#37 (A Picker Mystery)

by Scott Soloff

  "Quite correct, Simon. That is an honest assessment of the situation."

  "Karl, you're not in a terrible rush here, are you. I mean, I do have time for one more question."

  "Certainly. What type of host would I be? Go ahead. Ask your question."

  "You don't believe that this charade is going to fool anyone, do you? What's the scenario? I pulled this .38 on you; take a shot; miss; hit the glass door and then you shoot me in self defense. You've got to be kidding."

  "Quite serious, actually. Enough talk." Engelond reached for the Glock.

  From the outside came a small explosion, a rifle shot followed by a scream. For a split second, Engelond turned his head to the right; looking for the source of the scream.

  The Remington Rifle Cane was originally manufactured in 1858. This particular cane, Simon's, was made in 1872.

  Simon lifted his cane and rested the shaft in his left hand...

  It weighed a mere 24 ounces; less than 2,000 were ever made.

  Simon took aim...

  Within the barrel was a .32 rim fire cartridge.

  Engelond turned back; his eyes widened and said, "Not like this."

  Simon pushed the trigger button...

  The projectile traveled at 945 feet per second.

  The bullet penetrated Engelond's chest bone and ruptured his heart.

  Simon stood and looked down into Engelond's eyes. "You shouldn't have threatened my son."

  Engelond was barely able to whisper. "You're afraid of guns."

  "Don't believe everything you read."

  Simon Jones walked outside. Moses Aronson was waiting in the front seat of the Mercedes.

  "Who was it?"

  "Keller. He was waiting to kill you if the Nazi fucked up."

  "Any problem with the shot?"

  "Are you kidding, laddie. Less than a mile, piece of cake. Engelond?"

  "Very disappointed."

  We set up a meet

  The phone rang again.

  Mr. Roboto: "Perhaps... you didn't... understand Mr. Picker. You give... us the painting... or your girlfriend... dies."

  "Fuck you." I hung up.

  Nathan and TJ were staring at me. "They've kidnapped Kelly."

  Their eyes got even wider. TJ's voice was more than anxious. "Pick, what are you, out of your fucking mind. You hung up on those dudes. Man, what are you thinking?"

  Nathan is a little more composed. "What's going through your mind?"

  "Simple. These guys are going to kill us anyway. The strategic thing here is to throw them off balance. As long as we have the painting we're safe. That includes Kelly. They'll call back."

  I walked outside and downhill towards my place. Uncle Moe falls into step with me. I look over and tell him, "I want you to go and protect Kelly."

  "Son, your Mamaí asked me to watch over you. Your dear departed father asked me to look over Connor. I'm afraid, laddie, that is the extent of my charge. You well know by now that there be limits on what I can do."

  I'm beside myself. For the first time since this whole affair began I can feel myself losing it. The thought of Kelly getting hurt, or worse, has me at my wit’s end. I have never, ever talked back to my Uncle, let alone lose my temper with him. This was the first time. "Uncle Moe," I'm practically screaming, "my mother gave you to me, so to speak. I am giving you to Kelly. I know that there are limits to your abilities, but I want you to do everything possible to protect that girl. Now! Do I make myself clear?"

  That big bear head sinks into his chest. He stops walking and closes his eyes. Ten, fifteen and then thirty seconds pass. Finally, he places his paw on my shoulder and looks directly at me. I shouldn't be able to feel that, should I? "Aye, son." And just like that Uncle Moe is gone.

  I reach into the back of the Morgan and retrieve the painting. Walk back up to the main house and pass it to Nate.

  "This is the prototype for Vermeer's 'Mother and Child'. It's good, good enough to pass an initial inspection. Not good enough for intense scrutiny. It will do just fine for what we need. You'll take care of the details."

  "No problem. It will be ready in a few hours. I’ll call you as soon as it’s done."

  The phone rings again. 'Private Number'. "Mr. Picker... You will..."

  "Put her on the phone."

  Maybe twenty or thirty seconds pass. "Picker, I'm okay. I haven't been hurt, darling. I've been doing some thinking..."

  Mechanical voice grabbed the phone.

  "As I was saying... You will meet us... at a location... which we designate...No cops...

  "Look, I don't give a shit about the painting. But, I will tell you this, harm one hair on that girl's head and I will personally put a bullet in your brain Mr. Gambelli."

  A very long pause. No robot voice this time: "I will call you with instructions first thing in the morning Mr. Picker. Good-day."

  "Do you think that was a good idea, you know, using his name like that?" Nathan giving the queer eye.

  "Like I said, I want to keep them off balance."

  "Hope you know what you're doin' boss." TJ's not looking too comfortable.

  I find a recent number added to my phone and press dial. "Simmons speaking."

  "Bob, I think the time has come to ask for your help." I filled the Interpol agent in on what had just transpired and told him about what I had in mind.

  "Sounds risky Picker. To be perfectly honest, I can't come up with anything better."

