Steal

by Jeff Elkins

  “Really. And, as soon as he is ready, I’m going to try to bring him to see you. Would you like that?” Moe said.

  Sarah smiled. Her eyes sparkled with joy. She nodded.

  “This is my friend, Stacie,” Moe said, motioning to Stacie.

  “I’ve heard so many amazing things about you. I just had to meet you in person,” Stacie said, kneeling down like Moe.

  “It’s nice to meet you,” Sarah said softly.

  “Would you like to see another memory tonight?” Moe asked.

  Sarah nodded again and looked down at the floor as if she’d confessed to stealing something.

  “But, I need you to think about something special tonight. Do you think you can do that for me?” Moe asked.

  “I guess,” Sarah said, her eyes filled with confusion.

  “I need you to think about your dad for me. He was really special, wasn’t he?” Moe asked.

  Sarah leaned toward Moe and Stacie and whispered, “He said to never tell anyone.”

  “My mom used to tell me the same thing, and I don’t want you to tell anybody. I just want you to show me. Would you be okay with that?” Moe asked.

  Sarah took Moe’s hands and closed her eyes.

  Moe closed her eyes and accepted the memory.

  The smell of fresh muffins filled her nose. Her mouth watered. She took a piece of bacon off the plate in front of her and crunched it between her teeth. She liked how it melted in her mouth. “Do another one,” Moe said, hearing Sarah’s voice come from her mouth.

  Her father stood on the other side of the kitchen island, beating eggs with a fork in a metal bowl. “Are you ready for your game today?” he asked Sarah.

  “Yep,” she said, taking another bite of bacon.

  “How many of those have you had?” Sarah’s mother said. She was sitting next to Sarah on a stool at the kitchen island. “This is number two,” Moe lied.

  “Not counting the first one you ate,” Sarah’s father said, as he poured the eggs into the pan on the stove. They sizzled and started to solidify the second they hit the hot surface.

  “Number three,” Moe said, looking down.

  “Last one,” Sarah’s mother said, not looking up from her crossword puzzle.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Moe said.

  “You don’t want to make yourself sick. How else are you going to score fifteen goals today?” Sarah’s father joked.

  “Dad!” Moe complained, but inside she liked it. She’d never scored a goal before. Scoring fifteen would be fun. She watched as Sarah’s father worked a spatula through the pan, scrambling the eggs. He took spatulas full and made small piles of eggs on three plates.

  “Twelve letter word. A New York city borough,” Sarah’s mother asked.

  “Staten Island,” her dad said, as he took a tray of muffins from the oven.

  “Nice,” Sarah’s mom said.

  “What’s a bor-ough?” Moe asked.

  “It’s a fancy New York word for neighborhood,” Sarah’s mom said.

  “Why don’t they just say neighborhood?” Moe asked.

  “Because New Yorker’s are weird,” Sarah’s dad said.

  “Aren’t you a New Yorker?” Moe asked, confused.

  “Yep. And your dad is weird,” Sarah’s mom said.

  Sarah’s dad placed muffins on each plate, put plates in front of Moe and Sarah’s mom, and then stood across from them at the kitchen island. “Eat up. You need to go and get dressed for your game,” he said.

  Moe took a bite of the muffin in front of her. The warm bread was sweet and cinnamony. Remembering, she sat up and said, “Now, we get to play the game.”

  “Not today, Big Girl,” he dad said.

  “Of course, today,” her mother said, putting down her crossword and picking up her phone. Leaning into Moe, she added, “He’s just worried you’ll beat him.” Holding up her phone so neither of them could see, she said, “Ready?”

  Moe took a sip of milk to clean the muffin out of her mouth, so she was ready to talk. “Ready,” she said.

  Her father nodded and smiled. “Go easy on me,” he said.

  “Okay. First question. Seven-thousand-nine-hundred-eighty-two times six-thousand-four-hundred-ninety-seven,” Sarah’s mom said.

  Moe marveled as the numbers appeared in the sky before her. It was as if an invisible hand was working out the equation with glowing ink in the air in front of her, but she knew she was the only one who could see it.

