The Dimple Strikes Back (11 page)

She shrugged, but spared me a small smile. “If you would just date an accountant or something…”

Laughing, I said, “I tried. Holler if you need help.” I went back to have a chat with Sam. I pulled his arm so that we stood in the corner farthest away from the rest of the group. “Talk. Everything. Now. And I swear, if you lie to me in this moment, it’s over. Forever.”

His lip curled, and he stared at his feet. Hard breaths thundered through him, making him shudder. “I’m sorry,” he began.

“Later. Get to it.” I needed to bark orders like a drill sergeant—he was a heartbeat from losing his shit completely. “Do you need a doctor?”

He shook his head. “I have not gone to the police giving up Jane.”

“Okay.”

“However”—he swallowed—“I have been talking to the Feds.” I gasped. Holy crap! A thrill of hope spluttered to life in my heart. “It’s obviously got out, which, thanks a fucking lot, Uncle Sam.” I started to ask a question, and he took my hand. “Here’s the deal. The only way I can really be with you is if we’re not afraid I’m going to be arrested at any moment. But neither did I want, well, this to happen—every damn person I’ve ever broken a law with coming after me. And you.” He squeezed his eyes shut and ran a hand over them. “Can I sit, please? I hurt…everywhere. I haven’t slept in I don’t know how long.”

I nodded, love glomming my throat. I helped him to the sun-bleached carpet and sat opposite, waiting for more, my breath coming quick. I took his hand—it was filthy, a little bloody. Hopefully he’d got at least one punch on whoever’d beaten him up, probably the blond guy.

He said, “You don’t think about leaving the criminal business when you enter it. I guess that’s what makes most of us so dumb.” His laugh was dry and brittle. “I knew I couldn’t implicate any of my accomplices. It’s simultaneously dirty and suicidal. So I tried something different, something I hoped was smart. See, there are quite a few fakes in the museums of the world. Say for example a painting goes out to be cleaned, the art restorer could use some cash, and then someone like me helps to supply a stellar copy, while the real one is sold underground.”

“That sounds like the movies!”

“You would know.” He flashed his first real smile, and the dimple infused me with an odd sort of comfort. “I decided to go to the museums, anonymously, and tell them I knew which of their pieces were fake.”

“Why not the cops?”

“I’ll get to that. Some of the museums, big ones, didn’t contact me. They thought I was a hoax, I guess, or maybe they’d rather stay ignorant. If the copy fooled them, and they’re never going to sell it, why bother? But quite a few did respond. I told them which pieces were fake, and that I knew the locations of the genuine ones.”

“You do?”

He shrugged. “Some, yes. The buyer is the last criminal in the string, you know? I told the museums that if they wanted their real art returned, to put pressure on the authorities and demand they make an immunity deal with me. That way, my function wasn’t to put my accomplices away, but to have millions and millions of dollars of art restored to its rightful place, and the buyers would be the ones on the hook.”

I sat up straighter. “You didn’t care about giving up the buyers?”

“If there weren’t buyers, there’d be no theft. I don’t steal shit for my health. Besides, the buyers don’t know me from Adam. They can’t take it out on me, and the Feds will safeguard my anonymity.”

“And the government went for this?”

“In the case of several taxpayer-funded museums, yes.” He chuckled smugly. “Especially after I said I’d tell the press about the fake stuff sitting in the world’s most prestigious museums if they didn’t.”

I shook my head, flabbergasted. “So…you have an immunity deal?”

He nodded, the ghost of a smile highlighting the tiredness of his face. “Yes, for the United States, the UK, a few other countries. Nobody was happy about it, but the arrests have already started. The thing is”—he leant forward—“the hardest part was getting everyone to agree that I wouldn’t give up any other of the thieves. But the museums were critical to that part, because they wanted their stuff returned. That’s why I approached it the way I did. Money is what matters.”

I searched his smashed-up face. “And you did all this for me?”