  "Stay to close to your phone. We'll meet up tomorrow before my meeting with Gambelli and Morelli."

  Caught in a crossfire

  Danny Morelli was pointing a gun directly at Kelly's chest.

  We were standing in a 20' x 40' basement below Gambelli's art gallery on 2nd Street just above Market. When I say we, I mean Kelly, TJ and myself and of course, Danny.

  Two significant events occurred the following day. Here is what happened.

  First thing in the morning, Connor, unaware of what had transpired the previous day, sent an email with the following message:

  'Check wall.'

  The anon site had a link sending me to the following article appearing in the online edition of ArtCult: Le Journal Du Marche De L'art. This reproduction of the news brief is translated faithfully from the French:

  New Details about Vermeer Find

  The now famous controversy surrounding the research of Professor James Thomas Middletown appears to be moving forward. The respected Oxford University professor has provided more documents lending credibility to his claim of a previously unknown work by Johannes Vermeer.

  Earlier this week facsimiles of historical documents were forwarded to several institutions including selected museums, universities and a handful of art publications.

  This material outlines the timeline of what is being referred to as 'Mother and Child' from when it was gifted to Vermeer’s sister until it ended up in the hands of the German Gestapo with the occupation of France.

  This body of material includes original receipts, relevant inventories and thoroughly documented family histories. One black and white photograph depicts the painting in the family’s suites in France prior to the German occupation.

  Researchers throughout Europe are poring over the material in an attempt to track down the painting itself.

  We will report further developments as they become known.

  At this point events began to unfold very quickly. Nathan walked in the door. "The painting's ready."

  Last evening Nate had rigged the painting with an SZA transmitter. This is an exceptional piece of equipment. The SZA-18 is an ultra-miniature UHF transmitter equipped with a prolonged battery life. Basically, it serves two purposes. One is that it will transmit sounds and conversations to a remote receiver. The other is that it acts as a location beacon.

  Remarkably, it is small enough to be concealed just about anywhere. It's most impressive feature is that it is really powerful. In addition, it is voice activated which preserves battery life and makes it virtu
ally undetectable from anti-bugging devices.

  "Got the receiver?"

  "Right here."

  "Nate, the bad guys don't know you. I need you to come with us and pass the receiver to Special Agent Simmons."

  "Not a problem. When do we saddle up?"

  "Any minute now. Put the painting in the back of the car. Where's TJ?"

  "Be here any minute."

  The cell rang. It was Gambelli. "Omni Hotel, 4th and Chestnut, room 404. Twelve noon. Bring the Negro. No dogs!"

  I called Bob Simmons and brought him up to date.

  TJ showed up and we got into the Morgan. “Kato, backseat.” Nate took his car. Time for the showdown at the O.K. Corral.

  Once in town, I parked the car. We entered the hotel lobby and took the elevator to the fourth floor.

  "Where's the painting?" Gambelli.

  "Close by. Where's Kelly?"

  "Close by. Take off all your clothes. Put these on." TJ and I stripped and put on the green hospital scrubs and booties that Nick Gambelli handed us. Our clothes, cell phones and wallets went into a brown paper bag.

  He led us down the hotel's back stairway into a service area and onto a loading dock. We were ushered into a white windowless van. Gambelli turns around from the front seat, "Painting?"

  "In the car, parked on Fourth Street." The alley is a one way street heading the wrong way. Nick heads west for two blocks, makes a left on 6th, then on Chestnut and finally onto 4th Street. He pulls over in front of the Morgan, pulls my keys from the paper bag and goes to retrieve the painting.

  Nick opens the back door of the van and loses his composure for the first time. "I thought I told you no dogs."

  "Just trying to keep you honest Nicky." I hop from the back of the truck, take the keys from him and fetch the painting. "Kato, come." The monster bounds from the car and follows me into the back of the van.

  Before closing the back door Nick said, "One false move Picker and I'll shoot that dog."

  "Not if he kills you first Nicky. Don't worry; the only thing that I want is to get Kelly back in one piece. The painting is all yours."

  At this point, I don't know where we're going but it can't be too far. Less than five minutes later the van pulls over and Nick turns the engine off.

  What happens next is not my fault. Honest.

  Once outside the van Nick has us open the storm doors to the basement. From where I am standing I can see the end of the SEPTA line on Market Street. I assume that we're behind Gambelli's gallery on 2nd Street.

  "Into the basement, both of you. Grab the painting. Leave the dog outside."

  "Kato, stay." TJ goes down the stairs into the basement first, followed by me and then Nicky. At the other end of the room Danny Morelli is pointing a gun directly at Kelly's chest.

  From where I'm standing Kelly appears to be unharmed. TJ whispers to me, "Hey, man, we gonna die?"

  Why does everyone ask me that? At the risk of being redundant I tell him, "Yes. But... Not... Today!"

