The Day Before Yesterday's Thief: A Prequel to the Eric Beckman Series

by Al Macy

  Voices reached me. A key slipped into the lock, and the door above the stairs opened. One of the goons came through. Opportunity favors those who are prepared. I stayed perfectly still.

  The two mobsters stood talking for a few moments. Come on! Finally, one started down the stairs. He leaned forward and froze, noticing that I wasn’t on the floor where he’d left me.

  He was right below me. I dropped onto him. It was risky with nothing but bone-breaking cement surfaces all around. I landed with one foot on his shoulder, the other, bent a bit, on his head. We both went down hard. Pain flashed up from my wrist, but I had the element of surprise and recovered first.

  I pulled his gun from his holster, flipped off the safety, and shot him in the back of the head. I whirled toward the door. His companion—the thick-necked Josh—was going for his gun. I put one round in his chest and one in his head.

  The noise was deafening, literally, in the cement-sided stairwell. I opened my mouth wide and shook my head. No matter. My hearing would return. The gun was indeed a Smith and Wesson model 59. Fourteen rounds in the magazine—I’d used two. I removed the guy’s jacket and liberated his holster. I checked his pockets and took his keys.

  Anything else in there that would be useful? Ah, is perfect. A suppressor. I pocketed it, happy I was wearing my cargo pants and not a skirt. I went through the same drill with Josh’s body.

  As I’ve said, I don’t go in for the rough stuff. Unless it’s necessary.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Bolton sat in the front seat of the Suburban, with Jimmy driving. Gregor and Willie were in the next seat, and two foot soldiers held Andrei down in the back.

  With a quiet sigh, Bolton looked out the window. It was going better than expected. Maybe Gregor was right. Andrei couldn’t be said to be under control, but he was much better than he had been with Fat Phil. What had Viviana said to him in Romanian? Could he understand? Did he even understand English? He was able to use that stupid yes/no board.

  Bolton turned, pushed himself up, and looked over the seat back toward the car’s floor.

  “What?” Gregor said.

  “Anybody see a board with two buttons on it?”

  “Yeah,” Jimmy made a turn, keeping the vehicle just under the speed limit. “It’s somewhere in the back.”

  Bolton turned forward again. Well, it never really seemed to work, anyway.

  Jimmy said, “That’s the driveway up ahead.”

  Gregor pushed the button on his walkie-talkie. “This is us coming in, Lucy. Do you read me?”

  The radio hissed.

  “Lucy?”

  “I’m here. I’m here. Yeah, I see you.”

  Gregor held the radio in front of his mouth. “Everything good?”

  “Yeah,” she replied. “They’ve been up there an hour already. No problems.”

  They drove through the woods and up the hill to the house. The stolen U-Haul truck had been backed across the lawn and parked in front of the house’s double-door entrance. Jimmy followed suit, making a smooth turn and backing the Suburban until it was beside the truck.

  Two men in We Move You jumpsuits brought a large painting out through the doors. Bolton jumped out and ran over. N.C. Wyeth’s Dark Harbor Fishermen. Almost four feet by four feet with the frame. Bolton imagined replacing his reproduction of it with the original.

  He put his hand on the back corner of the U-Haul and looked in. Almost one-third full already. They were cleaning up.

  Gregor was at the doors to the house, with Andrei and his handlers right behind. He turned. “Hey, let’s go, Vance. You can look at the pretty paintings later.”

  They trooped down to the basement. The stairs ended right at the cellar’s stone wall. A wall separated the staircase from the huge, unfinished space, so nothing was visible until you got all the way down. Bolton made the turn and his jaw dropped. The place could have been the storage room of a museum. Dusty statues and paintings in crates were everywhere. A noisy, chest-high dehumidifier was chugging away in a corner. The ceiling was unfinished, with bare light bulbs in sockets along the rafters.

  The safe was the biggest Bolton had ever seen outside of a bank. How had they gotten it down—ah, a second, wider set of stairs probably led directly to the outside.

  Andrei went quiet when he caught sight of the safe. Bolton thought back to the kid’s behavior when he’d opened the safe in the condo. Back then, he’d gone into a trancelike state. This was almost the same.

