Stealing the Golden Dream

by Sally J. Smith

  “Nice job, fairly clean,” Eddie said, “but not necessarily the work of a specialist.” He bent down for a look at the crossbar on the floor. One end of it was ragged and discolored. “Blow torch,” he said. “I’d bet on it.”

  “Me, too. And my money rides with you. No prints on the keypad?”

  “Not according to Ann. She said they dusted every-damn-where.” He opened the control panel to the alarm and security system.

  She backed off and gave him space, just letting him do his thing. Nobody was as good as Eddie when it came to electronics and security. To Jordan it resembled the control panel of a 747 jetliner. Even before the incident, she had known it was a real whiz bang of a system. Or so Eddie had told her.

  Eddie said, “Really nice set-up, isn’t it? They spent mucho dinero here. Sophisticated stuff.”

  “Yeah?”

  “And see that?” He pointed to two places inside the panel box where tiny clips had been placed over circuits. “That’s good news for us.”

  “How’s that?”

  “Getting in the door? Nothing special. Anyone can bust a lock and melt down a crossbar. B and E 101. But disabling this complicated sweetheart of a system takes finesse and expertise. If they made a mess of things it would be different. In that case, we could be looking at hundreds of thieves, but I can only think of two, maybe three guys in the whole valley whose work is this pristine, who could disable a system this complex without setting off bells and whistles all over town.”

  If Eddie’s list of possible specialists was short, the path to catching Muggs’s killer might not be as long as they first thought.

  “Could make our job a whole lot easier,” Jordan said. “I’ll call the Abromowitz girls. They’ll be glad to hear we’re making at least some progress.”

  Chapter 9

  Early Monday morning Jordan went straight to Eddie’s office. He had spent the majority of his Sunday reviewing video surveillance tapes from the Arizona Heritage Museum, looking for familiar faces. She’d rather not think about the fact that he knew most of the local thieves from his days with the Vercelli crime organization.

  “Did you find anything on the tapes?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “I went back weeks. Never saw anyone who looked even vaguely familiar, and when they disarmed the alarm system, they also disabled the video watchdog. There won’t be any help from there.”

  Gina came in and laid a stack of mail on the corner of his desk.

  Before she turned away, he said, “Hang on a minute.” Eddie closed his laptop and folded his long-fingered hands on top.

  Gina stopped and turned expectantly.

  “Can you to do something for me, Gina? Mama can’t know about it.”

  That got Jordan’s attention, and apparently Gina’s too. “A secret. Awesome. I love a good secret.”

  And from what Jordan knew of her, she could keep one.

  “I’d like you to check into this MarkyMark Garrity guy,” Eddie said. “Something’s justI don’t knowoff about this character.”

  “What do you want to know about him?” Gina’s voice was hushed with excitement.

  Eddie’s was steady and deliberate. “Everything. Shoe size. Briefs or boxers. Does he have a current prescription for Viagra? I want to know everything.”

  Tank waltzed in around ten. He’d called earlier to say that even though the Arizona Heritage Museum case was an ongoing investigation, a lady friend of his who manned the evidence room gave him access to everything the cops had in exchange for an overnight romp in the sack.

  Tank went straight to Eddie’s office. While there were bags under his eyes and he complained of an aching back, he still sported a cocky grin.

  Jordan teased, “Not much sleep last night, huh, Tank?”

  “I been workin’ long, hard hours, ma’am, and I got something real good to show y’all.”

  He pulled a cellphone from his pocket and laid it on the desk. “My little gal down at PD headquarters was a big help.”

  Eddie smirked. “I just bet she was.”

  “Boss, you know us Southern boys don’t kiss and tell. This here is Muggs’s cell phone. They hadn’t logged it in yet. I also snapped pictures of everything in his wallet.”

  “Tank, you rock.” Jordan leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. He blushed and shuffled his feet.

  Eddie picked up the phone. “You don’t mind if I just say thanks and forgo the kissing, do you?”

  “You know, boss, we’re at least a couple of steps ahead of the cops. Chastity says they haven’t been able to crack his password. If anything’s on his phone, they don’t have it yet.”

