by Nic Saint
After the current president had told Chazz in no uncertain terms that he was never going to become his successor, the billionaire had snapped out of it, and decided to devote his not inconsiderable energy to his family from now on. He seemed to have had one of those epiphanies you hear so much about, realizing his time on this planet was limited, and family was all he had.
So when Estrella called the boss with the urgent request to borrow his two men for a delicate and important operation, he’d readily agreed, considering Estrella part of his extended family now, and one for which he couldn’t do enough. When Jerry had wanted to know what this was all about—which wasn’t an unreasonable question after what the Flummox sisters had put them through last time—Estrella had told Chazz she couldn’t discuss it over the phone but it involved diving and shipwrecks.
“Well, you can dive, can’t you, boys?!” Chazz had cried when they’d muttered feeble protests at being loaned out to these crazy triplets.
Well, they could dive, all right, though it wasn’t very high on their list of favorite pastimes. They’d been forced to learn how to dive when Chazz had gotten it into his nut a couple of years ago to take up treasure hunting as a hobby. They’d spent an entire summer diving for treasure thirty-five miles South of Key West, with not a single thing to show for their efforts than scaly skin and a serious cough.
Chazz had even wanted to dive to the wreck of the Titanic, and had borrowed James Cameron’s rig to do so, instructing Johnny and Jerry to get inside the contraption and man the cameras so Chazz, safely tucked away in the dive boat, could get a firsthand glimpse of the ill-fated ship. Fortunately for them a storm front had blown in at just the right time, which had given the captain an excuse to pull out, and spare Johnny and Jerry that particular ordeal. This time, however, it looked like escape was not an option.
“I don’t like this, Jerry,” intimated Johnny. “I don’t like this at all.”
“Neither do I,” he said. He’d hoped to lead a more quiet life from now on, with the boss dropping out of the race for the presidency and vowing to spend more quality time with his family in The Hamptons, becoming a patron of the arts and a force for good by getting into charity shit and stuff.
“Those sisters are capable of anything,” lamented Johnny. “They might even ship us off to the Moon or ask us to man the first colony on Mars!”
“I know,” he said, thinking hard. How could they get out of this diving nonsense without antagonizing Chazz? There simply was no way.
“Remember last time they landed us in prison, Jer? Huh? Remember?”
Jerry shivered. He hadn’t forgotten. First they’d gotten them arrested, and then almost killed when they decided to spring them from jail. No, life around the Flummox triplets was decidedly dangerous. Like the Bermuda Triangle, danger was always right around the corner. The lethal kind.
“Diving,” he muttered. “They want us to dive.”
“Must be treasure again,” said Johnny with a sad face. He, too, remembered that summer they’d spent fruitlessly diving in the pristine waters of the Gulf of Mexico, Chazz demanding each time they resurfaced to know why their bucket was still empty, and where his golden doubloons were.
If only they’d met a Jacqueline Bisset down there, or a Jessica Alba.
“Shipwrecks,” he mumbled. “She said something about shipwrecks.”
“Well, maybe this time at least we’ll find something,” Johnny said, always the philosopher. “Something other than a nasty rash in the groin.”
Maybe the big guy was right. Maybe this time they’d actually dig up some actual gold. But if the sisters supervised the salvage operation they’d also pocket all the proceeds. He didn’t like that either. Unlike the old Chazz, the new Chazz seemed to feel that he owed the world. Old Chazz used to take what he wanted, New Chazz only wanted to give. Strew riches from his hat like those crazy billionaires who lived to give, after first spending years to collect. So instead of demanding Estrella pay them a princely sum for their diving efforts, the boss had simply told the woman he was doing her a favor! That he was lending her his men out of the goodness of his own heart! Nuts!
“I wonder what’s in it for us,” Johnny now voiced this sentiment.
“Nothing,” he grunted. “We’re doing this as a favor to family, remember?”
“The boss’s family,” Johnny pointed out. “Not our family, Jer.”
“Yeah, the boss’s family. And you never ask for money when you’re dealing with family,” he repeated Chazz’s immortal words. Immortally dumb.