  Nicky raises his voice ever so slightly. "Shut up, both of you." At this point, he is standing directly behind us. Out of the corner of my eye I see him pull an automatic weapon from behind his back. Shouldn't have done that...

  "Let me see the painting," Nicky said.

  It's now or never. I slowly begin to pull the butcher paper off the frame. "Nicky, this is as good a time as any, considering that you're about to shoot me in the back. Why did they have to kill Doo Wop?"

  "I guess it doesn't hurt to tell you now. Those two idiots were going to buy the picture. No one was supposed to get hurt. But the old man was stubborn, wouldn't give it up. They just meant to give the old guy some encouragement. Turns out he wasn't strong enough to take it."

  "Which two idiots, Nicky."

  "That moron Tommy and this one here, Danny."

  Well, that clears that up. "And Joey?"

  "That was me. He was crying like a baby, wanted to go to the cops. Said no one was supposed to get hurt. Loose ends and all that, you know."

  "Yeah, I know. How did you hook up with LaVache?"

  He chuckles. "You know about that, huh? I told them that you weren't stupid. From what I figured out, the value of the painting was more than I could handle. No way I could explain where it came from. Uncle Carmine put me on to LaVache. Anything else, smart boy?"

  "No Nicky, that pretty much covers it. Thanks for sharing."

  Nicky Gambelli raises the gun and points it at my head. I told him not to do that. What happens next occurs simultaneously and practically in the blink of an eye.

  See if you can picture this: As Danny Morelli raises his gun from Kelly's chest to her head an apparition the size of a bear starts running from the corner of the basement. With each step Uncle Moe transforms into ever more degrees of opaqueness. By the time that he reaches Danny, Moe Aronson is a solid as a rock. With his massive arms, Moe embraces Danny from behind, lifts him from the ground and pivots so that Danny is facing the back wall.

  Nicky's arm pivots a few degrees to the right and fires into Uncle Moe's back. The sound of the shot in the enclosed area is deafening. The bullet passes right through Moe into Danny's back, through his heart and out his chest. Moe collapses to the floor.

  The moment that the shot is fired one hundred and twenty five pounds of German Shepherd launches through the basement entrance. His jaws lock onto Nicky's throat with a vice like grip. And squeezes. Nicky Gambelli thrashes around for all of five seconds and the smashes into the concrete floor. There is blood everywhere.

  For the briefest of moments time comes to a halt. I'm knocked out of reverie by the sound of sirens speeding down the alley. I run over and kneel down next to my Uncle.

  "Uncle Moe, Uncle Moe, are you alright?" The old guy's starting to fade back to his natural state.

  "How'd I do, laddie?"

  "You did great, Uncle, unbelievably great." Cops in black bullet proof vests are streaming into the basement. Out there in front is Special Agent Robert Simmons. "I just have to know, are you okay?"

  "You mean the bullet. Aye, son, I'm just fine. Bullets can not be harming the likes of a ghost."

  "Moe, that wasn't very ghost like, you know, grabbing that guy and turning him like that. Jeez, I didn't even know that it was even possible."

  "I do not recommend trying it. The effort was the problem, had to use too much energy. I'll be fine. You won't be minding if you don't see me for a couple of days, will ya? Think I'll be taking a wee rest."

  "Not a problem, Uncle." And with that he was gone.

  I stood up. Kelly walked over and put her arms around me. Kissed the side of my face and whispered, "My hero. I knew you would come."

  "Yeah, about that. This may not be the right time, but I've been thinking. You know, it would really mean a lot to me if you stayed."

  Kelly gave me this deep throated laugh. "It would mean a lot to you, is that right?"

  "Yeah, I mean... you know, the way that I feel about you and all. It's just that..."

  Another laugh. "Okay tough guy. I'm been thinking about it too. There might be one or two small things to talk about, but yeah, I'll stay."

  Just between you and me, my heart filled with joy.

  6 Months Later

  "30... 30... Do I hear 30 million dollars..."

  'Mother and Child' is being auctioned today in New York City.

  "I have 30 million, do I hear 35 million, 35... 35..."

  This is one of the two most prestigious auction houses in the world. I hesitate to mention which one in fear of a lawsuit involving libel.

  "I have 35 million..."

  If you find yourself overwhelmed with curiosity, you can always Google what former chairman of a major auction house was sentenced to a year in prison for conspiring to fix commissions.

  Earlier in the day, Kelly and I had made a quick stop at the bank. We then headed to The Big Apple to witness the auction of the century.

  Some of the post Nick Gambelli shootout was interesting.
>
  The immediate aftermath involved a couple of days of interrogation by local, state and federal authorities. For the most part Laurence Finegold did the talking. The one thing that law enforcement couldn't work out is why all the fuss over a reproduction painting that wasn't a copy of any known work. Equally intriguing was that it was not meant to deceive; it was signed Anthony DeAngelo clear as day in the lower right hand corner.