  Eddie looked up at him and grinned. “Chastity, eh? Let’s not tell her I happen to know Muggs’s password is ‘Big Lebowski.’ He loved that movie, knew it by heart.”

  It only took a couple of minutes for Eddie to gain access to the phone and find something so significant he pushed back from his desk, stood and began to pace. “This could be it, you guys. This could blow the case wide open for us.”

  He spun to face them and slid his fingers over the phone screen to enlarge one of the photos. “Get a load of this.”

  Jordan and Tank leaned close. It was a grainy close-up of a man’s blood-smeared wrist. Peeking from under a black sleeve was a partial tattoo.

  “What are we looking at?” Jordan twisted her head for a better view.

  Eddie’s voice took on that honeyed tone. Her knees turned to pudding whenever he used it. “Sweetcakes, you saying you don’t know a prison tattoo when you see one?”

  She caught her breath. Their eyes met. “This is big, Eddie.”

  Mama Rose’s voice carried from the front room. “Oh, my gawd! I know who did it.”

  Eddie collapsed onto his sofa. “Aw, here it comes.”

  Resplendent in a hot pink jogging suit, Rose whooshed in like the Tasmanian Devil. “Eddie, Eddie! I solved the case.”

  Jordan fought to keep from laughing. Really? Good. Case solved? Let’s just take the rest of the day off then.

  Tank turned to leave the room. “Y’all need me, just let me know.”

  “Coward.” Eddie got up and handed the phone to Tank. “Ask Diego to see what he can find out about the, uh, picture we were looking at. Will ya?”

  “Oh, right. No problem, boss.”

  Seemed like Mama Rose was all wound up. “Didn’t you hear me?” She practically shrieked. “I solved the case!”

  Eddie guided her to the sofa and sat beside her. “Okay, Mama. Who was it?”

  She popped back up, nodding in excitement. “The mob.”

  “The mob?” Jordan asked.

  “Ya think?” Eddie rubbed his eyes.

  Rose looked from Eddie to Jordan and sat down, deflated. “I don’t understand. I thought you’d be happy.”

  Eddie smiled gently. “We are happy, Mama. Why don’t you tell us why you think it’s the mob?”

  Rose squared her shoulders and sat up straighter. “Okay. So you remember like in Goodfellas how organized they were with the Lufthansa heist?”

  Jordan shook her head.

  “Better refresh our memories on this one, Mama,” Eddie said, not unkindly.

  “It really happened.” Mama Rose warmed up. “Nineteen seventy-eight at JFK. It was a big job, you see, over eight million in cash and jewelry stolen. No small potatoes back then.”

  Jordan whistled. No small potatoes now.

  Mama Rose went on. “It was an inside job. The mob guys had help from some goomba working at the airport. It’s very famous.”

  “Okay, and …?” Jordan coaxed her.

  “They did the smart thing and laid low after, at least in the movie. Never spent a nickel of the loot until one bozo screwed the pooch, bought his wife a new Cadillac. Stupid goomba got his comeuppance from the mob boss.”

  “Right.” Eddie’s legendary impatience reared its head. “So how does that tie in here?”

  But Jordan and Mama Rose were on the same page. �
��Brilliant, Mama Rose.”

  Eddie cocked an eyebrow. “It is?”

  “Sure. It makes perfect sense.” Jordan spread her hands.

  “It does?” Eddie again.

  Rose patted Eddie’s hand. “Catch up, son.”

  “Maybe you should spell it out for him, Mama Rose.”

  Rose shrugged. “None of the coins from the Arizona museum have turned up, right?”

  “Just the ones they planted in my car,” Eddie said, “And …?”

  “Your ordinary crook would run to the nearest pawnshop. The mob? They know the score, know they gotta lay low until the heat’s off, then just take their sweet time unloading the goods to the highest bidder.”

  A light bulb seemed to click on over Eddie’s head. He looked at Jordan. She smiled and raised an eyebrow.

  The old girl was good.

  Diego stuck his head in the door. “We caught a break. Guess what just turned up?”

  Jordan, Eddie, and Rose all looked at Diego.

  Diego milked it. “In Tucson? Like magic?”

  “Spit it out,” Eddie said.

