The Mystery of the Curiosities Page 17

  “Hey, Seb?” Max stopped walking.

  I turned around to look at him. “What is it?”

  “I know this address.”

  “What?”

  Max tapped the paper. “This Mark Lewis address in Brooklyn. My buddy lives here. Same building.”

  “Max, don’t fuck with me.”

  “No, I’m not kidding!” Max took out his phone and snapped a picture. “Give me a second and I’ll ask him if he knows the guy. He’s friendly with most of his neighbors.” Max handed the photo back to me and typed a quick text to his friend.

  We stood between Eighth and Ninth Avenue. A cold wind ripped down the street, warm air rose from the subway grates, and the stench of piss seemed to permeate the entire block.

  Max made an ah-ha! sound when his phone pinged. “He says, ‘That guy lives on the second floor. But his name is Todd, not Mark.’”

  Dick-Mark-Todd was most definitely anything but innocent.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  “WE NEED a plan.”

  “We don’t need a plan.”

  “Every movie with spies has a plan, Seb!”

  “We’re not in a fucking movie, Max.”

  “We’re still spies!”

  “Oh God.”

  “We can’t just go in there asking about Mar—Todd—the guy. It’s way too suspicious,” Max said.

  “That’s why I alone will be asking.”

  “If you go in without me, I’m calling Calvin.”

  I swore and glanced back at Parker’s Pawn. From what I could see, it looked cramped and crowded inside. The glass door had a decade’s worth of old stickers and flyers taped to it. A guy stood outside the door, drinking from a paper bag.

  “Go inside. I’ll follow.”

  “When you leave, I’ll stick around for another minute,” Max said.

  “Why?”

  “If they think you’re suspicious or talk about you, I might be able to hear them.”

  Huh. Okay, that was kind of smart.

  “Be careful,” I said firmly.

  Max smacked my shoulder in a friendly manner before walking to the front door and stepping into the shop. I waited a few minutes, just out of view. I didn’t expect the owners to be forthcoming with information about a patron who sold them expensive, stolen antiques, but hell, anything would be beneficial to our search.

  The smell of stale cigarette smoke assaulted my nostrils as I stepped into the shop. No one around was smoking, so it had likely leeched into the walls over the years. There were some cheap heart streamers hanging haphazardly around the register. Nothing said true love like a shop full of art thieves.

  Max was standing farther in the room, talking to a guy around my age about a guitar hanging on the wall behind the counter barrier. He didn’t glance my direction at all, and I had to hand it to the kid: he was really getting into this sneaking around stuff.

  An old man—Parker Senior, I presumed—glanced up from his crossword puzzle behind the counter. He narrowed his eyes and sniffed. “What do you want?”

  What customer service.

  “Just had a quick question, sir,” I said, moving to the counter. “A while back, I was trying to do business with a fellow named Mark. I had a buyer lined up for a nice samurai sword he was looking to part with, but it fell through at the last minute.”

  Parker Senior sniffed again and stared expectantly.

  “Anyway, I was wondering if you might have known the guy’s family or friends?”

  “Mark who?” Parker asked.

  “Lewis, I think was his name.”

  “Don’t know a Mark Lewis. And don’t know a Mark Lewis’s family.”

  I bit my cheek to keep myself from frowning. It was hard to tell if Parker was being honest or being an asshole. I glanced to my left and noticed the younger man—perhaps Ben Parker—was staring at us and now ignoring Max. “A shame,” I replied.

  “Why’s that?”

  “Heard he died today. Wanted to give my condolences.”

  I dared one more look to my left, and sure enough, Ben Parker seemed very concerned at the news.

  “Shit happens,” Parker Senior replied. “Then you die.”

  “That’s a bleak outlook.”

  He sniffed a final time and looked back down at his puzzle. I guess once you hit nine thousand years old, you’ve got exactly no fucks left to give. But Ben seemed to have plenty to spare, what with eventually taking over his dad’s shop, I imagined. The news that one of his frequent flyers with high-quality goods would no longer be supplying a hefty lining for his wallet had to come as a shock.

