Thieves Like Us (10 page)

Elizabeth stared at the cat on the bed, who had paused in the middle of his bath, one hind leg pointed at the ceiling as he stared back at her. Neither moved.

“I’m sorry, I should have warned you I was bringing him. But don’t worry, it’s not permanent. I plan to take him to the kennel later today.” She really didn’t want to leave him caged up at some animal storage facility, though. They reminded her too much of the echoing corridors of the pound where she’d rescued him. It tore at her heart that he would think he’d been abandoned again. But she couldn’t think of anyone who could take him.

“Banner didn’t like your cat?” Elizabeth’s voice was as cool as ever, her gaze still on Jingles.

“No. But the feeling was mutual.”

A few more uncomfortable moments of silence ticked by. Libby took the opportunity to add her opinion. “He’s really nice, Grandma. He always sits on my lap when Ellie and I visit Janet, and he never, ever scratches the furniture.” Demonstrating Jingles’s docile nature, she crawled onto the bed and stroked his back. Jingles lowered his leg, instantly regaining his dignity, and headbutted Libby’s hand, his request to have his cheek scratched. Libby obliged while sneaking hopeful looks at her grandmother.

Elizabeth tilted her head, watching. “Banner never had a cat, you know. Or a dog. His father was allergic.”

“He told me.” She didn’t think that had anything to do with her ex-husband’s cold dislike of Jingles, but she didn’t say so.

“I never had a cat, either.” Elizabeth’s right eyebrow rose, as if this startling fact had just occurred to her.

“Me, either,” Libby was quick to add, looking as bereft as if she’d been deprived of an essential nutrient. The girl sure wasn’t dumb.

Elizabeth shot a quick warning glance at her granddaughter. She wasn’t dumb, either. Janet forced herself to stay quiet as Elizabeth studied Jingles again, finally asking, “Does he bite?”

“No!” Janet and Libby said together, Libby looking outraged at the very idea. She murmured reassurances to Jingles, who purred at high volume.

Elizabeth set her shoulders, a sure sign that a decision had been reached. “Then I don’t see why he can’t stay here. I’m sure something that small can’t be much trouble.”

Janet glanced at a few long black and white hairs that already clung to the pale yellow comforter and bit her cheek. “Thank you, Elizabeth.”

“Thank you, Grandma!” Libby chorused, nearly bouncing with joy. “Janet, you can keep his food dish and litter box in my room, if you want to.”

Janet laughed and started to explain that Jingles would probably be more comfortable staying with her, when Elizabeth interrupted. “Nonsense. A cat box doesn’t belong in the bedroom. Peters will find a place for it in the laundry room. And his food bowl can go in the kitchen. Will that be okay, Janet?”

“Uh, sure.” She hadn’t expected to give Jingles the run of the house, but was certain he’d agree with the considerable expansion in territory.

“Excellent. I’ll tell Peters.” Elizabeth left with a purpose.

Janet grinned and shrugged at Libby. “Who’d have guessed?”

Libby gave a solemn nod, a miniature, blue-jean-clad sage. “I guess Rocky’s right, you never know until you try.”

Janet watched her stroke Jingles, her curiosity aroused. “When did Rocky say that?”

“Oh, a while ago. When I asked him about dancing.”

“Why did you ask Rocky about dancing?”

“Grandma wanted me to take some classes in that old-fashioned ballroom stuff. I thought it sounded dorky, so I asked Rocky about it. He said I might like it, he did, and you never know until you try.”

So many questions popped into her mind that it took awhile to sort through the confusion and pick one. She went for the big one, not sure she’d heard correctly. “Rocky knows how to ballroom dance?”

“I guess. I don’t know. But he took lessons. He showed me some steps and spun me around. It was kind of fun.”

She tried to picture Rocky swooping across a dance floor with a light-footed partner. It wasn’t hard to imagine. He had an athletic grace about him that could translate easily into dance.

Intrigued with the idea, she nearly forgot to ask the obvious question. “So did you take the lessons?”

“Not yet. But I will when the juniors’ class starts in the fall.” She hauled Jingles into her lap and scratched both his cheeks at once while bending over and crooning, “You like that, don’t you Jingle-Bingles? Yes, you do.”

