Nasty Cutter

by Tim O'Mara

  We got in the car and asked him to take us home.

  ‘Whose?’ he asked.

  Before I could answer, Allison said, ‘Mine. If that’s OK.’

  I could sense his smile from the front seat. ‘Absolutely OK, ma’am.’

  This whole having-a-driver thing was growing on me.

  About halfway home, Allison’s phone rang. She looked at it and her face lit up as she recognized the number.

  ‘Hello, Charles,’ she said. ‘We were just talking about you.’ Pause. ‘Raymond and I.’ A longer pause this time. ‘That’s amazing. Hold on.’ She turned to me. ‘Charles’s expert confirmed the Klee is real. He wants us at his gallery tomorrow morning. Early.’

  ‘How early?’

  She asked. ‘Eight,’ she said to me, and I nodded. She told him we’d be there and ended the call.

  ‘This is getting exciting,’ Allison said.

  ‘A bit too exciting for my taste.’

  Allison dialed another number. I gave her a quizzical look. ‘A lawyer I did an interview with a while back. He’s been successfully reacquiring lost art and returning it to their rightful owners.’

  So much for Laura Feldman’s lawyer.

  ‘What if the Sterns are the rightful owners?’ I asked.

  ‘Then they’ll get it back.’ She turned away. ‘Hello, Arthur. Allison Rogers.’ She paused. ‘As a matter of fact you can.’ She proceeded to tell him about the Klee. ‘Not tonight, no, but I can be at your office tomorrow at nine.’ Pause. ‘Excellent. Thank you.’ Back to me. ‘We now have two appointments for tomorrow.’

  THIRTY-ONE

  Sunday morning we had a quick and early breakfast. Allison lived close enough to Charles Mantle’s gallery that we walked over. Spring was definitely in the air, and I couldn’t wait to get the day’s errands over with and spend the rest with my girlfriend. Mantle met us at the door and greeted us both with kisses on the cheeks. When on Sullivan Street. He then led us to the back of his gallery where the safe was located.

  ‘Have you decided what you’re going to do?’ he asked as he punched in the combination to his high-tech safe.

  ‘We’re bringing it to a lawyer who has experience with this kind of situation,’ Allison said. ‘He’s meeting us in half an hour at his office.’

  ‘You got a lawyer to meet you on a Sunday morning? Nice.’

  ‘When we called him last night and told him what we had, he wanted to meet right away. But we told him the Klee wouldn’t be available until this morning.’

  Mantle reached into the safe and pulled out the painting. ‘Here you go. Please let me know how it all turns out.’

  ‘Thanks for everything, Charles,’ I said.

  ‘Come back any time, Raymond,’ he said. ‘With or without Ms Rogers.’

  I was trying to hail a cab on Houston Street while Allison was teasing me about Mantle’s obvious affection for me. This was why I didn’t see the guy in the ski mask come up behind Ally until it was too late. He grabbed Allison’s bag, and she screamed. I turned and watched as he ran in the other direction. I took off after him.

  I screamed, ‘Hey, stop!’ like that was going to work. There were a few other pedestrians on the sidewalk, and I screamed again. ‘Stop that guy! He’s a thief!’

  People got out of his way, but my fruitless yelling somehow convinced the guy he needed to cross the busy street. This was not a smart idea as he had to slow down to let a bus go by, allowing me to shorten the distance between us.

  ‘Stop!’ I yelled again.

  He turned and saw me getting closer. He darted into Houston Street without looking and never saw the cab that sideswiped him, spinning him around and knocking him to the ground. The cab pulled to a stop just as I reached the injured thief. Ally was right behind me.

  ‘Call nine-one-one,’ I said.

  As a small crowd gathered around us, I looked down at the guy. He was still clutching Allison’s bag. I took the bag from his hand and put it behind me. If this guy had gotten away with it, would he have known the value of what he had snatched? I put my hand under his head and removed his ski mask.

