The Deal (49 page)

I paused. Andreu maintained his silence. I continued.

“Then you picked some cop at random to give the collar of a lifetime since all the egg had to do, as you said, was find its way into evidence.”

Further denial was pointless. Andreu smiled wryly.

“Well I wouldn’t say at random. Lawrence Hart knew him from living in the city. They lived in the same neighborhood. As for Danish Jubilee Egg, all these embassy workers know each other, Jonah. It’s no different than bankers or lawyers. They stick to and mingle with their own. For obvious reasons I needed an insider. So an acquaintance of mine at the Russian consulate mentioned him to me as a hard worker, as a guy with a special fondness for earning money. Lucky for me, because he was running the security show over there, he was able to plan and carry out the theft on his own.”

I hated that his explanation made such sense, seemed so plausible. Some of the greatest heists in history had happened because of their simplicity. In 1911, the Mona Lisa was stolen from the Louvre by a man named Vincenzo Peruggia. He waited in the exhibit room until he was alone with the painting then he quickly removed it from the wall and walked out with it under his smock. In 1990, two men wearing fake moustaches and police uniforms walked into the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum in Boston during the early hours claiming they were responding to a disturbance. They left with over three hundred million dollars worth of paintings, including works by Vermeer, Rembrandt, and Manet. They are still missing.

“The only hitch was the set of hidden cameras. The way I see it any other pawn wouldn’t have even known about them in the first place, and I would have been screwed. Anyway, once it became apparent he was the number-one candidate for the heist, I approached him, offered him a boatload of cash, and asylum in any paradise he desired. Voilà.”

“So Hart recognized the sketch of the dead guy all over the news as his friend, the one he had the note delivered to,” I said, mentally organizing all the facts aloud. “That’s when you realized your plan had, again, hit a snag.”

“I knew you were the right man to help me get into real estate.”

“You’ve been had, Andreu. Everything your mother told you was a complete lie. The missing Fabergé eggs are all she’s ever cared about. She’s using you to get them.”

“You’re desperate, Jonah.”

Andreu’s vision of the truth was terminally veiled. Galina had made sure of it.

I reached into my suit jacket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. I started to open it.

“Two thousand three. The year Galina sent the fifth and final piece of art to Stan. I know because, as usual, she authenticated it in the bottom right-hand corner.”

His smirk disappeared. I started to read.

“I must stay true to my own. Cement my legacy. At all costs.”

I looked up.

“I’ll use our A.”

Andreu’s eyes were ablaze. The corner of his lip was quivering.

“A is how she refers to you. For me, obviously, she uses—”

“It’s bullshit. You’re trying to fuck with me.”

“A small oil painting in my father’s closet says I’m not.”

I tossed the piece of paper on the floor between us. He stared at it. Then he looked back at me.

“Galina pushed too hard, Andreu. She knew Derbyshev had the other six. Once she found out Danish Jubilee Egg was moving to the Capital she realized the complete collection she’d spent much of her life going after was about to escape her. She panicked. That’s why my father had started writing me before he was killed. He may have been a prick, but he was a smart prick. He knew she was about to ruin all of us.”

“Bullshit!”

“She was desperate, Andreu. She couldn’t let the final piece to her puzzle be moved. She must have asked my father to return Danish Jubilee Egg, as she had, I imagine, many times in the past, to where it belongs —”

I thought about 1980’s zebra drawing. Return to Homeland? She had tried getting the treasure into her possession from the first moment she could, which meant it was my father who was steadfast in his decision to keep it in the States.

“In Russia. My father said no. That’s when she threatened she’d even use you.”

“Your...Stan? Impossible. That’s impossible!”

“He was the anonymous buyer in 1979. He bid on it for Galina. First she used Alexander, then Stan, now you. She used you all to get the eggs she needs to stay true to ‘her own.’ Whatever that means.”

Andreu shook his head.

“You’re just trying to rattle me.”

“I’m trying to get to the truth, Andreu. I’m trying to fit the pieces—”

“No!”

His eyes began to well up. His whole body began trembling. That was the moment I realized, whether Andreu knew it or not, he no longer believed I was fucking with him. He was hoping that I was fucking with him.

“Our A.”

