The Collector

  “Bonbonniere,” she repeated carefully. “I think it would please my mother. You can keep it for me? With the other selections? But this is for me to buy, for my mother, you understand?”

  “Perfectly.”

  As do I, she thought. He knows of the egg. He knows where it is.

  “I have taken so much of your time already,” she began.

  “Not at all.”

  “I would like to call my husband, ask him to come, to see the selections. He may see other things, you understand, or find something I selected not right? But I believe I have done very well with your valued assistance. I will tell you, I hope it does not insult, that he will wish to negotiate. He is a businessman.”

  “Naturally. I’ll be happy to discuss prices with him.”

  “You are very good. I will call him now.”

  “Let me give you some privacy.”

  As he stepped aside, Janis finished with a customer. “Do you think she’s serious?” Janis murmured.

  “I do. We’ll have to see if the husband is, but she’s got a canny eye. And she may play subservient, but she knows who’s in charge.”

  “Well, she sort of reeks—in a quiet way—of money and class. Add indulgence. And she’s gorgeous. I bet you’re right and she talks him into most of it, and wow, that’s a sale, Mr. V.”

  “Not a bad Saturday afternoon.”

  “We close in thirty.”

  “You go on. You and Lou. It’ll take more than thirty to settle this one.”

  “I can stay. It’s not a problem.”

  “No, you go on. I’ll close up. If this turns out like I feel it will, I might just drive up to Connecticut tonight after all. It’ll give me a nice boost. I’ll be back in New York Tuesday. You call if you need anything on Monday.”

  “You take care, Mr. V.” She hugged him, one good, strong squeeze. “You take care.”

  “I will. I’ll see you Tuesday morning.”

  Jai moved toward them as she tucked her phone back in her bag. “Excuse me. My husband is happy to come, but he is not close. It will take perhaps twenty minutes? But you are to close?”

  “Our regular hours, but I’ll stay and work with your husband.”

  “A private negotiation? But this for you is much trouble.”

  “A pleasure, I promise you. Why don’t I make us some tea while we wait? Or pour us a glass of wine.”

  “A glass of wine?” She sent him a sparkling smile. “A small celebration?”

  “I’ll just be a moment.”

  “Your employer,” Jai said to Janis, taking care to note where Vinnie went, how he got there. “He is so knowledgeable, and so patient.”

  “He’s the best there is.”

  “It must be happy for you, to work every day with such beauty and strong art.”

  “I love my job, and my boss.”

  “If it is not too ahead. No, not ahead . . . forward, may I ask? Up the stairs I found a bonbonniere for my mother—a gift. This is Fabergé?”

  “The jade, yes. It’s wonderful.”

  “I think it is wonderful, and my mother will enjoy it. But I asked about this Fabergé, and if Mr. Tartelli had any of the famous eggs. He seemed sad when I asked this. Do you know if I said something to upset him?”

  “I’m sure you didn’t. He might have been sad to disappoint you as we don’t have any of the important Fabergé eggs.”

  “Ah.” Jai nodded. She knows nothing of it, Jai concluded, this hovering clerk. So she smiled. “If that is all, that is no thing. I am not disappointed.”

  Vinnie came out with a tray holding wine, cheese and little crackers. “Here we are. A little celebration.”

  “Thank you. How very kind. I feel friends here.”

  “We think of our clients as our friends. Please, sit and enjoy. Janis, you go home now. You and Lou.”

  “On our way. It was a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Castle. I hope you come see us again.”

  “You must have a good weekend.” Jai sat in a pretty little chair, lifted a glass of ruby red wine. “I am glad to be in New York. I enjoy New York very much. I am glad to make your acquaintance, Mr. Tartelli.”

  “And I yours, Mrs. Castle.” He tapped his glass to hers. “How long have you been in New York?”

  “Oh, only days, but not the first time. My husband has much business here now, so we will come and live here, and we will travel back to London, where he also has much business. And to Hong Kong. There is my family so it is good to go back, but it is good to be here.”

  “What business is your husband’s?”

  “He does many things with finance and with property. It is more than I understand. When we have guests we must have the unique as you have here. Unique is important. And he must have what makes him happy so he is happy in his home and his work.”

  “I think he’s a very fortunate man.”

  “I hope he feels the same. He is here!”

  She jumped up, hurried over as Ivan came in. Her hand slipped into her bag in case Ivan didn’t pull off the initial meeting. “My husband, this is the very kind Mr. Tartelli.”