  ‘Oh, my god,’ someone said. ‘It’s just a kid.’

  Not just any kid. It was Joshua Stern’s kid, Daniel.

  Holy shit.

  In lieu of any other adult who knew Daniel, the EMT asked me if I’d ride with him to the hospital. The kid was in shock and mumbling incoherently, and they felt that a familiar face might help with the trip. Even mine. I was still in a bit of shock myself, but I agreed and told Ally to meet me at the hospital.

  They strapped Daniel on to the gurney, and I sat in the seat by his head.

  ‘Put your seat belt on, sir,’ the EMT told me. ‘We don’t need two patients on this ride.’ He climbed up inside and sat across from Daniel.

  I buckled myself in as Daniel continued to mumble. Some of his ramblings sounded like they might have been in Hebrew. Maybe he was praying. The siren didn’t make hearing him any easier. One thing I could make out was, ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry.’

  I reached out and touched his shoulder. ‘I know, Daniel. It’s OK.’

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘You don’t … understand. I did it.’

  ‘I was there, Daniel. I was the one who chased you.’

  ‘No,’ he said and then mumbled something that sounded like, ‘It’s all over.’

  ‘It’s not over, Daniel. The doctors’ll take good care of you, then we—’

  ‘No.’ He took a big, labored breath and said slowly, ‘Miss … the Stover.’

  ‘Sir,’ the EMT said. He had just taken Daniel’s blood pressure. ‘It’s probably not a good idea to engage the patient in conversation at the moment. In addition to the hip injury, he more than likely has a concussion.’ I think he was having second thoughts about me riding along with Daniel.

  ‘Wait a second,’ I said, leaning forward. The ambulance took a sharp left and the seat belt dug into my belly. ‘What did you say, Daniel?’

  ‘Sir, please. I’m advising you to—’

  ‘Shut up for a second,’ I blurted out. ‘Sorry. Please, give me a minute here.’ I said to Daniel again, ‘What did you just say, Daniel?’

  ‘I just … wanted the painting back.’

  I turned to the EMT to explain. ‘He … mugged my girlfriend for a painting. I chased him and he got hit by the cab.’

  The EMT nodded and smiled. ‘Fine,’ he said. ‘Now if we can just stay—’

  ‘Not your girlfriend,’ Daniel said. He took another big breath. ‘Mr Stover.’

  ‘What about Mr Stover?’

  ‘He wouldn’t … give it back.’

  I took a few seconds to process that. Marty had a painting, too? Oh, shit.

  ‘What did you do, Daniel?’

  ‘I wanted … the … I’m cold.’ Through chattering teeth, he said, ‘The painting.’

  The EMT reached over his head and pulled a blanket down. He draped it over Daniel as he gave me a look. I ignored him.

  ‘Mr Stover had a painting?’ I asked. ‘Did your grandfather give it him?’

  He shook his head slightly. ‘Hector.’

  ‘Your grandfather gave it to Hector, and Hector gave it to Mr Stover?’

  ‘Yes.’ Yesh.

  ‘And you wanted it back.’

  Another ‘yesh.’

  ‘So what did you do, Daniel?’

  ‘Went to the … party.’ The benefit. ‘He wouldn’t … give it back. So I …’

  I leaned forward again. ‘So you what, Daniel?’

  ‘I got angry.’ A pause for another breath. ‘I had my box cutter from … the store … and I …’

  ‘You stabbed Mr Stover.’

  ‘I didn’t mean to. I got angry.’

  Kids with blades sometimes end up using them.

  The ambulance came to an abrupt stop. ‘We’re here,’ the EMT said.

  That was one hell of a ride.

  THIRTY-TWO

  About twenty minutes later, Ally and I were sitti
ng outside of the emergency room of Beth Israel Hospital. Daniel’s parents hadn’t arrived yet.

  ‘What did he say?’ Allison asked.

  ‘This is all off the record, Ally,’ I said. ‘He’s a minor, I’m not a law enforcement agent, and his parents or a lawyer were not present.’