Our Andreu.

“Holy shit,” I slowly pushed out. “You didn’t know.”

“This isn’t working for you, Jonah. I’m way ahead of you and this was the best you could come up with.”

“Stan was your father, Andreu. When Galina and Alexander—”

“Enough!”

Andreu pulled out a gun and pointed it at me.

“No more, Jonah!”

“I’m sorry to be the one to tell you, Andreu, but it doesn’t have to be like this.”

“I mean it, Jonah! Another word gets you killed!”

Andreu was coming undone. I could see the flying thoughts behind his fixed eyes and knew, all too well, an inadvertent squeeze of the trigger wasn’t out of the question. I said nothing.

“I should end you for implying such a thing.”

A tear fell from his eye. Gun still extended, Andreu dropped his head into his free hand.

Scared for my life I jumped forward. I grabbed the outstretched gun with both my hands and tried to pry it from him. He shook it loose and cracked me across the jaw with the gun’s butt. Absorbing the blow I fell to my right, catching myself with my hands. Blood began rushing to, then through, the wound. I saw one of my teeth on the black rug of the car. My tongue was mostly numb but I used it anyway to search for the gap.

I got on my knees. Andreu’s eyes were full of surprise, both at what he had done and how quickly I pushed myself through it. My mouth filled with blood again. I sprayed it in his face and jumped back in my seat.

He dragged his sleeve across his eyes. Baffled, infuriated, he lunged at me. I kicked him in the chest forcing him back on his ass. He propped himself on the edge of his seat and drew the gun again. His fingers shifted as he searched for the perfect grip.

“I knew it all along. Nothing but a desperate ploy. Where’s the egg?”

“Put the gun away, Andreu. Don’t make another mistake.”

“Where’s the egg?” he repeated.

“You kill me, you’ll never know.”

He pounced like a Bengal. His knee in my chest, he pinned me to the seat. He stuck the gun dead-center in my forehead.

“I think you’ve forgotten who’s running this deal.”

I didn’t respond, just swallowed.

“You keep playing with me, Jonah, I’ll blow your head off. This is the last time I’ll say it. I want that fucking egg.”

He was desperate. So was I.

“Now!”

I slowly raised my right arm, parking it idly in midair.

“Keys—” I wheezed. “I can’t get to them with you on top of me.”

Andreu, using his knee and gun, drove me one last time into the cushion. Then he backed off, retaking his seat.

I sat back up. I pulled out my keys and held them up.

“It’s in my father’s townhouse,” I lied.

Figuring the rotating cop out front would buy me some time I opened the key ring, pulled two silver keys off and chucked them at him, missing. He never moved. He let them hit the leather back of the seat and fall to the bench. I closed my key ring and put it back in my pocket.

Andreu barked orders to the driver. We changed course. Soon we turned onto my father’s street.

No cop.

When the car pulled up to the townhouse, Andreu stepped out. My stomach went with him. I didn’t exit right away. His face reappeared in the doorway to urge me.

There was a crack in the window of opportunity.

I jacked Andreu Zhamovsky in the face with my foot. He fell backward. I pulled the door shut, locked it, and pulled the gun from my briefcase. Andreu quickly regrouped. I could hear him tugging at the door handle. I pushed my upper torso through the divider and put my gun to the driver’s temple.

“Move.”

The driver froze.

“Now!”

A gunshot came screaming through the rear passenger window, shattering it. The driver put the pedal to the floor. Using my free hand, I braced myself grabbing the divider’s frame. After a few seconds of keeping my head low I swung it around. Out the rear window I could see Andreu Zhamovsky standing alone.

Chapter 50

I walked briskly into my apartment building, never breaking stride as I went straight for the elevator.

“No one rings up for me, Damon.”

Damon is doorman Parker’s first name.

“No one! If anyone asks, I’m not in the building.”

“Of course,” he replied.

He grabbed some dry cleaning and came running up behind me.

“This was just delivered a few minutes ago. Let me bring it upstairs for you.”

“Don’t worry about it for now, Damon. I’m—”

“Please,” he cut me off, stepping in the elevator behind me. “Not a problem.”

The New York City doorman. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss it. The service, the attention, the extra set of hands. It’s one of those things you don’t realize how much you’d miss until it’s gone.

