Dead Sure?: A Paranormal Mystery (46 page)

“Thank you.” Steve grinned.

“You can take Bruno with you for some muscle.”

*    *    *

Angela shifted restlessly in her chair as Tim finished recounting his harrowing afternoon. She tried to maintain focus and work out a new strategy, but her emotions were uncharacteristically getting the better of her.
That bastard killed both of us and then disappeared into the future, our future, not his. I’ll kill that son of a bitch before I’ll let him get away with that again, and to think I used to love that man.
The hatred continued to well in her as Tim brought his tale to conclusion.

“How about it, any bright ideas? You’re the criminal mastermind.”

Angela feigned a small smile at that comment. “My anger is getting the better of me.”
Get a hold of yourself and start thinking. The window to fix this crisis is small and getting smaller by the minute, I’m sure.

“Angela, you still with me?” Tim asked hurriedly, as he looked at the blank far away expression on her face.

Like the snap of someone’s fingers, Angela came around. In a fast but deliberate voice, she began to detail for Tim the scenario she felt would take care of the situation.

Tim looked on with increasing concern as Angela wrapped up the scheme. “It sounds dangerous, and not just for us. Are you sure we should risk it?”

“There is no other way that isn’t more dangerous. It will work,” she said with authority. She was trying to convince herself as much as Tim.
It has to, that rat bastard can’t get away with it twice.

*    *    *

Jack had been wandering around the museum for the last hour, getting progressively more nervous as time dragged on.
If I only knew what the forward moving object was, I could steal it and get the hell out of here before things turn ugly. Where are those guys? This whole situation is driving me nuts.

Glimpsing to his left, Jack saw what he had been waiting for impatiently, all the while dreading the confrontation. Steve was walking into the museum closely followed by that lumbering bodyguard Jack had met earlier in the club when he’d first arrived. Jack promptly ducked around a nearby corner.
Just great, both of these assholes will recognize me.
Carefully, Jack feigned interest in the exhibit in front of him, keeping his back to the main aisle. The seconds ticked by like hours as he waited what he thought would be enough time for the duo to walk by.

A fleeting look over his shoulder confirmed he had gauged the time correctly. Jack began to walk towards the Chinese exhibit area, the apprehension in him increasing with every step.

Two entries led to the exhibit. He opted to walk quickly past the first entrance, circling around and coming in on the far side of the exposition by first passing through another collection. Jack had been dutifully scoping the setup out since he had arrived; having decided upon this approach based on the number of larger display cases on that side of the rather cavernous room. These displays would block Steve and his muscle from seeing straight across the room to where he’d be entering. Unfortunately, the cases would also obstruct his view.

Jack entered the room patting his lower back just above the waistline, reassuring himself that the gun was still there. He had stuffed the gun Tim had given him into the back of his jeans, doing his best to conceal the pistol by tucking his shirt in over the top of it. Remembering, Tim’s last words of warning on the drive over,
If he gets his hands on it we’re all done, it’s game over! He will be outta here faster than you can blink.
The phrase “game over” really struck a chord with him. The statement kept repeating itself in his head like a broken record.
Game over, game over, game over, bullshit, the game’s going to end my way,
Jack thought, forcing the annoying phrase to the back of his mind. He hadn’t risked this much or come this far to have it be game over. The hell if he was going to stay back in the twenties, or worse yet die back in the twenties, never to be seen or heard from again.

He walked up to the first display case pretending to concentrate on the contents. There were several other museum goers milling around, making the occasional comment about this or that. One particularly loud obnoxious woman in a pea-green dress kept saying, “Oh my, how lovely,” or “Isn’t that quaint.”
Shut up lady, between your incessant blathering and the pounding of my heart beat in my ears, I can’t hear a damn thing. I’ve got to keep moving.

Jack carefully walked around the cabinet, continuing the masquerade of studying the antiques, while really looking more out of the corner of his eyes.
He knows what he is looking for, I’m just going to have to chance it that Steve and his gorilla are concentrating on acquiring the object and not wandering around staking the place out first. Then again, the damn thing might be located in the next aisle over.

Eyes glued forward now, Jack rounded the corner into the last aisle between himself and his targets, hoping like hell that the item was located in the main area.
Remember, don’t rush it. I can’t tip my hand too soon. Tim didn’t know what item we are looking for and neither do I. The timing of this is going to have to be just perfect. One second too long and the prize ends up in Steve’s hands, and bye bye, game over. This is bullshit, I fucking hate this. 

Relieved the aisle was empty, Jack let a small sigh escape his clenched mouth. He was now listening intently as he moved forward down the aisle, straining to hear footsteps on the hard marble floor or the dreaded sound of glass shattering as someone forced their way into a display case. Instead, the only noise Jack heard was the same woman from before, prattling on from two aisles away.
I’ll show you lovely; shut your damn pie hole. I don’t know how her husband does it.
Jack’s frayed nerves enjoyed a few seconds of humor, as he imagined this crazy woman and her dullard of a husband. Taking a deep breath, he steadied himself, peeking around the last junction. Steve was walking around some shorter displays in the middle of the room with Bruno hot on his heels. Neither one of them seemed to be paying much, if any, attention to their surroundings.

*    *    *

It was a gamble she had to take no matter how much she hated doing it. Angela reminded herself of what her father used to say, ‘
without risk there is no reward’.

With that thought firmly in mind, Angela worked her way around the building cautiously, looking for any sign of something out of the ordinary. The day was extremely hot, particularly in the disguise she was wearing. Sweat was starting to bead on her forehead as she continued slowly down the walkway. She had slipped into a man’s suit, pulling her hair up and affixing it under a dapper-looking fedora. To complete the look, Angela had stuffed the suit with additional padding, trying to make herself look like a somewhat overweight gentleman. 

