MOONLIGHT ON DIAMONDS (26 page)

“Why don’t you just
tell me what’s going on?”

Quinn looked up and
then back down at the floor. “Okay, here’s the story. You know that this ball
tonight was a benefit for the Library Fund?”

John nodded.

“Well, the
organization heading up the whole thing is a charity group called The Donald
Spencer Children’s Library Fund. The chairwoman for the group is Lillian
Spencer. She runs a lot of these things, as the president’s wife, which you can
imagine. But here’s where we get to the problem. The
treasurer,
if you can believe it, is Cynthia Spencer. Apparently,
the First Lady thought it would teach her kid responsibility.” Quinn laughed at
the absurdity of the idea. “But that’s not how it all played out. See Cynthia,
as treasurer, had access to all the donations, which have come pouring in over
the last six months. This event was a twenty-five-grand-a-ticket affair, and
with over 350 takers, we’re talking about close to ten million dollars here.”

Quinn paused to take
another drink and shook his head in disgust. “So anyway, spring break rolls
around, and Cynthia and her little coke-addicted, Yalie boyfriend head south to
a little island called Nevis. Well, I don’t know if you’ve ever been to Nevis,
but apparently they have quite a casino there, and in the casino, they have a
special private VIP room where it’s a million dollars just to walk in the
fucking door. Well, I guess Cynthia and her boyfriend cranked up a few too many
lines and she decided she was a big shot. So she goes back to her little hut on
the beach, or wherever the fuck she was staying, and pulls out the checkbook
she just happened to bring along with her for the Library Fund. She goes back
to the casino and writes them out a big one million dollar check. Within
minutes the casino, which is run by a bunch of crooks, verified the account and
the cash, and our little princess is off and running. Well, by the end of the
night, Cynthia and her boyfriend have ripped through over six million dollars
and the kid’s library charity is shit out of luck.”

Quinn shook his head
in disgust and then, fumbling in his pocket, pulled out a pack of cigarettes,
lit one up, leaned back in the chair, and took another swig of beer. John could
tell he was starting to enjoy himself now. Quinn always loved to tell stories and
this one was a doozy.

“So,” he continued,
“when Lillian Spencer finds out about this, she loses her mind, right? Because
what Cynthia’s done is illegal, immoral, and it’s going to start a scandal that
could rock her husband right out of the White House once the press gets their
hands on it. So she wracks her brains about what to do.”

“Why didn’t she just
replace the money herself? God knows the Spencers certainly have enough.”

“Well, that’s what I
thought,” said Quinn nodding his head in agreement, “but apparently there’s
rich and then there’s
rich
. The
Spencers are rich but they’re not super rich to the point where coming up with
six million dollars wouldn’t seriously set them back.” He shrugged. “So anyway,
the First Lady’s trying to come up with a plan, when suddenly she remembers
something. She remembers that her dear old family friend Veronica Rossmore is
the most accomplished jewel thief in the world.” Quinn leaned forward,
excitement glowing in his eyes. “You see, they caught her, John. It was three
years ago, right before we snagged Zagen…”

“Before I snagged
Zagen,” John corrected him.

“Whatever,” Quinn
waved his cigarette in annoyance. “The point is, Veronica Rossmore goes to
Spain and she’s partying in some nightclub in Madrid. She makes a few friends,
Carmen and Lorenzo Mandosa. She goes home with them for a little after-hours
entertainment. So they’re all back partying at her new pal’s apartment and she
says she’s got to go use the powder room. Lorenzo points her in the right
direction. She heads down the hallway but she can’t stop herself from slipping
into the master bedroom and rifling through Carmen’s jewelry box. She hits the
jackpot and finds a Cartier dragon necklace, but before she knows it, they
catch her in the act and call the Madrid police. Well, Veronica Rossmore sure
didn’t want to spend the next twenty years rotting in a Spanish prison. So she
called her mother’s old school chum, Lillian Spencer, to see if she could pull
a few strings and get her out of the jam. It wasn’t easy, but the First Lady
pulled it off. The thing is, now, Veronica owed her big time.”

