Chapter 7
'Jerome Goldberg!' Peter announced as he threw a file folder down on the table and pushed it towards Neal.
'What?' Neal frowned, picking it up and peeking inside.
'Jerome Goldberg' Peter repeated. 'That's who your Michael Pearson is'.
Neal glanced down at the contents of the file including a long list of aliases and a photograph of the man he recognized from the day before.
'First of all he's not my Michael Pearson…' he commented, eyebrows raised.
His eyes returned to the file. 'Wow, that's a very impressive list of aliases' he continued with what Peter could have sworn was a look of admiration. 'This guy's been all over the place. How come we've never heard of him before?'
'He doesn't hang around anywhere long enough… and he takes on a new identity each time. He's been traveling the country - targets specific items for clients, mostly art. Remember the Mondrian that disappeared a while back?'
'The Red Tree?' Neal asked as Peter did a mental eye roll at the younger man's encyclopedic knowledge of everything artsy.
'Well, I talked to our Chicago office this morning. They think he might have been behind that one. They had him in their crosshairs but he slipped away. And before that, he was reportedly linked to some thefts in Houston, Memphis and Miami.'
'Does the Bureau have enough to arrest him?' Neal asked.
Peter shook his head. 'Circumstantial at best' he said. 'We don't have anything on him that'll stick.'
Neal's eyes widened and a mischievous smile appeared on his lips. It was always impressive to come across a thief who was clever enough to outsmart the feds and was able to cover his tracks without leaving any trace of evidence behind.
Peter stared back at his ex-partner; he knew that look, he'd gotten used to that look and truth be told, he would miss it when and if the day came when Neal no longer got that look of mischief in his eyes. It was part of his best friend's appeal - a combination of awe at the exploits of a fellow thief and unbridled excitement at the thought of being the one who would bring him down.
'His hair is darker' Neal commented as he examined the photograph. 'And now he's wearing a beard.'
His eyes rose to meet Peter's. 'So, how do you want to handle it?' he asked, although Peter expected that, as always, Neal would have plenty of suggestions of his own to make.
'We've got eyes on him for the time being, that way we can keep tabs on who he's in touch with and what he might be planning.'
Neal's eyes sparkled. 'What if we tried to infiltrate his crew? Mozzie's got an in with Jimmy the Greek.'
Peter shook his head. 'I don't know, Neal. A security guard was shot in Memphis. This guy is a bit of a loose cannon. Do you really want to throw Mozzie into the middle of this?'
'Not Mozzie' Neal said. 'But…' he gave his eyebrows a wag which could only mean one thing.
'I don't know, Neal…' Peter mused.
'I'd have to discuss it with Sara first… but… we could revive Nick Halden or maybe Gary Rydell?' Neal suggested.
Peter's face grew tense. 'You sure he didn't make you when you were there yesterday?'
Neal shook his head. 'No, I was careful.'
Peter hesitated. 'I don't know, buddy… Let me run it by Reese.'
He stepped in closer to Neal, anxious to hear what, if anything, Neal had been able to uncover during his visit to Goldberg's place of work.
'So, did you find anything interesting while you were snooping around there last night?' he asked.
Whatever evidence Neal might have uncovered could never be used as part of an official investigation but the information could point them in the right direction.
Neal gave a playful grin. 'What makes you think I did any snooping?'
Peter rolled his eyes and leaned in. 'C'mon Neal, don't hold out on me.'
Neal took out his phone and Peter leaned in to get a good look at the screen. 'What do you suppose those are?' he asked pointing to the two telephone numbers which were scribbled on the exhibit's pamphlet.
'My guess is they're probably numbers for his local associates but we should run them through the system anyway, just in case. And I found a wall safe in his office. The guy is dealing too - which might explain all those people Scott has been seeing going in and out.'
'What if we sent you in for a buy? That way, we could get him for dealing, put a crimp in his plans for the gallery' Peter suggested.
Neal shrugged. 'He'd be out in no time if we don't get anything else to pin on him.'
Peter nodded in agreement. 'What's that?' he asked, pointing to the phone.
'If my hunch is right, that is the layout for the Stinson Gallery' Neal said as the two men examined the electrical plans Neal had found on the desk.