She tugged the hat down further over her brow, suddenly feeling like the whole world was gawking at her. Instinct was telling her that Charles had set some kind of trap. The rat wasn’t going to leave something this big to chance, just hoping she didn’t foul it up.

Her conscience was gnawing away at her for using Tim as bait, but what other option did she have? They had a limited amount of time to spring the trap and get into the museum to help Jack. Hell, for all she knew it might already be too late. 

Tim waited the five minutes Angela had instructed before cautiously crossing the street and heading for the museum’s main entrance. She had been upfront with him about being the cheese in the trap, but that didn’t help to steady his nerves any.
Just remember, Angela knows what she is doing. It always seems like she is one step ahead of the competition and this is going to be no exception.
He believed it, yet still, his right hand squeezed tighter around the handle of the revolver he had hidden deep inside his right suit pocket.
Six shots doesn’t seem like nearly enough, it’s better than what I sent Jack in with. This is crazy, with any luck I won’t even have to use this thing.

A car honked loudly as Tim finished crossing the street. “Hey, buddy, watch where you’re going next time!”

Tim gave the man shouting from the car a dismissive wave and stepped up onto the curb. He walked rigidly up the sidewalk, anticipating something might happen at any minute. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary to him. The day was sunny and hot; people were coming and going from the museum. Men were chatting with their wives and birds were singing in the trees. The scene looked lovely on the surface.

Tim had gotten about halfway to the building when he noticed two men on a park bench leap up. A glint of cold steel caught his eye as the newspapers they had been pretending to read dropped away, revealing the Thompson sub-machine guns that were now pointed menacingly in his direction. He started to pull out the revolver in his pocket, knowing that it was already far too late for that. 

*    *    *

Steve was mumbling inaudibly to himself as he made another pass around the cases. “It isn’t here. I can’t believe the fucking thing isn’t here. There’s no way. The son-of-a-bitches didn’t even know what to look for.”

“Boss, you need me to do something?” Bruno asked, trying to sound concerned. He knew from experience that this kind of inarticulate babbling usually led into insane behavior when Charles was concerned, and his twin here was probably no exception.

“Shut up and let me think,” Steve snapped, almost instantly. “It’s not here, that’s just not possible. No one but me knows what it is!” Steve started to walk around the cases again, staring intently at them as if by sheer will he could make the sword materialize where it should be.

Jack stood there helplessly watching, itching to leap into action, and yet knowing that jumping the gun would gain him nothing.
What the hell is Steve doing? Can’t the man remember the item that changed his life? No, that simply doesn’t make any sense. It’s not there, that’s got to be the answer. Something has changed, or maybe it was added to the display later in the…
Before Jack could finish his thought, he saw Steve glancing over in his general direction. Jack started to panic, before realizing that Steve was just staring over at the additional display cases considering whether the item may have been placed in a different part of the exhibit. Jack ducked back around the corner his pulse racing.
That was to close.

“Hey, boss, I don’t know if it matters or not, but I saw that same weird guy from the club over there,” Bruno said, pointing towards the other side of the room.

“Son of a bitch, he has something to do with this. Get him alive, we need him to talk.”

The two of them started to stroll casually over towards the display cases where Jack was hiding. At precisely that moment Jack chanced another look to see what was happening. His eyes met both of theirs quite unexpectedly.
Crap!

Their nonchalant walk instantly turned into a brisk walk, and then a run, as they watched Jack retreating around the corner.

Great just great, it’s now or never. They’re murders and thieves anyway, make it count.
Going for the element of surprise, Jack did an about face, immediately switching directions, coming back around the corner gun in hand. The two thugs were almost on top of him before they realized their misstep.

“Don’t worry, Bruno, he doesn’t have the stones for this business,” Steve uttered tauntingly.

Jack squeezed the trigger. The bullet thudded into Bruno’s left shoulder, barely slowing the behemoth down. His left hand seized Jack’s wrist in a vice-like grip, twisting it to the side. As smooth as silk the big man turned slightly, bringing his right fist in low to deliver a crushing blow to Jack’s ribs almost simultaneously. The punch might have knocked Jack back off his feet if Bruno hadn’t been holding so tightly to his wrist.

Steve smiled devilishly. His gun was out now, but there was no need for it. Bruno had things well in hand. “Pound the crap out of him, Bruno, but I need him alive. He must know something about why the sword is missing.”

Hah, a sword, finally some information,
Jack thought almost in slow motion, as he blocked Bruno’s next blow. This one he was ready for and he stepped backwards and to the side, throwing his body weight into the motion and yanking his right arm violently in an attempt to throw his attacker off balance. The move worked, causing Bruno to stumble forwards.

Flashing to something he had read recently, Jack took advantage of his opponent’s misstep, throwing a punch to his throat. The shot hit solidly, square in Bruno’s Adam’s apple, causing him to immediately start gasping for breath.

His grip on Jack’s wrist first slackened and then released as Bruno grabbed for his windpipe, coughing violently and trying desperately to suck in air.

Jack pushed the lummox out of the way, ready to go for Steve. To his surprise, Steve wasn’t even paying attention. Something on the other side of the room had him occupied. He was walking away, his back turned to the scene playing out behind him, just as casually as if he had gotten up from his own kitchen table.

Then Jack saw it, the focus of Steve’s attention. A curator was entering the exhibit area. He was wheeling a cart with a red velvet top. Perched in the center of all that velvet was a viciously sharp-looking curved sword. The glint of the shiny steel was quite enticing, almost mesmerizing. Purpose of thought seemed to have slipped away from Jack too, as he just stared at the magnificent weapon. Slowly, ever so slowly, the cart rolled into the room inching ever closer.