by Bronwen John
“Insurance policy?” he asked, looking at the photographs.
“Insurance policy,” Esther agreed. “We need this. I need it to fit into the background. This entire con is built upon the honour or dishonour amongst thieves.”
“Miss Crook,” Anton asked after a moment, “do you think we will ever have a normal relationship?”
“What do you consider ‘normal’? We live in the shadows of ‘hello’ and ‘goodbye’,” she said, looking at him out of the corner of her eye. “Just be grateful that this time as I say goodbye, I’m not throwing you out into the Norway snow!”
“You know, you turn a lovely phrase,” teased Anton, looking at the paperwork. “Even if now you are putting me on a job that could get me arrested in the United States.”
“Fine,” she said, catching hold of his chin. “I love you. Is that better?”
“Much better,” he said, walking over to his backpack. “I will call when I get the item. Send Caelan over soon. I’ll need his help.”
“I’ll need him as long as possible,” Esther said quietly. “He has a host of duties. If you could send over the plans, I’ll get things out to you.”
“You’re a fallen angel in disguise,” he said, grabbing his coat and putting it on. “I’ve got stuff waiting for me Stateside.”
“You calling me Lucifer?” Esther asked.
“Zmeya,” he corrected, taking the plans and shoving them in his backpack before heading for the door, Esther following. “A snake… and I love you too.”
He smiled and, before she had time to protest, leaned over to kiss her, once again thinking to himself that there were indeed worse things in life than catching a tiger by the tail.
You could also catch a Crook.
Holmes was late.
Ash stood looking at the Liberty Clock, allowing the shoppers to bump by her as she gazed above the arch that spanned Kingly Street on the south-west side of Great Marlborough Street. With growing concern, she looked at the ornate clock face that had always fascinated and comforted her. Three times St George had chased the dragon, and now his great hand was raised to strike and slay the beast to the peal of the noon bell.
Esther had been wrong. Holmes didn’t want to partake in the revenge game. The con had ended before it had started.
“I’m sorry, Miss Azeri, the wife had me call in at Liberty while we were here.”
Ash spun around to see Holmes standing there with an amused Innocent, who looked around to check if anyone was following them, apart from his overlarge bodyguards.
“That’s all right. Please. I know a good cafe.”
The two men looked unimpressed.
“It’s better than what you think I’m thinking of. I promise.” She looked at them pleadingly, but neither shifted. Good. It meant easier work. “Fine. I’ll take you right there.” She almost huffed at the indignity. She saw the two share a wry smile… they thought they were conning her. Let them believe it.
She just hoped that the rest of the team was ready.
All the way to the warehouse, she hoped everything was ready. She knew that things were moving at a convenient pace for everyone else. Too slow for her, but that was her inexperience she knew.
“Have you lived in London long, Miss Azeri?” asked Innocent conversationally as he directed her to a black car.
“Forever,” Ash said, rubbing the back of her neck with unease. “Although my grandmother was born in Tiger Bay, Cardiff. Do you know where that is?”
Innocent shook his head as Holmes coughed, clearing his throat with a superior expression.
“It’s where Dame Shirley Bassey is from, Ezra.”
Innocent cocked an eyebrow.
“You know, the singer of those Bond themes?”
All the way there, Holmes tried to list famous people from the Cardiff area; then when Innocent showed no recognition, he moved on to Welsh personalities in general. He did this the entire journey to the Docklands.
“Honestly, Ezra, you’d think you’d be a bit of an anglophile, the time you’ve spent with me,” Holmes said, as the car drew to a halt at the dockside factory.
“Jim Driscoll, the first recipient of the featherweight Lonsdale Belt, was from Cardiff, I believe?” Innocent asked, raising his eyebrows.
The two men accompanying him shared a look and a small chuckle as the driver clambered out of the car, frantically checking his mobile phone to confirm the idle bit of trivia.
“Pugilism and its history is a hobby of mine.”
