Steal

by Jeff Elkins

  The smile disappeared from his face. Crossing his arms, he said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Interrupting, the waitress laid everyone’s order in front of them. Moe’s sub looked amazing. The warm smell of meat and sauce drifted upward, making her stomach rumble. The bread was perfectly toasted, and the cheese was melted but not burnt. Picking up half of the sandwich with both hands, she started to take a bite.

  “Before you auction it off, how exactly do you plan to get it out of the police impound?” Stacie asked with a grin.

  Raul picked up his phone and began texting furiously.

  “We aren’t interested in you or your habit of selling stolen art. We want to know your connection to Lewis Quartz and his band of merry military men,” Stacie said.

  Raul’s phone rang. Winking at them, he said, “One moment please.” Answering the phone, he said, “Hello. Yes. They’re here with me now. Of course.” Holding the phone out to Moe, Raul said, “It’s for you.”

  Moe gave Stacie a curious look. Stacie shrugged. Putting the phone to her ear, Moe said, “Hello?”

  The male voice on the other end of the line seethed with controlled anger. “You think you can break into my home and get away with it? You bitch. And, then, you called the cops? You’re dead. You understand me, you bitch. You’re dead.”

  “I’m sorry, to whom am I speaking?” Moe asked.

  The man’s voice went cold. “You know exactly who this is. I’m coming for you and your little girlfriend. You burned our house so now we’re going to burn yours. You’re going to pay bitch.”

  The line went dead. Moe shot Stacie a look of concern and dropped Raul’s phone in her pocket.

  “I’ll have my phone back, now,” Raul said with a smile.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Moe said.

  “Look, your little gang of thugs is busted. Your whole operation is going down. Tell us who is behind it and we’ll put a good word in with the cops for you,” Stacie said.

  “We’ve got connections. We’ll let them know you were just caught in the middle of all of this,” Moe added.

  Raul smiled, swirled his wine, smelled it, and then took a sip. With a sigh, he said, “Take the phone. Keep the phone. It doesn’t matter. You’re barking up the wrong tree. I’m a true middleman. If the art is stolen, I have no knowledge of it. The sellers tell me nothing and the buyers don’t complain. I’m clean in whatever you think is happening here.”

  Moe leaned back in her chair. She considered reaching across the table, grabbing his arm, and ripping memories from his head, but she wasn’t sure what to look for. Thoughts of Lewis would likely lead her to picking up paintings. Thoughts of Theo would lead to auctions and sales. She needed a direction before she went digging around in Raul’s brain. “You know more than you are letting on. Tell us who’s behind all of this,” Moe said, fishing for something that would give her the opening she needed.

  Raul took a bite of his salad and another sip of his wine. “Eat up. Your sandwich is getting cold,” he said.

  Before Moe could formulate another approach, the door to DiPasquale’s was thrown open. Francine stepped into the restaurant. There was a mix of rage and intensity in her eyes. Picking up on Francine’s urgency, Moe and Stacie both stood to leave.

  “This isn’t over,” Stacie threatened Raul.

  “Yes, it is,” Raul said, toasting her with his wine glass.

  “You’re going to answer for your part in this,” Moe replied.

  Raul reached across the table, picked up Moe’s sub, and took a bite. Savoring the taste, he replied, “If you change your mind about my blog, give me a call.”

  Stepping out of the restaurant with Francine, Moe asked, “What’s up?”

  “Five minutes ago, three cars pulled up in front of your homes and threw explosive devices through the windows. We need to go,” Francine said.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  They rode to their houses in one of Francine’s bullet proof cars. Moe could see the smoke from blocks away. The street was blocked off, so they had to watch from the end of the block. Moe considered getting out to walk, but then decided against it. She was in no hurry to see her house in flames.

  “How’d it happen?” Stacie asked.

  “It wasn’t fancy. They pulled up, three of them jumped out of their van, and they threw bombs through the front windows and the second floor windows. Then, they drove off. I had one of my team on the houses, but there wasn’t much we could do about it because it happened so fast. I’m sorry,” Francine said.

