by Jude Watson
But he couldn’t forget the harrowing dream.
“Of course not,” Jules said. She didn’t meet March’s eyes as she held her warm cup against her cheek for comfort. “Do we trust Hamish?”
March twisted a napkin. “Sure. Just not all the way. Alfie always said I could count on him, but always remember that Ham is a businessman. He’s always out for the deal. He lied about the Widow’s Knot.”
“How do you know?” Izzy asked.
“Because it’s on the front page of the Post, and he had a copy right by his computer. It’s a huge heist — of course he’d know about it. And when he opened that drawer, I saw diamonds and sapphires….”
“The necklace I stole from that reporter,” Jules said.
“Ham is Oscar’s fence, too.”
“He seemed in a hurry to get rid of us,” she said. “And it wasn’t just because he thought we were the walking dead.”
March nodded. “Exactly.”
The streets of the East Village were crowded with locals and tourists. In front of the café was a Citi Bike rack, part of a bike-sharing program. The bright blue bikes were lined up in locking stations. A family of four cycled up, guided the bikes into the stations, and the locking mechanism turned green. The family plopped at a table.
“You were right, Doug,” the mom said. “It was a great way to get around. But I think we should take a cab back to the hotel. I’m beat.”
“You’re right. I’ll get the drinks to go.”
March tried to drown out their conversation and think. They needed a big success. Three moonstones in one heist. They needed to find out where Oscar lived.
“We still have twenty minutes left,” the girl whined. “Why can’t we bike back?”
“I like cabs,” the boy said. “There’s one.”
Across the street a cab pulled up in front of the Crystal Cave. A handsome, well-dressed man emerged.
“Is that a movie star?” the girl asked, her crankiness gone.
It was Oscar Ford.
A wave of blackout rage, hot and clean, sliced through March. For a moment he couldn’t see. He thought of Oscar Ford on that roof, giving a sudden shove to Alfie, pushing him into thin air. Now that man was living his life, grinning at a pretty girl and enjoying the sunshine.
Jules put a hand on his wrist. “Don’t do it stupid,” she murmured.
Oscar disappeared into Hamish’s shop. March let out a long, shaky breath.
The father returned with water bottles. “I’ll hail a cab.” He reached in his pocket for cash. A piece of paper floated to the floor. March put his foot on it.
It was something he learned from Alfie. When somebody drops something, don’t be in a hurry to give it back. First give it a look. Why not?
“Oscar won’t be long,” March said. His mind raced with possibilities. “He’s just going to hand over the amber to Ham. I bet he heads right back home. Thieves don’t like to keep all that cash in their pockets after a heist. We can follow him.”
“How are we going to keep up with him?” Jules asked. “He’ll take a cab. Lots of traffic. We could lose him, easy.”
March unfurled the paper as the tourist family scrambled into a cab. Written on it were four number codes. He looked at the Citi Bikes.
“Drink up, gang,” March said. “I have an idea.”
The four bikes the family had used were still locked in the racks. March figured that the paper he held contained the codes to unlock them. It took them three tries before they figured out which code went to which bike. Within minutes they were each astride a bright blue bike.
“Here comes our man,” Jules said.
Oscar hurried out of the store. His face was set in a glower. He was dressed in a tight polo shirt, skinny jeans, and sunglasses. His artfully tousled hair was now an even lighter blond than the photo on TV. Several women turned to look at him as he stood in the street, his hand raised to hail a cab.
“He thinks he is a movie star.” Izzy snorted.
March’s hands tightened on the handlebars.
“You okay?” Jules murmured.
Feelings have no place on a job, kid.
“Fine.”
A cab swerved over to pick Oscar up. “Jules, you stay back since Oscar knows you best,” March said. “Take the lead position first, Izzy.”
As the cab zoomed by, Izzy pedaled fast, following the cab as it crossed Second Avenue. They followed, hanging back and keeping Izzy in sight.
The cab turned right on Houston Street.
“He’s going west,” March said.