  ‘I know all that, Raymond. Just tell me what he said.’

  ‘He told me he killed Marty Stover.’

  ‘Holy shit,’ she said. ‘Because of the painting?’

  ‘That’s what he said. He knew Hector had given the painting to Marty, and Marty refused to return it.’

  ‘How did he know Hector had the painting and that he gave it to Marty?’

  ‘Hector told him one day when they were both working at the store. Hector had no clue what it was worth. He told Daniel he’d given it to Marty, hoping Marty would return it to the Sterns so he wouldn’t hurt the old guy’s feelings.’

  ‘And Marty figured out it was valuable?’

  I shrugged. ‘He must have. Then the grandfather told Daniel. Daniel went to the benefit hoping to convince Marty to give it back to the family. When Marty refused, Daniel lost it. He pulled out the box cutter and stuck Marty in the leg.’

  ‘What the hell was he doing with a box cutter?’

  ‘He uses it for work,’ I reminded her. ‘He was actually in the city that afternoon making a small delivery for his dad.’

  Allison shook her head. It looked like she was feeling sorry for both parties. ‘Daniel knew what it was worth?’

  ‘He must have had some idea. He’s a smart kid. And with his family’s business struggling the way it is, he figured this was a way out of their financial problems.’

  ‘You got a lot of information during that ambulance ride.’

  ‘What can I say? Kids talk to me. It’s what I do.’

  Allison gave that some thought and then shivered a bit.

  ‘How did he know where I lived?’

  ‘My guess is he followed us after we were at the shop the day his grandfather gave you the picture. His grandfather must have told him what he’d done while we were at the restaurant before we headed over to Mantle’s gallery.’

  ‘How did he know I’d have the painting with me today?’

  ‘I don’t think he did, not for sure. The kid was desperate. He was probably waiting outside your apartment every chance he got since his grandfather gave you the painting. It was just dumb luck that today was the day he saw you and got up the nerve to make his move.’

  She let out a deep breath. ‘So he might have been … stalking me?’

  ‘In a sense, yeah.’

  She shivered again. ‘Why didn’t he just come straight out with what he knew? If the paintings belong to his family, it all would’ve worked out.’

  ‘I guess he didn’t know if they rightfully belonged to the family or not. Daniel knows how to surf the net just as well as we do. He probably didn’t want to take the chance that this would get tied up in the courts.’

  ‘Jesus,’ Ally said. ‘He is a smart kid.’

  Before I could respond, I saw Mr Stern rushing toward the ER desk. The woman at the computer looked like she was trying to calm him down as she found out what she could about his son. When she was done talking, he pulled out his cell phone and made a call. Then he turned and saw Allison and me. He came over. We both stood up as he approached us with a mix of concern and confusion on his face.

  ‘Mr Donne,’ he said. ‘Ms Rogers. I don’t understand. Why are you here? I received a call from the police that my son was in an accident. What was he doing on Houston Street? He told me he was going to a friend’s this morning.’

  ‘Maybe you better sit, Mr Stern,’ I said.

  ‘I cannot sit, Mr Donne. Not while my son – why are you here?’

  I told him, starting with Daniel attacking Allison, then telling me he’d killed Marty Stover, and ending with the events of the past few days that had led us all to the hospital that morning. When I was done, he sat and put his face in his hands. He stayed like that for five minutes. Not knowing what to do or say, Allison and I just stood there.

  ‘I need to call our lawyer,’ Joshua Stern said, breaking the silence. He stood and said, ‘None of what you told me is to be in your paper, Ms Rogers. I know this must seem like a good story to you, but until we consult with our lawyer – and speak with the police, I guess – nothing my son said is to be written about. I hope you understand.’

  ‘I do,’ Allison said.

  ‘Is this what you and Marty Stover argued about the week before his death?’

  He appeared shocked I knew about that. He recovered quickly. ‘No comment.’

  Stern walked away to make his call.

