Curse of the Jade Lily (9 page)

The waitress returned with a basket of garlic bread and a small plate that she filled with extra-virgin olive oil and pepper for dipping. She asked for drink preferences, and I ordered a winter ale brewed in Duluth. Chopper said he was in the mood for a well-rounded red wine, supple and spicy, yet not too intense, and asked the waitress to select it for him. She chose a zinfandel, and after he sampled it, Chopper announced that the waitress was not only beautiful, she had exquisite taste. All in all, I thought she took the compliment very well. After she left with our orders, Chopper leaned across the table.

“She has a roommate,” he said.

“Lucky you.”

“Naw, man. Lucky you. Whaddaya say? T’morrow night. We meet ahh, ahh…” Chopper waved his hand in small circles as if he were trying to hurry someone up. “I forgit ’er name.”

“Oh, for God’s sake.”

“I gots it written down.” Chopper fumbled with his cell phone. “Emma. Em-ma. Roommate is named Ali. Whaddaya say?”

“I’m already spoken for.”

“Still seein’ the honey what owns the jazz joint, ain’tcha?”

“I am.”

“Been a while now.”

“It has.”

Chopper sighed deeply. “I gots t’ do that,” he said. “Find a good-lookin’ woman can support me in my old age.”

“It’s what I recommend.”

The waitress soon returned with our lunch orders. After much flirting, Chopper labeled his pappardelle with duck ragu, red peppers, and tomato the best he ever tasted. Emma was thrilled to hear it. On the other hand, she couldn’t have cared less what I thought of my Dijon pork tenderloin.

We talked about this, that, and the other thing until the meal was nearly finished, at which point Chopper said, “I suppose we ought t’ git down to biz-ness.”

“Business?”

“You buyin’ for a reason, ain’tcha?”

“As a matter of fact…”

“Uh-huh.”

“I was wondering if you heard anything about a crew taking down the City of Lakes Art Museum the other night.”

“Someone hit City of Lakes? No shit? Whadda they git?”

“A chunk of jade worth three-point-eight million.”

“Nice.”

“I’m guessing you know nothing about it.”

“Nah, man, but why would I? That kind of heist is a little outta my zone, man. You wanna know who’s smuggling cigarettes, who’s boosting cars, HDTVs, computers, yeah, I can git the four-one-one on that. But art theft? Uh-uh.”

“Who would know?”

“In the Cities? Wow. That’s a tough question.”

“There must be someone. How about a fence?”

“You gots t’ know, this kinda thing don’ have a lot of buyers. Steal a big-screen TV, people fall all over themselves t’ buy it. A paintin’, work of art, somethin’ famous, somethin’ valuable cuz it’s famous, that only appeals to what you call a select clientele, high rollers happy t’ pay big bucks for somethin’ they can’t ever show off, you know? What you need is somebody who tied into that, knows the people who knows the people here in the Cities and elsewhere, am I right?”

“There has to be somebody I can talk to.”

“Man, I don’ know. Let me think … Only one comes t’ mind is Cid.”

“Sid who?”

“No, no. Cid, like in El Cid.”

“The Lord?”

“What?”

“El Cid, it means the Lord. It was the title given to Rodrigo Díaz de Vivar, the Spanish knight credited with driving the Moors out of Spain in the eleventh century, supposedly making Europe safe for Christianity.”

“Moors? That was like brothers, right? Africans.”

“African Muslims. Truth is, the Cid was a glorified mercenary worked for the Christian king, then the Muslims, then the Christians again.”

“Huh? I did not know that. How come you know all this shit?”

“I read,” I said. Actually, everything I knew about El Cid came from a movie I once saw starring Charlton Heston and Sophia Loren and a documentary on the History Channel, but what the hell?

“I wonder how Cid got the name,” Chopper said.

“We could ask. Think you could arrange a meeting with him?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll git on that.”

Chopper took up his cell phone, and for a moment I thought he was calling Cid from the table. I changed my mind when he said, “I’m ready,” into the microphone and then closed the phone. A few moments later, a large black man dressed in shiny leather filled the front doorway of the restaurant. The sight of him filled me with dread.

“Herzog,” I said.

“Yeah,” Chopper said.

“When did he get out of the joint?”

“Six months ago. Spent time in a halfway house—now he works for me.”

“Jeezus, Chopper.”