“Stupid, if you ask me,” said Johnny.
“That’s the problem, Johnny. Nobody’s asking you. Or me.”
“I don’t wanna do it, Jer. It just don’t feel right.”
“Me neither.”
“So what do we do?”
“We make sure that we pocket as much of that treasure as we can.”
Johnny’s face lit up at this. “What do you mean, Jer?”
“What do you think I mean, you moron? Once we’re down there it’s every man for himself. The moment we find that treasure we stuff as much of it in our pockets as we can and tell the sisters we found bupkis.”
“But they’ll search our pockets.”
“Yeah…” He thought for a moment. “How about we momentarily stash the gold away someplace?”
“Someplace where?”
“Someplace near the wreck. Someplace only we know about. And then when the salvage operation is finished we go back and pick up our stash.”
“Oh, Jerry, that’s brilliant!” said Johnny. “I like it.”
“I like it too,” he said. He’d had this sudden brainwave, which was pretty rare for him as brainwaves went, so he knew to treasure it. The logistics of his plan were still a little fuzzy, but they were off to a good start.
“So we just hide the treasure and then pick it up later, huh? Genius, Jer!”
“It’ll be our little secret, Johnny. You can’t tell anyone, you hear?”
“Not even the boss?”
“Definitely not the boss. He’ll make us hand over the treasure and then he’ll give it away to Angelina Jolie’s world relief fund or something.”
“If I’d known the boss would start giving his money away to anyone and everyone I’d have found another chump to work for,” lamented Johnny.
And that’s how Jerry felt, too. That the boss was cheating them out of their rightful benefits. Used to be the boss was as much a crook as they were, employing strong-arm tactics to evict tenants from buildings he wanted to demolish so he could erect another one of his high-rises that had done so much to mar the Manhattan skyline. These days, he was a pillar of society.
Not that Jerry wanted to become a full-time crook again, but a little crookery went a long way, and they had their retirement to think of.
“So it’s a deal?” he asked now. “We keep this treasure for ourselves?”
“It’s a deal, Jer. A little something squirreled away for a rainy day, huh?”
“Exactly,” he said with a sly grin. And of course, if there was treasure involved, he hoped to get his hands on some nice rings and bracelets. He was a recently divorced man, and not liking it one bit. If he could offer his ex-wife Marlene a few priceless gems maybe she’d reconsider dropping his last name.
Chapter 12
I welcomed the delegates into our humble home with a smile. We’d all gathered in the kitchen, much to Gran’s chagrin, for she preferred to welcome guests in the sitting room, as was proper. But I liked the kitchen. It was big enough to host a party of a dozen, and a lot cozier than the formal sitting room Gran had decorated according to her taste—which wasn’t mine.
Spear Boodle had finally arrived, and the lawyer looked like a million bucks in his three-piece suit, straight out of the courtroom, probably, where he’d convinced the judge to let this ruthless gangster or that crooked politician off the hook with a fine and a slap on the wrist for bad behavior.
His handsome face was wr
eathed in frowns, however, as he obviously had no idea what he was doing here. And then there was the fact that Sam was seated across from him, and so was Pierre. Not exactly the lawyer’s favorite people in the world and vice versa. Sam and Pierre had interviewed Gran and Gresham about this neighbor of ours who’d been murdered, and they both looked a little puzzled, too, wondering what they were doing here.
Or perhaps they were wondering what Johnny Carew and Jerry Vale were doing here. Two known crooks—now reformed—who were both well acquainted with Sam—who’d arrested them on more than one occasion—and Spear—who’d gotten them out of jail just as many times.
The two associates of Chazz Falcone didn’t look happy either, though I was sure they’d come around once they found out what this was all about.
To my left were my sisters, Edelie and Ernestine, and to my right, Skip, still munching on chocolate croissants. Edie was staunchly ignoring Sam's eager stares, apparently still mad at her boyfriend in spite of Stien's attempts at reconciliation. I hoped this wouldn't pose a problem, as it's hard to work as a team when two members of that team aren't on speaking terms.