  “Well, thanks for your time,” I said, and Parker ignored me in response.

  I walked back out of the shop, crossed the street, and waited around the corner of a bodega for Max. He came out close to ten minutes later, when I was beginning to legit worry and considered running back in for him.

  “Max!” I hissed, waving him over.

  He hurried toward me, letting out a breath. “That was close. I was haggling for the guitar and offered way more money than I actually have, but he didn’t budge on the price.” He laughed and put his hands on his hips. “Debt averted!”

  “You went to college,” I reminded.

  “Further debt averted!”

  I rolled my eyes. “Did anything happen after I left?”

  “Not exactly. But that guy was pretty chill before you entered. After, he was in a rush to make me buy or get out. Definitely acting a little weird.” He glanced over his shoulder at the pawnshop before turning back to me. “What’s the plan now, boss?”

  “He got awfully concerned the minute I said Dick-Mark was dead. I think I should go to Brooklyn.”

  “We.”

  “You’ve done enough, Max.”

  He waved his finger in my face. “I’ve got Calvin on speed dial.”

  “What? I don’t even have him on speed dial. Why are you speed-dialing my boyfriend?”

  “That’s for me to know and you to find out!”

  I shook my head and rubbed my temple. “Jesus Christ on a crutch. Now I know how Calvin feels when I tag along.”

  I NEVER went to Brooklyn.

  I had no reason to go to Brooklyn.

  I hated Brooklyn.

  Okay, I didn’t hate it… but I did hate the subway. And I hated having to ride the subway to Brooklyn to hunt down stolen museum pieces from a guy found floating dead in a pool full of pennies and candy wrappers, who was responsible for brutally murdering another guy four years ago.

  Even if said other guy also stole priceless artifacts and probably wasn’t all that nice himself.

  Add to the fact that it was Saturday and trains had alternate schedules, weren’t running due to maintenance and repairs, and just seemed hell-bent on fucking the general population, I really didn’t like having to go to Brooklyn.

  But I digress.

  “Maybe you could move out here,” Max said, sitting beside me on the train as we rumbled over the Williamsburg Bridge. “It’s nice.”

  “No.”

  “Manhattan spoils you.”

  “I like being spoiled.”

  “You could get a cheaper place in Brooklyn.”

  “Yeah, maybe if I lived at Coney Island.”

  “What about getting a place out here with Calvin?” Max tried.

  I pushed my sunglasses up on my nose and looked at him briefly. “We aren’t moving in together.”

  “No?”

  “Way too soon for that.”

  “I guess. Plan ahead, though.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You don’t want to get a tiny place and six months later have to pack up and move again because then you want to live together. Find a decent-sized place and be ready for the next step toward domestic bliss.”

  “Thanks for that, Dr. Phil.”

  Max scoffed and shoved me. “I’m trying to help you save money in the long run.”

  “What stop are we?” I asked, ignoring Max’s s
omewhat valid point.

  “Myrtle Avenue.”

  The J train bumped along the overhead tracks and eventually rolled to a stop at our station. Max knew the neighborhood better than I did, so I followed as he led the way down from the platform. As we walked down the subway stairs, the train rattled overhead, momentarily drowning out the incessant honking of a car alarm, laughing kids on bikes, and two drunk guys arguing outside of a bodega that looked to be the sole shop in the neighborhood advertising both Mexican and Russian products.

  “This way,” Max said, crossing the street in between oncoming cars.

  “I think this address isn’t all that far from the one he lists under Richard.”

  “At least he considered convenience for his multiple lives.”

  I grumbled.

  The sun had already begun setting for the evening as we rolled into Brooklyn, so by the time we reached the apartment about fifteen minutes away, it was nearly night. Max opened the gate to a relatively new building, strolled across the front walk, and hit the intercom.

  “Yo,” a crackly voice said.

