Thief's Odyssey

by John L. Monk

  Then I put it all back, shut the safe, and locked it with the combination 2781. It didn’t matter what combination, so long as it wasn’t too easy for someone else to get in after I was gone. The hotel manager would either open it, if he knew the master code, or bring in a locksmith. Whoever got it open would tell her the safe was functional and that someone had probably been inside it.

  Sure, Isabella might conclude she’d just forgotten the combination or fat-fingered the numbers. Maybe she’d think that since nothing was stolen all was well. But if there was a chance she might spend the next weeks or months agonizing over whether those pictures and her private confessions would leak to the public … then I couldn’t let that happen.

  “Jesus,” I said again, and turned to leave.

  Getting out of there had one final complication: my Bo Mosley phone started vibrating somewhere between the closet and the bathroom leading to the funky disco great room. The number came up, even in another country, and it had the same first three digits as my throwaway phone. I ducked into the bathroom, closed the door, and answered it.

  “Hello?” I said, feeling stupid and a little loud in the gaudy, echoing bathroom.

  “Where the fuck you at?” Fruit said.

  “Did you get your gun back okay?” I said.

  “Yeah. I did. But you know what I’m gonna do now, motherfucker?”

  “Pop me or wop me or whatever they say?”

  “Worse. And not just to you, you keep smarting off to me like that. Know why I’m calling?”

  I considered lying, but couldn’t see what that’d get me. “Something to do with Anna and her kid?”

  “Your kid too, way I understand,” Fruit said.

  “That has yet to be determined.”

  I heard him laugh. Not a nice laugh at all.

  “I don’t blame you, tell the truth,” he said. “Still, you think you Captain America. Fuck up Manny, make him bite his tongue. Then you come to my house and zap me with that fucking hot box? That some ballsy ass shit you pulled. But you know what?”

  “Haven’t the foggiest.”

  “I tell you what, motherfucker. I got people snickering at me when they think I don’t know. I got one of them—bitch work for me so long you think would know better—says she thinking bout going back to wherever the fuck she from. Week ago, couldn’t get her to look at me without pissing herself. Know what I’m saying?”

  “Haven’t the foggiest.”

  “Uh huh. You got a pen?”

  “Yeah.”

  I got the pen from my backpack and tore off a scrap of graph paper.

  “Write this shit down, on the off chance you wanna see little miss junkie and the kid again.” He gave me an address in DC, though not the place I’d seen him last.

  “If you think I’m going there,” I said, “that’s gonna be a problem. I’m not in the country.”

  Fruit laughed. “You mean you chicken shit, is what. Afraid I’m gonna shoot you? I won’t. Ain’t some bar-fuckin’-barian. But someone’s gotta pay for what you did, no getting around it. Typically, I just leave my mark. Kinda like a trademark, right? People see it, word spreads. But with Anna…”

  “What about her?” I said tightly.

  “Well,” he said slowly, “here’s what I’m thinking. That rich white lady… I’m thinking she might pay to have her little friends back. Feel me?”

  And there it was. Fruit wasn’t interested in cutting anyone up, at least not today. He wanted money. I felt an overwhelming sense of relief. Greed was a far more preferable motivation than revenge.

  “That rich bitch,” Fruit said. “She got a big house. Rich white lady like that got no problems buying what I’m selling. Only don’t go telling ol’ Fruit you out of the country, because that makes me angry.”

  “Listen, Fruit, I’m really out of the country. Ask Anna, she’ll tell you. Is she with you? What about Jimmy?”

  “They both fine, for now. The fuck you mean you out the country?”

  “When you called,” I said, “didn’t you hear the tone change about five rings in?” I’d heard that when I called Tom directly, and again with the guy at McLean Investigations. “And don’t I sound a little scratchy and faded?”

  A moment later Fruit said, “Now that you mention it.”

  “I’ll be back tomorrow, I’m not sure when. But I’m pretty sure I can meet you tomorrow night to pick them both up—unharmed. I heard what you did to Candace.”