“Ain’t what you think, McKenzie. I’m legit now. Well, practically. Herzog, all he does is drive and, you know, take care of me.”

“Since when do you need to be taken care of?”

“I bought me a van. Gots one of them elevators and shit. I wheel onto this platform and press a button and it hoists me up. Press another one and it slides me into the van. Fuckin’ cool.”

“What happened to the tricked-out Porsche you used to drive?”

“I still gots it. I be drivin’ it ’morrow night.” Chopper tilted his head toward the kitchen where Emma had disappeared. “You know, McKenzie, I ain’t bankin’ as much as you—I’m talkin’ taxable shit—but I gots enough I can afford a driver.”

“Herzog, though? He’s a stone killer. Chopper, Herzog?”

Chopper leaned across the table. When he did, Herzog started moving across the restaurant toward us.

“Don’ you go hatin’ on Herzog, man. Me and him go back a lot longer than me and you. He’s family. If he wasn’t in stir that one time, no way those fuckin’ Red Dragons got the balls t’ pump two in my back. No fuckin’ way. Ain’t gonna happen.”

I held my empty hands away from my body in surrender, just as Herzog arrived.

“Anythin’ I can do for you, Chop?” he said. He watched me intently while he spoke.

“You know McKenzie,” Chopper said.

“I knows ’im. Cop.”

“Ex-cop,” I said.

“Fuckin’ cop.”

“Okay,” Chopper said. “McKenzie, I’ll be in touch.” With that we engaged in a ritual handshake that I messed up, as usual.

“I don’ know why I hang wit’ you,” Chopper said.

“I’m likable,” I said.

“Hmmph,” Herzog said.

Chopper spun his chair and started rolling it toward the door; Herzog never touched it. As they went, I heard Chopper speaking.

“You know, Herzy, it’s like I was tellin’ McKenzie. You gots t’ learn t’ lighten up.”

*   *   *

A few moments later, Emma returned to the table with the tab. She expressed her disappointment that Mr. Coleman had left without saying good-bye. I told her that he was sorry he had to rush off, but he was looking forward to seeing her again the next evening and would pick her up in his Porsche, if that was all right.

“He drives a Porsche?” Emma asked.

“Yep.”

“What else can he do?”

I considered the question carefully before I answered.

“I’ve known Mr. Coleman a long time,” I said. “I have never heard him admit that there was anything he couldn’t do.”

Emma seemed to like the answer very much. Certainly she was smiling when she left with my credit card. By the time she returned, Lieutenant Scott Noehring was sitting at my table. I settled the tab before I spoke to him.

“Where did you come from?” I asked. “Are you following me?”

“The company you keep, McKenzie, makes me wonder. I told Rask that I thought you had more to do with the theft of the Jade Lily than you let on, and here you are, breaking bread with one of the worst criminals in Minneapolis.”

“When you say worst, do you mean he doesn’t do it very well? Because I don’t think Mr. Coleman has ever been convicted of a crime.”

“He’s been into drugs, prostitution, gambling; he ran a shoplifting ring that had more customers than fucking Mall of America. I know for a fact that he’s been smuggling cigarettes into the state from Kentucky and North Carolina.”

“You should arrest him, then. Put his black ass in jail. If you can.”

“You don’t think he has it coming?”

“I know a lot of people who have it coming.” I reached across the table and caressed the material of his overcoat between my thumb and forefinger. “Cashmere?”

Noehring slapped my hand away. “Italian wool,” he said.

“Nice,” I said. “On a cop’s salary, too.”

“Don’t get sanctimonious with me, McKenzie. I know you. I know how you made your money. You arrested an embezzler. Instead of bringing him and the stolen money in like you were supposed to, you quit the St. Paul cops and negotiated a reward from the insurance company. You sold your badge.”

I didn’t see it that way, but I knew a lot of cops that did.

“Well, didn’t you?” Noehring asked.

“What do you want?” I asked in reply.

“How about a drink?”

Why not?
my inner voice asked. I caught Emma’s eye and motioned her back to the table.

“I’d like another winter ale,” I told her. I gestured toward Noehring. He asked Emma to recite the restaurant’s Scotch list and settled on Glenlivet, double, neat. He smiled as if he expected both Emma and me to be impressed by his selection. It was the same smile that I had seen the night before, but in the harsh light of day it seemed worn-out from overuse. He kept smiling as he watched Emma walk to the bar.