  “Let him go,” Gregor said.

  They did. Andrei made for the safe but veered off. He paced aimlessly around and hit himself once in the forehead.

  Gregor laughed. “What the fuck’s he doing?”

  Andrei hit himself again.

  “Vance,” Gregor said. “What the fuck is going on?”

  Bolton had no idea. It hadn’t been like this at the condo.

  “Vance?”

  “Give him time.”

  Gregor looked at his watch.

  Andrei continued pacing in a circle, hitting himself every once in a while. It was as if he wanted to open the safe, but something was keeping him from doing it. Like he was conflicted. As time went by, however, the orbits of Andrei’s pacing got closer and closer to the safe.

  Gregor crossed his arms. “We don’t have time for this. Tony, go upstairs. Find out if the truck is full yet.”

  * * *

  I slowed the BMW when I saw a phone booth. Call Samuel? Call Mr. Bah Humbug at the FBI? No. No time. I pressed my foot back down on the accelerator pedal. Is nice car. The mobsters must make good money. Of course they did.

  Uh-oh. I passed a police car going the other direction and looked down at the speedometer. Is good I slowed down. Would the cruiser turn? I watched in the rearview. No. Bine! Good.

  I’d planned my two sentences carefully. First, I’d told Andrei not to open the safe. A lot of good that would do. He could never resist opening a new safe. Second, I told him I would come for him.

  It wasn’t far to the Chabot estate. I’d cased it soon after learning it was going to be the mob’s target. I parked on the street behind the house. I’d have farther to run that way, but the bad guys would surely have a lookout posted at the house’s driveway. Wasn’t their first rodeo. I was out of the car almost before it stopped moving.

  I jogged through the sparse forest toward the house, catching glimpses of it through the trees. All the lights were on. I came around the side, slithering to the edge of the lawn on my stomach. A U-Haul truck and a big station wagon had backed up to the front doors. Some movers came out carrying a grandfather clock. They had uniforms. It looked legit, apart from the fact that it was one o’clock in the morning.

  Keeping my eye on the house, I rolled over on my side, pulled the gun from its holster, and attached the suppressor. I got one foot positioned against the base of a sapling.

  The moving men walked up the ramp and entered the back of the truck. Using the sapling like the starting blocks at a track meet, I exploded toward the house. Would they have any other lookouts? Maybe.

  The men would have to secure the clock inside the truck. I had time.

  At the rear corner of the truck, I stopped and listened, the gun held with a straight arm, pointed at the ground. The workers were talking as they worked. They hadn’t seen me coming. They weren’t waiting for me with drawn guns.

  I wheeled around the rear corner of the truck. The deck was a little above my waist. I double tapped one man in the chest. The other was bending over, and I put a round in his ass. He gave a shout and spun around. The next bullet went into his temple. I vaulted onto the ramp and stepped into the truck. They were both dead. No need to shoot bad guy number one in the head. Seven rounds expended, seven left.

  I waited, listening. How many goombahs would they have? I needed to go into the basement, but first I’d clear the rest of the house.

  I came out of the truck and walked down the ramp. There was something on the ground. Ah. Andrei’s yes/no boar
d. Is good thing. Means he’s here. Of course he was here.

  * * *

  Bolton breathed a sigh of relief. Andrei’s circle finally intersected the safe. His hand snapped to the dial as if it were a powerful magnet.

  Gregor clapped his hands and rubbed them together. “All right. Now we’re getting somewhere.”

  Andrei had entered his trance, just as he had in the condo.

  “Where the fuck is Tony?” Gregor went to the bottom of the stairs and looked up. He shook his head and came back to watch the magic.

  After five minutes, the dial spinning was still going on.

  “Did it take this long with your safe, Vance?”

  “My safe isn’t as good as this one. Who knows, maybe this has a five- or six-number combination.”

  “Jesus. When did I send Tony upstairs?”

  “Just a few minutes ago, boss,” Jimmy said.