  “Mo-ther-fucker,” he said, laughing. “See how word gets around? Got you scared as a mug.”

  “Quaking in my boots,” I said.

  “You think that rich bitch gonna pay up?”

  “She’ll pay, if it’s reasonable,” I said. “But if she withdraws too much cash, people start asking questions. Just a thought.”

  He was quiet a moment, probably trying not to seem desperate.

  “She do got a big house,” he said. “Make it a hundred large. That’s a hundred thousand, white boy.”

  I wasn’t sure how long it’d take me to get home, or if I even could. I needed enough time for Kate and her organization to find them.

  “I’ll let her know. How’s tomorrow night, eight o’clock?”

  “How about I call you tomorrow and tell you the fuck when?” Fruit said, voice rising. “You bring any cops, I’ll see them before they see me, that’s a promise. Different address. Got just the place. Bunch of ways out if you try anything. You ain’t there when I say, I put my mark on both of them, then nobody be snickering and shit. Feel me?”

  My hand started to ache. There was a gold-threaded hand towel clutched tight in my fist and I wasn’t sure how it got there. I put it down.

  “Yeah, I feel you. And now I’m gonna need you to feel me back. If anything happens to either of them, I won’t play around. I’ll look for you, I’ll find you, and one night I’ll step up behind you with a silenced .22 pistol, hold it to your head, and drop you where you stand. You probably won’t see me unless you turn at the last second. By then it’ll be too late.”

  I’d heard or read a silenced .22 was an assassin’s weapon. I didn’t have a .22 pistol, silenced or otherwise, but he didn’t know that. He knew I’d gotten the drop on him with that taser, though.

  After a short pause, Fruit said, “What you say, motherfucker?”

  “You heard me fine. And I might do it anyway, you keep calling me names like that. Feel me? Now put Anna on so I know they’re safe.”

  “Captain Fucking America,” he said, laughing. Then he hung up.

  I tried calling back, but all it did was ring.

  Chapter 21

  By now, a few guests had begun to trickle in. If any of them were famous, I couldn’t tell. To me they looked like normal people dressed in nice clothes. One of them, an older black lady, was talking to Harriet, who no longer held the baby. When they saw me I raised my empty cup and nodded—cheers—which got me a curious smile from the older woman and nothing at all from Harriet. I made a show of looking at my phone and kept moving. When I saw the little security dome hanging from the ceiling, I didn’t bother trying to conceal my face, figuring it didn’t matter after confessing the way I had.

  A group of four got off when the doors opened and a knockout blonde with a British accent shouted, “Where you going, love? The fun’s this way!”

  Everyone laughed on cue, as if she were royalty. And yeah, if she was partying in the Royal Suite with Isabella Rhodes, she could have been.

  “That’s the story of my life,” I said to their retreating backs.

  Nobody laughed.

  I pushed the button for the second floor, but someone must have overridden it because it took me all the way down. When I got out, two serious-looking security guards were manning a roped off area in front of the elevator. One of them had a clipboard in his hand. They didn’t seem to notice me as I walked toward the normal elevators. After all, it was their job to keep the riffraff out, not in.

  When I got to my room, I called the hote
l operator and asked for the number of the British Colonial Hilton.

  “Would you like me to patch you through, sir?” she said.

  “That’d be wonderful, thank you.”

  “Certainly, sir, please hold.”

  Three rings later, a man picked up. “British Colonial, guest services, how may I help you?”

  I gave him Kate’s room number and asked to be connected.

  “Certainly, sir, please hold.”

  About ten rings later, the man came back on and said, “I’m sorry, sir, she doesn’t appear to be answering. Would you like to leave her a message?”

  “It’s kind of an emergency,” I said. “Can you try again and just let it ring?”

  “Certainly, sir, please hold.”

  Normally I would have smiled at the cookie-cutter cordiality, but I kept replaying what Fruit had said to me, looking for anything that would tell me whether Anna and Jimmy were alive.