But I was sure she would eventually come around when the importance of this job became clear to her. We had a sacred responsibility toward our client Hayes Suggur, and that trumped any personal grudges she might hold.
“I’m so happy and excited to be here today,” I began, opening proceedings. I’d never actually given a speech before, but I’d practiced my acceptance speech for an MTV or AMA award so many times in front of the mirror I wasn’t worried. “I want to thank all of you for bestowing this great honor upon me,” I continued blithely, “and I’d like to thank my family for always being there for me.” When I caught Stien’s frown, I quickly added, “And I’d like to welcome you, one and all, to Hartford Manor!”
“What’s this all about?” asked Sam curtly. He obviously wasn’t one for long-winded acceptance speeches, or any speeches for that matter. He probably got enough of that from the police commissioner. Or the mayor.
I planted my hands on the table, palms down, and announced, “We’re going to dive for treasure!” I was gratified to see that this statement elicited the expected Oohs and Aahs from the collected group.
“Treasure?” asked Spear with a frown. “What do you mean, treasure?”
“I mean actual, good-old-fashioned treasure,” I said. “The kind of stuff Johnny Depp is always looking for in those Pirates of the Caribbean movies.”
“I’m not sure he actually dives for treasure in those movies, though,” said Ernestine, always a stickler for detail.
“Well, you know what I mean,” I said, not deterred. “There’s treasure on yonder shores, and we’re going to find it and return it to its rightful owner.”
“Who is its rightful owner? And what treasure are you talking about, exactly?” asked Sam, his deep baritone rumbling nicely. He was still locked in a staring contest with Spear Boodle. The lawyer and the cop had found themselves at cross purposes so many times in the past that a strong animosity had sprung up between them.
“We, um, we found a treasure map in the attic,” said Ernestine now, with a quick look at Edie, who nodded once. “Which indicates that a ship, the Albion, went down with all hands off the coast of Happy Bays in 1776, carrying treasure destined for Lord Dockland. It is our aim to salvage this treasure from the wreck and return it to the descendants of Lord Dockland.”
“You can’t do that,” Sam said curtly. “That treasure belongs to the government. What you should do is hand me that map and I’ll make sure you get a finder’s fee.” He held out his hand, and when I didn’t hand over the map immediately, he snapped his fingers. “Come on. Hand it over. Now.”
Oh, God. What I had feared was happening. That’s what you got when you involved the NYPD! We should never have told Sam about this.
“The thing is…” Edelie cleared her throat. “The thing is that we already contacted the descendants of Lord Dockland, and they’ve hired us to find the treasure and return it to them, as they were the original recipients.”
“Technically the case can be made that the ship’s owners have a right to that treasure,” Spear said now. He shook his head. “Cases like this can be a real litigation nightmare, with the government staking its claim, possible insurance companies, descendants of the ship’s owners…” He glanced at Sam. “It’s not as cut and dried as you might think, Detective Barkley.”
Sam ignored the barb. “Who is your client?” he barked.
I hesitated, giving Edelie a hard stare.
Edie, luckily, once again came to the rescue. For the first time, she looked at Sam, who blinked when her green eyes locked with his. “We’re not at liberty to disclose our client’s identity. Suffice it to say he’s the great-great-great… something of Lord Dockland, and the rightful owner of the treasure of the Albion. We handed him the map, and he hired us to retrieve the treasure, which we will do, with or without your help, Detective Barkley.”
Sam retracted his hand and scowled at her a little uncertainly.
“So where is this treasure?” asked Jerry, licking his lips eagerly.
“The location will remain a secret until we organize the first attempt to raise it,” I said. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust Johnny and Jerry, but they were, after all, former crooks, no matter how highly Chazz spoke of them.
Jerry’s ferrety face fell. “Oh,” he said, visibly disappointed.
“All you need to know is that the treasure is out there, and that we want you to help us find it and raise it so we can return it to our client.”