Once moving, Damon noticed the blood coming from my mouth.

“You all right?” he asked, concerned. “Anything I can do?”

“I got into it with some guy over a cab. Looks worse than it is.”

“Only in this city. Only in this ridiculous city.”

I wasn’t in the mood for small talk. I looked at the elevator buttons. My mind was barreling ahead full throttle.

My cell rang. I looked at the caller ID. It was Detective Morante. He had called earlier when I was at L’s, but I had ignored it. To keep ducking him was not to my advantage. I also figured it couldn’t hurt to get a jump start on why he was looking for me, as opposed to being surprised again.

Out of the corner of my eye I could see Damon looking at me. He was curious why I was just staring at the little screen while the phone continued to whine.

“Jonah Gray,” I answered.

“Detective Morante. How are you today, Jonah?”

“I’ve been better, detective.”

“I tried you earlier.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“I was surprised not to see you this morning.”

“Detective, I’m in a hurry. What is it that I can do for you?”

“You’re at the Chrysler Center. Right?”

“Actually I’m at my apartment building.”

“Better, even closer.”

“Closer to what?”

“I’m going to swing by for a few minutes. I just have a couple of questions.”

“About?”

“Your father’s basement. The tool chest, the weight set. I hate to bother you again with this nonsense, but I’m just looking to cross all the ‘T’s.’ Standard procedure.”

The missing items from the basement finally made sense. Mattheau must have used the tools for God knows what, and the weights, unsuccessfully, to hold the body below the water’s surface. Fuck, I thought. He knew. There was no way he could know exactly what had gone on, but he knew. He knew—something. Because he was on the inside, dealing with an aggressive homicide, it was a no-brainer. He wanted the scoop on the body found in the river. When he got it, the tools, the weights of the same brand missing from my set, the connection became apparent.

“You know, I hate to do this to you detective, but—”

“It will only take a minute, Jonah. I promise.”

“I’m on my way out.”

“Just wait there for five minutes. You’re breaking up, so I’m going to lose you—”

He was lying. He was as clear as when I had first picked up. Nonetheless, he was gone.

The elevator reached the penthouse and we got out. I opened my door and walked inside, heading for the kitchen. Neo was next door playing with his friends. Damon walked in behind me.

“I’m just going to put these over here.”

As I placed my briefcase on the kitchen counter, I realized something. This was the part where I usually went back to the door, grabbed my steamed, pressed hanging clothes and handed Damon a tip. He had never before entered my apartment.

I heard a feathery crash. I turned around. My clothes were on the floor in a plastic covered ball. Damon, average, unassuming, was pointing a gun at me.

“Fuck,” I exhaled. “Does everyone walk around with a fucking gun?”

“Sorry, Jonah. I just need you to sit tight.”

“Damon, what the hell are you doing?”

“It’s nothing personal. Some guy just—”

Damon paused then changed directions.

“I don’t have the same choices as someone like you. It’s a different city out there once I leave this nice building.”

“It is for me too, Damon. It is for me too.”

It was the perfect, profoundly empty line to soften his guard. His eyes even glazed over with shame as if I had slapped him across the face. Composed, seemingly trusting, I casually moved toward my briefcase.

“I have something I want to show you,” I started. “It’s something a good friend of mine once—”

I could feel the doorman’s concentrating eyes on my briefcase. Before he had even a second to react, I was coming right back at him with a gun of my own. His expression was my answer. He knew I was far more prepared to use it than he was to use his.

“Let me guess. The ‘some guy’ you refer to was a six foot tall piece of well-dressed Russian shit. How much did he offer you?”

“Jonah, I—this whole—”

“You disappoint me, Damon. You, Clarence, Cal—you three are one area of my life that has never come with any bullshit. Everything between us has always been simple. It’s been easy.”

“I’m not exactly the guy you see downstairs every day kissing your ass, collecting your shit. How could I be to do this job?”

“How did it happen?”

“The guy showed up here looking for you a couple hours ago. Told me the last thing he wanted was for you to get hurt, which was exactly what was going to happen if he didn’t get to talk to you. Then he offered me cash to keep you here if you showed up. And this gun—”