Thieves Like Us (11 page)

Vasili nodded. “True. Dangerous business.”

Rocky didn’t point out that Vasili’s associates were responsible for a large percentage of that danger. “If I can convince him to tell me where the rest of the collection went, I can find it. And I’m still the best in the business. If I get the jewelry back, the fence is safe. There’s no reason to connect me to him, or the guy who sold it last year. The bad guys stop looking for it, the fence lives, and my lady friend is out of danger.”

“And you bring to me. I use international contacts, sell to highest bidder, split with you eighty-twenty.”

Rocky smiled, only partly at the low percentage being offered him. “Not exactly. I take them to the FBI. Game over.”

Vasili looked crushed, shaking his big head. “Dick-head move. No one make money.”

“But everyone stays safe.”

“
Pfft.
” He sulked over the loss of income for several seconds. “You not so good businessman, Rocky. Could make lots money. But . . . your loss. You want name of fence? No skin off my nose. They find him, less competition for me.” Vasili rubbed his chin again, thinking. “Had to be someone not know business too good, or never would have sold necklace, right? Who not recognize Pellinni Jewels?” He rolled his eyes to the ceiling over such incomprehensible ignorance. Then squinted as inspiration struck. “I know guy like this on West Side. Stupid shit. Don’t know name. Not important. Like mosquito, I only swat him if get in my way.” He sketched a map on a piece of paper, marking a spot with an
X,
then indicating major roads with a blunt forefinger. “This Evergreen, this Fenkell. Store on side street here. Called “Treasures,” or “Fortunes.” Some shit like that.”

Rocky folded the paper and tucked it in a pocket. “Thanks, Vasili.”

“You tell me what happens.”

“I will.”

“And don’t be stranger. Keep in touch.”

Not if he could avoid it. “I might come by more often if you’d buy another damn stool to sit on.”

Vasili laughed and came around the counter, opening the door for Rocky and waving good-bye, his usual routine. Rocky was sure if he walked out alone he’d never make it to the front door of the barber shop without being tackled. The escort was for Rocky’s safety.

Leaving was a relief, and not just because he had a lead on the necklace. Stepping back into the world of petty thieves, crime cartels, and armed bodyguards felt like walking in deep muck, the stink clinging to his clothes and dirtying everything he touched. He strode across the street to the abandoned parking lot where he’d left the Lexus, intent on getting out of this crumbling section of Detroit as fast as he could.

The Lexus was no longer alone in the lot. A yellow corvette was parked nearby, a man leaning against it as he waited. Rocky took in the studied indifference as the man watched him, finally flicking his cigarette to the ground and straightening as Rocky reached the lot.

Shit.
Easy Joey, the last person he ever wanted to see again.

“Thought this was your car.” Easy strolled around it to the driver’s side, obviously satisfied with his sharp memory.

“Figured that out, huh?” He pulled the keys from his pocket and jingled them impatiently.

Easy had never tuned in to subtleties. Or maybe he was ignoring this one. “Heard you were out.”

Rocky lifted an eyebrow. “I’ve been out for more than a year. That news is a bit out of date.”

“And yet I never get tired of remembering that you went to jail.”

His jaw tightened. “I’ll bet.” Easy was the one responsible for putting him there.

“How was it? I’ve never been, myself.”

He’d give anything to wring the bastard’s neck. “Interesting place. I made lots of new friends.” He allowed a cool smile.

Easy’s expression hardened. “Are you threatening me, Hernandez?”

Rocky allowed a short laugh. “I’m not that interested in you, Easy. And I’m leaving.” He hit the remote button to unlock the car, waiting for Easy to stand aside. The idiot stepped toward him instead.

“Well, I’m not done with you.”

Was the twerp really confronting him? He knew Easy was prone to rash moves but was surprised his anger could blind him to the obvious fact that he was a marshmallow.

Easy put on his tough face, squinting and curling his upper lip. The glimpse of nicotine-stained teeth was the only actual intimidating factor. “You took something from me, Hernandez. I intend to get even.”