  “At least no one was hurt. It’s just stuff,” Moe said.

  “I’m glad Bosley wasn’t there,” Stacie said.

  “Yeah,” Moe agreed. The thought of Bosley being trapped in a burning house left a lump of sadness in her throat.

  “Well, let’s go see it up close,” Stacie said, as she got out of the car.

  Moe followed behind her. They watched in silence the fire devoured their homes. There were three fire trucks on the scene. Firemen scurried around, pointing hoses at the blaze, clearing debris, and keeping onlookers at bay. The fire billowed from the windows of Moe and Stacie’s houses, but the houses next to theirs were unharmed. It seemed that Moe and Stacie’s homes were the only ones effected. Moe was happy about that. There was a crash that made Moe and Stacie jump as the roof of Moe’s house fell in.

  “This is awful,” Stacie said.

  “Yeah,” Moe said. Watching the houses burn didn’t seem real. It felt like a dream. The flames danced in the windows. A second large crash brought Stacie’s roof down.

  “I really loved that house,” Stacie said.

  “Me too,” Moe said.

  Neighbors, they’d never met, were gathered at the edges of the barricade to watch their homes burn. Moe watched them for a while, hoping maybe to catch sight of one of the Marines returning to the scene to watch their handiwork, but there was no one even remotely suspicious.

  “I’m just glad we’re both safe,” Moe said.

  “We need to catch these bastards. We need to catch them and make them pay,” Stacie said.

  “We will. They’ve messed with the wrong people.” Moe said, putting her arm around Stacie.

  “Moe. Stacie. I’m sorry about your houses,” a deep and tired voice said from behind them. Moe turned to see Detective Mason there, dressed as he always was, in a grey rumpled suit, nondescript tie, and a gold badge that hung around his neck. “Would you be up for coming down to the station and answering some questions? It can wait until the morning, if you need,” he said.

  Moe appreciated the compassion in his voice, even if it was filled with exhaustion. She looked at Stacie for her thoughts.

  Stacie nodded.

  “We’ll meet you there,” Moe said.

  Moe was thankful that the questioning took less than two hours – an hour of waiting around and an hour of conversation. She and Stacie told Detective Mason and his partner everything they knew about the Marines. She even handed over Raul’s phone, although she was certain they wouldn’t get anything off of it, but the number to a burner phone. Lewis and his Marines were probably too careful to be caught with a simple cell trace. Moe was thankful they didn’t ask too many questions about their employer. The weak florescent lights were giving her a headache and the air was stale. She wanted a hot bath and a good meal and a long nap.

  “Well, I guess that’s everything. It’s great you recently moved. It would have been terrible if you’d been home,” Detective James said, clicking his pen closed. “Unless there is something we forgot to ask?”

  “I don’t think so,” Moe said.

  Stacie stood and stretched. “So we can go, then?” she asked.

  “You can go. If we find anything out, we’ll let you know,” Detective Mason said in his usual Eeyore tone.

  “Actually, if you wouldn’t mind, some of the guys would love pictures and autographs,” Detective James said with a sheepish grin.

&nb
sp; Stacie looked at Moe for help. Moe laughed and said, “The price of fame. I’ll meet you in the waiting room.”

  Stacie sighed. “I’d be happy to,” she said.

  The waiting room was filled with plastic chairs that were linked together in rows by long iron bars. The seats looked horribly uncomfortable, which is probably why Francine had opted for standing in the corner. Her trench coat folded over the chair in front of her, she was typing a message to someone on her phone.

  Moe watched her for a moment, trying to determine her feelings about the woman. She didn’t like how Francine presumed things and took action without asking. At the same time, Francine clearly cared for Stacie. Their connection was deeper than a normal employer-employee relationship. Caring about Stacie was something Francine and Moe had in common. Maybe, it was something Moe could use to build a relationship with the woman.

  Moe took a seat in one of the chairs facing Francine. It was as uncomfortable as it looked. Moe wasn’t sure whether to slouch or sit up straight. “What is Stacie to you?” Moe asked.

