As soon as Chief closed the door behind them, everyone in the barroom turned to look at them. The blank stares of half a dozen old men lingered on them for a long beat before they went back to staring into their beers. Only the bartender acknowledged Captain LeGrande with a half-nod.
This early on a Thursday afternoon, the pub was practically empty except for the geezers and the bartender. A rusty anchor hung behind the bar, and ratty fishing nets drooped along the walls. Some oil lamps and candle stubs for mood lighting were the only other frills. A waterfront dive that could've been in any port city in the world, Chief mused.
As Goniff headed to the bar with Captain LaGrande to pick up a round of drinks, Chief joined Garrison at a table against the wall at the opposite end of the room. "We stick out like sore thumbs," he muttered.
"That's why we brought LaGrande." Garrison took a seat on the bench on the far side of the table, with his back against the wall. He lit a cigarette and took a drag, adding a puff of his own smoke to the existing haze. "He's our cover. He'll introduce us as his new crew."
As Chief settled onto the bench next to Garrison, Goniff and LeGrande returned and set four mugs on the table, slopping foam onto the already grimy surface. Goniff pulled up one of the barrels that doubled as a chair and sat where he could see the whole room. LeGrande found a barrel for himself and pushed it up to the other end of the table.
Chief took a tentative sip of his ale and it caught in his throat, making him cough - it tasted like they pumped it straight out of the Thames. That didn't seem to bother Goniff, who took a long draft and wiped his mouth with his shirt sleeve. "I don't see why Casino and Actor get to stay at The Savoy whilst we have to bunk in that rat hole down the street. It don't seem fair."
"All part of the con, Goniff." Garrison took a swallow of his own ale and grimaced, but then took another small sip. "Actor is the wealthy art dealer, Casino is his muscle. We're just fishermen trying to make a living."
"Still, it ain't fair. They're prob'ly relaxin' in the lounge right now, eatin' caviar and sippin' champagne."
Garrison smiled at him. "I thought you didn't like playing Actor's man servant."
"Yeah, well, it can have its advantages," Goniff sniffed, and finished off half of his glass.
Garrison turned to LeGrande. "Is the bartender in on the smuggling ring?"
LeGrande glanced back at the bar. "Percy? No. I believe he knows something is going on, but he chooses to ignore it."
"What about the others?"
Again, LeGrande looked around the hazy room. "No. I do not know any of them. The Pirate — the one I meet — he is a young man. He wears a patch on his right eye."
Garrison nodded and leaned back against the wall. Chief knew the Warden was subtly studying the room the same way he was. Where were the doors, and which lead outside? Who might be a threat, and who's concealing a weapon? Who would he have to fight, and who might be an ally? It was a habit for both of them, Chief realized. He'd developed it over years of needing to be constantly aware of his surroundings. The Warden had probably learned it later in life, but it was just as important a survival skill.
Besides the door they'd come in through, there was only one other, at the far end of the bar, which probably led back to storage areas and rooms for private activities, like card games. Or fencing hot art. The only person he considered a threat was the bartender, who'd been watching them.
When the door next to the bar swung open, the shaft of bright light that cut through the smoke caught his attention. A barmaid backed through, balancing a tray of clean mugs. As she set the tray down and began to store the glasses under the bar, it was her tangle of red hair that made him straighten out of his slouch.
Goniff had seen her too, and nudged his arm. "Hey, is that…?"
When she turned so that she was facing them, he was certain. He hadn't seen Hannah since she'd left her job at The Doves to come to London to take care of her wounded fiancé. He'd forced himself to stop thinking about her because he thought he'd never see her again.
Garrison noticed their reaction. "What is it?"
Goniff leaned across the table to whisper. "That's Hannah. She used to work at The Doves. She and Chiefy…"
The Warden turned his glare on Chief. "Your Hannah?"
"She ain't 'my' anything."
"But you know her."
Goniff grinned. "Yeah, he knows her."
Garrison regarded her silently for a moment as she went about her work, not yet aware of their presence. He finally asked, "What does she know about us?"
"Nothin'."
"Are you sure?"
"I never told her nothin'. But she ain't stupid, Warden. She probably guessed…"
"Can you trust her?"
"Yeah, I reckon…." There was never anything to trust her with. She was pretty and funny, warm and exciting, and a hell of a lay, but it wasn't like they'd ever talked about much, and he didn't know much else about her.
