Dodos

by Al Lamanda

  “Which is why you came to us in the first place,” Ian said. “Skill and that other stuff he just said.”

  “Not to mention a staggering amount of luck,” Gavin said.

  “Lucky is my middle name,” Ian said.

  “So what exactly are you saying?” Waldo said.

  “I want seven figures each for me and my partner, plus six figures for every man I need to bring in to do the job,” Gavin said.

  “How much?” Ian said.

  “And if you fail?” Waldo said.

  “Oh, we won’t, we won’t,” Ian said, his voice dripping with sudden greed.

  “Mr. Wallace, to pull this off we need not only the egg, but your stolen records and notes,” Gavin said. “Otherwise, those idiots will point the finger at you and your finger could point to us. To keep that finger at bay, I need to steal it all or nothing. That’s my price for all.”

  “And cheap at that,” Ian said. “For all those fingers.”

  Waldo sat back and looked at Dudley, Mabel, Oscar and Cody. Dudley appeared ready to jump out of his skin. Cody was playing with a pocket calculator. Mabel appeared to hang on every word. Under the table, Oscar massaged Mabel’s knee.

  Waldo looked at Gavin. “Mr. Gavin, I believe we have reached an accord.”

  Ian looked at Gavin.

  “A deal,” Gavin said to Ian.

  “Outstanding,” Ian said and stood up to shake Waldo’s hand across the table.

  “I’ll start work on a plan right away,” Gavin said. “But, the safest thing you can do right now is go home and wait to hear from me with details. The safest thing you can do for these four here is send them someplace safe, preferable out of the country.”

  “Remove us as suspects,” Waldo said. “Yes, I understand.”

  “Then I’ll call you when I have some details and let you know if more expense money is needed,” Gavin said.

  “Very well,” Waldo said. He slipped a fat envelope under the table to Gavin. “Let’s go, people,” Waldo said and stood up.

  “This calls for some dessert,” Ian said.

  As Gavin watched Waldo and his crew of four walk out the door, Gavin realized that the check was unpaid. He looked at Ian. “Are you picking up the tab?”

  “Ya know, I’m am kinda full,” Ian said.

  EIGHT

  “A million bucks, a million bucks, a million freaking bucks,” Ian said as they walked through the door to Gavin’s apartment.

  “Before you go counting your million chickens, we still have to do the job first,” Gavin said.

  “There you go being negative again,” Ian said as they entered the kitchen.

  “I’m not being negative,” Gavin said as Ian ripped a note off the refrigerator door. “We just have to do the job first to collect and this is not going to be a cake walk.”

  “My sister left us a pot roast in the oven,” Ian said.

  “Us?” Gavin said as Ian opened the oven door.

  “Hello beautiful,” Ian said at the sight of the beautifully roasted pot roast, tiny roasted potatoes and carrots.

  “Let me ask you something,” Gavin said. “Does Muffie-Jo ever cook for you?”

  “What for,” Ian said as he set two plates on the table. “We generally do takeout or go out.”

  “Or eat here,” Gavin said.

  Ian grabbed a carving knife from the counter block and started slicking the roast into thin slices. His eyes bulged, his mouth watered at the sight of the perfect slices.

  “What about housework?” Gavin said.

  Ian started stacking slices of pot roast onto his plate. “Well, she tried once, but she couldn’t figure out how to work the vacuum.”

  “You plug it in and flip the switch,” Gavin said.

  “Hey, I’m not making excuses,” Ian said as he scooped potatoes and carrots onto his plate. “It’s just she generally isn’t around to observe the maid when she comes to clean three times a week.”

  “That still leaves four days.”

  Ian sat and wolfed down a slice of pot roast. “Why the sudden interest in housework?”

  “Just wondering why you eat so much of my food,” Gavin said and reached for the carving knife.

  “Oh, hey, did you want me to cut you some?” Ian said as he shoved in potatoes and carrots.

  “Never mind,” Gavin said as he sliced off some pot roast. “Any ideas on how to do this job?”

  “Well,” Ian said and stood up. “As I see it, what we do is,” he said, opened the fridge and grabbed a bottle of beer. “Steal the egg and the evidence from those snooks and give it to what’s his name there and collect our money.”