Peter stepped away and gave Neal a satisfied smile. 'Well, I guess there's only one way to find out.'
Neal's face lit up. 'Mind if I tag along?'
WCWCWC
Jerome Goldberg aka Michael Pearson had been in a foul mood all morning. He'd yelled at his staff, threatened to fire everyone and had been holed up in his office for the past hour and a half.
He was livid; up until this point, things had gone off without a hitch. He'd invested four months preparing for this job - first, by getting set up in the coffee shop, putting together a local crew and building up a clientele for his drug business to keep him afloat while they planned the heist that would yield enough to keep him comfortable for the next little while.
Moving around from place to place meant he needed to invest time and energy in building up a crew with each new city he was in - something he preferred over building long-term ties with other criminals who, over time, would know more about him than he was prepared to share. This way, he set up a new alias, settled in a new place and once the job was done, he disappeared into the sunset and prepared for his next adventure.
But that MO didn't yield much loyalty and, after a heated argument about how to divvy up the proceeds, his security guy had just walked out on him with less than a week to go. The man's unexpected exit had left him with a huge hole to fill on his team.
But the icing on the cake had come about when he'd walked into his office that morning to find that someone had broken in overnight. The small piece of string he'd gotten into the habit of placing in the door jamb was on the floor by his feet when he'd walked in that morning and he had a pretty good idea who'd been snooping around.
He'd regretted mentioning the fact that he'd done time to Scott Rivers - although he hadn't given any details or confessed that he was on the FBI watchlist for theft, embezzlement and money laundering. He'd liked the kid and at first, he'd thought he would make good addition to his team - after all, he'd demonstrated an uncanny talent for breaking into expensive homes on the East Coast. But Scott's insistence that he wanted to go straight had put the kibosh on that idea and now, he suspected that the kid was spying on him, threatening to bring down what was destined to be a very lucrative job. He needed to take care of the budding problem before it brought down his whole operation.
There was a soft knock on the door and one of the baristas popped her head in.
'There's somebody here to see you' she told her boss who waved impatiently, signalling her to let the person in.
A buyer, he realized, getting his head back in the game. 'Let him in' he groaned.
WCWCWC
'FBI' Peter said as he flashed his badge at the young man who welcomed them to the Nicole Stinson Gallery.
The young man's eyes grew in response; he'd never seen a real, honest to goodness FBI badge - or agent for that matter. 'FBI?' he stuttered nervously.
'Is the owner around?' Peter asked as Neal began to snoop around, getting the lay of the land.
'No, she's at a meeting' the young man said, seemingly intimidated.
'We want to talk to her about the exhibit you'll be hosting next week. Do you know when she'll be back?' Peter asked.
'Shouldn't be too long if you want to wait' the young man said.
'We'll just have a quick look around in the meantime' Peter informed him as he joined Neal who was already busy comparing the lay-out of the gallery with the electrical plans he'd found in Goldberg's office.
The two men exchanged glances as they looked around; this was definitely the place which was depicted on the plan. Neal walked over to the electrical panel towards the back of the store where the controls for the alarm system were located and gave it a rudimentary examination.
'This system's been updated just recently - it's only been on the market for about three months' he murmured as Peter looked on with interest. 'Probably getting ready for the exhibit.'
Peter nodded; the fact that Neal would know what type of security systems were newly on the market no longer surprised him. 'The plans are up to date though?' he asked.
'Yeah. Someone's feeding our guy up to the minute details' Neal concluded as he examined the electrical plans once more.
The two men walked around the space, noting that the first floor's walls were all but bare in preparation for the arrival of the exhibition.
'Do you know when the artwork for the exhibition will be arriving?' Peter asked the young man.
'I'm not sure' he admitted. 'But we're closing on the weekend and the exhibition starts on Monday night.'
Peter nodded and thanked him, returning to the job of scoping the place - which, it appeared, was the target of a very daring theft.
The young man remained by the front of the store, ostensibly working at a small desk in the corner. Unbeknownst to his visitors, he grabbed for his phone, hands shaking as he prepared to send a text message. He'd been paid very well to keep some hereto unknown person in the loop about anything that might be happening in connection with the exhibit. His benefactor would surely want to know that the FBI was snooping around.