Garrison leaned forward and knocked the ash from his cigarette. "Okay, she could blow our whole mission. Or she could help establish our cover. Go talk to her."
"Now?"
"Now, before she recognizes you. Get her to play along. We're just old friends who knew her from her last job."
"I dunno, Warden, I don't wanna drag her in..."
"Go." Garrison gave him a push.
Chief slid off the bench and wiped his palms down his pants legs. He didn't know if he was nervous about seeing Hannah again or about having the whole mission depend on how he handled this. He pulled in a deep breath as he wound his way between the tables and approached her. "Hey..."
She looked up, shoving a stray curl out of her face, and her bright green eyes grew wide. "Chief...what are you doing here?"
The bartender was instantly wary, coming to her aid. "You know this bloke, Hannah?"
Chief realized he had to take charge before Hannah said too much. He nodded to the bartender — he would have offered a handshake if he hadn't been wearing his blade. He blurted out the first thing that came to mind. "Clayton...Clay Garvey. Hannah used to work at the pub…near my old job."
"That so, Hannah?"
She'd quickly overcome her initial surprise and pulled herself together. "It's fine, Percy. He's an old friend. I just didn't expect..." She paused and wiped her hands on her apron. "It's been so long since I've seen...Clay..."
"I still need that new keg from the back," the man told her.
"Yes, of course. Clay, come help me..."
The bartender scowled after them as Hannah took Chief's hand and led him through the door into the back. When it clicked shut behind them, she turned and threw her arms around his neck in a tight hug. In spite of his better judgement, he held her against him, responding involuntarily to the scent of her hair, the feel of her against him, the warmth he hadn't realized he'd missed so badly.
It took every ounce of his willpower to finally push her away and make her look up at him. The sight of her face in the stark light of the back hallway startled him. Her black eye and the purple bruise on her chin were recent but starting to fade. He touched her cheek. "What happened?"
She giggled. "Oh, 'twas so silly! I banged right into a door. Weren't payin' a bit of attention…"
He took her hands and caught her stifling a wince. "You sure you're alright?"
"Yeah, just clumsy is all…what are you doing here? And what's all this 'Clayton' silliness?"
He pushed his concern aside for the moment. "Listen, we got a caper goin' down here tomorrow night, and I need you to play along. Me and the others are just guys you used to know back at The Doves, that's all. Nothin' else."
Her eyes glistened as she grinned up at him. "I always knew you weren't just a workman at that Army base."
"I'll explain later. But it could get dicey. Just keep quiet and stay out of the way."
She sobered at the seriousness in his voice. "Sure, alright. If it's that important to you…"
As he stood there holding her hands, staring into those emerald eyes, the silence between them grew as thick as the smoke in the barroom. He finally let go of her hands, remembering the reason she'd left The Doves in the first place. "How's your fiancé doin'?"
"He's fine. Getting better everyday." Her eyes darted away, then down at the floor. "We put off the wedding until he's able to find some work…" She turned abruptly and rushed to the end of the short hall where the kegs of ale were stacked. "Percy's probably wondering what's keeping us…can you help me with this?"
Grateful for something to do, he hefted the wooden cask onto his shoulder and followed her back out to the bar. After he'd stowed it under the counter and attached the tap line, he got a curt nod of thanks from Percy.
Hannah laid a hand on his arm. "It really is good to see you again. Maybe we can talk later."
"Sure. I'll be around."
Chief went back to the table and slid onto the bench next to the Warden.
"Is she in?" Garrison asked.
"Yeah, she's good." Chief 's eyes followed Hannah as she returned to her chores.
"And you think we can trust her?"
"You already asked me that."
"I'm asking you again."
Chief tore his gaze away from Hannah's graceful figure and swallowed a mouthful of the bitter ale. "Don't worry about it. She won't be any trouble."
Garrison studied him for a brief moment, but evidently decided to believe him and turned his attention to the few other old fishermen scattered around the room. He finally emptied his mug and set it decisively on the table. "Goniff, let's play some darts. Maybe we can strike up a couple of new friendships."
gg gg gg gg gg gg
If he hadn't been humming along to Elgar on the BBC, Actor would have heard the connecting door between their two hotel rooms open. He thought he'd locked it, but then with Casino around, nothing could ever be effectively locked. He silently chided himself to be more cautious and finished adjusting the knot in his tie. He glanced at Casino behind him in the mirror. "You need to learn to knock."