The street was crammed with pedestrians, cars, cabs, buses, and bicyclists. March’s heartbeat was a crazy gallop in his chest as he weaved through the traffic, afraid of losing the cab. It was hard to stay close and yet keep a shield of other cars between him and Oscar’s sightline.
The cab turned left down Broadway. March dropped back, and Darius surged forward. The crowds were thicker, but so was the traffic, and Izzy was able to keep up, riding behind Darius. Jules hung way back, a baseball cap tugged low over her face.
The cab zoomed south and soon the bikes were bumping along the cobblestone streets of Tribeca. March’s teeth were as rattled as his nerves. At Varick Street the light turned green, and just as the cab shot forward, a delivery truck stopped as a stretch limousine tried to negotiate the turn. A surge of pedestrians took the opportunity to cross against the light.
“Go, Darius!” March shouted. “I’ll catch up!”
Darius tried to navigate through the pedestrians, avoid the limo, skirt the delivery truck, and make it across Varick as the light flashed green and the cars seemed to leap forward as one mass of metal.
A block ahead, the cab made a left turn and disappeared.
March pounded his handlebars in frustration. As soon as the tangle of traffic and people cleared, he shot across the intersection.
They caught up to Darius on a cobblestone street. “Lost him,” he said. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay,” March said. “We’ll think of a way. We could fan out —”
A car rattled by. Jules closed her eyes. “Cobblestones,” she said. “I remember them — the night I was kidnapped. The car bumped like crazy right before we reached the apartment. And when we went by that church before? I recognized the sound of the bells. We’re only a few minutes away, I just know it!”
“Do you remember anything else?” March asked, his voice urgent.
“Trucks,” Jules said, opening her eyes again. “Things being loaded and unloaded. It was early morning. I remember that sound. Oscar had the window down, and I smelled fresh bread. And then when we drove into the parking garage, I felt something else, something under my feet. Rumbling.”
“Subway?” Darius asked.
“Maybe. And one more thing.”
“What?” Izzy asked, hopping from one foot to the other.
Jules shaded her eyes and turned to the west, where the glint of blue said river.
“Seagulls,” she said.
* * *
They started on a block-to-block search. On North Moore Street they found a bakery, and they rode past, hoping Jules would remember another sound, another smell.
“Watch out!” March said, jerking his bicycle back. Up on the next corner, a man stood on a terrace, his hands planted on the railing. His gaze swept the street. It was Oscar Ford.
Scaffolding on a building opposite kept them hidden as they walked their bikes closer.
Jules clutched his arm. “Look. The name on the building.”
THE DOMINICK
March’s heart pounded. The graffiti on the wall of Track 61! It was as though Alfie had put his hand on his shoulder and leaned in, just the way he used to, and spoke in his ear.
“Matt Henneberry, come home,” March said.
The pizzeria called to them with yeasty, spicy smells. They grabbed a table at the back and ordered a large pie with pepperoni. They kept their voices low, even though the television was blasting the college basketball finals.
It was time to plan a heist.
“Let’s go over this one more time,” March said, taking a bite of pizza. “What did you find out, D?”
“It’s a very fancy building,” Darius said. Darius had pretended to be a delivery boy who couldn’t speak English, and in five minutes of confusion had managed to case the entire lobby.
“If that’s Alfie’s bolt hole, it’s pretty fancy for a hideout,” Jules observed.
That was true. It wasn’t the little studio in a random neighborhood that March had imagined. “Maybe Alfie needed to park some cash,” he said. “An investment.”
“And gave the keys to his killer?” Jules asked.
March nodded, his face grim. “Obviously Alfie trusted the wrong guy.”
“However Oscar got in, he’s in,” Darius said. “The name Henneberry is on the penthouse A mailbox.”
“PH,” Izzy said. “Like the graffiti. It didn’t mean Dominick’s phone number. It meant penthouse at the Dominick.”
Darius nodded. “There are two doormen — one at the entrance and one at a desk near the elevators. There’s a service door to the left — probably leads to the parking garage. There’s a door closer to the elevator marked STAIRS and a door marked STAFF ONLY. Which, as a brand-new criminal mastermind, I declare to be for staff.”