WCWCWC
Sara Ellis had managed to shake off the worrisome news she'd heard that morning and she'd gotten down to business the moment she'd stepped into her office at Sterling Bosch. She had the uncanny ability to compartmentalize the different areas of her life whenever she needed to; after all, she'd lived her whole life that way and it was often a question of survival for the high strung insurance investigator.
After a few hours of productive work, she turned her mind to the plans she'd been concocting for the upcoming weekend. She and Neal would be celebrating their second wedding anniversary and she'd planned a couple of surprises for her husband - one of which stared back at her from her computer screen. Neal was a stickler for tradition and she'd begun to search for just the right present a few weeks back, noting with a certain lack of enthusiasm that the theme for a second year wedding anniversary was cotton.
Cotton.
Seriously.
How utterly boring, she'd thought as she'd allowed herself to peek ahead to year three: leather. Now that had a lot more potential she reflected, imagining a beautiful handbag or jacket in buttery leather.
Neal's gifts to those he loved were always well researched and thoughtful and nothing was ever left to chance. If she knew her husband, he was preparing to surprise her with some special gift that no one else would ever think of - all the while respecting the traditions of anniversary gift-giving. She was feeling pretty pleased with herself as she stared at her computer screen. All that was left was to call Peter and Mozzie and ask for their help in getting the gift set up while she took Neal out for a special anniversary dinner.
There was one more thing she needed to do and she picked up the phone and dialled the number for one of their favourite restaurants, Babbo, in the Village. Since Hope had arrived in their lives, they hadn't had much time to indulge in visiting those five-star restaurants they were both so fond of and had indulged in back when they lived in Manhattan.
'Hi, this is Sara Ellis' she said into the phone. 'I have a reservation for two for Saturday night. I wonder if you could prepare a special anniversary cake for two? I'm thinking your roasted white chocolate cake' she said, recalling how Neal had raved about it and had tried to recreate it at home, without luck.
'Thanks' she said, hanging up and smiling smugly.
Satisfied, she returned to business.
WCWCWC
Scott kept an eye on the back rooms as he continued to fill drink orders for the customers coming through the drive-thru. He'd noticed a guy go into his boss' office and he was dying to know what was being discussed.
'Heather, I'm just going to the stockroom to get some more decaf' he said as he made his way to the storage room, located right between the office and the public washrooms.
Once there, he dawdled, bringing his ear up to the wall in the hopes of overhearing the conversation; with any luck he might get some information that would help Neal and Peter figure out what was going on. But after a few moments, all he'd gotten for his efforts was the mumbled sound of muted voices and a sudden crick in his neck.
Neal was right; he had to be careful. His present status as parolee meant he was being watched like a hawk by his overeager parole officer, an older man with very strict scruples. His freedom was tenuous at best and his weekly visits to the parole office were a pain in the ass, complete with endless questions about his use of time and his plans for the future. But more humiliating than any of that was the random drug testing Scott had to endure. Drugs had never been his thing but rules were rules and he had to suffer through the maze for another few months before he could declare himself truly disentangled from the legal system. His arrest and subsequent jail time, however, would always be a matter of public record and that would continue to haunt him for years to come. He'd gotten a glimpse of what life was like as an ex-con when he'd tried to get this job and he really couldn't afford to lose it.
He heard some movement in the office and quickly grabbed something off the shelf, rushing to return to his post. He had just stepped out of the stockroom when the office door opened to reveal his boss standing there with hands on his hips, staring down at him.
'Rivers, what the hell are you doing, lurking?' he asked, his voice accusatory.
'I wasn't lurking… I was… I was just getting some decaf from the stock room' Scott lied, rather unconvincingly.
The man looked down at Scott's hands, holding a large package of dark roast Arabica beans.
'Well, I think you better get your eyes examined - that's dark roast you're holding' the manager said sternly.
Scott blubbered and smiled hesitantly. He mumbled something and turned on his heels, returning to the stock room while his boss ushered his guest out of his office.
That's it, the man realized, it was time to get rid of Scott Rivers before he managed to mess up his whole operation. He returned into his office and picked up the phone.
TBC
