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Jake listened from the extension at Pinky’s home. There was a long pause before Benny asked, “How do you know I have diamonds?”
“Reuven Grossman told me you were looking to unload them.”
“Good thinking,” Jake silently mouthed to Pinky.
“Then you must know you’re offering way more than they’re worth– what gives?” Benny asked.
“If they’re the diamonds I think they are they have sentimental value to a dear friend of mine. The money means nothing to me, but getting those diamonds back for him means everything.”
After another long pause Benny said, “I’ll need cash– and no questions asked.”
“I can do that,” Pinky said.
“Okay. I’ll do the deal, “Benny said. “I’ll meet you at Buckingham Fountain at two.”
Pinky gave Jake a thumbs-up as they both clicked off their extensions.
Pinky checked his bank’s Monday hours, then said, “I’ll get the cash. Did you get the tracker from Roberts?”
“No,” Jake replied. “They refused his request. Guess he doesn’t have unlimited clout. But it doesn’t matter.”
“How so?” Pinky asked.
“Roberts says the police trackers he remembers are heavy gadgets,” Jake explained. “Benny would feel that in his pocket. But I found something better.”
“Oh?” Pinky responded.
“GPS trackers,” Jake responded. “I can pick one up at Best Buy. It’s tiny, light weight, and we can track it from an app.
“Perfect,” Pinky said. “I’ll get the cash while you buy the tracker. Let’s meet at my yacht. It’s a ten-minute walk from there to Buckingham Fountain.”
Jake hesitated at the foot of the ramp leading to the deck on Pinky’s yacht.
Choppy waters bobbed the ramp.
He clutched the Best Buy bag as if it would save him from drowning, and heard the metal ramp creak with each step.
The moment he set foot on board Pinky yelled, “Over here!” motioning Jake to join him on an overstuffed, white and blue couch on the deck.
As Jake approached, he noticed two tall glasses of carrot juice on the coffee table—one already half-empty.
He planted himself on the couch, and plopped the Best Buy bag on the table letting the wind rustle through it.
“What’s this?” Jake asked while patting a small blue and white, canvas duffle bag with black handles, bearing the Chicago Yacht Club logo.
“The cash,” Pinky replied. “Figured I’d do this up classy instead of just handing him wads of cash.”
“Nice,” Jake said. “That’ll make your job much easier.”
Pinky cocked his head to one side giving Jake a puzzled look. “How so?”
“Duh!” Jake responded, “No need to slip the tracker in his pocket. Just hide it in the bag.”
Pinky said, “Uhhh, you better take a swig of carrot juice, and give that more thought.”
“Why? What’s wrong with putting it in the bag?” Jake asked.
“Too risky,” Pinky replied. “He’s gotta be super suspicious already. He might check the bag for a tracker right away, or when he gets to his hidey-hole. The moment he ditches it and runs we’re outta business—game over. But he’s unlikely to suspect I slipped something in his pocket.”
“Good thinking,” Jake said.