"Just keepin' my skills sharp."
Casino cleaned up nicely and could be both charming and intimidating dressed in a well-tailored three piece suit. The role of bodyguard was one the safecracker took to adeptly, without over-playing it. Actor had to admit that he probably could have used someone like Casino back in the day. And Casino definitely enjoyed the fringe benefits. They'd been out most of the day visiting some of the galleries and gentlemen's clubs where Actor had once operated as Vittorio Fabretti before the war and before prison. To establish his cover, he'd wanted it known that Fabretti was back in town and back in the black market art business.
But now Casino had stripped out of all but his pants and t-shirt. He rubbed at the clean, white bandage wrapped around the wound on his left arm as he took in the extravagantly decorated hotel room. His eyes came to rest on the small canvas Actor had unrolled on the desk, its curling edges weighed down with a couple of ashtrays.
"What's this?" Casino pulled the painting from beneath its weights and studied it.
The jig was up, as the Americans would say. Actor knew he'd been careless to leave it out in the open, and now he would have to pay for that carelessness. He lifted his jacket from the back of the desk chair and slipped into it, turning to face Casino with a smile. "That is a small Picasso that I liberated from among Captain LaGrande's collection."
"The Warden let you do that?"
"I did not ask."
Casino's eyes narrowed as he realized what Actor was trying to pull off. "Hey, you ain't holdin' out on me, are ya?"
"I would not dream of it, my friend," Actor sighed and retrieved his walking stick from where it leaned against the dresser. He unscrewed the ornate gold knob from the top, and taking the painting from Casino, he rolled it up and slipped it down into the cane's hollow shaft. "However, if you wish to participate in this little side transaction, you'll need to dress and come with me."
"Where're we goin'?"
"We are dining this evening with Sir Reginald Cordray. He's a wealthy arms manufacturer and former client of mine. You should wear the red tie. And the small shoulder holster."
gg gg gg gg gg gg
When they'd first entered the dining room, only two places had been set at one end of a dining table long enough to land a plane on. But Actor had introduced Casino as his American associate Charles Colletti. Sir Reginald had inspected him critically from behind wire-rimmed glasses and apparently found him acceptable to dine at his table. Must've been the red tie, Casino figured.
At the head of the table, the nobleman himself presided over the meal, with his henchmen silently coming and going, as their boss and Actor carried on polite conversation. Casino kept a close eye on those liveried houseboys. Neither had ever wandered far from Sir Reginald all evening. While they didn't look threatening as they went about their serving duties, Casino had noticed immediately that both were packing heat under their waistcoats, as was the butler who'd greeted them at the door. Evidently being a wealthy English nobleman was a dangerous business.
He followed Actor's lead on which fork to use, but otherwise decided to stay out of the conversation. He didn't have much to add on the subject of the state of the English theater or the superiority of Italian wines. He just enjoyed the rich meal and whatever it was the armed houseboy kept pouring into his glass.
Across the table from him, illuminated by the flickering light from the silver candelabras, Actor had changed into someone Casino had only caught glimpses of before. He'd seen Actor in his role as the stern, commanding SS officer who made Kraut soldiers quake in their jackboots, and he'd dealt with Count Emilio Gianetti, the suave Italian playboy with a weakness for games of chance. But Vittorio Fabretti was yet another character altogether - a somewhat foppish but sleazy art lover with underworld connections. It was a little disturbing how Actor could pull these personalities out of his hip pocket on a moment's notice and totally transform himself.
Actor sipped the last of his wine, genteelly dabbed at the corners of his mouth with his linen napkin, then folded it carefully next to his glass. "My compliments to your chef, Reggie. It is a treat to have such a sumptuous meal in these difficult times."
"And it is a pleasure to be doing business with you again, Vittorio." Sir Reginald smiled and finished his coffee before standing and summoning one of his henchmen. "We'll have our brandy in my private study, Robert. Then please see that we're not disturbed."
Robert nodded and went to fetch the brandy.
Sir Reginald lead the way out of the dining room and down a long marble hallway that was adorned with more old oil portraits than their entire mansion back at the base. As they passed, Casino wondered if they were all Cordray ancestors, or if they were just random old Brits on display for show. He stifled the sarcastic comment that immediately came to mind.