  “My guy in Tucson is pretty sure he’s got one of the Dahlonega coins. Said it was brought in for appraisal as a teaser for a, get this, much larger collection.”

  “Who brought it in?” Jordan asked.

  Diego shrugged. “My guy didn’t know him, but he’s willing to hang on to the coin so we can have a look at it.”

  Eddie turned to Jordan. “You don’t need to mention this to your BFF, Detective Murphy.”

  Jordan frowned. “Gee, Eddie. Good thing you reminded me. I had it in my head to go running straight down to tell her.”

  He blew out a puff of air. “Smart ass.”

  “Look who’s talking,” she snapped back.

  Rose sighed. “This reminds me of the good old days with Eddie’s father. Nothing like make-up sex after a rousing good fight.”

  Eddie looked at Rose in horror.

  Jordan held back the laughter. She tried but couldn’t stop the grin that spread across her face. “That’s awesome news, Diego. One of the coins turned up!” Jordan congratulated him.

  Mama Rose looked depressed. “There goes my theory about the mob keeping them under wraps.” She sighed. “Shot all to hell.”

  Eddie patted her shoulder. “It’s okay, Mama. It was a good theory.”

  Chapter 10

  Jordan and Eddie left Scottsdale around noon on Monday and took I-10 southeast to Tucson.

  Lucky Louie’s Pawn Shop on South Fourth Avenue in South Tucson was a stand-alone white stucco building with security cameras all around and iron bars on the windows and doors. Jordan had only been to Tucson a few times and never in this part of town. All the gorgeous resorts and eclectic shops were north, nearer the Catalina Mountains. The area was definitely the kind of place where the term armed and dangerous referred to a majority of the general population.

  Jordan took a lesson from Eddie, who wore ragged jeans, biker boots, and a couple of T-shirts layered over each other under a faded zip-up hoodie. She went with old jeans, a plain Army drab T-shirt and a black hoodie. The idea was to blend in with the neighborhood and avoid having to even think about problems with the locals—problems like getting mugged.

  At Lucky’s front door, a bald Latino with a handlebar moustache and muscles in spades intercepted them. “Dude, you packing?”

  Eddie nodded and submitted to a thorough pat down. When the big man moved to relieve Eddie of the Glock, Eddie grabbed his arm. “Uh-uh. That stays with me.”

  “Then you won’t be going inside today, holmes.”

  “Luis is expecting us,” Eddie said. “Eddie Marino.”

  “Wait outside.”

  Within a couple of minutes, the big guard came back and led them around the building to a rear door. It and the wrought-iron security gate were unlocked from the inside, and Eddie and Jordan were ushered into a square room measuring about twelve by twelve. Boxes and various cases were stored on gorilla shelves along the walls. In the center of the room, an old wooden table hosted two freestanding true-color lamps, several jeweler’s loupes, and piles of merchandise items such as jewelry, guns, and small electronic devices. An enormous old-fashioned safe stood in one corner.

  “Señor Marino?” A short Mexican man with a full head of wavy black hair and a body like a beach ball shook hands with Eddie. He sported what had to be two full carats in each ear and at least three pounds of gold bling around his neck. “Your reputation precedes you, amigo. I’ve heard many things about you and your powerful employer. I’m Luis Martinez, Lucky Louie to my homies.” Martinez spoke perfect English with the elongated vowels and staccato consonants of someone born in Mexico.

  Eddie said, “I don’t work for the powerful man anymore, but we’re still connected.”

  Martinez motioned toward a filthy loveseat on the far side of the room.

  Jordan shook her head.

  “We’re good. Thanks,” Eddie said.

  Luis crossed to the safe, covered the dial with his body and spent a minute fiddling with it. Once it was open, he removed a small metal box, carried it to the table, switched on one of the lights and removed a clear acrylic case surrounding an uneven, rough-hewn gold coin.

  “My friend Diego tells me you have an interest in this.”

  Jordan tried to be cool but wasn’t sure she pulled it off. She could hear her own rapid, shallow breathing. She hoped her heart wasn’t pounding as loud as it seemed to be.

  Eddie reached out then stopped. “May I?”

  Luis moved back a step and nodded.

