Chapter 55

 

Frank leaned against a gray stone wall, breathless and dizzy. What had just happened back there? Were the gem cutter and the old woman working together, and how was the dark-haired good-looking one involved? He couldn’t believe he hadn’t recognized her; he would have beat it out of there right away. If the Fitzpatrick woman was working with Anton van der Went, how did they know each other? Was it pure luck for them or had they pulled one over on him? His thoughts ricocheted like the steel ball in a pinball machine.

He stared at the narrow strip of gray sky above the alley where he’d run, instinct taking over, after he crawled out of the air duct in that restroom and dodged through the hotel’s utility rooms and kitchen, finally stumbling through the delivery entrance and running for his life. The women had no doubt called the police, who were probably swarming the place by now.

The more he thought about that scenario, the more convinced he became—the ladies were working on their own. Van der Went was a separate entity. Probably. One way to find out. He pulled his cell phone from his pocket but there was no signal, buried deep as he was in the maze of high buildings. He jogged to the opposite end of the alley from where he’d come and looked around. A small park was across the street, the kind where young mothers brought kids in strollers and a few suited businessmen sat on benches getting a little sun during their lunch hours. He could fit in well enough, he decided.

Enough with text messages and notes, he thought as he saw the bars on the phone’s display rise. I’m calling this dude.

A gruff male voice picked up after one ring. “Anton. What the hell?” Frank said.

“You tell me. I don’t play these games, Morrell. You send me notes? Come on.”

“Don’t blame me. How do I know what you’re up to?”

“Listen, I could give a shit about your item. You need something from me. You don’t play the game by my rules, I walk.”

Frank caught a whiff of a bluff there, but did he dare take the chance? He wanted to leave this city with cash in hand, not a hot piece of jewelry that was becoming more dangerous by the day.

“How do I know you even have the piece you claim? You know, there’s much bigger fish out there these days—sure thing deals with people I already know.”

This time there was no bluff.

“Okay, okay,” Frank said. He looked around and spotted a newspaper at the top of a trash bin. “I’ll send you a picture to prove I’ve got it. Then we meet. You brought cash right?”

Anton chuffed. “Amateur.”

“Two minutes. You’ll have a picture.”

Frank folded the paper on the bench beside him, masthead showing the date at the top. This was a risk, taking the necklace out in broad daylight, but he was tired of the delays. Assuring he had this corner of the park to himself, he reached under his shirt, removed the necklace from the money belt and laid it across the page. Snap, snap—a photo and a Send. He set the phone down and quickly re-stashed the jewels.

Anton called back immediately. “This piece, it is from zat museum job in Arizona, few months ago.”

“Yes, that’s the one.”

“I followed the story. Later, they say the necklace was not worth anything. You trying to fool Anton with a fake?”

Frank went into the explanation about the switch, finding himself losing patience once again. “Look, you’ll have to see the piece. Verify it for yourself.”

He worked to keep his tone cool, as if the sale meant nothing to him. He could find any number of buyers for the piece. Yeah, in theory. But the reality was he’d become sick of the hassle. The game had been fun for awhile. Now he wanted to dump this thing and get on with something else, something easier.

“I will call you back in ten minutes with a meeting place,” Anton said. The line went dead.