At the far end of the hallway on the right, Reginald pulled out a ring of antique keys and unlocked the door. "I allow very few people into my private sanctuary, but in light of our lucrative past dealings, I believe you'll be interested to see what I've done with my collection."
When Reginald flipped the light switch, the room it revealed was a virtual art gallery. All four walls displayed dozens of paintings, all in ornate gilded frames, all individually lit for the best effect. Under a particularly large landscape on the right wall, a long glass-fronted cabinet held numerous sparkling pieces of jewelry and several thick old books set open on little display stands. Four over-stuffed leather wing-backed chairs surrounded a low, round table in the center of the room, on which a Grecian urn full of fresh flowers sat. Their heavy scent mingled with the lingering odor of cigar smoke and old leather.
Actor strolled into the room, the cane that had never been more than a few inches from his hand all evening tapping lightly on the oriental carpet. He turned in a slow circle, admiring each of the art-covered walls, and his eyes settled on a portrait of a child sitting on a park bench. The awe was evident in his voice. "Is that Morisot's Girl with Violets? The last I heard, it was in the Musee D'Orsay."
"You know how chaotic the European art market is these days. But I have been able to acquire some magnificent pieces recently." Reginald took Actor's elbow and steered him toward a stormy landscape that was the centerpiece of the wall to their left. "This is my latest acquisition."
"Friedrich's Black Forest Rains, I believe. A true treasure." Actor peered closely at it before turning to survey the rest of the room. "I see a lot of Romantic and Neoclassic works here, Reggie, but I thought you had become an aficionado of more modern styles."
Reginald glanced sideways at Actor, a knowing smile curling the corners of his mouth. "In these times it is difficult to come by the pieces that one really wants, despite my lucrative network."
Just then Robert entered the room carrying a tray with a bottle of brandy and three snifters. Sir Reginald directed him to set it on the low table. Robert poured a couple of fingers of the amber liquid into each glass, and with a sweep of his arm, Sir Reginald invited them to sit. "Shall we, gentlemen?"
Casino sank into the soft leather of the roomy wing chair and selected a cigar from a finely carved dark wood humidor that Robert offered. One sniff told him this wasn't like the smelly stogies his Uncle Joe smoked. With the cutter Robert handed him, Casino snipped the cap from the cigar, and when he put it between his lips, Robert leaned down to light it with a gold-plated lighter. The first puff was close to perfection. Following it with a sip of the brandy made it sublime.
Sir Reginald slowly released a cloud of smoke and addressed Actor. "So tell me, what have you been up to during these trying times? I thought I heard that you had run into some unpleasantness in the Colonies."
"Mere rumors, Reggie, I assure you." Actor took thoughtful puffs from his own cigar, letting the smoke curl around his head before continuing. "I hope you don't think me rude for jumping right into matters of business. But I believe you would be most anxious to examine what I have to offer this evening."
"Always the opportunist, eh, Vittorio?" The anticipation gleamed in Sir Reginald's eyes. "I knew you didn't come here just to enjoy my food and drink."
"Oh, on the contrary. I always enjoy your hospitality." Actor unscrewed the nob from the top of his walking stick and slid out the rolled up canvas, spreading it onto the table with a flourish. "And in gratitude for such a fine meal, I am offering this to you for first refusal, at an extraordinary price. If you do not find it to your liking, I have many other clients who would be thrilled to pay me what it's worth."
Sir Reginald's hands trembled slightly as he lifted the canvas and carried it over to study it under one of the lamps illuminating the large landscape. When he finally spoke, he'd managed to control his excitement. "Picasso is too prolific. He splashes out these little canvases every few days. I cannot believe they will be worth much in the future. Now, if this were one of his more important pieces..."
"Come, Reggie, Pablo is at the height of his talents. You know everything with his signature will be priceless after the war. I believe it would be an excellent addition to your collection, simply for its beauty alone. However, if you're not interested..."
"I did not say that, Vittorio." Sir Reginald returned to his chair and replaced the canvas on the table. "You're offering it at an 'extraordinary' price, you say...?"
