Solomon sat waiting at the diner counter eyeing a cup of coffee that cost him a dollar. He had been waiting for an hour. The waitress behind the counter was wearing a blue dress with a broad white apron. Her hair was gray and long, tied up in a high ponytail. She came up and asked if he wanted anything else. "Just waiting," Solomon said.
"Me too," she replied, eyeing him cautiously and then moving on.
Lisa arrived ten minutes later. She sat on the stool next to him and ordered breakfast before her ass hit the seat from the same waitress: "Two eggs once over hard with white toast and bacon as burned as the kitchen will allow. And so much coffee."
Solomon took a sip of his coffee. "You're late. I almost left."
"You have anything other than coffee?" Lisa asked.
"Not a damn thing," Solomon said.
"It's a dollar."
"And bottomless. Great place to wait for someone who might be an hour and a half late."
"Got it. Don't need the lecture. You know how it is, Sol."
"I get it."
"So what's happening?"
"We're set. You can pick the kids up on the New York side of the Lincoln tunnel around three in the morning."
"Vince?" Lisa asked.
"You're going to have to let him walk."
"I know. Know where he might walk off to?"
"A dumb kid like him with a quarter million dollars?"
"Vegas?"
"No, a dumb kid."
"AC."
"Yeah. Just watch him."
"I know, Sol."
"If you pick him up, Captain Klepto won't take delivery of the goods, and you'll never trace him."
"I know, Sol." Lisa's breakfast arrived, and she started eating quickly. "So where are the bags going?"
"We go in. We turn off the alarms. We break into the safes. We clear them out into the bags. We get into the car and drop the bags off with the skinny guy in black. He fences almost everything — the gold, the jewels, launders the money, takes his cut, and the rest flows back to the real boss."
"And what are we looking for? Does he touch anything?"
"One thing," Solomon said, sliding a picture across the counter, not looking at it as Lisa picks it up. "It's a Francis Bacon."
"I'll take your word for it," Lisa said, putting the picture in her purse.
"He wants it. It's the only thing he's wanted in the five jobs I've done for him. I'll slide the tracer into the tube carrying the painting. The skinny guy will find a way to get it back to our employer."
"If they find the tracer?" Lisa asked.
Solomon shrugged. "Then it is over. They'll come looking for the kids, Vince and I. They'll kill us. And he'll go back underground. But they won't find it. It is sewn right into the fabric, looks and works like a snap-button, and Kevin set it up so that it won't even turn on for three days. So if they do a scan, they'll find nothing. It'll work, Lisa."
"And you?"
Solomon raised his cup of coffee, and Lisa did the same, clinking glasses. "This is the last time you'll see me, kid."
"Sol, I'm not a kid. I'm older than you."
Solomon smiled. "I'm not telling you where I'm going. That was the deal."
"You're leaving New York? You've lived here your whole life."
"I used to have a life here. I don't anymore. Just got an apartment I used to own and a job I used to love. Now everywhere I go I see the kids Psycho has killed, and I see the jobs I've done and I don't want to be here."
"Where are you going?" Lisa asked again.
"Myanmar. Yemen. Oman. Wonsan. Nigeria. India. Samoa. Latvia. Argentina. Niger. Denmark. You know, somewhere I can get lost."
Lisa threw twenty dollars on the counter and wiped her face with a napkin. "Sol, you couldn't get lost anywhere hot. You stick out like a sore thumb."
She put her hand on Solomon's shoulder and then smiled, walking out of the restaurant.
Solomon took the twenty-dollar bill and waved down the waitress. "What's the damage?" he asked.
"Twelve," she said.
"Can you get me six-twenty in change?" Solomon said.
*
Solomon was walking through Central Park. It was cold and slightly wet but otherwise agreeable. His phone rang. "Yeah?" Solomon asked.
"You all set for today?" Justin said, excitedly.
"All set," Solomon said. "Just let me know where."
"There's a Starbucks on Shuter."
"I know it. You picked up Francine there."
"I did, didn't I?" Justin said. "And just so you know, if I'm not back here in the same hour I pick you up, the new girl dies. So no fucking games."
"The game is over," Solomon said.
"Then say it."
"When you do it. If I'm awake, I'll say it."
"You'll be awake."
"So you've decided how you'll do it?"
"Yes."
"How?"
"I don't want to ruin the surprise," Justin said with a forced cackle.
"Fair enough. And then you'll let her go?"
"Her, yes," Justin said. "But you know I won't stop."
"I know. But that's not my problem."
"It's Roger and Tomas's, and that Captain Bell."
"No, Justin, it's yours."
Justin laughed again. "You have no sense of fun or accomplishment. I'm doing something no one has ever done."
"You guys all think you are unique and original. But you're not."
"So you ready for your instructions? You need to be at the Starbucks in an hour."
"No," Solomon said.
"No?" Justin replied angrily.
"No. I've got things to do. You won't see me until after sunset."
"Fuck you! I'll kill her," Justin said.
"No, you won't."
Justin said nothing.
"I'll be there after sunset, and that's final, Psycho."
"Fuck you," Justin said before pausing and adding, "I'll wait."
