The tone went from sad to excited, and the bishop bought it. “I am glad. I will need to see it.”
Patrick hopped up from his chair. "I know exactly where it is. I have an old box…but you don’t care about that. If Your Excellency would like, I can run and get it now.”
“I think it would be best. I will be pleased to put this whole unpleasant affair behind us.”
Patrick walked out of the church and down the street and turned the corner. He passed a bakery, a florist, and a bank, then turned down an alley and tossed his collar into a trash dumpster.
His life in the church was over; soon his days in America would end, too. It would be good to retire, but he didn’t feel happy. Should he just walk away from this last deal? No, it will be his greatest triumph. Time would heal the guilt.
Chapter Forty-Six
Hans sat with his legs casually crossed, The New York Times in one hand, while his other rhythmically stirred his coffee in its fine china cup. He liked the sound of the bone china. Three taps of the spoon signaled he was done with his routine. Arthur was now acknowledged.
Arthur was a patient man, and familiar with Hans' ways. It was his attention to detail which made Arthur trust him.
“I want to…” Arthur paused when the young woman asked if he would like to order. She smiled when he declined, and went to help another table. “Everything seems to be on schedule.”
“Yes, the only three serious bidders who remain are our guys and the Falcon. The bidding should be competitive.” Hans set his paper down and sipped his coffee.
“Have you spoken with the Falcon?”
“Yes. I was told to give you kudos on your exemplary service.”
“It has been a good run. It will be sad to see it come to an end,” Arthur said with a hint of a smile as he took a sip of water.
Hans didn’t harbor the same ill feelings towards the Falcon. Hans had his own grudge, his own reason for the betrayal. It wasn’t his nature to do anything but follow orders; though he had the mind for being a leader, he preferred to help others run the show. With Arthur though, they worked well together and contributed equally. Each of them seemed to be able to add key elements to their plan without stepping on one another’s toes.
“It has been a good run. I won’t miss it, though. I plan to spend the remainder of my days answering to only myself. It will be nice.”
“You will go back to Nuremberg?”
“I was thinking Vienna. Am I too old to learn to play the piano?”
Arthur laughed. “I would expect you would be a great pianist.”
“Did you learn anything new about the detective? Is he going to be a problem?”
“He is chasing his tail. I don’t think he has a clue who the Falcon is, and that is all that matters.”
“What about the guys working with him? Mike and the professor.”
“Mike is a beat cop. He is taking time off to help his friend investigate Mickey’s murder. The professor is some art teacher at NYU and likes to drink. It’s possible Wood may figure out that Father Patrick is behind the auctions, but that’s his problem, not ours.”
The waitress seated an older couple at the table next to theirs, so they stopped talking business and instead discussed their plans for the future, all the dreams they had both been keeping hidden away.
Chapter Forty-Seven
Mike got himself a cup of coffee.
They had just returned from the crime scene, where two Greek men had been found dead. In an alley, about three blocks from the docks, they were stabbed multiple times. They each had their watches, billfolds, and envelopes packed with hundred dollar bills. One didn’t need to be Sherlock Holmes to know it wasn’t a robbery. A patrolman found a sailor who knew who they were and that they had come in on a ship called The Siena.
Mike and Henry had the patrolman take them to find the sailor, and learned that the two men had traveled not as crew, but as guards for a large box. They never left its side, even when the weather got really rough. He didn’t know what was in the box, but he overheard the two men saying they thought it was cursed. They also found out that the ship had arrived the previous night.
The area the men were found in had quite a few bars. Both men reeked of alcohol, so Mike guessed there could be a waitress or bartender who might remember two drunk Greeks. It was too early for any of them to be open, so they went back to the office with plans to canvas the neighborhood later in the day.
"What’s the plan?" Mike asked.
Henry made a slight grunting noise. "I assume you are using the term 'plan' in the loosest possible sense."
"I was."
This made Henry smile. "This Andre Garneau person is another collector. I thought we should pop over to his house and try to get an audience with him."