Thieves Like Us Page 8

  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 reac
hed 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.”

  Vasili nodded. “True. Dangerous business.”

  Rocky didn’t point out that Vasili’s associates were responsible for a large percentage of that danger. “If I can convince him to tell me where the rest of the collection went, I can find it. And I’m still the best in the business. If I get the jewelry back, the fence is safe. There’s no reason to connect me to him, or the guy who sold it last year. The bad guys stop looking for it, the fence lives, and my lady friend is out of danger.”

  “And you bring to me. I use international contacts, sell to highest bidder, split with you eighty-twenty.”

  Rocky smiled, only partly at the low percentage being offered him. “Not exactly. I take them to the FBI. Game over.”

  Vasili looked crushed, shaking his big head. “Dick-head move. No one make money.”

  “But everyone stays safe.”

  “Pfft.” He sulked over the loss of income for several seconds. “You not so good businessman, Rocky. Could make lots money. But . . . your loss. You want name of fence? No skin off my nose. They find him, less competition for me.” Vasili rubbed his chin again, thinking. “Had to be someone not know business too good, or never would have sold necklace, right? Who not recognize Pellinni Jewels?” He rolled his eyes to the ceiling over such incomprehensible ignorance. Then squinted as inspiration struck. “I know guy like this on West Side. Stupid shit. Don’t know name. Not important. Like mosquito, I only swat him if get in my way.” He sketched a map on a piece of paper, marking a spot with an X, then indicating major roads with a blunt forefinger. “This Evergreen, this Fenkell. Store on side street here. Called “Treasures,” or “Fortunes.” Some shit like that.”

  Rocky folded the paper and tucked it in a pocket. “Thanks, Vasili.”

  “You tell me what happens.”

  “I will.”

  “And don’t be stranger. Keep in touch.”

  Not if he could avoid it. “I might come by more often if you’d buy another damn stool to sit on.”

  Vasili laughed and came around the counter, opening the door for Rocky and waving good-bye, his usual routine. Rocky was sure if he walked out alone he’d never make it to the front door of the barber shop without being tackled. The escort was for Rocky’s safety.

  Leaving was a relief, and not just because he had a lead on the necklace. Stepping back into the world of petty thieves, crime cartels, and armed bodyguards felt like walking in deep muck, the stink clinging to his clothes and dirtying everything he touched. He strode across the street to the abandoned parking lot where he’d left the Lexus, intent on getting out of this crumbling section of Detroit as fast as he could.

  The Lexus was no longer alone in the lot. A yellow corvette was parked nearby, a man leaning against it as he waited. Rocky took in the studied indifference as the man watched him, finally flicking his cigarette to the ground and straightening as Rocky reached the lot.

  Shit. Easy Joey, the last person he ever wanted to see again.

  “Thought this was your car.” Easy strolled around it to the driver’s side, obviously satisfied with his sharp memory.

  “Figured that out, huh?” He pulled the keys from his pocket and jingled them impatiently.

  Easy had never tuned in to subtleties. Or maybe he was ignoring this one. “Heard you were out.”

  Rocky lifted an eyebrow. “I’ve been out for more than a year. That news is a bit out of date.”

  “And yet I never get tired of remembering that you went to jail.”

  His jaw tightened. “I’ll bet.” Easy was the one responsible for putting him there.

  “How was it? I’ve never been, myself.”

  He’d give anything to wring the bastard’s neck. “Interesting place. I made lots of new friends.” He allowed a cool smile.

  Easy’s expression hardened. “Are you threatening me, Hernandez?”

  Rocky allowed a short laugh. “I’m not that interested in you, Easy. And I’m leaving.” He hit the remote button to unlock the car, waiting for Easy to stand aside. The idiot stepped toward him instead.

  “Well, I’m not done with you.”

  Was the twerp really confronting him? He knew Easy was prone to rash moves but was surprised his anger could blind him to the obvious fact that he was a marshmallow.

  Easy put on his tough face, squinting and curling his upper lip. The glimpse of nicotine-stained teeth was the only actual intimidating factor. “You took something from me, Hernandez. I intend to get even.”

  “You made sure I went to jail. I’d say we’re even.”

  “Well, you’re wrong. A year in County, big deal. Those gold coins were my big score, and you took them.”

  Marshmallow or not, the guy had hit a tender spot. Rocky made a conscious effort to control his temper as he leaned close to Easy. “Those gold coins weren’t yours.”

  “I don’t agree, and I want them back.”

  “Too bad. I don’t have them.”

  Easy sneered. “You expect me to believe you’d fence them for a tenth of their value? I’m not stupid.”

  “You might have to reevaluate that claim. I gave them away.”

  He scowled, anger changing to disbelief. “To who?”

  “To ‘whom,’ dumb fuck,” Rocky corrected, enunciating it the way Elizabeth Westfield would, just to irritate the little prick. “To their rightful owner, which is not you. Now move.”

  He did, sliding a short, jagged-edged knife from his waistband and standing between Rocky and the car door. Rocky sighed. Some guys just couldn’t separate their brains from their balls.

  Easy let the knife flash in the sun, admiring the shine. “You’re a fuckin’ idiot if you—” his sentence ended abruptly as Rocky delivered a fast punch to the gut that sent Easy staggering against the car. Before he could recover, Rocky kicked the knife away, eliciting a high squeal from Easy as his fingers tried to go with it. Grabbing a handful of his shirt before Easy could recover, Rocky pushed him out of the way.

  Easy sat on the gritty pavement, cradling his fingers against his injured stomach and gasping for air as Rocky got in his car. Starting the ignition, he lowered the window to offer a final piece of advice. “Stay out of my way, Easy, and I’ll do you a huge favor and stay out of yours.”

  Easy stood painfully, straightening as much as he could. “No one gets away with stealing from me, Hernandez. If you don’t have the coins, I’ll take something else.” He paused to draw a few r
aspy breaths. “I’m warning you right now, you just made yourself a target. And you know I can do it.”

  Rocky wasn’t sure about that, but he had to admit the guy was good at what he did. Joey Korchak hadn’t picked up his nickname from an easygoing manner or an effortless way with women. It came from his brash but accurate claim that he could break into almost anyplace, “easy.”

  Rocky doubted Easy’s skills could overcome the security measures at his apartment, but it might be fun to see what the guy could do. He’d have to be awfully good to bypass both Rocky’s vigilance and a Red Rose alarm system.

  “I can’t stop you from trying, Easy. But remember what happens if you get caught in the act.” He put the car in gear and eased off the brake. “Maybe I can use my connections and get you a cell with a view.”

  “Fuck off,” Easy grunted as the car backed up. He was standing straight, if shakily, as Rocky drove off, calling out, “We’re not done, Hernandez!”

  Great. He stepped back into the underworld for one measly hour, and came away with its most slimy specimen stuck to him like a piece of gum on the bottom of a shoe.

  Chapter

  Six

  The rental car company made it easy, delivering an environmentally friendly, inconspicuous compact car right to the Westfields’ door. And since Elizabeth was at a steering committee meeting for the downtown development group and Rocky was at work, Janet knew she could sneak away easily. After all, what did they expect her to do all day, watch TV? It was either go to work or go crazy.

  Janet walked down the corridor of the Westfield-Benton office as if she had every right to be there. She did—in the department that ran Aims Air Freight. But not in the basement storage area.