Jingles stretched his neck up, eyes closed blissfully, purr revving up to high. Janet’s mind whirled with all the new things she’d learned about Rocky. The man who had seemed to be nothing more than a charming, small-time burglar was also a successful businessman, a martial arts expert, a charismatic public speaker, and a competent ballroom dancer. And an expert kisser. She hadn’t forgotten that, even though her one experience with it had been half a year ago. If he did everything else as well as he did that, he was a very accomplished man indeed.

And apparently this thirteen-year-old girl knew more about him than she did. She studied Libby thoughtfully. “So do you usually consult Rocky when you need advice?”

“Sometimes. He’s the coolest guy I know.”

Rocky would seem cool to a teenage girl. “Jack’s pretty cool. Ellie, too. Why not ask them for advice?”

“’Cause, duh, they’re my parents.” She looked at Janet as if her IQ had suddenly plummeted fifty points. “Besides, Rocky just looks like he knows about stuff like dancing and boys and—” she paused and Janet thought she blushed a little. “Other stuff. You know what I mean?”

She nodded. Oh, yeah. Especially the other stuff. He looked like he knew a lot about that. And God help her, Janet was starting to get curious about just how extensive his knowledge was, and how interesting it would be to find out.

Rocky slouched behind the wheel, staring at the small shop across the street. It was a narrow strip of crumbling brown brick tucked between an equally decrepit bail bondsman’s office and a bar with blacked-out windows. The sign over the door said “Detroit Barber Shop,” which explained the three barber’s chairs inside. It had nothing to do with the real business transacted in the back room, where nearly every major piece of stolen jewelry in the Detroit Metro area was fenced. The owner was a middle-aged Russian immigrant with acne scars, lumbago, and seriously skewed ethics. The last time he was here, Rocky swore he’d never be back.

In the half hour he’d spent watching the shop, only one customer had entered. He’d left ten minutes ago with a buzz cut that looked more Russian army than
GQ
.

Jaywalking across the street, Rocky entered the shop. The two large men lounging in barber’s chairs didn’t have to look up at the bell; they’d been watching him through the front window since he’d stepped out of his car. Rocky recognized them both but didn’t know their names. For all he knew, they didn’t have names. He nodded a greeting, getting nothing in return but level gazes. He couldn’t recall ever seeing a smile from either man and decided they were congenitally incapable of it.

“Is Vasili here?” he asked.

“In back. You wait.”

Rocky nodded, knowing better than to ask how long. Vasili knew he was here and would come out when he was ready.

“Nice car.”

Rocky focused on the first man, a bodybuilder in a white barber jacket. Rocky had never seen him cut hair; his jacket barely hid a holstered Sig Sauer.

“Thanks.” The car
was
nice, a reward to himself for all the jobs he’d done for Vasili. The Russian was demanding but paid well.

“Bad neighborhood. You use club?”

“LoJack.”

The man gave a solemn nod. “Good, very good.”

Having dispensed with small talk, they resorted to form and simply watched him. Sticking his hands in his pockets, Rocky leaned against the wall, keeping his eyes on them. Vasili’s goons had always reminded him of a pack of wild dogs—if he showed fear he’d be dead.

The staring contest lasted several minutes before a door opened at the back of the shop and an overweight man in a business suit appeared.

“Rocky!” Arms outstretched, the man hurried across the shop. Rocky barely had time to pull his hands from his pockets before being caught in a bear hug.

“Hey, Vasili.” He spoke into the man’s neck, inhaling a heavy dose of aftershave. “How have you been?”

“Awful! Lumbago is curse from devil.” Unfortunately, it didn’t keep him from squeezing his friends breathless. He released Rocky after adding a couple sound shoulder thumps. “Same shit, but I manage, as always. How about you? I hear you have honest business now.”

“Yes, a security company.”

Vasili looked at his associates and threw up his hands. “He keeps burglars out!” He laughed heartily, but the irony seemed to escape the others. Their flat stares didn’t waver.

“You come to sell me security system?” He chuckled some more at the thought that he might not have enough security. The happy twins didn’t find it funny.

“No security systems. I came to talk to you about a necklace.”

Vasili cocked his head, studying him. “Ah. I have maybe heard. That one?”

“That one.” Unless there was another hot priceless necklace floating around, and Rocky didn’t think there was.

The Russian looked surprised. “It was yours?”

Rocky knew he meant it in a finders keepers sort of way—
your
burglary job,
your
necklace. “No, not mine. It’s complicated. Can we talk?” Privately, where the two goons wouldn’t overhear.