  Gavin stared at Ian.

  Ian sat, twisted off the cap and took a sip of beer. “Ahhh,” he said. “Nothing like a cold one with a good meal.”

  “I wouldn’t know,” Gavin said.

  “Oh, did you want one?” Ian said, but made no attempt to move.

  “So your plan is steal the egg, evidence and collect the money?” Gavin said. “Rather simplistic, isn’t it?”

  “I’m a simplistic kind of guy,” Ian said.

  “So other than taking a phone call from Johnny Peru, you got nothing and expect to collect a million for that nothing,” Gavin said.

  “You’re the details man, remember,” Ian said. “My job is to find the scores. Yours is to detail and execute them.”

  “Rather lopsided, wouldn’t you say?”

  “No, I wouldn’t,” Ian said and paused in mid chew to look at Gavin. “Say, what’s eating you, anyway?”

  “This is my last job,” Gavin said. “Win, lose or draw, I’m done after this.”

  Ian swallowed, sipped beer and looked at Gavin. “You’ve been saying that for fifteen years.”

  “This is different,” Gavin said.

  “How so?”

  “This time I mean it.”

  About to take another sip of beer, Ian paused to set the bottle down. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

  “This job, this score is life changing money,” Gavin said. “I’m about to be a father and I’d like to see my kid grow up without prison bars between us. If we pull this off, that kind of money can see us through to old age if we manage it properly.”

  “This is my sister’s doing, isn’t it?” Ian said. “She put you up to this, didn’t she?”

  “No.”

  “A man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta be,” Ian said.

  “She didn’t…I think it’s a man’s gotta…”

  “Yeah, maybe you can stretch out the money to take you to the grave, but will you be happy?” Ian said.

  “This is my…”

  “No, you won’t,” Ian said.

  “Would you listen to…?”

  “She’s domesticated you and that’s the same thing as a death sentence.”

  “Nobody’s…”

  “If a man ain’t true to himself, what is he, huh? I ask you that.”

  “Free with money in the bank, and a wife, a child and a home,” Gavin said.

  Ian raised his right finger as if to point, waved it a few times and then grabbed his beer. After a sip, he said, “What, you’re gonna buy a white home with green trim and a picket fence in the country somewhere. Ha!”

  “Maybe.”

  “Ah, for God’s sake,” Ian said. “You’re a city boy through and through and what’s more, you’re a natural born thief same as me. We’re like two peas in a garden or whatever the hell the saying is.”

  “Pod,” Gavin said. “Look, instead of arguing with me about this, why don’t we put our energy into coming up with a plan.”

  “Let’s eat more first,” Ian said. “I think better when I’m full.”

  “Is that why you never think?” Gavin said.

  “What’s that mean?” Ian said.

  “Nothing, just eat.”

  “Hey, no problem.”

  After packing dirty dishes into the dishwasher, Gavin brewed a pot of coffee and sat at the table with an old-fa
shioned school kid’s notebook. A meticulous planner, Gavin planned every detail, no matter how microscopic, on paper in pencil. Since every job was different, every detail per job was also different. He had yet to encounter the same set of problems and solutions twice in his long career as a professional thief.

  Every job presented a unique set of problems to overcome. Alarms, armed guards, watchdogs, closed circuit television, wired safes, weather conditions, location of the job, traffic and proximity to police, amount of people involved and, of course, was the risk worth the payoff?

  Gavin usually made two comprehensive lists. The first consisted of every detail of the job, requirements, equipment, expenses and manpower needed to do the job. The second list, which usually began and ended with Ian, was a list of everything that could possibly and probably go wrong with a job.

  After an hour of staring at the first blank page, Gavin’s right hand cramped from holding the pencil.

  He had, he was forced to admit, nothing.

  Maybe if he…no, that wouldn’t work.

  Possibly…no, that wouldn’t work either.

  Perhaps he could…that definitely wouldn’t work.

  If he…?

  Or did…?

  Or didn’t…?

  Gavin sighed, stood up and stretched his back. It was time to regroup, gather his thoughts and start over again. He filled his mug with coffee, picked up the folder packed with notes and wandered into the living room.

