alone who would have paid top dollar for the Jade Lily and then stash it in a vault until the statute of limitations ran out and they were able to establish a phony sales pedigree. Not now, not with a cop killing attached to it. There’s no time limit on that. The only thing the thieves can do now is either toss the Lily in a Dumpster or”—Cid wagged his index finger at me—“make the deal as previously agreed upon.”

  “Then you think they’ll try again.”

  “I know they will. Only next time, McKenzie, they’ll put you in a position where they can see trouble coming from a mile away. You’ll be isolated. You’ll be alone. An empty holster”—he pointed at the spot just behind my right hip where I carried the Beretta before Chopper made me give it up—“won’t help you.”

  “You see a lot,” I said.

  “It’s my business. Now let me ask you a question, McKenzie. Why did you smoke Heavenly’s boy?”

  God, he’s well informed.

  “How did you know about that?”

  “Like I said, it’s my business. Besides, it isn’t the deepest, darkest secret in the world.”

  “He went for the money,” I said.

  “Odd.”

  “In what way?”

  “Heavenly doesn’t want the ransom. She wants the Lily. She wants to return it to its rightful owner, for which she expects to be handsomely rewarded. Personally, I don’t see the difference.”

  “How do you know Heavenly Petryk?”

  “Oh, I don’t know her,” Cid said. “Never met her. But I keep track of talent. They tell me she’s a stone babe. Almost as pretty as Tarpley’s wife—I’d have to see her myself to believe it, though.”

  “Believe it.”

  “I don’t get it, a woman like that. Why knock yourself out chasing a buck when you can marry for it and then divorce if it doesn’t work out?”

  “Something to do with scruples, I guess.”

  “In this line of work scruples can be a major hindrance.”

  “I’m learning that.”

  “You know, McKenzie, if you do get the Jade Lily back, I’d be happy to take it off your hands.”

  “You, too?”

  “Just putting it out there.”

  “I thought you said it was too hot to fence.”

  “In the United States. Europe, the Pacific Rim—who knows?”

  “I’ll keep it in mind.”

  I thanked El Cid for his time. I slid out of the booth, and Cid did the same.

  “Chopper, good to see you, man,” he said.

  He and Chopper clasped hands, and then Cid bent down to give him a hug, the hands between them to prove that, despite the show of affection, they were both manly men. At the same time, Herzog stepped forward, his impassive face giving away nothing. At first, I thought he might grab the handles of Chopper’s wheelchair again and roll him away. Instead, he stepped to the table where the muscle was pretending to read his newspaper. He yanked the knit hat off the table. Beneath it was a small-caliber semiautomatic handgun—a Ruger, I think. He tossed the hat into the young man’s lap and smirked.

  “Pussy,” he said.

  Herzog spun around and headed for the door. Chopper and I followed him out. Neither one
of us said a word to him.

  * * *

  It had started to snow while we were cloistered inside the unnamed bar, and the wind was whipping it around. It didn’t seem to bother Chopper, though. He tightened his gloves like a race car driver waiting for the starting flag and wheeled his chair forward; his tires seemed to give him plenty of traction. After Chopper cleared the far curb, Herzog aimed his remote control at the van. There was a clicking sound; the door to the van unlocked and slowly rolled open. As he approached the van, Chopper said, “Cid likes t’ think he a fuckin’ gangster. Likes t’ think he’s Don Corleone.”

  “I noticed that,” I said.

  “He ain’t. But he does know everything.”

  “I noticed that, too.”

  “He didn’ give you much, though, did he?”

  “He gave me plenty.”

  “What?”

  “He said an out-of-town crew took down the Lily.”

  “Yeah? So? I coulda told you that.”

  “If it was out-of-town talent, how did they know Scott Noehring was a cop? How did they know he was dirty? How did they recognize him in the park—in the dark?”

  “You’re sayin’ Cid was wrong. The crew gots t’ be local or out-of-town talent workin’ wit’ local.”