“Nice ass,” he said.

The smile flickered slightly when I didn’t reply.

The drinks were served, and Noehring drank half of his in one swallow.

“That’s good Scotch,” he said.

“Finish it,” I said. “Have another.”

Noehring smiled some more. “One is fine,” he said. “I’m working.”

“For who exactly?”

Noehring leaned back in his chair and gave me a look as if I had insulted him and he was wondering what to do about it.

“I’ve been hearing things,” he said.

“What things?”

“I heard that you decided not to make the exchange for the Jade Lily. Something about being spooked from seeing Tarpley dead last night.”

“Where did you hear that?”

“Is it true?”

“Let’s just say that I was reminded that life is short, too short to live it like a character in an S. S. Van Dine novel.”

“Uh-huh. Well, I just want you to know you don’t have to worry about it. You don’t need to be afraid to retrieve the Lily.” Noehring tapped his chest. “I’ll protect your ass. Unofficially, of course.”

“That’s awfully considerate of you, Lieutenant.”

“I’m a considerate guy.”

I bet,
my inner voice said.

“What would you ask in return for this service?” I asked.

“Ten percent of your end.”

“Twelve thousand seven hundred dollars?”

Noehring grinned. “That’s a little less than I figured,” he said.

“What would the Minneapolis Police Department say about the arrangement?”

“It doesn’t mind if we make a little on the side providing security. I know a lot of guys that work weddings.”

“Problem is, Lieutenant, if the artnappers spot you, they just might put a bullet in my head. Unofficially, of course.”

“Not if we put them down first.”

That made me sit back.

“Sounds to me like you have a plan,” I said.

“No plan. I just want to be there in case.”

“In case of what?”

“In case,” Noehring repeated.

We spent a couple of seconds staring at each other. Finally I had to ask, “What exactly are you proposing?”

“Let’s say—we’re just talking here, right, McKenzie?”

“Just talking,” I said.

“Let’s say that after you deliver the money, the artnappers decide that you’re a loose end that they don’t need. A loose end the way Tarpley was a loose end. They decide to kill you. Except, at that precise moment, one of the thieves seizes the opportunity—there is no honor among thieves, is there? He decides to waste his partners instead and escape with all of the money, leaving you unharmed and in possession of the Lily. Hypothetically, of course.”

“Let me guess. The reason he leaves me unharmed amid all that carnage is so I can tell the police what happened.”

“Exactly.”

“And the money—”

“A million three—”

“What happens to the money?”

“Fifty-fifty split.”

“I have a question—where will you be when all this takes place?”

“Oh, I’ll be miles away.”

“With an airtight alibi, I’ll bet.”

Noehring took a sip of his Scotch.

“What do you think?” he said.

“I have another question—what do you think the odds are that the thief might shoot me by accident?”

“Almost nonexistent.”

“Almost?”

“With you alive and the Lily in your hands, the museum will be happy, the insurance company will be happy, and the police, they’re not going to get worked up over a bunch of dead thieves and murderers—they did kill Tarpley, right? With you dead, the investigation expands, and who knows where it’ll lead? ’Course, there are always accidents, aren’t there?”

“That’s what I’m worried about.”

“You might want to worry about the alternative.”

“That would be…?”

“You used to be police, McKenzie. You know how it works. I put the word out that you need to be taught a lesson, you’ll get a lesson. You’ll get more than one. The bleeding hearts call it police harassment.”

“The right-wing nut jobs call it the same thing.”

“I don’t think it’ll stop, either. A cop who sold his badge—that’s how it’ll be played, don’t think otherwise—you’ll have enemies for life. You might even have to move.”

“I collected the price on Teachwell over six years ago and no one has cared.”

“Till now.”

“You have it all figured out, don’t you?”

“Including which bank accounts to hide the money in. C’mon, McKenzie. There’s no need for this. We both know how things work. You probably never so much as asked for a free taco when you were on the job until one day the guy behind the counter offered you a free taco and you took it. After a while, you expected all the tacos to be free. Then Teachwell falls in your lap. You weren’t looking for a score, but there it was. The opportunity of a lifetime. So you took it. Who can blame you? What we’re talking about now, it’s just another opportunity. Only this time, you don’t need to do anything. I’ll take care of the heavy lifting.”