  On the sofa, Gavin read notes and made some of his own in pencil. The New York Science club was on a whirlwind tour of Europe with the egg that ended in Stockholm, Sweden. There it would be on display for three weeks at the history museum where scientists from across Europe would gather to study the egg.

  Three weeks to study the egg.

  In a museum where it could be viewed by the public.

  Gavin set aside the notes and placed his hands behind his head to think.

  The phone rang.

  It was Muffie-Jo on the other end. She was sobbing into the phone.

  “Muffie-Jo, what’s wrong?” Gavin said.

  “It’s Ian,” Muffie-Jo sobbed.

  “What about Ian?” Gavin said, knowing full well he would regret the question.

  “There I was in a happy mood, painting my toenails pink,” Muffie-Jo said. “I got this new shade of…”

  “What did he do, Muffie-Jo?” Gavin said.

  “Who?”

  “Ian,” Gavin said, feeling that band of thorns return.

  “Oh, well, yes, of course” Muffie-Jo said. “What he did, he came home ranting about housework and cooking. He wants me to get out the vacuum and to vacuum the apartment. Honestly, I don’t know what’s gotten into him. Vacuum. Really!”

  “What’s he doing now?” Gavin said.

  “He’s in the kitchen,” Muffie-Jo whispered. “I think he’s trying to figure out how to work the oven. He wants me to…cook.”

  In the background, Gavin heard Ian yell, “Dammit, this thing must be broken or something. Muffie-Jo, where are you?”

  “Quick, Lee, how does the oven work?” Muffie-Jo whispered.

  “Never mind that,” Gavin said. “Distract him and he’ll forget all about the oven.”

  “Distract him how?”

  Gavin placed his left hand to his nose and rubbed where a band of pain was spreading out. “What do you usually do when you want Ian to buy you something?”

  “I…oh,” Muffie-Jo said. “Usually, I rub his tummy until…”

  “Don’t tell me, tell Ian,” Gavin said.

  “Right,” Muffie-Jo said. “Do you want to stay on the phone?”

  “Heaven forbid,” Gavin said and hung up.

  Gavin picked up the notes and news clippings and started to read through them again when he set them aside and stared at the blank wall across the room. “A distraction,” he said aloud to himself.

  And things started to fall into place.

  NINE

  From a rear table that faced Central Park, Gavin sipped coffee as he waited for Ian and Muffie-Jo. Outside Overlook Restaurant, a famous spot for tourist and New Yorker alike, snow gently fell and covered the lawn and trees that were decorated in bright holiday lights.

  Lunch reservations were for one, table for four, although there would only be just the three. After a tough night at the hospital, Patience would sleep the afternoon into early evening.

  Just as well, Gavin thought as Ian and Muffie-Jo walked through the door into the dining room, where, at the reservations desk, Ian checked their coats.

  The hostess, a pretty woman in white led Muffie-Jo and Ian to Gavin’s table. Muffie-Jo wore designer jeans with a pink, cashmere top, a string of pearls and black boots that came nearly to her knees.

  Mid room, Muffie-Jo smiled broadly at Gavin and waved. A waiter with a full tray tripped and fell to the rug with a loud clatter of breaking dishes. A busboy pouring water for an elderly couple poured water down the front of the elderly woman’s blouse. A waiter lighting candles at a table for six, set fire to the tablecloth and the busboy with the water pitcher came running over, glanced at Muffie-Jo, tripped and splashed the hostess in the face with a full quart of ice water, putting out the fire at the same time.

  Directly behind Muffie-Jo and Ian, a young couple walked to their table. The male of the couple glanced at Muffie-Jo, then walked directly into a post and beam room divider, knocking himself unconscious.

  Muffie-Jo and Ian stopped walking when the drenched hostess burst into tears and went running away.

  “Goodness,” Muffie-Jo said. “That poor girl.”

  “Let’s sit down,” Ian said.

  “This place is crazy, Lee,” Muffie-Jo said as she and Ian joined Gavin at the table.

  “It was quiet as a church five minutes ago,” Gavin said.