  In Virginia, after I’d gotten Anna away from Manny, he’d called me and said he had “a girl” working for the phone company who could trace my number. She would have traced it to my throwaway—currently sitting drained at the bottom of my backpack. If he really wanted to get his hands on me, and apparently he did, he would have needed another way to do it.

  Anna…

  I ground my teeth, chewing the guilt that comes from putting a friend in danger.

  The only glimmer of hope, oddly, was he hadn’t stopped at Anna—he’d gone back to get Jimmy, too. Which meant he thought Anna wasn’t enough to get the ransom he wanted and he needed something else.

  After about a minute, someone picked up.

  “Yeah…?” came a ragged voice on the phone.

  “Kate? Were you sleeping?”

  “Mosley? What the hell, it’s … like three hours early. What do you want?”

  “I think we should leave now,” I said.

  “Hell, what did you do?”

  In hindsight, I didn’t think Harriet had been completely unmoved by my presence in the suite. She was Isabella’s assistant, after all—someone entrusted with baby Elise, and therefore more likely to be on her guard against suspicious people wandering around at fancy parties wearing a backpack, dark clothes, and sunglasses.

  “Let’s save time and assume I know what I’m talking about. We can just drive around until the airport opens.”

  “Dammit,” she said. “You’re a real asshole, you know that?”

  “I’ll be outside.”

  “Whatever,” she said, and hung up.

  As quickly as I could, I gathered the few things I had lying out and threw them in my backpack. I didn’t bother with my suitcase and clothes—too bulky. I slipped into the hall and rode the elevator to the second floor, then took the stairs down the rest of the way.

  The lobby was more crowded than it should have been at that hour. Security, and lots of it. One of them strode at a quick pace for the private elevator while another pointed here and there, talking on a radio.

  An older man in a security jacket said, “Excuse me! You there! Hey!” He pointed at me and came my way. “You have to come with me.”

  Until now, I’d never actually been caught red-handed at anything, and that’s why I froze instead of running back the way I’d come.

  “Let’s go,” he said, and pointed in the direction he wanted me to go.

  Numbly, I did as he said, and together we walked about fifty feet and around the corner where the shops started. Only now the area was packed shoulder to shoulder with roped-off tourists. When they saw us, they erupted in a chorus of cheers and whistles. It felt kind of nice, actually—and then I looked behind me and saw Isabella Rhodes up close, not ten feet away, surrounded by an entourage of show-biz types and hangers-on. No wonder I hadn’t found any diamonds in the safe—somewhere between the stage and the hotel she’d changed from her performance outfit into full celebrity regalia. Each ear held a big rock, easily five carats, and a wide, braided masterpiece of jewelry hung from neck to cleavage, dazzling in the light of the flash photography.

  Of its own volition, my hand reached into my pocket, grabbed the paper I’d written Fruit’s ransom address on, and thrust it toward her.

  “Mrs. Rhodes—can I get your autograph?”

  The security guard grabbed my arm to stop me, but she said, “No, that’s all right, I’d be delighted.”

  She had a lovely voice. Rich and alive and brimming with personality. Whoever this Griffin Rhodes character was, he was a fool.

  “Shall I make it out to anyone special?” she said.

  I considered saying Anna or Mrs. Swanson or Jimmy, but then I got selfish and said, “No, just me. Beauregard Mosley. You can just write Bo.”

  “Do you have a pen, Bo?”

  “Sure do,” I said, and went to get it from my backpack—only to be stopped by the guard’s outstretched arm.

  “Allow me,” he said and handed her a pen with a smile that threatened to break his face. He still hadn’t let go of me.

  “Bo … Mosley … there you are then,” she said, handing it to me. Briefly, our hands touched.

  To Bo Mosley, with love—Izzy.

  “Awesome,” I said, and meant it. She was nice. Way too nice to rob.

  “Good to meet you,” she said with a smile to me and a big showy wave to her fans—who thundered their love back with renewed enthusiasm.