March grinned and reached for another slice. “You’re catching on.”
“Building next door is being renovated,” Jules said, waving a piece of pepperoni. “The scaffolding could help us. Bad news is that there’s no subway nearby. I think I heard the rumble of trucks heading for the Holland Tunnel. I’m thinking the getaway will be tough.”
“The West Side Highway is just a block away,” Izzy said. “The getaway could be easy if we had a car.” She shot a quick look at Darius.
“Do you know how to drive?” March asked him.
He looked down at his pizza. “Nope,” he said.
March took a gulp of soda. “Look,” he said. “I’m not going to lie to you. We’ve got obstacles. We don’t have a grease man — the guy who gets us in. Or a boxman — somebody with the equipment and the know-how to open a safe. So let’s hope there’s not a safe. We don’t have years of experience, and we don’t have tech equipment, and we don’t have a getaway car. But here’s what we do have. We’ve got the world’s best jewel thief living in my head. And we’ve got Jules, who I am guessing is just as good as Alfie on a roof and also doesn’t mind dangling from a blue whale or from a skylight with a vacuum cleaner. We’ve got Darius and Izzy, who are afraid of nothing.”
“I’m afraid of everything,” Izzy said in a small voice.
“But you do it anyway,” Jules said. “That makes you braver than any of us.”
Izzy looked down and smiled.
Jules put down her soda. “I’m still worried about the getaway.” She pointed to the sketch March had done on a napkin. “Sure, if we don’t trip an alarm, if Oscar doesn’t get back early, if there’s no nosy neighbor, if the doorman doesn’t come up to deliver a package, if … It’s the ifs that get you. What if something goes wrong and we have to get out of there quick?”
“That’s the flaw. We need a wheelman,” March said. At Jules’s puzzled look, he explained, “The guy who drives the getaway car.”
Darius slowly lowered his head until his cheek was resting on the table. With his mouth squashed against the formica, he said, “I know a wheelman.”
“Would he work with us?” March asked. “What’s his name?”
Darius gave a great sigh, ruffling the napkin, which flew off the table and drifted to the ground. He put his foot on it.
“Mom,” he said.
“Shut UP, shut UP, shut UP!” Mikki Fray shouted as she opened her apartment door and saw Darius. She stamped her foot. “Shut UP! You just show up at my door at seven a.m. and give me a heart attack? Come here and give me a hug!”
Darius dutifully stepped into her arms. “Hey, Mama.”
She hugged him hard. “How are you, baby? I missed you so much.”
“Me, too.”
She pushed him to arm’s length. Mikki Fray was only a little taller than Izzy, and built like a motel refrigerator. She wore a T-shirt that read SOMEBODY LOVES YOU IN TAMPA, FLORIDA, and black shorts that showed off muscular legs. Her toenails were bright purple.
She stepped back and smacked Darius on the shoulder.
“Wait one second. What are you doing here? Mr. Pete Swampus, up at the home, said I can’t see you unsupervised because I’m a bad influence and have to be approved by my parole officer. So what are you doing here?” She put her hands on her hips. “Don’t you be getting in trouble, Darius P. Fray.”
“His name is Campos. Not Swampus.”
“I know what his name is, but the man is a swampus, am I right?”
“I can’t deny that.”
“Now introduce me to your friends and tell me what’s going on, because I can tell something is going on. I haven’t been away that long. Proper introductions, last names, too.”
Darius quickly introduced the group. Mikki narrowed her eyes at him.
“You all are definitely up to something. And you’re going to tell me all about it. But first, I’m going to fix us some food.”
Mikki disappeared into the kitchen, and they heard the sound of plates crashing down from cabinets. “All I got is eggs!” she yelled.
“Eggs are good!” Darius yelled back.