John shook his head
in disbelief. “If Veronica was the Ghost and the Spanish police captured her,
how could we not have known about it?”

Quinn rolled his
eyes. “Johnnie, we don’t know a lot of what goes on. We know what people like
Lillian Spencer want us to know and that’s it!”

Quinn looked angry
for a moment, but after a drag of his cigarette and another gulp of beer, he
calmed down and resumed the story. “So, on top of all this, the First Lady is
incredibly superstitious, to the point she had the friggin’ White House feng
shuied.”

John nodded his head,
remembering the story being featured in the papers. But something was bothering
him. “There’s one thing I don’t get. The Ghost was the best of the best. If
Veronica really was the Ghost, how could she get caught in such an amateurish
heist?”

“Well,” Quinn
explained, “the thing about your little friend is, she’s got a bit of a
psychological problem. I don’t think that young lady was ever stealing for
profit.” Quinn laughed derisively. “I mean, the girl is loaded. She’s got more
of what you might call a compulsion.”

“You mean she’s a
kleptomaniac.”

“Bingo. It seems like
toward the end she just started getting sloppy and was caught in the grip of
her illness or something.” Quinn shrugged. “I don’t pretend to understand crap
like that.”

John understood it,
but he wasn’t about to share with Quinn how it felt to be so totally out of
control you couldn’t stop yourself from rushing down the road to
self-destruction.

“Anyway,” Quinn
continued his story, “they’ve got this infamously cursed diamond right here in
the nation’s capital spreading its bad juju all over the place. It’s been
bugging Lillian Spencer the entire time her husband’s been in office. So she
thinks to herself, maybe she can kill two birds with one stone—no pun
intended.” Quinn snickered at his own bad joke.

John wasn’t laughing.

Quinn sighed and
shook his head. “Okay, so Mrs. Spencer thinks she can get the Hope out of the
country and sell it to our enemies. The Library Fund gets its money back, the
bad guys get the bad luck, and Veronica Rossmore has to help her do it!”
finished Quinn triumphantly, spreading his chubby hands wide in the air like a
barker at a circus.

John narrowed his
eyes. “What about Bezuhov? How’s he mixed up in all this?”

“He’s not,” said
Quinn.

John took it all in
for a moment. Then he asked, “Who’s she selling it to and when?”

“That I don’t know,”
said Quinn. “And neither, I think, does anyone other than Veronica Rossmore.
The First Lady felt the less she knew about the whole thing the better. So as
long as the money shows up in the Children’s Fund bank account within the next
few days, I don’t think there will be any questions asked.”

“Lillian Spencer sure
puts a lot of trust in Veronica,” John observed dryly.

“Not really,” Quinn
snorted. “If that money doesn’t show up in the account on schedule, it won’t be
too hard to track down Miss Rossmore and put her behind bars for life.”

“And what if Veronica
told the truth and put the First Lady and Cynthia Spencer behind bars instead?”
asked John angrily.

Quinn looked at John
with pity. “Don’t be an asshole, Johnnie. You know how rich people are. They
all stick together and cover each other’s asses. It’s how they’re able to get
away with so much shit that you and I would fry for.”

John knew it was
true. No matter how much Veronica probably resented being forced to ply her
trade for the benefit of Cynthia’s Spencer’s coked-out gambling spree, he
didn’t see her stepping forward to make a federal case out of it either.

“Well, now you know,”
said Quinn, taking a deep drag of his cigarette and exhaling. “So I’m going to
have to kill you.”

John looked up
sharply at his ex-partner’s threat, but Quinn just sat there grinning.

“Under the
circumstances, I don’t think that’s very funny,” growled John.

Quinn’s grin
broadened, but then he said seriously, “You know, Johnnie, this can’t go
anywhere.”

John nodded his head.
He was as bad as all the rich people Quinn had been talking about. He’d keep
his mouth shut and let it go on, just like Veronica. He wondered if he’d even
tell Simon.