  “He was wrong or he was lying.”

  “Look here, man. I hates t’ see what happened to Noehring happen to you. Why not I lend you Herzy to provide air support? You know, watch your back?”

  “I ain’t workin’ for no cop,” Herzog said.

  “How many times I have to say?” Chopper told him. “McKenzie ain’t a cop no more.”

  “You crazy you think that, Chop. Didn’ you see his face when Cid called out the dirty cop? McKenzie always be police.”

  Herzog looked me directly in the eye.

  “Fuckin’ cop,” he added.

  “Just give me back my gun,” I said.

  * * *

  I drove straight home. It should have taken about fifteen minutes, only the blowing snow lengthened the trip to nearly thirty. It wasn’t particularly deep, just a dusting so far. However, the Minnesota Driver’s Manual as produced by the Minnesota Department of Public Safety clearly states you should slow down and increase stopping distance when roads become slippery and visibility is compromised, although the two accidents that I passed suggested that a lot of drivers hadn’t read it. All in all, it did not bode well for rush hour traffic—one more reason I was happy not to have a nine-to-five job.

  I put the Jeep Cherokee in the garage, went inside the house, made myself a café mocha with my expensive coffee machine, sat in front of my big-screen TV to watch SportsNation on ESPN, and promptly fell asleep. (I did mention I had only four hours of sleep, right?) I was awakened abruptly by the sound of my phone ringing. By then the sun had fallen and the only light in my house came from the TV screen. I found the phone on the kitchen wall and answered it without checking the caller ID.

  A young man’s voice said, “What the hell happened last night, McKenzie?”

  I turned on the kitchen light and checked the LED display. It said the name and phone number were being withheld.

  “Who is this?” I said.

  “This is the guy who’s going to throw the fucking Jade Lily into the goddamn Mississippi River, asshole.”

  “The only way you’re going to do that is if you chop a hole. The fucking river is frozen over, numb nuts.”

  I should confess that I sometimes get cranky when I don’t have enough sleep.

  “Is that what you want us to do?” the caller asked.

  “You killed a cop last night. I don’t care what you do.”

  “We did not kill that cop. We didn’t even know he was a cop until we read it in the newspaper.”

  “You expect me to believe that?”

  “Yes.” His voice dropped a few octaves and he spoke slowly. “All we’re trying to do is make a buck, McKenzie. It would have been insane for us to shoot a cop. What reason would we have? He wasn’t interfering with the exchange. Hell, there wasn’t going to be an exchange. We just wanted to see if you would follow instructions, if you would come alone.”

  “Is this your sincere voice?” I asked.

  “Dammit, McKenzie, you’re the one who brought the fucking cop.”

  “I didn’t, actually.”

  “Then what was he doing there?”

  I could have explained, but I didn’t really want to go into it.

  “I don’t know,” I said.

  “What are we supposed to think now?”

  “What am I supposed to think? The cop is dead and you claim you didn’t kill him. What about Patrick Tarpley? He’s dead, too.”

  “We don’t know what happened to Pat,” the voice said. “He handed off the Lily just like clockwork. We were supposed to meet up later, after we were sure we were okay, before we made the call to the museum. He didn’t show. We thought he might have lost his nerve and gone on the run. We didn’t know he had been shot until Tuesday.”

  “If you didn’t kill him, who did?”

  “We don’t know.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “We had no reason to kill Patrick.”

  “You had plenty of reasons to kill Patrick.”

  He paused, gave it some thought, sighed. “It doesn’t matter,” he said.

  “Tell that to his wife.”

  “It doesn’t matter to us. We’re still willing to make the exchange.”

  “With a crazed killer on the loose? That’s brave.”

  “Do you want the Jade Lily or not?”

  I almost said “not.” I came thisclose.

  “Talk to me,” I said.

  “We’ll try one more time.”

  “When?”

  “When we’re ready.”

  “I suggest you wait until after the blizzard.”