He scratched his head, then sucked in a breath as he found an injured spot. “Yes. And for me. But now…” His eyelids closed. They were dark, and his whole face sagged so much I wanted to weep. “Now I guess word is out that I’m giving up accomplices. Which is bad. Very bad.”

“Very bad, like even generally nonviolent Jane wants to get rid of you?”

“Yes.”

We sat holding hands for a minute or two. “What do we do about our prisoners out there?”

“Fuck if I know. You—you guys came in here with a plan?”

I grinned, and laughed, my mirth tip-toeing the edge of hysteria. “Yes. At the signal, we decided we’d each attack the thug closest to us, hoping, of course, that there wouldn’t be ten of them.”

“I can’t believe it worked.”

I laughed and threw up my hands.

“We’ve also been audio recording everything since we got on the train in London. Voice-activated, battery-powered flash drives.”

“What?”

I pointed to the sloppy, teased-out bun on my head. “My hair is big because it’s full of secrets.”

“Nice reference.”

“Thanks.” Even at a time of terror, I can call forth the spirit of
Mean Girls
.

“If you use the recording you will, of course, edit out anything where I definitely didn’t admit to any sort of knowledge about…”

“I’ll do it if the dimple tells me to.”

He smiled and swept me into his arms. It was a beautiful, touching moment, except for his smell, which touched me in a bad way. I pulled away as soon as I could without wounding his pride. “We still haven’t solved our Jane problem.”

“Uuuggghhhh.” He slid down the wall and splayed onto the floor.

“I’ll just go check on them.”

I went into the other room, where our prisoners were behaving, and Ellen and Nicolette were whispering amongst themselves. And then it hit me, like a flying house in a tornado. “That’s it!” I said triumphantly. No one else seemed impressed.

I zipped back into the other room and told Sam my idea. He nodded, obviously so sick and tired that he thought me handling the denouement was a clever idea. I told Ellen and Nicolette, who gave me a proper enthusiastic response.

First thing we did was grab everyone’s personal belongings. We got our own phones back, and promptly took pictures of our bad guys huddled together, which made Jane frown like I’d accused her of wearing jewellery from Wal-Mart. She’d been the only one smart enough to not carry any sort of ID on her person. Dina’s real name was on her passport, tucked in a backpack, and the blond guy was named Jan de Boer. We took pictures of their identifying information—all three of us, in case one phone got busted or whatnot. Then, we took selfies with everyone in the background. Finally, we announced that the three of us were emailing these pics to different people.

Deliberately, and in front of Jane, I handed Ellen my phone and said, “Jane, please come and speak with us.”

She rose from the couch elegantly and followed me into the bedroom, where Sam had propped himself against the wall again. His skin had taken on a horrifying grey cast, and I blazed hot all over. I squeezed my hands into fists, but didn’t punch anyone. I was the good guy, dammit.

Sam smiled at Jane and said, “Ain’t she something?” while pointing at me. His hand fell limp to the floor. “Please sit. I can’t look up at you. Your dude out there is gonna make my chiropractor rich.”

“Your dude Jan de Boer,” I supplied.

“What do you want to talk about?” Jane got to the point in Jane fashion. She swept to the floor and sat cross-legged, as nimble as I was.

I began. “Jane, Sam has told exactly no authorities about you. So your actions here of planning to murder all of us are premature at best, and super mean at worst. Really!”

Jane sighed.

“Janie, we had a deal, and I’ve stuck with it.” Sam shot her a look so sincere, puppies should take notes.

“That’s not what’s being said.”

“So you just decide to go on a murder spree?” He winced and pushed up straighter. “Shooting an internationally-known movie star is a fabulous idea? How many video recordings exist of Samantha on the train, in the station, all with your stupid Dina out there? You think no one will put that together?”

Jane ground her jaw and snapped, “Movie star?”

“I know, right?” I grinned. “Who’da thunk it? By the way, my agent now has a picture of you with me.”