"I'll call you when I'm ready."
"I'm not giving you a number you can trace."
"Then text me after sunset, and we will make arrangements."
***
From the park, Solomon walked west to Temple Beth Sholom. He went inside and was welcomed by someone at the door and given a tallit. He walked to the third row and on the right sat in an empty seat surrounded by other people observing the Kol Nidrei. He listened and prayed and participated in the service. Towards the end came an appeal for charity, and Solomon looked up from his feet and locked eyes with the rabbi. The service finished, and Solomon stayed in his seat.
The Rabbi came to him after the service, and the two men embraced. "Solomon!" the rabbi said.
"Josef," Solomon said, patting the man's back. Josef sat, largely ignoring the other people who came to say their goodbyes to him as he spoke with Solomon.
"Solomon, it is so good to see you," Josef said. "We haven't see you since your father..."
"I know."
"Will we see you tomorrow?" Josef asked.
"Not likely," Solomon said.
"Then it is good you came today."
"I have something for you," Solomon said. He reached into his pocket and took out a check. "It is everything that is left from my father's estate."
"Solomon, no," Josef said. "Your family has done enough. Your father and grandfather helped to build this place. They were pillars of the community. We owe you so much. We cannot accept more. Not since your father..."
"Take it," Solomon said, pushing the check into the rabbi's hand.
"What will you do?" Josef asked.
"I'll be fine."
"Solomon," Josef started before stopping. He took a deep breath and continued. "Solomon, I'll take this. But you have to tell me. What happened to your father?"
"He lost almost everything," Solomon said. "He trusted Friederick with millions, and it all disappeared."
"And after? He just left and poof, nothing, not a word."
"He's dead," Solomon said.
"This we guessed."
"He had nothing but the apartment — now also gone — a few paintings and this money."
"Yes, but where did he go?"
Solomon leaned in. "You know those paintings my father and grandfather were always talking about?"
"The eighteen that were stolen from them before they fled Germany?"
"He found one. Maybe two. So he went to get them back. My father didn't care about the money. Didn't care about losing it all — it wasn't the first time in his life he lost everything. But those paintings represented something more. A debt the world owed his family, you know? A debt he took on from his father and a debt he wishes I took on from him. He went to get those paintings back. And I never saw him again. But I know he got caught, and I know he was killed. I know."
Josef put his hand on Solomon's shoulder and then picked up the check. "Solomon," he said, "almost four million dollars?"
"It's everything." Solomon said. "I don't need it nearly so much as some of the folks you can get this to. I might not need it at all."
"What have you gotten yourself into?"
"Something that will play out one way or another. And there's no going back."
"I'll pray for a miracle, Sol. And I will hold on to this until I know you don't need it. Do you believe in miracles, Sol? Do you believe you'll come out of this okay?"
"Of course," Solomon said. "I've seen a miracle, Josef. And if there's another miracle, I won't need that money." He paused and smiled before adding, "And if there isn't another miracle, I definitely won't need that money."
***
Solomon sat in the Starbucks drinking from a bottle of water, staring at Justin across the table. Justin was smiling and wearing a t-shirt that looked like it was designed for a Norwegian black metal band and plain blue jeans. "I half expected the cops when I walked in here."
Solomon shrugged. "Nobody here but me."
Justin's legs were trembling with excitement under the table. "I'm surprised you can just sit there. Don't you want to hit me? Punch me? Kill me?"
"Absolutely."
Justin lifted his shirt. "It still hurts," he said, pointing to his chest. "Where you shot me? Still fucking hurts. Bruises on bruises. Never really healed."
"Good," Solomon said. "I hope it never does."
Justin dropped his shirt and laughed. It drew the attention of a few other people in the café. "We should probably just get on with it." Justin stood and motioned for Solomon to walk ahead of him.
The two left the Starbucks and walked east. At the second alley they passed, Justin prodded Solomon, still walking arm's-length in front of him, to go into the alley. There was a van there with the rear facing the street. "Open the door," Justin said. Solomon did so, and as he did Justin injected him with propofol. A moment later Solomon was unconscious.
***
Justin drove but did not need to go far. He arrived at a warehouse that had been split into industrial workspaces near the coffee shop. He parked the van underground near the large freight elevator. Justin got out of the car and looked around. Satisfied, he went into the back of the van and rolled Solomon into a Persian carpet and then dropped him casually onto the cement. He rolled a dolly out of the elevator and struggled but managed to lift Solomon onto the dolly, and then rolled it into the elevator.
He took the elevator to the fifth floor. The space had large fifteen-foot ceilings, exposed beams, and the forty-by-forty space was empty except for a small room in the northwest corner constructed from MDF. The room had no door and was covered in layers of plastic.
Justin unrolled the carpet in front of the room, and Solomon flopped out. Justin sat Solomon up and bound his wrists with handcuffs and quickties and then bound his feet in rope and quickties. Solomon was slumped over but erect, and though unconscious, the first thing he would see when he woke would be the room covered in plastic.
Justin sat on the ground nearby and waited, smiling, watching his watch and checking the detective's breathing and heart rate every so often.