  He paused again and said, “Get the money from the insurance company so that you’ll have it on hand—using the gym bags and dolly like you did at Loring Park is fine with us. Once we call, you will have exactly as much time as it takes to drive from your home to the exchange point plus five minutes. If you’re not there on time, we’ll call the whole thing off—fuck the Lily.”

  “Will you be using MapQuest or Google Maps?” I asked.

  “We asked for you, McKenzie, because we were told that you could be trusted. We weren’t told that you’re a smart-ass.”

  “Who gave you my name?”

  “Make sure the money is ready.”

  “If you’re going to hold me to a timetable, you had better make sure the roads are plowed before you call.”

  He hung up.

  I did the same.

  “Well, at least he didn’t threaten me,” I said.

  * * *

  The phone rang so quickly after I hung up that I thought maybe the artnappers actually had forgotten to threaten me and were calling back to rectify the situation. Instead, a young man’s voice said, “What the hell happened last night, McKenzie?”

  Didn’t I just have this conversation? my inner voice asked.

  “Who is this?” I asked.

  “Jerry. Jerry Gillard.”

  “Oh, Jerry.”

  “Don’t be so glad to hear from me,” he said.

  “Sorry ’bout that. I thought you were one of the bad guys.”

  “I’ve always wanted to be one of the bad guys. I’ve just never had the proper motivation. I blame my sheltered upbringing. So, what’s going on?”

  “What have you heard?”

  “I spent some time with that Donatucci guy and the people at the museum—what a humorless crowd they are. Anyway, he said that very, very, very bad things happened at some park last night.”

  “Very bad things,” I said.

  “He said we still don’t have the Lily.”

  “Not yet.”

  “I’m going to be serious with you for a second, McKenzie. Can I be serious with you?”

  I don’t know, can you? I thought but did
n’t say.

  “Sure,” I told him.

  “I want you to walk away. Fuck it, McKenzie. Three people are dead over this piece of crap. It’s a green rock. C’mon. Let the assholes keep it. I’ll take the damn insurance settlement. So what if I don’t get to sleep with Heavenly?”

  “Okay, two things, Jerry. First, sleeping with Heavenly could be hazardous to your health. Second, I don’t think you understand how this works. Midwest Farmers Insurance Group does not have a policy with you. It has a policy with the City of Lakes Art Museum. I don’t know the specific language in your lending agreement, but I’m guessing the museum isn’t going to pay you until the insurance company pays them, and the insurance company isn’t going to pay the museum until it’s convinced the Jade Lily is lost forever. If a car is stolen, most insurance companies will settle within thirty days because they figure if the vehicle hasn’t been recovered by then, it never will be. The Jade Lily isn’t a Buick that might end up in a chop shop, though. Nor is it a diamond ring or emerald necklace that can be recut and cast into a new setting. It retains its value only as long as it remains intact. The artnappers are not going to damage it. That makes it recoverable. I promise you, both the insurance company and the museum will drag their feet on your claim for a long time while trying to get it back. Hell, Jer, there are organizations out there like the Art Loss Register that exist solely for the purpose of recovering stolen art and antiques. This is big business, man. If we don’t recover the Lily from the artnappers, it’ll be a year before you get your money, if not longer. In any case, you don’t get to decide whether we continue or not. Midwest Farmers is the one that writes the check. They get to decide.”

  Gillard thought about it for a moment, and then he said, “Do you really think sleeping with Heavenly would be dangerous?”

  “Jerry…”

  “I hear you, I hear you, McKenzie. I just don’t want anyone else hurt over this.”

  “I appreciate that, Jer.”

  “Okay, okay. I’m going back to my Jacuzzi. I have a Jacuzzi in my hotel suite.”

  “Good for you.”

  “I was going out, but this snow—it reminds me of the lake-effect snow we get blowing off Lake Michigan.”

  “I’m glad you’re feeling at home.”

  “Screw that. I hate Chicago in the winter. Chicago is the best summer city in America. In the winter, no way.”