Forty Thieves (33 page)

“Thanks. We’ll be waiting.” Sid cut the connection and looked at Ronnie.

“I know,” she said. “It’s frustrating.”

“She’s the only one we’ve found, male or female, who strikes me as a possible suspect,” Sid said. “None of the people we’ve talked to had the right edge to them.”

“We don’t know if Mira Cepic does either.”

“No. If not, it could have been one of her male friends, who saw Ballantine as a rival for her. Or the killer could have
been an enemy of hers. But for the first time, we’re talking about the sort of person who might shoot somebody in the head a couple of times and put his body in a storm sewer.”

The men and women of the group of thieves had no real name for their organization, or for the larger, older syndicate of diamond thieves the international police called the pink panthers. Most often in Europe they had spoken of their group by indirection, calling the others their friends, their circle, or just some people they knew. Going away from their home city of Belgrade to commit a robbery had been referred to as going on a vacation, or visiting a relative. Since they moved to Los Angeles, they had decided that it was safest not to see each other often, but each time there was trouble, they instinctively flocked together.

As Gavrilo finished the work of preparing to leave, the members of the group began gathering at his house again. There had been times when Gavrilo wished he had not quit his life of robbery so soon. He had saved plenty of money, but if he had gone on for another year or two, he would certainly have had more, and more was better. He thought about these things while people arrived at his door, each of them carrying a pack or a valise or a shoulder bag.

They had all gone to their secret hiding places and taken out their valuables, preparing to leave the country. He knew from experience and observation that people who were extremely careful for years would often panic in an emergency. He had also learned that pickpockets would sometimes intentionally startle a victim to see which place on his body he touched to check for his wallet. When Gavrilo
was a young man working alone in a village he had started a fire in a small hotel to see where the owner went to save his hoard of money.

But this was just a passing thought, like a reflex. He was not thinking seriously about robbing his friends, not forming a plan, anyway. He had already inherited most of the money and diamonds that Mira had brought with her in her pack, and he was pleased with that. He was good enough at appraising diamonds to know they were excellent stones. He was not good enough to assign prices to them, but he could count, and he’d counted two hundred stones in the five-to-ten-carat range, and seen lots of smaller stones. She’d also had quite a bit of American money with her, all in hundred-dollar bills, and some big stones set in cheap costume jewelry.

Gavrilo was distracted because he was a thief. He had not stopped being a thief just because he had left Europe, so he hadn’t stopped seeing ways to take things. The sound of the doorbell reminded him that he couldn’t stay upstairs packing while he had guests downstairs. As he descended the stairs, he thought about all of the members of the group. They were leaving the country, so they had gone to their banks to empty safe-deposit boxes, then gone to the most secret hiding places in their homes—pieces of hollowed-out furniture, the bodies of sculptures or toys, kitchen appliances, the bottoms of large potted plants. All of that wealth was now stuffed in shoulder bags and backpacks, being carried into his house.

When he reached the entry he was surprised at the number of people who were here. He didn’t feel up to the hugs
and handshakes, so he simply waved at everyone and skirted the group to get into the living room.

The others followed in his wake, giving him little chance to breathe. They were all chattering at once, but he caught a few sentences.

“They have hundreds of police out searching for us. The airport is full of them!”

“They’re watching the trains and buses!”

“When I drove past my place there were police cars parked in front. They’re searching my house.”

When Gavrilo saw the alarm and worry in their eyes, he knew that the universe was presenting him with a test. “Come in, come in,” he called. “Don’t stand out there in the foyer, come and sit down. We’ll find a way to handle this. We can’t panic, or everything will be lost. They’ll search some houses and they’ll stand around in the airports. But they won’t find anything in our houses and they won’t find us in the airports. We just have to stay in a safe place to wait until they give up, and after a few days we’ll leave. Don’t worry. It’s a matter of simple patience.”

Tomislav said, “They showed pictures on television of the police breaking into my house. They had body armor and helmets, like soldiers. It didn’t look like America.”