  How long had he known about his father’s secret art collection?

  When he was out of earshot, Allison said, ‘I can’t imagine what it’s like.’

  ‘Neither can I.’

  ‘You’ve got so much to worry about, just being a parent. The normal stuff. Now he’s got to figure out how to handle this.’ She shook her head and repeated herself. ‘I can’t imagine.’

  ‘Makes you wonder,’ I said, ‘what our parents’ biggest worries were. Someone once described my father to me as a very fearful man.’

  ‘Fearful of what?’

  ‘Of what would become of Rachel and me.’

  She took my hand and walked me out of the hospital into the sunshine.

  ‘What do you think he’d say if he could see you now?’ she asked.

  ‘Honestly?’ I said. ‘I don’t know. He’d be glad I had a steady job, but I think he always wanted me to follow in his footsteps.’

  ‘And not Uncle Ray’s?’

  ‘Definitely not Uncle Ray’s.’

  She pulled me into a hug and whispered in my ear. ‘I think he’d be pretty damned proud of you. And if he wasn’t, too bad for him.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  The hug turned into a kiss. After a while, Allison said, ‘It’s a nice day. Wanna go to your place or mine?’

  ‘Funny you should ask that,’ I said, pulling her closer. ‘There’s something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.’

  Thanks to the usual (and some unusual) suspects:

  The Computer School and Center School, The Feldman and Barrett families for their generous contributions to The Computer School – you’re all great characters – Mike Kunin and Ramapo For Children – www.ramapoforchildren.org – and all the kids, parents, and educators I’ve worked with over the past thirty-plus years.

  Mike Herron, Wayne Kral, Drew Orangeo, Rob Roznowski, Lisa Herbold, The Stokes, Kennedy, and Cohen families, The Tippler, 2A, Alfie’s, Jasper’s, and El Azteca for their support, encouragement, and steady flow of adult beverages.

  Mariano Rivera, for inspiring the title of this book, and throwing the most beautiful fastball any pitcher has ever thrown year in and year out for nineteen seasons.

  All the independent bookstores who’ve supported me and countless other writers. Go to www.indiebound.org and find the one closest to you.

  All the public librarians who’ve bought my books, hosted me at events, and helped me spread the word. Contrary to popular belief, we authors love libraries and librarians. Hurray for Socialized Reading!

  Many thanks to all at Severn House for providing Raymond with a place to stay – and to Margery Flax of Mystery Writers of America for making sure our paths crossed.

  Eric Campbell of Down & Out Books for making it look so easy, and treating all of his writers with respect and dignity. And thanks for putting me between the covers with Charles Salzberg and Ross Klavan.

  Former editor Matt Martz and my agents Erin Niumata and Maura Teitelbaum for getting me started in this biz, helping to make me a better writer, and teaching me when to say yes.

  Jeannie Kerwin, you may have left this mortal coil, but I don’t know anyone who will be forever more fondly living in the hearts of others or touched so many lives in a positive way than you. Thanks for showing the rest
of us how it’s supposed to be done.

  All of you who’ve taken the time to write to me at my website – www.timomara.net – to praise, question, or chastise my work. I like the praise emails the best, but the other ones keep the ego in check, so thanks.

  My mid-Missouri family, especially Les and Cynthia Bushmann (mother-in-law and proofreader extraordinaire) and Maggie and Elise Williams. It’s a joy and honor to have a second place to call home.

  My mother Patricia O’Mara, who I know has read all my books, and told friends and strangers alike all about them. My siblings: Jack, Ann, Mike – check the dedication, tough guy – and Erin, and their families, whether they’ve actually read my books or not.

  Finally, thanks to my wife, Kate Bushmann, you see the possibilities in everything and then turn them into realities. You astound me with your brilliance, resilience and remarkable taste. Eloise Bushmann O’Mara – I can’t imagine any dad being prouder of his daughter than I am of you. You amaze me on a daily basis, make me laugh on occasion and help keep me grounded.