  “Well, go up there, see what the fuck is going on. We’re going to wrap this up in a few minutes, right Vance? Get the fucking fiddle or whatever it is.”

  “Yes. Absolutely.”

  Jimmy made the turn and headed up the stairs. Then he tumbled back into view, slamming with a crack into the stone wall at the bottom of the stairs.

  Gregor startled, and Bolton’s feet almost left the floor. Andrei kept working the safe as if nothing had happened.

  * * *

  I shot the mobster as he came up the stairs. Right between the eyes. His look of surprise stuck in my head as if I’d taken a flash photograph. The shot wasn’t totally silent, even with the suppressor, but there was some kind of electrical motor running down in the basement. They wouldn’t have heard anything.

  I grabbed for the man to keep him from tumbling down the stairs, getting a grip on his collar, but it wasn’t enough. He fell backward, somersaulting down the wood steps. Will spoil the element of surprise.

  No, he won’t. I ran down, following his body so closely that I almost tripped over him. When his head cracked into the wall I made the turn, the Smith and Wesson held in front of me with both hands.

  I put one round into Gregor’s open mouth and one into his neck. I shifted the gun’s sight toward Bolton.

  La naiba! Bolton was faster than I’d given him credit for. He’d pulled Andrei away from the safe. He drew his gun and pushed it into the hollow behind my nephew’s ear.

  Andrei was impossibly calm. Had my presence calmed him? No, his mind was on the safe. I’d seen it before. He was in a trance that even being held couldn’t break.

  Bolton smiled. He had Andrei squeezed up high, head against his cheek. “Thanks for getting rid of Gregor. Now drop the gun, Viviana.”

  “Bullshit.” I put my gun’s sight right on his right eye, partially obscured by Andrei’s bird’s-nest hair. “You need him. You won’t shoot him.”

  Bolton moved the gun, pointing it at Andrei’s leg. “Doesn’t need his legs to open safes.”

  I ran through it in my head. It was worth the risk. If Bolton got the shot off, I’d still kill him. A shot in the leg probably wouldn’t be fatal.

  “Andrei, mușcă. Acum!” Bite. Now!

  Andrei didn’t bite him. He didn’t do anything but stare over at the safe. Hell with it. I kept the sight on Bolton’s right eye and pulled the trigger.

  Nothing happened.

  I looked down—gun jam! A spent casing had failed to eject, preventing the slide from going forward. My injured wrist! I’d limp-wristed the last shot, absorbing too much recoil and causing the jam. I removed the magazine, racked the gun, and put the magazine back.

  It took only two seconds, but it was too much time. Bolton batted the gun out of my hand. He’d released Andrei and leapt over to me. Faster than I would have given him credit for.

  “Okay, sweetheart, here’s how it’s going to go.” He stepped back, glancing behind him at Andrei, who had already returned to working the dial.

  I coiled my muscles to spring. No. Not enough time.

  “Ha. Missed your chance. If you don’t …” He turned his head slightly and spoke to Andrei. “If you don’t open the safe quickly, I’m going to shoot your dear Aunt Viviana. Do you understand?” He didn’t dare turn around.

  Andrei continued spinning the dial, oblivious to Bolton’s speech.

  The dehumidifier switched off with a rumble. Bolton jumped. He was really keyed up. Not surprising. The room was silent save for some dripping sounds from the dehumidifier.

  We waited. I could see Andrei. Bolton couldn’t. So I was ready for the sound, and Bolton wasn’t.

  Bang!

  Andrei had flung the safe door all the way open. The huge door clanged when it hit its stops. Bolton jumped and, in spite of himself, turned to look.

  It was all I needed. I launched myself at him. I brought my hand down on the pistol and turned it away—unu. I punched him in his eye—doi. With one hand on his wrist, I twisted the gun out of his grip—trei.

  Cezar’s training yelled in my head. Just shoot him! No, I needed more. I deserved more. I punched him in the solar plexus. He went down hard. But he’d grabbed the gun I’d just taken from him. My injured wrist offered little resistance. La naiba!

  He rolled on the ground and brought the gun up. With the safe open, there was no reason to keep me alive.