“I’m sorry, Tomislav,” said Gavrilo. “They’ll be in everybody’s houses soon. Here too.” He raised his voice. “Everybody stay calm. We’ve done this before. We just have to wait long enough so the police think we already got away. Then we’ll split up and go quietly, one at a time.”

“But how can we do that in Los Angeles?” Jelena said. “And where? They’re already at our houses, and they’ll be
here soon. So where can we all wait this out? Some of us have had our faces on television.”

“We’ve all been hunted before,” Todor said. “We just got used to living like rich people for a few years. We got soft. And I hope we will again. But for now, we have to go back to thinking like thieves—lean and smart. Is there anybody who knows a place where we can be safe for at least a few days?”

“We’ve got to get away from this house right away. That’s for sure,” Sonja said. “If the police come here and find those graves, they’ll think we killed our own people.”

There was an uncomfortable silence as men and women began to look at Gavrilo, holding him in the corners of their eyes. He wasn’t sure how to interpret their stares, but he knew he’d better get them thinking about something else. “Come on, everyone. Doesn’t anybody know a place where we can wait this out?”

Near the back of the group, Srdan’s hand came halfway up, and then drooped down by his side.

But Gavrilo was desperate for a distraction. “Srdan. I saw your hand. What are you thinking?”

“I have an idea, sort of.”

29

Ed Hoyt leaned back in his lounge chair and stared at his copy of the
Los Angeles Times.
As he read, his big hairy feet moved, and his toes clenched and unclenched. Nicole’s eyes were hidden behind her dark sunglasses, studying him.

She had been lying peacefully beside this small pool at the end of a line of pools at the Bellagio hotel, savoring the pleasant feel of the dry desert air. She had gone in to swim a couple of lengths, a feat only possible at this time of the morning, before other people got up and stood in the pool like posts. Then she had come back and lay here on her chaise longue beside Ed, feeling the hot, parched air drinking the water off her skin. The faint breeze seemed to her to carry microscopic particles of sand that buffed her skin and made it feel tight and clean and new.

Nicole had repeated the process three times, and when she had come back to lie down beside Ed for the third time, he’d had the newspaper. She loved that about Las Vegas—if you looked like a reasonably good tipper, people would bring you what you wanted. She looked him over again. She had mixed feelings about lying next to Ed in bathing suits.

Ed was big, about six foot four. He was hairy, with tufts of black hair on his chest that tapered into a streak of hair going down his belly past his navel. He was also very muscular. That was a good thing, really. Her husband was in great shape, especially for a man in his forties. But he made her feel a little bit déclassé when he was this visible. Here they were at a fancy hotel—one of the few in Las Vegas that was still fancy, now that Las Vegas had become so eager for young people and their children—but Ed didn’t look like a high-class man. Rich lawyers, the CEOs of big companies, men of hereditary wealth didn’t look like Ed. They didn’t have all that body hair. They had it waxed or shaven, so they were smooth as girls. And they were in good shape, but not the same way as Ed Hoyt. He looked like a cage fighter, a martial arts teacher, maybe even like what he was. He was very male, very virile, but maybe a little bit too flashy and obvious.

He was a bit like a male version of some of the women she had seen around the pools in Las Vegas. They had wonderful perky round breasts and tiny waists, and asses like a pair of bubbles. Nature had been good to them, but maybe a bit too generous. They might be utterly blameless, and many of them hadn’t paid to have anything enhanced. But when the eye settled on them, the brain didn’t say “science major.” Ed was like them. There was nothing subtle about him, and he was no more self-conscious than a dog.

She closed her eyes and lay there, and reminded herself to take him as he was. She was with him, and they were alive and healthy. They’d had to rent a two-bedroom suite at the hotel so they would have two safes instead of one to hide all the cash they’d brought with them.

Ed said, “You know what it says in the paper?”

“I have my eyes closed. I haven’t seen a paper in four days. No.”

“The weird people who hired us aren’t just thieves like that one guy said. They’re from a famous gang of jewel thieves. The police are looking for them. They were in this country getting ready to rob the jewelry stores on Rodeo Drive, and a bunch of jewelry businesses in the jewelry district downtown.”