Casino settled back and enjoyed his cigar and brandy as Reggie and Actor haggled over the price. Those two were throwing around ridiculous amounts of money for a letter-sized scrap of canvas with some paint splattered on it. Casino knew he'd never understand what these guys considered fine art, but he did know that Actor had promised him a cut of whatever he could get for the painting. After the good meal, the wine, and now the brandy, the gash across his left bicep had stopped throbbing, and he'd stopped thinking about what the Warden would say if he found out.
gg gg gg gg gg gg
When the transaction was complete, and money and artwork had changed hands, they'd said good night to Sir Reginald, and ridden in silence back to The Savoy. There was no need to discuss money or stolen art while in earshot of a cabbie. Once at the hotel, Actor climbed out of the cab and hurried inside, leaving Casino to pay the driver. Casino pealed off a few bills and slapped them into the man's hand, then pushed past the doorman and rushed across the vast lobby, his footsteps echoing off the marble floor. He caught up with Actor at the elevators, just as one was opening.
"Thanks a heap, babe," Casino huffed as the elevator operator slid the door closed. "You owe me extra for that."
Actor simply stared up at the floor indicator as it tracked the elevator's steady rise toward the third floor, tapping the head of his cane against his palm. When the operator pulled the door open, Casino followed Actor down the hall, catching him by the arm just as he reached his door. "Half, babe. That's what we agreed on."
"I don't recall agreeing to anything."
"Oh yeah you did, and you ain't backin' out on me now."
The lock clicked at the turn of Actor's key. "Do not worry, Casino, you'll get what's yours."
"You're damn right, 'cause if I don't, I'm sure the Warden'd be real interested in hearing..."
As Actor pushed the door open, there was Garrison, leaning back on the sofa with one leg crossed on the other knee. His eyes narrowed at them. "What would the Warden be interested in hearing?"
Smooth as silk, Actor didn't miss a beat. "About how much Mr. Colletti here thinks I had to drink tonight."
"Hey, where were you guys?" Goniff was stretched out on the bed, a cigarette bobbing between his lips. "Prob'ly drinkin' somethin' better'n the piss they serve at that ruddy pub."
Chief turned and stepped away from the window. "I don't recall you complainin' while you downed three mugs of the stuff."
"Well beggars can't be choosers, now can we, mate?"
Actor shrugged out of his suit jacket and tugged at the knot in his tie. "We've been making the rounds of my former purlieu. If the con is to work, I must make it known that Vittorio is back in business."
As Actor moved to the closet to hang up his jacket, Garrison continued to study him, head tilted, his mouth in a tight line, probably trying to figure out if Actor was hiding something. Casino knew it'd be hard to put one over on the Warden, but if anyone could, it'd be Actor.
Finally, with a sigh and a shake of his head, Garrison asked, "Any leads?"
Actor slipped into his smoking jacket and walked over to the well-stocked bar near the rooms' connecting door. "The buyer could be any one of my former clients, or he could be someone new to the market since I last did business here. Much has changed since the war began."
"Well, keep your eyes and ears open. And be careful, both of you." Garrison leaned forward and flicked the ash from his cigarette into the ashtray. "Let's go over tomorrow night's plan."
"What's to go over?" Casino flopped into the cushy chair across the coffee table from Garrison. He was tired and just a little drunk, and he wanted nothing more than to fall into bed. "So we meet this pirate guy and convince him to introduce us to the big boss. What's so hard about that?"
As usual, Garrison ignored his protests. "It's set for 2200. Actor, you, Casino and LaGrande will meet with the middleman. Chief, Goniff and I will keep an eye on the perimeter. Convince him that you have the painting in a safe place and you'll only deal with the buyer in person. Make that meeting for as soon as possible. We don't want to give these guys too much time to think about it."
"That should not be a problem." Actor selected a bottle of Scotch and poured some into a glass, then raised it in a salute to his commander. "As I have said, Vittorio Fabretti is very persuasive."
"Yeah, I'm sure," Garrison smirked.
"And do we have the painting in a safe place?" Actor asked.
Garrison stood and picked up his worn green jacket from where it was draped over the arm of the sofa. He pulled a photograph from an inside pocket and handed it to Actor. "Here's a picture. I'll give you the real thing when the time comes."
"I hope it was removed from its frame with great care," Actor worried, studying the photograph. "It truly is priceless."
Goniff sat up and bounced off the bed. "Naw, he had Chiefy slice it out with his blade."
From the horror on Actor's face, you'd have thought he'd just been told they'd bombed the Louvre. "Warden, you didn't!"
"Of course not," Garrison huffed, giving Goniff a shove toward the door. "Enjoy your last night of luxury, guys, and try not to spend all of the Army's money."