The elegant goddess of a woman uttered a word I never thought would pass her lips. She recovered nimbly into a blank, professional face. “Perhaps I overreacted. But there was an arrest recently—”

“Yes, the arrest of
a customer
,” Sam finished. “He probably won’t spend a day in prison. The rich rarely do.”

“Hm.”

“Call your dogs off, Jane, please. I really don’t want to see you in jail. And it’s not because you’d rat on me, it’s because I have genuine respect for you.” He leant forward. “There are plenty of millionaire buyers in the sea. This has to stop, though. Next time you pull shit, we’ll sing songs about your misdeeds at trial. I don’t suppose you could reassure the rumour mill that I am not a snitch? I’d greatly enjoy not being slaughtered.”

She cracked a small smile and nodded. “I’ll do my best.”

She rose to leave, and I said, “By the way, this entire adventure has been audio recorded for posterity. Have a nice evening.”

We let them all go, with protestations from Nicolette duly noted. She and Ellen, armed, promised to follow the baddies back to the train station and watch them get on trains headed out of the country. This left me and Sam alone in the romantic, medieval city of Bruges. “I want to fall over and die,” groaned my dreamy lover.

“No dying, but our hotel is somewhere in the old part of the city. I’ll let you collapse once we get there.”

He agreed with a grunt. I mapped the address on my phone, and we happened to be only a few blocks away. I wondered what the ancient denizens of this city would think about my magic pocket-sized device that called forth any piece of information. They’d burn me as a witch. And all my roles in plays would have been portrayed by dudes. Nope, modern-day miracles were a blessing. Birth control separates us from the primates.

I half-carried him out, but after a few minutes of my groaning and sweating, he limped on his own while complaining about dating such a shorty. The quaint hotel Ellen had booked soon appeared.

The manager was not pleased to behold Sam in his bloody glory. We were shooed out of the lobby and into the tiny, two-person elevator to our floor. Rustic charm and a big, soft bed greeted us, and Sam fell into it immediately. Well, onto it. I had to move him onto one half with a series of butt pinches, and finally just plain ass slaps until he shifted sufficiently to give me room. So tired was I that I didn’t even mind his stench. Adventure movies never mention the body odour, but Indiana Jones’ manly pit stains come with a terrible price, and I don’t mean Nazis.

* * * *

I awoke the next morning to find Sam sitting on the small balcony adjoining our room. He’d showered and looked adorable, except for the rainbow of bruising on his face, some of which had begun to turn green, and his clothes, all of which were unfit even for rags. I offered to go out for coffee, which he accepted with more joy than he’d displayed when seeing me. But who could blame him? There were some days I’d probably kick my mother for coffee, but then I’d have to hear about how my kicking was weak, and if I just went to the gym once in a while, I’d be married.

Coffee and some truly amazing chocolate pastry in hand, I joined him on the deck. His aura had such a tint of doom to it, I just sat there inhaling chocolate and awaiting the downpour.

“Is someone watching Captain Taco?”

“No, I left him to starve because that’s the kind of person I am.”

“Funny. They pay you to do comedy, right?”

His sourness rubbed off on me like cheap shoe dye. “I made quick friends with my neighbour and asked her to look in. Hopefully she’s not a thief. Har de har.”

He took a too-fast drink of coffee and hissed when he burned himself. After a moment, he said, quietly, “You should keep him.”

“I am keeping him. I have been…” My heart doubled its speed as it began to take in the meaning of what he said before my brain did.

“I’m breaking up with you.” He refused to look at me, but focused on the orange tiled roofs shining in the sunlight of Bruges. What a perfect day to be let go.

He actually managed to ruin chocolate, damn him. I set my breakfast aside and said, “I thought I dumped you in London.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“Yes, I did.”

“Dammit!” He turned fully towards me. “This isn’t a joke. Jane was the nicest person I ever worked for. If she’s gunning for me, then…” He let it dangle, the horrible end to that sentence. I pictured him running through the streets, a mob of lowlifes chasing behind with torches and pitchforks.