Vasili rubbed his chin thoughtfully, obviously too interested to refuse. Putting an arm around Rocky’s shoulder, he said, “Sure. We talk in my office. You tell why you not come see Vasili in two years.” He started guiding Rocky toward the back room, then turned to rattle off something in Russian to the beefier of his two associates. The man nodded and eased his body out of the barber’s chair. When the back door closed behind them, the man was sorting through a drawer of long, pointy scissors. Rocky hoped one of them was not intended for his tires as punishment for not keeping in touch with the over-bearing Russian fence.

Vasili’s office was a claustrophobic room containing a countertop work area with a track of spotlights above it, only one of which was currently on, and a tall stool. In the shadows behind the counter was a floor safe and an ancient wooden cabinet with dozens of tiny drawers. In the many times Rocky had been here, he’d never asked what was in the drawers, but imagined an assortment of watches and bracelets and whatever else wasn’t expensive enough to rate inclusion in the safe. All Rocky’s pieces went into the safe.

Vasili rounded the counter and settled his bulk on the barstool with a groan, holding his lower back. “This work, sitting like this, is bad for spine. But I see chiropractor now, like you tell me. He helps.”

Rocky smiled from the other side of the countertop. “Told you he would.”

“So why you give me this good advice, then never come see me?”

“Things came up. Like jail.”

“
Pfft.
” Vasili waved off his jail term like the year had been two weeks at day camp. “A few months. No excuse.”

Rocky nodded. “I finished what I had to do, Vasili. I’m straight now, a law-abiding citizen.”

“And you have no friends here anymore?”

He shifted uncomfortably but didn’t look away. He’d never lied to Vasili, and wouldn’t now. “You’re a friend,” he said, stretching the definition to its limits. “But not the kind I can afford to have right now. The police still remember who I was and what I did. If they see me here, it’s not good for either one of us.”

Vasili shrugged. “Police don’t bother me. I’m law-abiding citizen, too. I’m struggling small businessman.” He grinned, enjoying his own joke. “Like you, eh?”

“My business doesn’t have a back room, Vasili.”

The Russian nodded. “So why you here now? What you have to do with Pellinni Jewels? That what we talk about, right? Not your type job.”

He ignored the fact that he no longer had a type of job. “The woman who sold the necklace is a friend of mine. She didn’t know it was stolen. Her ex-husband had given it to her as a gift when they were married.”

Bushy eyebrows rose. “Nice gift.”

“She didn’t think so. Especially now that someone is looking for the rest of the collection. They tore apart her house and her car, and I’m not sure they’ll stop there. They want the other pieces and they think she has them.”

“Maybe she does.”

“No.” He shook his head, keeping his eye contact as strong as his voice, making sure the Russian believed him. “She doesn’t. I’m sure.”

Vasili shrugged. “Neither do I.”

“I didn’t think so. Anyway, if you’d had them, they’d be in Russia by now.” Vasili’s connection to the Russian Mafia and their lucrative export business was not the best kept secret in town.

Vasili laughed and reached over to punch Rocky’s shoulder. “You’re right!”

“But maybe you heard something about the collection being fenced.”

He shook his head. “Lot of stuff being pawned— recession good for business. But not that. I would know.”

“It wouldn’t have been recent.” Mentally, he counted back the months to Janet’s brief marriage to Banner. “Probably early last year.”

Vasili gave it some thought. “You sure they fence in Detroit? All good stuff here comes to me, but I don’t see Pellinni Jewels.”

He should have realized the Russian would take it as a personal affront that he hadn’t been chosen to fence the jewelry. “I’m not sure where they came from, just that it’s likely they were bought around here. But I figure they were very hot and got dumped fast. Probably by someone who didn’t know what he had, or else my friend’s husband wouldn’t have been able to afford it.” Or, more likely, the greedy bastard wouldn’t have given it to his wife.

The Russian nodded slowly. “Maybe.” His gaze sharpened. “So what you want do? Find fence, threaten poor man’s life? How that help your lady friend? How that help me?”

Rocky took a deep breath, praying to pitch this right, or Vasili wouldn’t tell him anything. “If I can find the fence, maybe I can convince him to tell me what happened to the other pieces. I know they’re long gone by now, sold to some new owner, and I can keep the fence’s name out of it. He should be glad, because I don’t think our new thief’s the type to leave witnesses. If he finds the fence first, the guy might not live to talk about it.”