You’re only as sick as your secrets,
he could hear the
old AA fart cautioning him. John felt about as cheap and crappy about himself as
he had in a long time.

Quinn looked at his
watch. “Well, I guess I can let you outa here now. Miss Rossmore should be
safely on a private jet to Amsterdam, and you and I can go home and get some
sleep for once.”

John said nothing.

“Hang on, I’m just gonna
take a leak,” said Quinn heading for the bathroom. “Then we’ll both leave here
together. I’ll walk you to your room and make sure you’re tucked in nice and
cozy with a glass of warm milk and a good book.”

“You’re the man with
the gun.”

“Don’t you forget
it.”

John frowned.
“There’s still something I don’t understand. Why hire me if you didn’t want me
to know what you were up to?”

Quinn shook his fat
face, his jowls waggling back and forth. “That was the old man’s idea. Of
course, Mr. Rossmore knows nothing about Veronica stealing the Hope and he
legitimately wanted to make sure she was protected. When I found out he was
planning to hire a bodyguard, I knew that was trouble. The last thing we needed
was someone snooping around, but then…,” the FBI man hesitated and shifted his
eyes.

“Then what?” John
knew he wasn’t going to like the answer.

“Well, I thought of
you. I knew I could keep tabs on you, and if you started to find anything out
I’d know about it. Let’s face it, Johnnie, you’re not the guy you used to be…I
mean, after your crack-up. I know you don’t drink anymore or anything, but I
figured your brain’s so scrambled, I wouldn’t have to worry about you putting
two and two together.” Quinn shrugged his pudgy shoulders.

So that’s what
everyone thought. John had figured as much, but it was still hard to hear.

“How much is Lillian
Spencer paying you?” John shot back.

Quinn smiled, but his
eyes froze up. “Hey, it’s not like that, Johnnie. This is a matter of
protecting the president’s family. There’s so much crazy shit going on in the
world right now, the last thing we need is a big scandal to stall out the
administration and keep the President from just doing his job. It’s for the
good of the country.”

John shook his head.
“The good of the country, huh?”

“Listen, partner,
don’t make me nervous about you,” said Quinn glancing down at the revolver
still griped in his hand.

“I’m the last thing
that should be making you nervous.”

Quinn exhaled and
wiped his short, shiny forehead. “All right, I can’t wait for this freakin’
night to just be over.”

Quinn stepped into
the bathroom and John looked around the suite. Something shiny sitting on the
corner of the vanity table caught his eye. He walked over and saw it was
Veronica’s car keys on a silver chain. Acting on instinct, he picked them up
and slipped them in his pocket just before Quinn emerged from the bathroom.

“Come on,” said his
ex-partner, “let’s get the hell outta here.”

Quinn marched John
down to his room, and just as he’d promised, he stood there chain-smoking and
waited for John to brush his teeth and strip down to his boxers before climbing
into bed.

“Well, I’d love to
read you a fairytale, but I gotta get back to my own room and get some friggin’
sleep,” said Quinn approaching the bed.

“How ’bout you just
tell me real quick about how Zagen was involved in this whole thing,” said
John.

Quinn raised his
brows and swallowed hard. “Listen, I had no idea he’d behave like such a
freakin’ psycho. For all he knew, he was scoring a get-out-of-jail-free card
and all he had to do for it was steal the Hope Diamond. At least that’s what he
thought. Of course, it was a setup to catch him in the act and end this damned
Ghost story once and for all. We could pin all the robberies on him and allow
Veronica to get out of town with the real diamond.”

“Veronica think that
one up?” asked John bitterly.

Quinn shrugged and
looked away. “No, buddy, I did. But you know, obviously I had no freakin’ idea
Zagen was going to go crazy and try to kill her.”

John just glared at
his ex-partner, but before he knew it, Quinn had slipped a pair of handcuffs
out and was fastening John’s wrist to the decorative wrought iron bedpost.
“Sorry, pal,” he said with a smirk. “But I can’t have you doing anything stupid
tonight. I’ll be by tomorrow…”