  “Nice meeting you, too,” I said, but the security guard was already dragging me away in an iron grip.

  He led me to the crowd, unclipped one of the ropes, and thrust me forward.

  In a mean voice he said, “Follow the rules this time.”

  “You forgot to call me sir,” I said, and resisted the urge to rub my arm in front of him.

  To another guard, he said, “Keep him behind the ropes.” Then he went back.

  Rather than wait with the fans for the way to clear, I plowed through to the other side in search of an exit. I found one at the far end leading to a covered walkway around the side. From there it was a short walk to the front of the building.

  Pretending like I was waiting for someone, I stood near the bellhop stand and waited, occasionally peeking back through the lobby to see if everything was normal. So far so good. Then not so good when I spied Harriet near the check-in counter talking to that mean security guard. Maybe she wanted more blankets or a pillow or something. She held her hand in the air like she was describing someone yay high and nodded as he questioned her. A radio call later and two guards showed up. One went with Harriet, presumably back to the party. The other one, a young guy, joined the older guard. Together, they proceeded my way.

  I stepped out of view of anyone inside and edged around the circular drive to the right of the enormous Pegasus sculpture, trying to keep it between me and the good guys and their narrow view of the law.

  The younger one saw me and shouted, “I see him!”

  “You!” shouted the older one, who I thought of as the boss.

  Not wanting to be rude, I flashed my best smile and tossed them a cheerful wave, then sprinted down the main drive. My back was starting to hurt again and my breathing came louder and heavier. I spared a quick glance back, and if I didn’t know it before I did now—I wasn’t in America anymore. The younger guard wasn’t just chasing me on foot, he was gaining on me. Back home, the legal ramifications of a physical confrontation would have curtailed such behavior. That and it just wasn’t safe to go chasing suspicious people in the night. Here in the Bahamas it was all upside down: customer service was great, security guards thought they were invincible, and worst of all, the young people kept in shape. If someone told me Bahamian children liked Brussels sprouts I would have believed it.

  I figured the boss would be along any time now in a car, but I couldn’t just stop, not with so much at stake back home. The thought of Anna and Jimmy facing that maniac’s rage if I didn’t show up scared my pain away. I didn’t look back again because there wasn’t anything there for me that mattered.


  At the end of the drive, where it intersected the main road, a pair of headlights flared into view. It could have been anyone but I waved it down for lack of options. If it stopped and it wasn’t Kate… Never mind, it had to be her.

  At first it didn’t look like it would stop, but it was either that or run me over. At the last second, the car screeched to a halt. Half-blinded and dashing around to the passenger side, I couldn’t tell whether it was Kate’s faded white rental. The door flew open and I jumped in and locked it.

  “What the hell, Mosley?”

  The security guard slammed into the door and tried to yank it open.

  “Get out of there, now!” he shouted.

  “Move it!”

  “I am!” Kate yelled and threw it in reverse.

  She dragged the man along for a good thirty feet before he finally let go. The transmission made a high-pitched whine and stayed that way as she weaved down the long bend. The lights of another car blinked into visibility down a side road from another part of the resort, heading our way.

  “You should turn around,” I said.

  “I’m trying!”

  She jerked the wheel to the side, nearly spilling us into a ditch, then pulled back onto the road heading toward the bridge to Nassau. I peeked back between the seats to see how we were doing and saw the car had stopped. Probably to help the other guard, who was still down. A mistake if they wanted to catch us.

  Kate was still accelerating.

  “I think we lost them,” I said.

  She held the wheel tightly in both hands, leaning forward ever so slightly, her right foot pinning the pedal down hard. Still accelerating.

  “You can probably slow down, the bridge is coming,” I said.

  The bridge came and went with her not slowing down, then we were in town and I yelled, “Dammit, Kate, slow the hell down!”

  At the last second, she slammed hard on the brake to avoid a small van. The driver must have seen us coming because he sped up and pulled to the side, giving us just enough room to keep his back seat from turning into a front seat.