  “I’d ask you the same thing,” Francine said.

  “She’s my best friend,” Moe said without hesitation.

  Francine took a deep breath and scratched at the corner of her mouth. Having made a decision, she took a seat next to Moe. “I came to work for Stacie’s family when she was eleven. Her acting career was starting to take off and her father liked the visual of a body guard following her around. He had no idea she would actually need one in the future. Protecting her was my first job after getting out of the service. I didn’t have a team back then. It was just me. Me and Stacie. So, I guess I became some form of big sister, or mother?” Francine laughed at the thought. “And I needed her. My head was full of terrible things. Caring for Stacie was cathartic. She helped me return to a normal life.”

  Moe laughed. “I don’t know that wearing a trench coat and leading a team of badass amazon warriors is what most people would call normal.”

  “Normal-ish,” Francine said.

  “Who wants normal anyway? Normal-ish is more fun.”

  “I like you, Ms. Watkins. Please know, you have an ally in me.”

  “Call me Moe. All my friends do,” Moneta replied.

  “Alright, Moe. By the way, where is Stacie?” Francine asked.

  “She’s signing autographs,” Moe said with a laugh.

  “That’s our Stacie,” Francine replied with a grin.

  Moe felt the heaviness of her lids and sighed. “I’m so tired,” she said.

  “A hot bath, a good night’s sleep, a good breakfast, and you’ll be ready to go on the attack. While they think you’re down, you can take the fight to them,” Francine said.

  “I like the way you think, Francine. You and I are going to get along great,” Moe said, giving her new friend a fist bump.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Moe pounded on the door of the small house, again. It was still early, only eight-thirty in the morning, but the memory of her house on fire had ignited a rage in her that she knew wouldn’t calm until this case was done and everyone who had dared come after her and Stacie were behind bars.

  “Maybe he’s not home,” Stacie said. There was an annoying spark of hope in her voice. She and Moe had made bets over breakfast as to which of the suspects they would be able to catch at home this morning. If Edwin answered the door, Stacie owed Moe a Coke.

  “He’s home,” Moe said, as she pounded on the door with her fist for a third time. The small white house was a two-story Cape Cod. There were lots of them in small neighborhoods like this one, north of the beltway.

  “It’s like I said last night. If I were him and I did it, I’d make a run for it,” Stacie said.

  “Not this one. He’s a coward. He’s not running. He’s hiding,” Moe said.

  With visions of their homes burning keeping them from sleep, Moe and Stacie had spent the night working through all of Thalberg’s employees to narrow the suspect list. They determined that only four had the access to Thalberg to know when and where the Rembrandt would be hung: his head of security, his son, his lawyer, or his butler. Of the four, Moe thought the butler would be the most likely to crack. Stacie had put her bet on the head of security.

  Moe pounded on the door again and said, “I could feel it when we first met him at the Thalberg house. The way he looked down at the floor whenever they spoke to him. He’s not a runner. He’s hold up in there.” Pounding on the door a third time, she yelled, “Come out! We know you’re in there!”

  Moe took a step back and looked up at the second floor windows. As she did, she caught a glimpse of someone jerking out of view. Grabbing a stick, she threw it at the window and screamed, “Edwin Lachete! We can see you in that window!”

  “We don’t want to hurt you, Edwin! We just want to talk,” Stacie yelled.

  “You owe me a Coke,” Moe said.

  “Fine,” Stacie grumbled.

  Moe heard footsteps inside. Someone was coming down the stairs. There was rustling at the door as locks were undone. The door opened a crack and the gray haired butler’s face peaked out.

  “Open the door, Edwin,” Moe demanded.

  “You’re insane. What are you doing here? You can’t be here,” Edwin complained.

  Moe pushed on the door trying to force it open, but a chain lock held it closed.

  “You have no idea who you’re messing with. You should leave. Immediately!” Edwin said.

  Moe’s ears tingled at the small admission of collusion.

