Hanukkah Gelt Page 2

  “Geoff. Geoff who?”

  “Geoff Collier. He’s an artist who helped me pour the copy. He learned metal casting as prison therapy.”

  “Prison therapy? This has wonderfulness just dripping down all sides, Morty. I still don’t see what you want with me, though.”

  “I want to turn myself in. I want you to act as intermediary with the police.”

  Katzen paused. A small sound drew his attention and he turned to find Roz standing a short distance away. When he noticed her, she came up and leaned closer to hear both sides of the conversation. “I agree. You do need to turn yourself in,” Josh said. “But wouldn’t a lawyer be better suited for this than me? I’m no lawyer. Trust me.”

  “I do. Trust you, that is,” Flores said. “I know you. You may be a smart-assed arrogant bastard, but if you give your word, you keep it.”

  “Thanks—I think.”

  Roz stifled a snort.

  “Katzen, this went more wrong than I dreamed possible. Geoff’s crazy. I think he intended to kill all three of us right there and walk away with the money and the gold.”

  “It sounds right. And?”

  “And now, he has the money and only one person can identify him.”

  “You think Collier is coming after you.”

  “I’d bet my life on it.”

  “You might have done just that.” He slid his eyes toward Roz. She looked grim. “Where are you?”

  “I’m at my workshop on East 23rd.”

  “The same workshop you cast the jaguars in?”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “No buts. If Collier’s coming for you, it’s a real bad idea to hide in a place he knows to look for you.” Roz gave him a nod and hurried back toward the restaurant. “Just give me the address. I’ll be right over to pick you up then we’ll take it from there.”

  * * *

  The workshop occupied a corner in a sprawling U-shaped warehouse that hugged a gravel parking lot littered with hulking semi-trailers and stacked cargo boxes. The day’s snowfall did little to brighten the area. Most of it had been compressed and blackened by truck traffic. Katzen stepped cautiously, avoiding slick patches, cursing Flores for making him come out on such a wretched night. With luck, Roz and Uzza could get ChiPD here before too long. Regardless, he and Morty needed a little chat before that happened. Fishing his lockpick kit from the inner pocket of his coat, he smirked. No sense in giving Morty too much advance warning. He touched the knob and the door swung open. Oh. Not good.Putting the kit away, he stepped in and froze at the wet sounds of fists on flesh coming from the room beyond.

  “Goddamn you, Morty,” a man growled. “Where is it?”

  He picked up his pace. Entering a large work area containing a crucible and furnace, he found the source of the sounds. Morty Flores lay on the floor, oozing blood from his mouth and innumerable cuts. He recognized the build of the man standing over Flores. It could only be Collier. His rage-contorted face was not a pretty sight as he swung Flores’ limp form from the floor. “Lyin’ bastard. Don’t try to bullshit me. I know you have more gold around here.” Katzen flinched as Collier slammed the man against a steel worktable, “Where.” slam “Is.” slam “It?” SLAM.

  Collier released his grip and Flores slipped to the floor like a rag doll. From his distance, Katzen couldn’t tell if he was still breathing. The big man delivered another kick and flipped out a butterfly knife. “You’re useless, Flores. I’ll find the gold without you.”

  If Flores wasn’t dead, the knife would cure that fast. Katzen glanced around for some distraction and spotted a bronze statuette of an Etruscan dancing woman with mold sprues still bristling lying on a foam rubber cushion. Recognizing it as another piece he’d photographed for Shenhav’s, he wondered as he shoved it off just how many fiddles Morty was planning to pull—or had pulled, for that matter. The dancer made a satisfying clang as she hit the concrete floor.

  It had the desired effect. Collier jumped away from Flores, knife at the ready.

  Katzen let Collier see him, then tore for the still-open front door. He raced across the gravel lot in earnest, slipping and sliding on patches of black ice. Collier burst out after him, but wasn’t ready for the ice. He fell several times, giving Katzen time to run between two semi-trailers and hoist himself up onto the snow-covered top. Gritting his teeth, he pressed himself into the snow and lay flat. It was hard to stay still until he heard the larger man crunching and swearing past him. He swung down, landing in a crouch then quietly followed, waiting for an opportunity. It didn’t take long.

  He watched from a shadow as Collier pulled the hatch of the trailer open and climbed onto the step to peer in. Katzen lept, slamming the larger man with his shoulder, knocking him off balance. With a bellow, the man fell face-first onto the trailer floor. Wasting no time, Katzen slammed the hatch and shot the bolt. He allowed a moment to catch his breath, then hurried into the warehouse.

  * * *

  The Maitre d’hotel had given them the same table they’d had before they got called away. He’d also brought them an excellent Cabernet and Josh gratefully sipped at it, secure in the knowledge of a switched-off cell phone.

  “Detective Linzay says Flores will pull through,” Roz announced as the appetizers arrived. “It was lucky for him that you were there, Josh.”

  “Lucky for Marlotte’s and our client. Oooo caviar!” Uzza snagged a mound of glistening black on a cracker and popped it into her mouth. She chewed happily before she added, “Oh, they hinted at a reward.”

  “I won’t say no—to the reward, that is. Caviar, I give to the cats.”

  “Heathen.” Roz elbowed him and spooned a large dollop on her own cracker. “See, Hanukkah gelt does bring prosperity.”

  “Really? It usually just makes me gain weight.”

  Uzza laughed. “It may also bring some consulting work your way in the future. The powers that be were also impressed how quickly you assessed the forgery.”

  “Well, there were extenuating circumstances, but I won’t say no to that, either.”

  Roz raised her glass, candelight dancing in the deep red wine. “Let’s make a toast. To friends!”

  Uzza clinked her glass against Roz’s. “The Irish say it perfectly: May the hinges of our friendship never grow rusty.”

  “Hear, hear!” Josh touched his glass to theirs. “And a Happy Hanukkah, too.”

 

 

  T. Lee Harris, Hanukkah Gelt

 

 

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