  “Hey, man. It’s Max. Can you buzz me in?”

  “Sure.”

  The lock on the door was released, and Max tugged it open and held it for me to follow.

  The first door past the mailboxes opened and a guy about Max’s age poked his head out. “What’s up?”

  “Long story. This is my boss, Sebastian Snow,” he said, pointing at me. “Seb, my buddy Jeff from college.”

  “Pleasure,” I answered briskly.

  “I like your shades,” Jeff said, nodding at me. “You look like a secret agent.”

  I sighed. I needed to get new sunglasses.

  Max nudged Jeff’s shoulder lightly. “You said your neighbor Todd lived on the second floor, right?”

  “Yeah. Uh—2C, I think. Why are you asking about him?”

  “Don’t worry about it.” I moved around Max and down the hall toward the staircase.

  “I’ll be back,” Max said to Jeff before rushing behind me. “Should we call the cops first?” he asked, lowering his voice as we started up the stairs.

  “No,” I whispered.

  I had a bad feeling crawling up from my gut. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end, and I slowed to a creep as we reached the top of the first flight of stairs and turned to continue up the next set to the second floor. Logic told me to chill out because good old what’s-his-name was super dead and there wasn’t any danger in approaching his apartment. But my instincts warned otherwise, and they’d kept me alive this long.

  I held a hand out behind me, stopping Max where he was, when I heard a muffled curse from the landing. I glanced back at him and motioned him to stay, to which he obediently nodded. I took a shaky breath and finished up the last steps in time to see someone crouched in front of the last door down the hall, sticking something in the lock and trying to break it open. The tool—maybe a screwdriver or something similar—finally made a loud noise and the door popped open.

  “H-Hey!” I shouted.

  The guy jerked his head up.

  Ben Parker.

  I’ll be damned. I was right about something important being hidden here!

  “Thief!” I called loudly, hoping someone in one of the other two apartments was home and would bear witness. “Don’t move!”

  Not that I thought he would listen.

  Ben scrambled to his feet, looking once or twice at the open door, as if contemplating whether it was worth it, but then made directly for me and the staircase. I held up my hands to stop him and pushed hard when we made contact. But Ben was surprisingly more well-built than I gave him credit for, and he easily shoved me into the wall and hurled himself down the stairs.

  I didn’t stop to acknowledge the pain in my shoulder; I turned to go after Ben. Max was shouting down the stairs for him to stop before I skidded and stumbled by him. I jumped off the last few stairs and caught myself on the far wall before turning the corner and running to the front door. Jeff had come back out of his apartment, likely hearing our shouting, but was quick to move out of the way when Ben ran by and I followed right behind him.

  Ben threw open the front door to the building, and I lunged after, the night a welcome relief for my eyes. We reached the sidewalk, and he took off in the direction of the subway. Even though he was obviously fit, he was bigger—and slower. I couldn’t run like Calvin did, but when push came to shove, I found one more burst of energy and propelled myself forward. I shouted and grabbed the back of Ben’s jacket, sending us both crashing to the pavement. A jolt of pain went from my tailbone all the way up, and I hissed while stars danced in front of my eyes.

  “You nosey son of a fuck!” Ben grabbed the front of my coat and pulled me up. I barely had time to acknowledge the size of his fist before it met my face and I was knocked back against the sidewalk.

  Ben hoisted me up again, but before I was able to take another pounding….

  “Let him go!” Max shouted.

  And then Ben was sprayed in cold foam from a fire extinguisher. I let myself drop back to avoid being hit, and Ben scrambled off me in a rush. He was coughing and trying to run again. I spit some blood from my mouth and got up, adrenaline pumping through my veins as I took off after him once more.

  Ben looked over his shoulder and swore before dodging between some parked cars and crossing the street. A car honked and tires screeched. Ben hit the hood of the car and went flying through the air. I had gained too much momentum to stop in time and hit the side of the car as it came to a sudden halt.