  “Yesterday your friends burned our houses down, so today, we’re pulling every one of you out of your houses, until we get some answers,” Stacie demanded.

  “I’m calling the cops,” Edwin threatened.

  “Good. Call’em. They’re on our side,” Stacie yelled.

  “I can’t come out. They’re probably watching. They can’t see me talking to you. They’ll kill me. Please leave,” Edwin begged.

  Moe knew she needed to think fast. She was losing him. “Look,” she reasoned, “if they were going to kill you, they would have done it last night. You’re clearly the fall guy.”

  “They need you alive, so they can pin it all on you,” Stacie said, picking up on the direction Moe was heading.

  “They are all going to walk away and leave you holding the bag. Mr. Thalberg will be so disappointed,” Moe said.

  “Mr. Thalberg would never believe I could steal from him,” Edwin said with disgust.

  “He doesn’t need to believe it. He just needs to believe you would hire someone to do it,” Moe said.

  “If you think about it, we’re really your best chance. Let us in. Tell us what happened. We’ll give the cops your side of the story,” Stacie added.

  “Just leave,” Edwin whined.

  “We’re not leaving until you tell us everything you know. You’re going down, Edwin. You and your whole gang. Let us help you control the fall,” Moe reasoned.

  “Leave my property or I’m calling the police,” Edwin said.

  Moe could tell he was gathering the little courage he had. She needed to act quickly. “Let us in or I’m calling Hayes and telling him you confessed to everything,” she said, betting the name of the head of security would send Edwin into a panic.

  Edwin’s eyes grew large. “You wouldn’t!” he said.

  Moe pondered what that response meant. Was he afraid of Hayes because Hayes was the head of security, or because Hayes was the true mastermind of the heist.

  “You better believe we’ll call him,” Stacie threatened.

  “Fine. Call him. I don’t care. I’ve got nothing to hide,” Edwin whined, as he slammed the door shut.

  As Stacie and Moe stepped back from the front door into the yard Stacie asked, “What do you think?”

  “For whatever reason, he seems more afraid of Hayes than of talking to us,” Moe said.

  “He’s probably in there calling him right now,” Stacie said.

  “Let’s hang out for a bit and
see if he goes anywhere. You think Francine is nearby?” Moe asked.

  “I’m sure she’s lurking in the shadows somewhere. Let me see,” Stacie said, as she pulled her phone from her pocket and sent a text.

  Moe and Stacie only waited a second before they heard a horn honk from down the street. A dark colored Honda Accord parked a block away flashed its lights at them. “Did you know she was back there?” Moe asked with a laugh.

  “I had no idea,” Stacie said.

  “Let’s go and say, hi,” Moe said.

  Moe and Stacie got in the backseat of the black Accord and said good morning to Francine. “Thanks for sticking close,” Moe said, as she slid over to make room for Stacie.

  Francine, dressed in her standard black suit and tie, sat in the passenger seat. Next to her in the driver’s seat was a woman dressed in the exact same way with the same haircut. “I couldn’t let my favorite ladies chase bomb happy Marines without back up,” Francine said with a smile. Motioning to the woman next to her, she said, “This is Angie, my number two.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Angie said without turning around.

  “Nice to meet you too,” Moe said.

  “Yeah, nice to meet you. And, I have so many questions for you about what it’s like to work for Francine,” Stacie eagerly said.

  “My lips are sealed,” Angie said. There was no sign of humor in her response.

  “So, what’s your next play?” Francine asked, changing the subject.

  “We think we scared him. We’re going to sit on the house and see if anyone shows up, or if he tries to make a run for it,” Moe said.

  “Smart,” Francine replied.

  “Looks like you aren’t going to have to wait very long,” Angie said.

  They watched as Edwin hurriedly stepped from his front door, locked it behind him, and rushed to a car that was parked across the street.

  “That was fast,” Stacie said.

  Francine picked up a black phone that was sitting on the dashboard, press a button on the side of it, and said into it, “We’re on the move. We’ll take lead.”