West 47th Read Online Free PDF Page A

brother?”
    Tracy nodded and did a sneer.
    â€œIf I were you …” Floyd told Mr. Kalali, “I’d take a good look at that badass nigger.” Tracy intensified his badass nigger attitude.
    â€œMess with him he’ll smoke you. He don’t put up with any white shit.”
    Mr. Kalali assessed Tracy: a young thick-built black with oily tendrils of hair hanging down and a fuzzy patch like a collection of black lint between his chin and prominent lower lip. He did, indeed, appear menacing but possibly that was only a purposeful demeanor he’d developed, something he’d practiced and perfected in front of a mirror.
    This other black, the one apparently in charge, anyway, doing all the talking, might be even more of a pretender, Mr. Kalali thought. A cynical, dangerous, experienced black thief was the impression he was striving to make, and, admitted, he was convincing. However, it might very well be the only reality was the color of his skin. As for the girl, she was out of place. A juvenile, a skinny little show-off acting tough. That she was there validated his observations regarding the two others, Mr. Kalali thought.
    He complimented himself for such insight. It had, he believed, always been one of his outstanding abilities.
    The compliment acted like a restorative to his legs. He drew himself up, elevated his chin and told Floyd unequivocally: “You’ll get nothing more from us.”
    Floyd blinked thoughtfully. “That’s a motherfucking shame,” he said with sardonic sympathy. He went to a niche that was built into the side wall. It had glass shelves and was lighted. Each shelf held artifacts of antique pottery and glass, evidently a collection.
    He took up a small, lopsided, creamy-colored goblet. He nonchalantly tossed it into the air. It smashed to pieces on the hard floor.
    Mr. Kalali grimaced.
    Floyd had no idea that the goblet was a precious Persian piece that had miraculously survived six thousand years without a chip.
    He enjoyed Mr. Kalali’s reaction, so, next, he destroyed a pale blue faceted glass bowl that had been created in the holy city of Qom in the first century.
    Mr. Kalali placed his hands over his eyes. If he’d had another pair they would have covered his ears.
    Mrs. Kalali seemed somewhat amused.
    Floyd swept shelves bare. He hurled tiny, two-thousand-year-old, museum-quality Sasanian bottles and urns at the far wall. Mr. Kalali had to duck.
    He pleaded with Floyd to stop.
    â€œGive it up.”
    Mr. Kalali still refused.
    â€œOkay, let me tell you how this is going down. Two ways it can go. One, you give up where you got jewelry, we take it and go. Nobody gets hurt. The other way we have to look for it. It’ll take time and trouble but, sure as shit, we’ll find what you say ain’t there. For putting us through the time and trouble … we kill you.”
    Mr. Kalali looked to his wife. He shook his head ever so slightly and hoped that she understood the message in his eyes, instructing her not to reveal anything. He wasn’t going to melt down, especially not in front of her. For some reason she didn’t appear to be the least bit frightened.
    â€œWhat’s it going to be?” Floyd asked.
    â€œIt’s as I told you …”
    â€œIn the bank.”
    â€œIn the bank.”
    â€œIt’s here in the house,” Mrs. Kalali contradicted. “I’ll show you.”
    Mr. Kalali spat at her.
    She ignored him. She led Floyd and Peaches from the library and down a wide hall to the master bedroom area. In the adjacent dressing room she slid out one of the deep drawers of her vanity. It had a false bottom. She opened it for them.
    The shallow compartment contained two sapphire rings, a crossover diamond ring, a tanzanite pendant, a tourmaline bracelet, a diamond tennis bracelet, several gold chains, a pair of one-carat diamond studs, and a pair of pavé diamond ear clips. Nothing major but all