  They say shooting someone in the face indicates rage on the part of the shooter. I pulled Josh’s gun from my pocket in one smooth movement and emptied half the magazine into Bolton’s face.

  I didn’t have time to tell Andrei to look away. I turned to him. Despite the deafening bangs, he was oblivious.

  I closed the safe—no point in the authorities wondering how it had been opened. I wiped the dial. I wiped my fingerprints off all the guns and placed them near the various dead bodies. The story was simple: The heist went bad, and the mobsters killed one another.

  Sirens!

  I wiped off everything I remembered touching, and Andrei and I hurried out the back door. Or tried to hurry. The best I could do was get Andrei to walk fast.

  Wait! The yes/no board. It could tie Andrei and me to the heist.

  “Stay here, Andrei. I’m coming right back. Don’t move.” I sped through the house and out the front. The sirens were getting closer. Where was it? There. I grabbed the board and went back.

  “Andrei?”

  He wasn’t where I’d left him. There! I ran to him and gave him the board. “I’m going to hug you, okay?”

  Ding.

  I picked him up and jogged through the forest.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  The next morning, Andrei and I met Samuel at his office. Once again, Samuel and Andrei did that strange, impossible thing. They shook hands and held it. They looked into each other’s eyes, as if having a long conversation. Andrei almost smiled. I would have to find out more about that.

  I sat down, and Samuel poured us both coffee. He sat, too and took a breath. “We don’t have much time, my dear friend, but I have a few things to impart.”

  “Uh … okay.”

  “First, I want you to know that you are not a sociopath—”

  “Just because I was reading that book doesn’t mean—”

  Samuel held up his hand. “You possess an unusual ability to dominate and prevail over your conscience, but you are a good person.”

  “Gee, thanks, Dad.”

  He ignored my response. “I am supposing that you believe in fate?”

  “I like you, Samuel. I love you. But as a friend.”

  “No. Nothing like that.” He suppressed a smile.

  I waited.

  After a pause, during which the ticking of the clock seemed particularly loud, he continued. “I divine that you believe in the supernatural. Is that so?”

  I ran my fingers through my hair. “Am from Transylvania.”

  “Yes, you are. From Alba Iulia.”

  I looked at him sideways. “How did you know that?”

  “You mentioned it.”

  “Did not mention it. Don’t lie to
me. How do you know all these … things?”

  He took his time answering. He looked out the window as if making a decision. “I don’t think I could have found out that information anywhere, do you?”

  “Did you speak with Uncle Zaharia?”

  “I did not.” He turned to me. “Viviana, I know a bit about your future as well.”

  I laughed. “My future?”

  He squatted down and put a hand on my knee in a brotherly way. “You will have an exceedingly unusual future.”

  Were those chills along my spine? I did believe in the supernatural. “Like what?”

  “I can only tell you that if all goes well, on Christmas Day, in 2032, you will still be alive.”

  “Is weirdly specific, yes? Okay, so will live at least to ripe old age of eighty-two. Is that what are saying?”

  “No. You will be younger than that.”

  “Is simple math, Samuel, I will be …” I stared off into space.

  “Right.”

  “Wait. You know about my uncle’s time machine?”

  “I can only share with you that you must survive. Don’t take foolish risks. You hold an importance that you cannot conceive of.”

  “I don’t usually take foolish risks.”

  “Yes, Viviana, you do.” He sighed. “Please look into my eyes and breathe deeply.”

  I found myself particularly relaxed. Was it decaf that we drank?

  Samuel’s voice deepened. “When you meet a man named Eric Beckman, you will fall for him in a big way.”

  “This is feeling like some kind of hypnosis. You forgot to say, ‘You are under my power.’”

  “After a few days, you will not remember what I said about Eric Beckman. I repeat, you will not remember this conversation. You will not remember me.”

  “I have a pretty good memory.”

  Samuel clapped his hands and stood. “Well, I’ve enjoyed working with you, Viviana, however short our time together.”

  I blinked a few times and stood. Blinked some more. “What just happened?”

  “Viviana, the police are searching for you.”

  “Because of the heist?”