“It can’t have been entirely successful if the
LA Times
knows who they are.”

“The cops recognized one of them, and then figured out a whole bunch of them were here, so they flooded those places with cops before the thieves could do it,” said Ed. “The police sat there for two or three days waiting for the thieves to show up, but they never did.”

Nicole still didn’t open her eyes, determined to devote most of her mind to feeling the treatment her body was receiving from the warmth, the breeze, and the relaxation of her muscles. “How many were there to start?”

“The cops think maybe forty.”

Now she had to open her eyes to be sure nobody was too close to them. “You killed a couple, remember.” She had shot at least three, but that was irrelevant.

“The police say they each stole millions of dollars all over the world for years. All they take is diamonds.”

“Oh, you know how that is,” said Nicole. “Some store gets robbed of two dollars. They tell the cops and the insurance company it was twenty. The clerks let the thieves get away before they report it so they can take eighteen themselves before the cops get there.”

“This isn’t some liquor store in Bakersfield,” Ed said. “It’s places like the Harry Winston store in London. Other places in Paris, and Tokyo. They just come in and rake off the diamonds.”

“When, exactly, did you get so interested in diamonds? I practically had to beg you to buy me a pair of earrings.”

“It’s not the diamonds,” Ed said. “It’s the fact that it’s these people. We worked for them, even if we didn’t know it right away. We went after the Abels and kept them fully occupied while these people planned—and maybe even carried out—the theft of the century. For all we know, they pulled it off and it hasn’t been reported to the cops yet. After we risked our lives for them, they turned on us. We got screwed.”

Nicole shook her head. “I don’t see how you can twist what happened to them into anything about us. We weren’t their partners or something. Vince Boylan hired us to do a job for them. And we paid ourselves very well with Boylan’s money. The end.”

“They shot at us.”

“We shot at them, and we’re not dead.”

“Want to know who identified the members of their gang? It was Mr. and Mrs. Abel. If that bunch of freaks had kept us on and treated us decently, they wouldn’t have lost anything. They could have stolen twice as much money by now, and the cops wouldn’t be searching all their houses and showing their pictures in all the train and plane terminals.”

“Okay,” said Nicole. “They would have been better off with us than without us. No argument.”

“I’m saying more than that,” said Ed.

“What more is there to say?”

“They owe us damages.”

Nicole coughed out a big “hah!” laugh before she’d had time to stifle it. Then, because the laugh was so big and unexpected, and because Ed looked so shocked, she laughed even harder, the regular way. She held one hand up and clapped the other over her mouth. After a few seconds she pushed the laughter back down. “Sorry, sorry. It just caught me by surprise. You sounded like you were planning to sue them.”

“Obviously not,” said Ed.

“Sure you don’t want me to call a lawyer?”

He folded the paper and tossed it onto her stomach. “If you read it, you’ll see that about forty of them are now on the loose with all those diamonds from their old jobs. They were planning to get out of the country with them, but that didn’t pan out. They can’t have made it.”

Nicole opened the paper, found the start of the article, and began to read. After a few minutes she glanced over at Ed again. He was lying there with his eyes closed, his face turned peacefully to the blue sky. “Why can’t they have made it?”

“The cops were warned ahead of time—by the Abels, but that’s not the point. The cops threw everything they had into keeping the thieves from getting on a plane or a ship or a train or a bus, and they had enough time to transmit all of their pictures to every foreign customs service. So far, not one of them has turned up.”

“You believe they let themselves get trapped in this country?”

“Let themselves or planned to.”

“Planned to? Really?”

“You saw that house where the three guys lived,” Ed said. “They funneled money here for months in advance—maybe years—and moved in.”

“The paper says that was so they could spend a lot of time casing the jewelry places and planning their robberies down to the last detail.”

“Right,” he said. “I’m sure they did that. They had figured out that the safest place to live in this country is on a quiet street in an outer suburb. Did they do all that for one job, or even a day of jobs?”