  “It’s snowing,” Muffie-Jo giggled as she looked at Central Park through the giant glass window.

  “It was snowing when we left the apartment, it was snowing when we got out of the cab and it’s snowing now,” Ian said.

  “It’s so white,” Muffie-Jo said.

  “It’s snow,” Ian said. “Nothing to write home about unless it’s red or green coming down.”

  “Well, that’s silly,” Muffie-Jo said. “Why would I write us at home? We live there. I’d already know what the letter says.”

  “No, see, it’s an expression that…”

  “Ian, let it go,” Gavin said.

  “Right.”

  “This was so sweet to invite us to lunch like this,” Muffie-Jo said. “What’s the occasion?”

  “Yeah, what’s the occasion?” Ian said. “Yesterday you were bitching about…”

  “Later,” Gavin said.

  A young waiter cautiously approached the table. “Um, sorry about the mess,” he said as his eyes immediately went to Muffie-Jo’s chest. ‘Everything is under breast…I mean control. Would you care to hear the… the…?”

  “Specials?” Gavin said.

  “Yes, thank you,” the waiter said.

  Muffie-Jo looked at the waiter and smiled her dazzling smile.

  The waiter started to sweat.

  “Can I have the stuffed chicken breast?” Muffie-Jo said.

  “The breast,” the waiter mumbled as he wrote on his pad.

  “Is it plump?” Muffie-Jo said.

  “Oh, God,” the waiter said. “Plump. Yes, plump.”

  “And juicy?” Muffie-Jo said.

  “I can’t do this,” the waiter said.

  “Make it all the way around,” Gavin said.

  “Thank you,” the waiter said and dashed to the kitchen.

  “What the hell’s the matter with everybody in here?” Ian said.

  “Muffie-Jo,” Gavin said.

  “Yes?” Muffie-Jo said.

  “No, I was answering Ian’s question,” Gavin said.

  “It was rhetorical,” Ian said. “And what do you mean…?”

  “I think I saw a show on that once,” Muffie
-Jo said. “On the Discovery Channel.”

  “What?” Ian said. “No, see, rhetorical means…”

  “The king went to see this woman who was in a trance and told him the future,” Muffie-Jo said.

  “That’s oracle and you’re talking about the movie 300,” Ian said. “We watched it the other day.”

  “300 what, baby?” Muffie-Jo said.

  “The 300…”

  Gavin held up his right hand to quiet Ian. “Muffie-Jo, how would you like a job?” Gavin said.

  Muffie-Jo stared at Gavin.

  Ian stared at Gavin.

  “You know what a job is, right?” Gavin said to Muffie-Jo.

  “I know what it is,” Muffie-Jo said. “But, I never needed one before.”

  “Say, what kinda crap are you…?” Ian said.

  “I mean, in high school, the boys would always do my homework and buy me stuff,” Muffie-Jo said.

  “They did?” Ian said.

  “Then after school, I got all A’s by the way, thanks to the boys,” Muffie-Jo said. “Men just gave me stuff without me even asking. Clothes, money, whatever. They just give and give and give, the sweethearts.”

  “They did?” Ian said. “Who did?”

  “Now of course, Ian takes care of things,” Muffie-Jo said. “If I need something extra, I just rub his tummy until…”

  “Muffie-Jo, please,” Ian said.

  “Right now? Here?” Muffie-Jo said. “Okay, open your shirt.”

  “No, stop talking about my tummy in public.”

  “Lee isn’t public, he’s family,” Muffie-Jo said. “Besides, he knows all about your tummy. When you were all crazy about the oven, I called him up and he said I should rub your tummy to…”

  “Jesus Christ, is nothing sacred?” Ian said.

  “The both of you shut up and listen for a minute,” Gavin said. “Muffie-Jo, have you seen the news stories about the Dodo Egg?”

  “I knew it,” Muffie-Jo said. “You want me to cook.”

  “No, Muffie-Jo, just…”

  “How sneaky,” Muffie-Jo said. “Inviting me to a nice place like this just to get me to cook. I mean, don’t you remember the last time you forced me to cook eggs?”

  “I don’t think Lee wants you to cook, Muffie-Jo,” Ian said.