“Then I’ve got to go out, meet my friend Shonda! I’m taking a Zumba class!” A beat, and then her head stuck out of the kitchen. “I didn’t come see you right away because I’m trying to find a new apartment. I’m going straight this time, baby, straight as Robin Hood’s arrow. And I’m going to get you back.”
“It’s okay, Mama. How long have you been out?”
“Less than a month. You staying here? Because you can. You can sleep on the couch.”
“No, that’s okay,” Darius said. “We’ve got a place. Izzy’s mother’s apartment.”
“Okay. We’ll eat first, then talk. So don’t keep talking to me while I’m trying to cook!”
“Right.”
“That’s talking!” She grinned at Darius. “I love that boy!” she said to the others, and ducked back into the kitchen.
Darius stared at the empty space. “She’s got time to sign up for Zumba, but not to visit me,” he said.
“She’s got the best of intentions,” Izzy said.
“I am well acquainted with my mama’s intentions.”
“Do you think she’ll do it?” March asked.
“I don’t want her to do it. I want her to get somebody else to do it,” Darius said. “She’s going straight — didn’t you hear?”
“You love your mama,” Izzy said. “That’s nice.”
“Listen, she let me down about a thousand times, no lie, and she’s been in prison, and she forgets about my existence on a regular basis, but, yeah, you’ve got to love your mama.”
“I don’t love mine,” Izzy said, after thinking a bit. “I miss her, though.”
“You miss the mama you didn’t have, not the one you’ve got.”
“We all miss the one we didn’t have,” Jules said.
Izzy retired to the couch to chew on this, as well as a handful of peanuts she found in a bowl on the coffee table.
In a few minutes a platter of eggs, bacon, and toast hit the round dining table. Mikki put a carton of orange juice on the table and directed Izzy to fetch the glasses.
“You all eat. I already did,” she said. “I put cheese and hot sauce in the eggs, which is the absolute best way to make eggs. I’m telling you, I live to feed my boy. You all are coming over here every Sunday night. I’ll make you roast chicken. Deal?”
Their mouths were too full to talk, so they nodded. The eggs were amazing. When their plates were cleared, stacked, and in the kitchen, she poured herself a glass of juice and crossed her legs.
“Okay. I’m ready.”
“How come you don’t
think I came just to say hey?” Darius asked.
“ ’Cause you have the same look on your face you had when you were five and you were planning to cut kindergarten. So. Spill.”
“We have a job and we need a wheelman,” Darius said. “I thought you could recommend somebody.”
Mikki reared back in her seat. “Are you coming into my house and asking me to recommend a wheelman to my only son?”
“Well, where else am I going to go?” Darius asked.
“You’re sitting there telling me that you’re going to break the law?”
“Not really.”
“Not really?”
“We just want to get back what somebody stole from us, that’s all.”
“That’s still stealing.”
“Okay,” Darius said. “I’m just saying, this guy isn’t about to call the police on us.”
“And the name of this thief?”
“Oscar Ford.”
Mikki’s expression darkened. “Sweet Face Ford? Nasty guy.”
“Yeah.”
Mikki let this sink in. She moved her lips as though she were chewing on something.
“So, can you recommend somebody?”
“Somebody? You know I’m the best.”
“So we need second best.”
“Let me get this straight,” Mikki said. “My own son comes to me, about to pull a job. But he wants a second-best wheelman. So what I’m asking myself is, exactly how dumb is my son, asking for second best?”
“You just got out, Mama,” Darius said. “And you said you’re going straight as Robin Hood’s arrow.”
“So I let my son get a second-best wheelman? Who planned the job? I’m not in unless I know the plan.”
Everyone looked at March.
Mikki poured herself more juice. “Start talking, kid.”
“A silver Lexus? Couldn’t you steal something less conspicuous?” Darius asked his mother. They sat outside Oscar’s apartment the next evening, watching the front of the building.
Mikki patted the steering wheel. “MD plates, too. Cops won’t ticket you if you got MD plates. And I like this location. If the worst happens, we zip right on to the Holland Tunnel. If not, we take a little spin up the West Side Highway, and I’m home in time for Deadliest Catch.”