  As the last number was being written in front of Moe, before Sarah’s mom could look up from her phone, Sarah’s dad said, “fifty-one-million, eight-hundred-fifty-nine-thousand, and fifty-four,” he said.

  “Point for dad,” Sarah’s mom said. Then laughing, she added, “You almost beat the calculator that time.”

  Moe sat up straight and put her hands flat on the table. “Best two out of three,” she said.

  “Don’t get mad. I’ve been doing this a lot longer than you have,” Sarah’s father said.

  Moe glared at him. Sarah didn’t like to lose.

  “Ready. Set. Eighty-two-thousand, six-hundred, thirty-four divided by seven-hundred-ninety,” Sarah’s mom said, as her fingers worked.

  Moe watched the numbers work themselves out in the air in front of her. She didn’t fully understand what they were doing, just that she could trust the result. “One, Zero, Four, Six!” she shouted.

  Sarah’s dad said, “Good job! But the decimal is important.”

  “What’s a decimal?” Moe asked.

  “That little dot between the four and the six,” he said with a smile.

  “I still got all the numbers first,” she said, crossing her arms.

  Sarah’s mom put her arm around her and said, “Yes, you did. And it was amazing.”

  Moe leaned her head against Sarah’s mom’s chest. The warmth of their contact made her feel safe. “I’m as fast as dad, right?” she said, hoping her mom would say yes.

  “Someday, you’ll be even faster,” her father said. “But you can’t tell anybody. It’s our secret, okay. No one can know.”

  “I know, Dad,” Moe said.

  Sarah let go of Moe’s hand. Reaching forward, she wrapped her arms around Moe’s neck.

  Moe inhaled the memory of the muffins and the bacon. She sat down on the floor, pulling Sarah into her lap. Glowing numbers worked out a math problem in front of her.

  Sarah buried her head in Moe’s neck. “I miss my mom and dad,” the young girl said.

  Moe stroked Sarah’s hair softly. “I know. I’m sorry,” she said.

  Sarah began to cry.

  Her gut told her to reassure the little girl and tell her that everything would be alright, but she rejected the urge. Moe’s mom hadn’t come back. Moe’s father was dead. She knew. Moe didn’t want to make promises she may not be able to keep. Instead, Moe squeezed the young girl in her lap and said again, “I’m so sorry.”

  Stacie, overcome by the scene, sat down on the floor next to them. “I’m sorry, too,” she said.

  Moe reached out and put her arm around her friend, pulling Stacie into the hug.

  “Daddy told me not to tell anyone,” Sarah whispered through her tears.

  Letting go of Stacie, Moe pushed Sarah back so she could look into the young girl’s face. Making sure she had Sarah’s eye contact, Moe said, “Never. Never tell anyone.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Stepping out into the cold night air, Moe tried to forget the image of Sarah’s mom working on a crossword. She reminded herself that she hadn’t actually eaten any bacon. She took a deep breath, allowing the smells of the trees around her and sound of cars on the nearby freeway to ground her in the present.

  “Are you okay?” Stacie asked.

  “Just coming back to reality,” Moe said.

  “Well, don’t take too long. It looks like something is up,” Stacie said, motioning toward their car.

  Moe looked up to see Francine. The strong woman stood in the middle of the parking lot,
her hands in the pockets of her trench coat. Moe wondered how long she’d been waiting.

  Stacie walked out ahead of Moe and waved, “Is everything alright?”

  Francine nodded, but she waited to speak until Moe was within earshot. “Take a walk with me,” she said.

  Stacie and Moe followed Francine down the driveway of the mental hospital to the road where a silver Benz was pulled off on the shoulder. A woman dressed exactly like Francine was standing next to the driver’s side door.

  “I’m going to start calling them the Black Coats,” Moe said, soft enough so only Stacie could hear.

  “Oh! I like that,” Stacie said with enthusiastic approval.

  As they drew closer to the car, a switch flipped in Stacie. Her gait gained intention and her fists clinched. Moe walked behind her wondering what she was seeing that Moe wasn’t.

  When they were close enough to see two figures in the front seats, Stacie yelled, “Son of a Bitch!” She ran toward the car, but Francine intercepted her.