“I’d like to meet your client,” said Spear, tapping the table smartly. “We need to draw up an ironclad contract with the man, and check his bona fides so there can be no doubt. Like I said, these treasure cases can end up in years and years of litigation unless handled by a skilled legal expert.” He shot out his cuffs as if to say: you’re looking at just such a legal expert, darlings.
“No, I’ll meet with this client of yours and make sure he’s on the level,” growled Sam, giving Spear and his cuffs a pretty nasty glance.
“As New York City’s premier law firm I think Boodle, Jag, Lack & Noodle, which I represent as one of its partners, can handle this, Detective Barkley. So thank you but no thank you. We don’t need the NYPD on this.”
“As a representative of New York City’s premier police department I think I’m well placed to tell this client of theirs not to try any funny business or else I’ll shove my foot so far up his ass he’ll be picking his nose with my toes. So thank you but no thank you, lawyer boy!” grunted Sam.
Spear visibly steeled himself. “I think you’ll find that finesse trumps the thuggish approach of Detective Barkley, Miss Flummox,” he said. “And since this treasure essentially belongs to your client, I feel confident that I’ll be able to keep it in the private sphere. No NYPD involvement necessary.”
“This treasure is located in the ocean, Boodle,” snarled Sam, tapping the table with his index finger. “And last time I checked neither this client nor the firm of Boodle, Poodle and Canoodle own the ocean. So I think it’s safe to assume this treasure belongs to the US government.” He tapped his chest. “Me!”
“Um, order!” I shouted now, wishing I had one of those nifty hammers to slam the table with, like they use on Judge Judy. “Look, you don’t have to talk to our client at all, either of you,” I said hurriedly, before rioting broke out in our kitchen. “The contract we drew up with him is ironclad, isn’t it, Stien?”
“I saw to it that every contingency was foreseen,” confirmed Stien.
“And the treasure may be resting at the bottom of the Atlantic, but that doesn’t mean the US government can simply claim it,” added Edie, shooting a dark look at Sam.
The latter frowned and nudged Pierre. “Do you know anything about this stuff?”
Pierre shrugged. “Why don’t we take a look first, Sam? What harm can it do? There might not even be a treasure. It might have
been swept away.”
“No treasure?” rasped Jerry. “Whaddya mean, no treasure?!”
Pierre held up his hands. “It’s been two hundred and forty years.”
“I’m sure the treasure is still there, Jer,” said Johnny soothingly.
“It better be!” cried Jerry, darting angry looks at Spear and Sam, as if they were somehow responsible for the disappearance of his treasure.
Sam shook his head. He clearly wasn’t fully on board yet.
“Don’t you worry about these bozos,” Johnny now said, gesturing at Sam and Spear. “We’ll find this treasure for you, Miss Flummox. Won’t we, Jer?”
“Sure thing. We’re experienced treasure hunters, we are. Used to dive for Mr. Falcone all the time. Bringing up tons and tons of the sparkly stuff.”
Sam glared at him. “Is that a fact?”
“Just in a manner of speaking, of course,” Jerry quickly added.
“You can count me in as well,” said Skip, who’d been remarkably quiet. He finally looked more or less awake, though his eyes were still bleary.
“Who are you?” barked Jerry, snapping his eyes to Skip.
“I’m Skip,” said Skip. “I work for them,” he added, gesturing at me.
“Oh, you do, do you?” asked Jerry nastily. He seemed to feel Skip was competition for the treasure, even though I’d made it perfectly clear to Chazz that we weren’t going to pay the divers. That this was simply a salvage operation to return the treasure to its rightful owner. I was starting to see that we were going to have to pay these two crooks something, or else they’d simply abscond with the entire treasure if we weren’t watching.
“Aren’t you the guy who works at Brown’s Better Bread?” asked Johnny.
“That’s me,” said Skip. “I’m one of the Browns in Brown’s Better Bread. Or at least I used to be. I don’t work there anymore. I’ve been headhunted by Flummox, Inc, where I can put my numerous talents to much better use.”
“Weren’t we in prison together?” asked Johnny now, beaming at Skip.