“You made sure I went to jail. I’d say we’re even.”

“Well, you’re wrong. A year in County, big deal. Those gold coins were my big score, and you took them.”

Marshmallow or not, the guy had hit a tender spot. Rocky made a conscious effort to control his temper as he leaned close to Easy. “Those gold coins weren’t yours.”

“I don’t agree, and I want them back.”

“Too bad. I don’t have them.”

Easy sneered. “You expect me to believe you’d fence them for a tenth of their value? I’m not stupid.”

“You might have to reevaluate that claim. I gave them away.”

He scowled, anger changing to disbelief. “To who?”

“To ‘whom,’ dumb fuck,” Rocky corrected, enunciating it the way Elizabeth Westfield would, just to irritate the little prick. “To their rightful owner, which is not you. Now move.”

He did, sliding a short, jagged-edged knife from his waistband and standing between Rocky and the car door. Rocky sighed. Some guys just couldn’t separate their brains from their balls.

Easy let the knife flash in the sun, admiring the shine. “You’re a fuckin’ idiot if you—” his sentence ended abruptly as Rocky delivered a fast punch to the gut that sent Easy staggering against the car. Before he could recover, Rocky kicked the knife away, eliciting a high squeal from Easy as his fingers tried to go with it. Grabbing a handful of his shirt before Easy could recover, Rocky pushed him out of the way.

Easy sat on the gritty pavement, cradling his fingers against his injured stomach and gasping for air as Rocky got in his car. Starting the ignition, he lowered the window to offer a final piece of advice. “Stay out of my way, Easy, and I’ll do you a huge favor and stay out of yours.”

Easy stood painfully, straightening as much as he could. “No one gets away with stealing from me, Hernandez. If you don’t have the coins, I’ll take something else.” He paused to draw a few raspy breaths. “I’m warning you right now, you just made yourself a target. And you know I can do it.”

Rocky wasn’t sure about that, but he had to admit the guy was good at what he did. Joey Korchak hadn’t picked up his nickname from an easygoing manner or an effortless way with women. It came from his brash but accurate claim that he could break into almost anyplace, “easy.”

Rocky doubted Easy’s skills could overcome the security measures at his apartment, but it might be fun to see what the guy could do. He’d have to be awfully good to bypass both Rocky’s vigilance and a Red Rose alarm system.

“I can’t stop you from trying, Easy. But remember what happens if you get caught in the act.” He put the car in gear and eased off the brake. “Maybe I can use my connections and get you a cell with a view.”

“Fuck off,” Easy grunted as the car backed up. He was standing straight, if shakily, as Rocky drove off, calling out, “We’re not done, Hernandez!”

Great.
He stepped back into the underworld for one measly hour, and came away with its most slimy specimen stuck to him like a piece of gum on the bottom of a shoe.

T
he rental car company made it easy, delivering an environmentally friendly, inconspicuous compact car right to the Westfields’ door. And since Elizabeth was at a steering committee meeting for the downtown development group and Rocky was at work, Janet knew she could sneak away easily. After all, what did they expect her to do all day, watch TV? It was either go to work or go crazy.

Janet walked down the corridor of the Westfield-Benton office as if she had every right to be there. She did—in the department that ran Aims Air Freight. But not in the basement storage area.

Listening for footsteps before stepping into the deserted hall, she hurried to a locked room at the far end. Using the key she’d taken from the custodian’s desk, she slipped inside. The room housed a collection of unused furniture, accessories, and electronics, along with seven nondescript cardboard boxes containing the personal effects from Banner’s office.

She’d seen what was in them. Heck, she even helped pack them. But she’d been married to him at the time and had had a right to handle his possessions, even if she’d done it in the presence of his attorney. Now she was his ex-wife and the future star witness in the government’s case against him. Getting caught searching through his personal belongings probably wouldn’t be a good thing.