  “Mr. Castle.” Vinnie extended a hand. “It’s a pleasure. I’ve enjoyed assisting your wife with her selections for your New York home. Mrs. Castle has an exceptional eye.”

  “You could say that.”

  “We are to have a private meeting,” Jai told him. “Mr. Tartelli is so kind to stay after his closing to work with us.”

  “I’ll just lock up so we’re not disturbed.”

  “There is wine.” When Vinnie’s back was turned Jai motioned toward the back.

  She moved with him, out of sight of the windows, while Vinnie locked them in.

  “We have several pieces for your approval,” Vinnie began as he walked to them.

  Jai sidestepped, pressed her gun to Vinnie’s back. “We’re going to take this into that back room.” Gone was the light accent and all the charm. “For our private negotiation.”

  “There’s no need for this.” Cold sweat slicked over him, a second skin. “You can take what you want.”

  “We intend to.” Jai gave him a hard shove. “Into the back. Cooperate, this will be fast, smooth and easy on all of us. Otherwise, my associate will hurt you. He enjoys it.”

  She forced Vinnie back, through the door. She’d only caught glimpses, but saw it was as she’d assumed. A storeroom that doubled as an office.

  Quickly, efficiently, she used one of the ties in her bag to restrain his arms behind his back, then pushed him into a chair.

  “One question, one answer, and we walk away. No harm. Where is the egg?”

  He stared at her. “Egg? I don’t know what you mean.”

  She sighed. “One question. Wrong answer.”

  She gestured to Ivan.

  The first blow had blood exploding from Vinnie’s nose and sent the chair flying back. Jai held up a finger before Ivan could strike again. “Same question. Where is the egg?”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  Jai sat on the edge of the desk, crossed her legs. “Stop when I tell you to stop,” she told Ivan.

  Ivan rolled his shoulders once, hauled up the chair and began the work he most enjoyed.

  Ten

  As she watched Ivan do his work, Jai felt a rise of admiration and respect. Not for Ivan—the man was nothing more than an ugly pair of fists with a shaved head. But the uncle, she thought, he was a gentleman and a gentleman with ethics. She admired ethics in the same way she might admire a clever juggling act. As an interesting skill she had no particular need for.

  Because she felt this admiration, she would kill him quickly, and as painlessly as possible, once he gave them the information she wanted.

  Every few blows, she stepped forward to stop Ivan, and to speak to Vinnie in a calm, quiet voice.

  “The egg, Mr. Tartelli. It’s a thing of beauty and great value, of course. But it isn’t worth your pain, your life, your future. Only tell us where it is, and all this will stop
.”

  He rolled his right eye toward her voice. The left was purpled, swollen closed, leaking both blood and tears. But the bloodied right could still open a slit.

  “Did you kill Oliver?”

  She leaned down so he could see her more clearly. “Oliver was a fool. You know this because you’re not. He was greedy, and now he’s dead. I don’t think you’re a greedy man, Mr. Tartelli. I think you want to live. Where is the egg?”

  “Fabergé? Did Oliver have a Fabergé?”

  “You know that he did. Don’t try my patience.” She leaned closer. “There are worse things even than death. We can give them to you.”

  “I don’t have what you want.” He choked, coughed out blood, which Jai nimbly evaded. “You can look. You can look, take whatever you want. I can’t give what I don’t have.”

  “What did the brother take from the bank if not the egg?”

  “I don’t have a brother.”

  She nodded to Ivan, stepped aside to avoid more sprays of blood.

  “Oliver’s brother. Ashton Archer. You went to see him.”

  “Ash.”

  Vinnie’s head lolled. Ivan backhanded him to bring him around.

  “Give him a moment,” she snapped at Ivan. “Ashton Archer.” She spoke gently, encouragingly. “The brother of Oliver. Why did you go to see him Thursday?”

  “Ash. Funeral. Oliver. Help Ash.”

  “Yes, help Ash. You saw the egg? All the glittering gold. Where is it now? Tell me this one thing, Mr. Tartelli, and all the pain stops.”

  He looked at her again through the puffy slit of his right eye, spoke slowly through broken teeth. “I didn’t have any eggs.”

  Ivan switched up, plowed a brutal fist into Vinnie’s solar plexus. While Vinnie retched, Jai considered.

  She’d seen something in that single bloodied eye. Fear, yes, but a steely determination with it. Not for himself, she realized.