Ash didn’t want to ask what other kinds of hobbies Innocent had. But when she caught his hand to help her out of the car, he winked. He had been warding off questions, it would seem, with the art of distraction – a fellow con man in every sense of the word.
“Move yourself behind there! Yes, Terry, I’m being polite,” Eleanor’s voice roared. She was standing with arms folded across her chest. She looked like a tyrannical leader, despite looking calm and efficient. She raised her hand in acknowledgement to Ash before barking out an order to a worker.
“That’s Katherine Clarke,” Ash said quietly.
“Can’t even begin to start with how crap the day has been,” Eleanor said, walking over to Ash. “How are you doing, Azeri?”
“Fine. These are the people I was telling you about,” she said, gesturing. “After Crook.”
“Then we can walk and talk. I take it you gentlemen aren’t above seeing the less-than-savoury side of London? I have at least six shipments in that need dealing with,” she said, shaking their hands quickly. Two curt nods and open mouths before she ploughed on. “Snuff films, art forgeries… we got it all here.”
“Kat is the best fixer this side of the Thames. Outside of Terry Nunn, of course,” Ash said, trying to show her knowledge through casual conversation. “She’s the best screw to hold together a plan, while Terry is the best screwdriver.”
“Everybody is trying to screw everybody,” Eleanor said calmly. “Follow me, and close ya mouth, Ash.” She stopped next to an artwork that was going by. “That sixty-five by fifty-four centimetres? I want it right, Jo.”
“Sure thing, Kat. Got a few papers to sign it off to keep it safe and legal – you know, so nothing comes back on you.”
“Measurements?” Holmes asked curiously.
“If you think the Cairo authorities won’t measure it to make damned sure my client hasn’t sold them a dud, you have another thing coming.” Eleanor smirked as she continued to sign the papers. “My mother – who got me into this business – always said, ‘Make them think they have what they came for and leave them with nothing.’ That’s my good old mama.” She shrugged. “I don’t ask questions… it could be for some biddy who wants art treasures.”
“Even stolen ones?” Innocent asked politely as he admired one piece. “These are excellent. A hidden Van Gogh?”
“Yes. Jo?”
The young woman looked up sharply.
“Be a doll and get me those stones that Ash is after. If I’m right, that is?”
Ash nodded.
“Good. And interested?”
“Always, in good art – even if they are forgeries.”
“What a nasty word! I’d say more along the line of honouring the dead. Don’t you know that in his lifetime, Van Gogh only sold one painting? While my artist colleague, in loving memory of his all-too-tragic genius, has already sold two through myself to some other sap.” Eleanor flashed an insincere smile at the men. “No offence.”
“None taken,” Holmes assured her as a young girl scampered off to collect the items. “What a wonderful piece,” he added, walking up to a painting. “This is?”
“Ironically enough, Van Gogh again. It’s Oleanders in a Vase or something like that. I don’t have an appreciation for the art, Mr Holmes; just the con and the money it brings.” She scowled. “Nazis stole it d
uring World War II. Nobody has seen it since then – working from damned photographs.”
“I can assure you some people have seen the original… what an amazing likeness.” He scratched his chin.
“Very difficult to get, that one. Think I might keep it – I like irritating those snobs who think they know all about art.”
Ash smirked at them, seeing Holmes puff up at Eleanor’s blasé tone.
“You know, I heard about this art gallery gig somebody did recently – good job, too. Except for the fact that Luke Gaines was killed, poor bugger. Good man. That was for his gig. Thing was, my artist couldn’t get it to him in time.”
Ash raised her eyebrows.
“Esther’s set to buy it for her personal collection. Thank you, Jo.” Eleanor took a small box from Jo, who had returned. “I expect it back, Miss Azeri. I mean it. I have several of Crook’s other buyers wanting to see it.” She glanced at some people entering. “Ah, customers. Excuse me, everyone.”