  “We got them,” Francine said, holding Stacie like a mother would hold a terrified child. Stacie seemed to melt in her arms. Francine guided Stacie away from the car and whispered softly to her.

  Moe moved closer and peered into the passenger side window. There were two men inside. Both were fast asleep. The one behind the steering wheel was Thad Thalberg, the son of their employer. Moe had never seen the other before, but even passed out, Moe could see he had the same rich arrogance as his friend.

  Moe turned back to her friend. She watched silently as Stacie nodded. Francine spoke calmly in whispered tones. Stacie’s back slowly straightened and, when she turned back to Moe, she had regained her composure and had the same resolve Moe had seen the morning when they left the Thalberg’s. Knowing her friend was going to be okay, Moe asked, “Why is Thad following us?”

  “He’s not. Bruce Spiniker is following me,” Stacie said.

  Moe was confused. “Bruce, the stalker?”

  “Bruce, the sexual predator.” Francine said, just loud enough for Moe to hear.

  A shot of electric rage went through Moe’s body. Sexual assault? She saw the anger behind Stacie’s eyes and things began to fall into place. She walked to her friend and wrapped her arms around her. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. We never should have taken this case.”

  “He’s a jackass, and I stopped letting him control me years ago. And now he’s violating the restraining order, so it looks like he’s heading off to prison.” Stacie explained.

  “Technically, he’s staying the appropriate distance away from you, but he is following you,” Francine said.

  “For how long?” Moe asked.

  “We tagged them at the girl’s house. They’ve been with you since, at the office, the bar, and here.” Francine explained.

  “Just like him to stay just inside the law. What did you do to him? To put him to sleep like that?” Stacie asked.

  “Benzodiazepines through the ventilation system. Idiots never saw us. Sadly, they’re fine. They’ll wake up in a few hours with a hangover,” Francine explained.

  “What would you suggest we do?” Moe asked.

  “Nothing yet. We’re on them. They’ll never get close. Let’s wait and see what they want.” Francine said.

  Moe didn’t like the plan. She wanted to protect her friend. She wanted to know what happened, and why Bruce wasn’t already in prison. But, she thought about how patient Stacie had been with her yesterday when she learned about Moe’s mother. She owed her friend more. So she said, “Stacie? This is your call.”

  “Francine is right. Now that we know, we can force him to slip up any time we want. Is it unlocked?” Stacie said, as she walked to the car.

  “Not the face,” Francine said.

  Stacie opened the car door and punched the sleeping Bruce in the crotch as hard as she could. His body jerked, but the man didn’t wake up.

  Moe couldn’t help but laugh.

  “Sweet dreams, douche-bag,” Stacie said, as she closed the door and started back up the driveway to their car.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Moe sat up in bed five minutes before her alarm was set to go off. Glowing numbers, the taste of bacon, and the sounds of Sarah’s father screaming had filled her dreams. She looked over at Stacie, who was snoring in the bed across the room. The sight of her friend reminded Moe of where she was.

  Bosley poked his nose over the side of the bed and whined.

  “I know, boy. You need to go out,” she said. He ran in a circle. Moe looked at the clock. She had an hour before Ami arrived.

  Everything was in the right place. A copy of her family’s picture and her mantra were in the top right corner of the mirror. Brand new bottles of all her hair products were exactly where she expected them to be. Her half of the closet was filled with her t-shirts and pants, just as she had them organized at home. Francine’s attention to detail was annoyingly perfect. She slipped on jeans and decided on a t-shirt with a quote from Saving Private Ryan that read, “He better be worth it. He better go home and cure a disease, or invent a longer-lasting light bulb.”

  The front door had four locks: the basic one in the knob, two dead bolts, and a safety bar instead of the standard chain. Down the stairs, there were four more locks on the door that led to the outside. As she undid them, Moe looked at the two mailboxes next to the front door. The first read, “122B Watkins and Howe.” The second read, “122A M.H.” Moe pushed open the front door, and she and Bosley stepped out into the sun.

  Her new office was in a two-story red-brick row home across the street from Patterson Park. There was nothing special about it. It looked like every other row home on the block, which Moe assumed was the point.