  For this brother? This part brother of a nephew? How odd, how interesting to find such loyalty. This was more than ethics, and perhaps it could be useful.

  “I need to make a call. Give him a break,” she ordered Ivan. “Do you understand me? I’ll get him some water. Let him recover a bit.”

  She’d call her employer, she decided as she stepped out into the shop. While he gave her autonomy, she wouldn’t risk his wrath by implementing a shift in strategy without his approval.

  And this uncle, this ethical, loyal, determined uncle, might be of more use as a bargaining chip. Would the brother trade the egg for the uncle’s life?

  Perhaps.

  Yes, the brother might also have ethics, and loyalty.

  They would kill him. Even through his agony Vinnie understood that one unassailable fact. Whatever the woman said, they would never leave him alive.

  He grieved for his wife, for his children, for the grandchildren he would never see grow. He would gladly trade the egg for his life, for more time with his family. But they would kill him either way. And if he told them Ash had the egg, they would kill Ash as well.

  As they’d killed Oliver and the woman who might have loved him.

  He had to be strong. Whatever they did to him, he had to be strong. He prayed for that strength, for acceptance, for the safety of his family.

  “Shut the fuck up.”

  Vinnie kept his head down, continued to pray in garbled mutters.

  “I said shut the fuck up.” Ivan clamped a hand around Vinnie’s throat, squeezed as he jerked Vinnie’s head up. “You think this is bad? You think you’re hurting now? Wait until I let loose on you. First I’ll break all your fingers.”

  Ivan released Vinnie’s throat, grabbing the left pinky finger while Vinnie choked and gasped for air. He yanked it back, snapping the bone, then clamped Vinnie’s throat again to block the shocked, high-pitched scream.

  Chink bitch would hear and come in, stop him. Chink bitch thought she was better than he was. He imagined ramming his fist into her face, raping her, killing her by inches.

  And broke another of Vinnie’s fingers because he could.

  “Then I’ll cut them off, one at a time.”

  The single eye bulged; Vinnie’s body shook, convulsed.

  “Tell us where the fucking egg is.”

  Infuriated, thrilled, Ivan closed his other hand around Vinnie’s throat. Squeezed. Imagined Jai’s face. “I’m not fucking around. Tell me or I’ll cut you to pieces. Then I’ll kill your wife, your kids. I’ll kill your fucking dog.”

  But as Ivan raged, as he squeezed, as his breath came faster and faster with the thrill and the fury, the single eye only stared.

  “Asshole.” Ivan released Vinnie, stepped back. He smelled his own sweat, the asshole’s urine. Pissed himself, Vinnie thought. Asshole pussy pissed himself.

  He’d talk. The bitch gave him a little more leeway, he’d make the asshole talk.

  Jai stepped back in with a small bottle of water she’d found behind the counter. And she, too, smelled the sweat, the urine.

  She smelled death, a particular scent she knew well. Saying nothing, she walked over to Vinnie, lifted his head.

  “He’s dead.”

  “Bullshit. Just passed out.”

  “He’s dead,” she repeated in that same flat tone. “I told you to give him a break.” Not, she thought, break his fingers.

  “I gave him a fucking break. He must’ve had a heart attack or something.”

  “A heart attack.” She breathed in and out once. “This is unfortunate.”

  “It’s not my fault the asshole croaked.”

  “Of course not.” She noted the raw bruising around Vinnie’s throat. “But it’s unfortunate.”

  “He didn’t know shit. If he’d’ve known anything, he’d’ve spilled it once I gave him a few slaps. Waste of time. We go after the brother, like I said before.”

  “I’ll need to make another call. We’ll leave the body here. The shop is closed tomorrow, so this gives us a day.”

  “We make it look like a robbery. Grab some shit, mess shit up.”

  “We could. Or . .” She reached in her purse, but instead of taking out her phone, she drew out her gun. She shot Ivan neatly between the eyes before he had a chance to blink. “We could do that, which is a much better idea.”

  She regretted Vinnie. She’d found him to be an interesting man, and potentially very useful. Dead, he was of no use at all, so she ignored him as she emptied Ivan’s pockets of wallet, phone, weapons. And found, as she suspected she might, the bottle of amphetamines.

  It was good, she calculated. Her employer disapproved of drugs, and would tolerate if not fully approve of her actions when she told him about the drugs. She went out in the shop, retrieved a shopping bag, some bubble wrap. She went upstairs, took the bonbonniere.

  Her employer would like it very much—like it more than he might dislike the killing of Ivan.