“Sure thing, gentlemen?” Ash said, gesturing for the others to join her.
The trio sat down with the bodyguards milling around as Holmes opened the box, to reveal the jewel inside. Innocent whipped it out and held it to the skylight. He whipped out a magnifier for jewels.
“Please don’t be so surprised, Miss Azeri,” he said, not looking at her. “My late wife and my sainted, albeit alive, mother had a fascination with this little gemstone. Ah, there it is!” He held it up to the light and grinned. “The fault in the centre of the gem. It makes it look as though a star burst inside it. The only fault, in fact, which is impossible to replicate.” He handed it back to Holmes as Eleanor rejoined them. “It’s the real thing.”
“Sure?” Holmes asked, tossing the jewel lightly in his hand, only to have Innocent snatch it out of mid-air.
“As sure as I can be,” Innocent said, handing it back to Eleanor with a charming smile. “Kat – if I may be permitted to call you that? Yes? Oh, how lovely – might I bring my own jeweller in to examine this piece?”
A nod.
“Thank you.”
“And what would a gentleman such as myself be interested in that ruby for?” enquired Holmes. “I’m much more a… human resources man now. Reformed, don’t you know?”
“Really? Human resources?” Ash said, raising her eyebrows. “Knew you were going straight. Book deals and that?”
“Yes, that’s my special area of interest. Human resources and how we can resource them; I’m not in the gangster business any longer.” The man opened his hands in an innocent fashion. If Ash had not known what an evil man was sitting opposite her, she could almost have bought his ‘innocent gangster’ look. Almost. “And you want me to invest in a scheme that could endanger my livelihood? After all, I’m compounding a felony.”
“No. It’s foolproof,” Ash insisted, leaning forward and speaking in a considerate tone. “You just seen for yourself; Kat is willing to sell anything to anyone.” She took a deep breath. “She’s planning on doing the scam that Potvin did.”
“And how does that intrigue Mr Holmes?” Innocent said, examining the painting again. “A failed scheme from… what? The 1980s?”
“Listen, all you have to do is go along with it. You go along with the buy. I know she’ll have a few others purchasing, too… it’s easy enough. I’ll persuade her that I have managed to get into your good graces.” She put her hands on the table and outstretched them pleadingly. “I’ll bring you their receipts. I’ll bring you both everything.”
“What’s the con?”
“You buy the stuff from me. She brings in a sting on you with the police to switch the fake for the real ruby. You’re discredited, the full works,” Ash said, flashing an insincere smile. “The coup de grâce is when you’re arrested by Interpol for said buying and receiving of stolen goods.”
“Ingenious,” Innocent said, returning to admire the art on the wall. “She captures you for a crime she has committed. I can appreciate the irony.”
“All we need to let her into the con to get the convincer.”
“If we’re so far…”
“Because I need bait. The documents won’t be legal. I was rather hoping that you could speak to the police officer and bring her in on the gig?” Ash smirked. “I am in rather a lot of hot water with the Old Bill in my neck of the woods.”
“What kind of trouble?” Holmes asked.
“I got caught doing the flop down in Soho; unfortunately it was a copper’s son that I was trying it out on. I’d rather not give them reason to put me in the cop shop.”
“I’m surprised that Crook is letting you pull this off,” Holmes said.
“So am I, if I’m honest,” Ash said, allowing her genuine incredulity at the faith Esther displayed in her real self to show through. “Seems she only wants to be there on the pay-off… didn’t even know about that painting.”
That much was honest. She’d wondered if Esther Crook had had anything to do with the art gallery scam. It seemed like something she would’ve thought up, advised Luke Gaines on, joked with him over the phone about what would be needed. A friendly contest, as it were. But there was nothing friendly about Holmes as he stood up.
“Boy?”
A young man with fair hair looked up.
“Bring it over here.”
