1 - Artscape: Ike Schwartz Mystery 1 Read Online Free PDF Page B

Agreed?”
    Vito waited again while his caller thought, calculating the effect this new deal would have on the men in Damascus or Yemen or wherever they lurked at the moment. They would not be happy, certainly not with Donati. But they had no other viable choices.
    “We pay the second half when we have the ransom, not on delivery. I’ll go along with the rest.”
    Vito smiled. It had been easier than he had expected. He liked working with ideological people. They were so obsessed with their causes they did not take time to drive a good bargain.
    “Fine,” he said. “We’ll go next Thursday.” He hung up, picked up the phone, and dialed area code 704 and the number. The phone rang fifteen times before an angry Red Burnham answered.
    “Whatcha want?”
    “The plan’s changed. We go next Thursday. Get the trucks and trailers to the Shenandoah Truck Park by Monday and check into the Dogwood Motel west of Picketsville. They are expecting someone named Michaels or Dolan. You are Dolan. Got it?”
    “I got it, but what’s the rush?”
    “I’ll explain later. It is a sweeter deal so be happy. You get bumped to fifty thousand for a week’s work.”
    Vito hung up. The change in plans made some things more difficult, but he could manage. And since the business with Giacomo, he felt squeezed and unsafe in his part of New Jersey. Spending two weeks out of town could be very convenient, not to mention necessary. In two weeks his problems would blow over. Martelli promised he would see to that. It just needed a word to a few people, maybe the application of some muscle, and money. He could fix it.
    But right now, he needed his man, the locksmith. With more time, he could play this man like a fish, reel him in, let him run, and boat him. But he did not have the time. He would have to go in hard and offer lots of money, maybe even lean on his man through his kids. And he would have to be lucky. Grafton drank. He might be too broken up. Either way he would be no good, even if he decided to do the job.
    Vito left the apartment, but not before he had reestablished his checkpoints and replaced the hair on the doorsill. He would not return for several weeks. By then this new phone would be tapped, too, and he would have to make other arrangements.
    He walked through the doors and signaled for Angelo to bring the car up. The black Cadillac whispered to the curb. Vito got in, gave Angelo an address, and settled himself back into the cushions to think.
    ***
    The drive back to town had not afforded Ike any relief. He threw the door to the sheriff’s office open with such force, it bounced against the booking counter and upset a coffee cup filled with pencils. A startled Essie Falcao sat at the dispatch desk, phone in her left hand, her right covering the mouthpiece.
    Ike glared at her and then at Whaite Billingsly, who busied himself picking up the pencils.
    “Do I look like a fascist?” Ike yelled to no one in particular. “Am I some kind of rube cop who enjoys pushing people around? I go out there, nice as pie, a pussycat—that’s what I was. I go out there and suggest—suggest—a simple solution to a problem and that woman calls me a…says I want to start a police state.”
    “Ike?” Essie said, and then ducked as Ike turned and continued.
    “Let me tell you something, Essie. I never, ever got into the town and gown crap that most of the people hereabouts did. I never took the Callend girls or faculty for granted or as something special, different, or anything, but now.…”
    “Ike?”
    “I’m going to lean on that arrogant, self-righteous, over-educated b…whatever, until she starts wishing she was back in Connecticut, or wherever she came from, getting her rear-end kicked at a faculty meeting.”
    “Ike?”
    “I’m going to watch her car and—”
    “Ike.”
    “What, Essie. What the hell is it?”
    “Ike, it’s your father on the phone.”
    “Tell him I’m not here.”
    “He said to tell you that if you