  Eddie sat in the chair at the table, picked up a loupe and examined the coin under the light.

  He looked up at Jordan with a grim smile. “It’s a Type One Dahlonega gold dollar.”

  She caught her breath. Something fluttered in her chest. She wasn’t ashamed to acknowledge her excitement at the thought this could be the beginning of the end for Muggs’s killer.

  Eddie looked up at Lucky Louie. “This is one of them. What do you know about it?”

  Luis shrugged. “Just what I told Diego. It was brought in by someone I’ve done business with for appraisal and to show as a sample to people I know in Mexico who might be interested in acquiring an entire collection.”

  “When’s he coming back?”

  Again, Luis shrugged. “When I tell him I have a buyer. I explained this is not something you just put on eBay.”

  Jordan laughed, but felt stupid when both Eddie and Luis looked at her. To redeem herself, she asked, “Do you have security footage of the guy?”

  “Sí, of course. Everyone gets his picture taken. When we go to the front, you will too, chica.” He winked.

  He put the coin back in the safe, spun the dial, and led them to the front section of the store and into a small office area where remote security monitors were set up. Jordan glanced around at each one, quickly looking back down when Luis laughed and said, “Smile for the camera.”

  He went straight to the monitor, scrolled back a ways then fast-forwarded, and froze the picture. A lean young Latino stood at the counter. He wore a leather jacket that looked like it might have set him back six or eight hundred bucks and a diamond ring so big Jordan was surprised he could lift his hand.

  “Do you recognize him?” she asked.

  Eddie shook his head. “Lucky, think we can get a print?”

  “No problem, amigo.”

  “And now I’m going to ask you to do something you’re not going to like.” Eddie turned serious eyes to Luis. “I want you to set him up for us. It’ll mean the sale. You’ll lose your commission“

  “I look that stupid to you?”

  Eddie pressed. “Of course not. You look really smart to me, like someone smart enough to know I’m the go-to guy when you need a big favor. Like you said, I have powerful friends.”

  Jordan hated it when Eddie talked like that. It chilled her to the bone. Ninety-nine days out of one hundred, she’d bet her bottom dol
lar he was done with Vercelli and the dark life he’d led years ago. On days like this, when he made it sound as if he were still connected, she couldn’t help but wonder.

  Luis obviously believed Eddie could still get things done. He reached out and shook his hand. “Es bueno, Marino. A favor from your friends is worth ten times the commission I’d get on this sale.”

  Chapter 11

  Jordan met Ann Murphy just after eight Tuesday morning at a downtown coffee shop on Scottsdale Road near the PD headquarters. Ann was waiting when she got there, nursing a bottle of OJ.

  “Morning, Miss Jordan.”

  “Morning, Detective Murphy.” They hugged. “How’s married life treating you?” Better get the skinny on this marriage stuff. If Mama Rose has her way, I’ll be joining those ranks sooner rather than later.

  Jordan set her coffee on the table and sat down.

  “What’s with the OJ? You pregnant?” Jordan asked.

  Ann ran her hands over her belly. “Do I look like I’m putting on weight?

  “No,” Jordan laughed. “I’m just teasing you.”

  “Whew,” Ann swiped her brow. “Okay. So the ME’s report,” her voice dropped, “on your friend Marvin—”

  “Muggs. We called him Muggs.” Jordan clenched her fists against the sudden sadness rolling over her. “What can you tell me?”

  “Cause of death, stab wounds to the right upper quadrant. He died of a pneumothorax and hemorrhagic shock.”

  Jordan’s throat constricted. “He suffered.” She choked, fighting back the tears.

  “Sorry. I know it’s hard to hear.” Ann waited quietly while Jordan got herself together.

  “These reports sound like a garage mechanic checking out a car. Why is the ME always so clinical? Muggs was so full of life. We miss him.” Her throat tightened, and her belly ached. Muggs. “Look, Annie, I’m gonna go.”

  As she stood, Ann reached up and laid her hand on Jordan’s arm. “Stay a minute. Something I have to tell you. You know Eddie was cleared?”

  Jordan nodded.

  Ann wouldn’t look her in the eye. She stuttered and wrung her hands. “The alibi that cleared him. It was a … a ….”