She was also breaking Rocky’s and Ben’s stern warnings to stay home. That part couldn’t be helped—she had a business to run and a crime to solve. If she got back to Elizabeth’s before six as planned, they’d never even know.

That gave her an hour to go through the seven boxes again. When they’d packed them away she’d only made sure they didn’t contain personal items like photographs or credit cards. This time she was looking for receipts or jewelry boxes, anything that might be related to the Pellinni Jewels.

She dragged a chair to the boxes, opened the first one, and dug in.

Forty minutes later Janet sighed with frustration as she opened the last box. At least this one didn’t have any tedious stacks of paper or loose leaf binders. It also didn’t have any likely connections to the missing jewelry. One by one, she lifted out the knickknacks that had decorated Banner’s desk and shelves—a chunk of polished stone littered with trilobite fossils, a broken piece of Aztec pottery that probably belonged in a museum, a trophy won in a sailing race on Lake Michigan, and a half dozen other unsuspicious mementos.

She pulled out the last object—a wooden humidor, inlaid with ivory. She’d seen it before, it was where Banner kept his cigars. This time it rattled when she picked it up. She held it on her lap and yanked at the tight lid. It opened with a pop, spilling the contents into her lap—eight golden golf balls.

She picked one up. It was obviously gold plated; it felt too light to be solid. A tiny flat base allowed each ball to sit so that the black lettering across the top could be read: Westfield-Benton Charity Golf Classic. Souvenirs for the top players at the company-sponsored annual golf event.

Disappointed, she gathered the balls and put them back in the box. One dropped from her lap and rolled across the cement floor. Janet muttered a curse as she retrieved it from beneath a desk, blowing off dust and cobwebs. She rubbed her finger along a dirty line, but it wouldn’t come off. Using her fingernail, she scraped it. Her nail caught in a groove.

Hope fluttered in her chest as she wedged her thumb nails into the groove and pried. The ball fell open in two halves, revealing a hollow interior. No secret prize, no hidden jewelry. She didn’t know what she’d been expecting; it wasn’t big enough to hold one of the ornate Pellinni Jewels, anyway. It was just another cheaply made promotional gift.

To remove any doubt, she opened each one. All empty.

Disappointed, she packed them away with the other items. Closing the last box, Janet sighed. Whatever had happened to the rest of the Pellinni Jewels, Banner didn’t seem to be involved.

She returned the key and headed to her rental car. The Westfield-Benton parking lot had emptied considerably, and only one other car pulled out when she did—a black Escalade that turned in the same direction. When she stopped for gas, it kept going.

She filled her tank and got back on the road. She looked in her rearview mirror as she changed lanes and noticed a black Escalade a couple cars back. When she turned onto the I-75 entrance ramp, she watched the mirror again. The Escalade was still there.

That didn’t mean it was following her, she told herself. I-75 was the major traffic corridor in Oakland County; a whole string of commuters had taken the same entrance ramp. Plus, her little rental car made her blend in while the BMW was at the shop. But the way the Escalade hung in her rearview mirror made the skin on the back of her neck quiver with apprehension.

Her fears eased a bit as she passed Chrysler’s headquarters and the Escalade pulled into the second lane and sped up. If she stayed where she was in the right lane, she’d know soon enough if the driver was tailing her.

The man behind the wheel was drawing even when she moved into the long exit lane for Square Lake Road. He moved right, too, hanging in her blind spot. But he wasn’t in the exit lane. She breathed a sigh of relief. Rocky’s fears had her imagination working overtime.

The next second, a sharp jolt sent her car skidding toward the abutment of the upcoming overpass.

She jerked the wheel left, instinctively steering away from the cement wall. The little rental car fishtailed on grass and gravel, sliding toward the embankment and scrub growth beyond the expressway. In the slow motion she’d often heard accident victims relate, she saw the car ahead of her pull to the right, ready to aid the potentially injured, while the car slightly ahead in the next lane swerved even farther away, causing a sharp blare of horns that cascaded across the expressway in a chain reaction.