Ash watched as the lad walked around the painting, examining it. Like father, like son, with a panther-like grace and scowl. Where the con had amused her to no end with the son, it concerned her with the father. With the son it had been a light-hearted game, the first of its kind in the UK. A successful short con turned long. A game that had been won.
But the victory had had a bitter aftertaste.
“She like this, does she? Esther Crook?” Holmes asked, breaking her out of her reverie.
“Pardon?” she asked.
Eleanor stepped in. “Yeah. Asked for it to be packaged last night and sent to the De Braun Casino in Monte Carlo; seems she’s recouping costs or something as payment to De Braun. Leaving in the next few days.”
“Payment, eh? Say, how much you want for it?” he asked, looking at Eleanor, who raised her hands. “What? Won’t sell?”
“Not mine to sell.” Eleanor flashed a grin. She pointed at Ash. “Sell it to her; she’s the one who’s got to tell Es what she’s done.”
Ash looked at Eleanor. She’d not been told this part of the plan. In fact, from the look on Eleanor’s face, she’d have to wing it. “I’m willing to take £250,000. That way I can at least pretend to Crook that I tried to make a profit on it.” She smirked. “People pay for the story, after all.”
“And you think you’re going to sell one to the great Esther Crook?” mocked Holmes.
“Yeah, who says I can’t?” Ash smirked. “I managed to get you here on a promise. Crook will more than likely be impressed with my skills. Might be able to convince her to stay… you know she has only three weaknesses?”
“As many as three? Why, Miss Azeri, do astound me with your intellect,” Holmes mocked, folding his arms across his chest.
“Her weaknesses are her ego, her brother and loyalty. The woman has successfully avoided the law for the last few years, so she has a right to have a bit of an ego. She has her damned loyalty, which I don’t understand, as you can see. Then there’s her brother. He’s on the run now, but as you hurt her ego and her wallet, I can near damned well guarantee that she will be so mad she’ll fall into any good-looking trap you lay for her. She’s done all the hard work by making this plan.”
Holmes nodded. Ash sighed inwardly with relief. She had allowed the man to think she had thought it through to the ultimate bow and exit. That she wanted to con Esther Crook… that she wanted to break her. That she – no, her character, Azeri – wanted to break her in order to become independently famous in the close-knit community of con artists. Holmes and Innocent just wanted to
break her. She looked at Innocent, who was wearing a frustrating little frown.
“Fine,” Holmes said, with a firm nod. “I’ll pay you for both items when the item is proved to be real with an independent jeweller… I’ll take the painting now.”
“Only if payment is on the table, Mr Holmes… after all, neither of us wants to be doing something that is totally dishonest, do we?”
Innocent let out a sharp laugh, watching Holmes withdraw a cheque book. “I admire your guts, Miss Azeri.”
“Just want to make the rules of engagement as clear as you did, Mr Innocent,” she stated politely.
Holmes had worn a grin after that shoot-down.
There had been a shared laugh between the three scheming conspirators before an appointment had been made to meet back there at nine o’clock sharp tomorrow morning. Ash had watched the men go to their cars after making excuses about wanting to inform Crook of the developments.
Holmes sighed to himself.
“Problem, Harry?” Ezra asked casually from the front seat.
Holmes shook his head, considering. “No.”
It was a pity the kid was so determined to become like Crook. A waste of God-given talents… perhaps he and Innocent could persuade her, when all this was said and done, to join them. But for now, he scolded himself, he had to be content with what was to come.
The downfall of Esther Crook.
Fourteen
“I knew he was a thief but this a new low for him.”
Esther was standing, hands on hips, as she looked out at the city. Ash winced as the light summer heat fell cool over London, the streets buzzing with the first hints of the British summertime. It was a Friday morning in June. Lights pulsed along the skyline and traffic clogged the streets. The air was thick with the anticipation of all that can happen in the city on the last day before the weekend.
“Sorry, Est… didn’t know the painting meant much to you,” Ash offered. “I can always ask for it to go missing in transit?”