  Max was calling my name. The driver was shouting a string of obscenities. And from where I lay in the road, staring at the sky, it started to rain.

  MAX BORROWED Jeff’s umbrella, the two of us sitting on the curb as police lights flashed around us and brightened the neighborhood.

  “I think I’m done being a detective with you,” Max said thoughtfully. “That got way too real.”

  “Hmm. Where did the fire extinguisher come from?”

  “It was strapped to the wall in the stairwell.”

  “Fast thinking.”

  “Yeah.”

  I held my hand out and Max shook it.

  “Are we in trouble?” he asked next.

  “No. Ah—not you, anyway.”

  Paramedics were wheeling Ben toward the parked ambulance, with Quinn following at his side.

  I patted Max’s arm. “Stay here.” I stood and walked into the rain, joining her and Ben. “Guess you can’t fly all that well,” I said to him.

  “Fuck you, asswipe.”

  “Classy.” I took a step closer. “Who put you up to this? Who threatened you to make sure Richard was at the Temple of Dendur yesterday?”

  “What?”

  “Who threatened you?” I barked. “A big fat guy? Do you know a man named Luther North?”

  “What the fuck are you on?” Ben retorted.

  “Was it someone claiming to be a cop?”

  His expression immediately faltered.

  Oh God.

  “A cop?” I asked again.

  “I—”

  “Did you meet him? Did you see his face? Why did you help him?” I was practically shouting.

  Quinn put a firm hand on my arm and started to pull me away.

  “I only ever saw him one time!” Ben argued. “Then he just texted me! Said he’d throw me in jail if I didn’t tell Mark—Richard—someone wanted to meet him at the exhibit before his shift ended.”

  Quinn’s hold on me loosened slightly.

  “And?” I prodded.

  “And he said I could get back at you if I helped.”

  “Me? You don’t even know me.”

  “The fuck I don’t. I know you run that posh antique shop. You turned down purchases from my contacts. You want papers and your asking prices raise the market value!”

  “Oh, screw you! At least I’m a legitimate operation!”

  “Sebastian,” Quinn warned, tugging me b
ack when I took a step forward.

  “I know you worked with that cranky old Rodriguez, and that asshole sent the cops after me and my dad half a dozen times.” Ben turned his head and spit at my feet.

  “Who was the cop?” I asked, because if I didn’t focus, I was going to beat his face like he had mine.

  “Up yours.”

  “Who was the cop?” I asked again, louder. “How do you know he was legit?”

  “He showed me his fucking badge, man!”

  “What was his name?”

  “You think he’d tell me his name?” Ben asked before laughing.

  “What did he look like?”

  “He looked just like a fucking cop.”

  I lunged to throttle that stupid bastard, but Quinn grabbed me and pushed me away. “Describe him!” I shouted.

  And surprisingly, even though he had paramedics and a cop to protect him from me, Ben looked a little freaked. “Tall. Brown hair. I don’t know—I only saw him once!”

  I shoved away from Quinn, grabbed my phone, and opened the photo album. I had to scroll back in the history awhile, but I was suddenly glad I hadn’t gotten around to deleting old pictures. I brought up a photo of Neil and turned the screen to Ben. “Was this him?”

  “I don’t know!”

  “Was it?”

  “I guess so! It looks like him!” Ben cried out.

  “Get him out of here,” Quinn ordered, motioning for the paramedics to take Ben to the awaiting ambulance.

  Jesus Christ.

  Rain splattered the screen of my phone, distorting Neil’s face. This couldn’t be happening.

  “Get out of the road,” Quinn said as she opened her umbrella and nudged me back to the sidewalk.

  I walked in a daze, stuffing my phone back into my coat.

  Two different people, one who knew me and one who knew of me, both claimed a cop threatened to jail them if they didn’t help ensure the victims show up at a museum in order to be killed. Both said they only met him once, then received text messages afterward. All of the clues and threats for and against me were personal. Someone who had a good understanding of my habits and inner circle.

  And only one person in my life had reason to hate me.