  Bosley pulled on the leash, excited about crossing the street to the park. It wasn’t until they came back from their short walk that Moe noticed the man sitting next to the front door on a small bench. He was mildly overweight and balding. There was a bag of walnuts next to him. Moe was impressed by how the man could crack the nuts with his bare hand. “Good morning,” she said, as she approached the door.

  The man grunted in reply.

  “I’m Moneta Watkins. I just moved in upstairs,” she said.

  The man nodded, but didn’t smile. “Name’s Mr. Hudson. I’m your landlord,” he said.

  “Well, it’s nice to meet you,” Moe said.

  “Rent is due the first of each month. I don’t like a lot of coming and going, so don’t. And no parties. Ever.” he said, as he cracked another walnut, discarded the shell on the sidewalk, and popped the nut in his mouth.

  “I wouldn’t worry about us. I don’t think we’ll be here long,” Moe said.

  “Don’t care how long you stay, as long as the rent gets paid,” Mr. Hudson said, as he stared out at the park.

  “So, do you work for Francine?” Moe asked.

  Mr. Hudson crushed another nut, threw the shell on the ground, and ate the meat again. “No,” he said.

  “But you know her?” Moe asked.

  “I do,” he said, not taking his gaze off the park.

  “But, you don’t work for her?” Moe asked again.

  “Already told you no,” he said.

  “Okay, then. It is nice to meet you,” Moe said, hoping the man would mirror the smile she was giving him.

  Mr. Hudson grunted in reply and then said, “You have a visitor.”

  “Thank you, Moe said turning toward the stairs.

  “Tall woman. Likes to take pictures,” Mr. Hudson grunted.

  “Ami,” Moe said with a smile. “How do you know she likes to take pictures?” Moe asked.

  “She asked to take my picture,” he said, shooting Moe withering look.

  “Got it. Thanks for the heads up,” Moe said, as she walked up the stairs.

  “Anytime,” Mr. Hudson grunted.

  Moe chuckled to herself as she and Bosley ran up the stairs to meet her friend.

  After giving Ami a hug, Moe watched as Ami walk
ed around the apartment with a strange box that was attached to large pair of headphones she wore. Occasionally, Ami stopped to take apart a lamp or lift a piece of furniture. Once she’d cleared all the rooms, she went to work on the new computers. After nearly three hours of fussing over the apartment, Ami declared that it was secure.

  “No bugs. No cameras. Laptops are clean. I put new security programs on them just in case, but it looks like you are good. I went ahead and installed the same camera set up you have at home.” Standing up straight and raising her hands in the air, Ami gave her best Tangina impression and declared, “This house is clean.”

  “You had hidden cameras at home?” Stacie asked, from the kitchen where she was making lunch.

  “I keep them off most of the time,” Moe said.

  “Which you should not do,” Ami complained.

  “It’s just in case my brother starts showing up,” Moe said.

  “Robert?” Stacie asked.

  “No. Lance,” Moe said.

  “I haven’t met that one,” Stacie said.

  “Let’s hope you never do,” Moe said. Turning to Ami she said, “Thank you. I really appreciate this.”

  “You can pay me later with a fun memory. Ooo. Or maybe something scary? Yeah, with all your work with the police, I bet you can scare the crap out of me with something in your head,” Ami said.

  Moe sighed. “If that’s what you want,” she said.

  “Oh! I almost forgot,” Ami said with glee. “I ran those sketches you gave me through the net and I found one of your mystery men.”

  “What!” Moe said. Her heart leaped in her chest. It was a lead. She couldn’t believe it.

  Stacie came bounding in from the kitchen, sharing Moe’s excitement. “Is it the three-scarred dude? Please, say it’s that one,” she begged.

  “No. That guy is a ghost. The sketch was really great, and I put it through every database I could find. He’s nowhere. The guy with the hooked nose on the other hand, he’s local. Works at the casino downtown as a floor manager of some sort. His name is Damon Santobello. He’s got a house just south of the city in Brooklyn Park. Here’s his details,” Ami said, as she pulled an index card from her pocket and handed it to Moe.