janet maple 05 - it doesnt pay to be bad (12 page)

“Says who, Leonard the fashion expert?” Dennis countered.

“Gentlemen,” Janet cut in. “Please, stop. We don’t have time to bicker or we’re going to be late.” She knew the real reason Dennis was refusing to wear the shirt Leonard had brought, but she wasn’t going to mention it. The shirt Dennis had on had the microphone implanted into one of the buttons, but those were the details Leonard didn’t need to know. He’d been made to wear a microphone himself, and Janet was pretty sure he was smart enough to figure out that she and Dennis would be wearing similar devices, but he didn’t need to know the exact locations. “Dennis, may I have a word?” Janet asked meaningfully.

“Of course. Excuse us, Leonard. Baxter will keep you company,” Dennis said wryly.

Janet picked up the shirt Leonard had brought and weaved her arm through Dennis’s. “We’ll be right back.”

As Janet steered Dennis toward the bedroom, Leonard moved to sit down on the couch. Instantly, Baxter growled menacingly, baring his front teeth. “Hey, you’re just going to leave me here with him?” Leonard cried out pitifully.

“We need someone to keep an eye on you,” Dennis said pointedly.

“Don’t worry, Leonard. Baxter won’t hurt you,” Janet assured him. “Baxter, behave,” she added in a firm tone, “stop scaring our guest.”

Baxter barked back, but Janet shook her head. “That’s no way to behave, Baxter. Be a good boy now.”

Baxter wagged his tail and rubbed his muzzle with his paw, clearly embarrassed.

“Good boy.” Janet smiled at Baxter. “Come on,” she tugged on Dennis’s arm. “We don’t have much time.”

Once they were inside their bedroom, Janet closed the door behind them. “Are you trying to ruin this investigation?” she hissed at Dennis.

“Whoa! Where did this come from?”

“Leonard may be a scumbag, but he’s a useful scumbag and we’ll get more out of him if we keep him happy. Stop putting him down all the time.”

“My apologies. I didn’t realize I was supposed to worry about Leonard’s feelings,” Dennis countered.

“I’m serious,” Janet said firmly. “He’s really upset at the way you keep putting him down.”

“I see you had a nice little heart-to-heart.”

“Would you stop being so childish? We don’t want to alienate him so he rats us out to Bassand. We need to make him feel safe so that he trusts us.”

“No need to get all worked up. I was just busting his chops a little bit, but if he’s such a ninny, I’ll stop. But you do realize why I can’t wear the shirt he brought?” Dennis added meaningfully.

“Of course I do. That’s why I pulled you in here. I’m going to cut off the button and you can put it in your jacket pocket.”

“But it won’t be the same quality of sound,” Dennis protested.

“I’m sure the FBI will be able to listen in.”

“Why can’t I just keep the old shirt on?”

“Because it looks all wrong with this suit,” Janet said flatly. She reached for the chest of drawers and took out her nail kit. A moment later she had the scissors out. “Change your shirt and I’ll take the button off.”

“Fine,” Dennis grumbled. He unbuttoned his old shirt and pulled on the shirt Leonard had brought him. “Fits like a glove, and I don’t mean it in a good way,” he said, as he buttoned up.

“I kind of like it—very form-fitting.” Janet felt Dennis’s triceps. “Makes your assets stand out.”

“Thanks.” Dennis hastily pulled on the jacket. “I feel naked. I don’t know how women walk around in those tight outfits.”

“You look very stylish.” Janet stifled a smile. Dennis could carry off any look, but there was no denying that the classic-cut suit he had on before was a much better choice for him. But if wearing the latest gimmick was going to get them in with Bassand, Dennis could sacrifice his sense of style for a few weeks. Janet put the button with the microphone into his jacket pocket. “All set to go.”

Chapter 9

Later that night, at exactly the appointed hour, Leonard rang the doorbell of Bassand’s townhouse. Janet and Dennis waited a few steps behind him, taking in their surroundings. From the looks of it, Bassand didn’t lack for anything. His mansion on the Upper East Side looked like something straight out of Edith Wharton’s novel.

A few moments later, a butler in a black suit and bowtie opened the door. From the brief look of recognition he gave Leonard, it was clear that he had seen him before.

“Mr. Bassand it expecting us,” Leonard said.

The butler nodded lightly. “Please, come in.”

Janet walked past the massive wooden door—marble floors, vaulted ceilings—Bassand was living in the lap of luxury.

“Please follow me,” the butler said quietly.

He ushered them into a sitting room with plush chairs and parquet floors.

“Mr. Bassand will be with you shortly.”

Janet exchanged a glance with Dennis—the walls were covered with valuable paintings. She was no art historian, but she instantly spotted several Degas, a Matisse, and even a small Rembrandt.

“This is not good,” Leonard whispered, visibly shaking.

“Lenny, get a hold of yourself,” Dennis hissed. “You’re shaking like a mad Chihuahua.”

“Yeah? Let’s see if your swagger holds up before Bassand,” Leonard snapped. “This is not good—not good!”

“What’s wrong, Leonard?” Janet asked. “Tell us, quickly.”

“This is Bassand’s treasured collection—he doesn’t show it to anyone. Oh, don’t get me wrong, he has the main room that he shows off at his fancy galas, but never this. I’ve never been in here before. All the works in here are stolen. The fact that he’s shown it to us, means he doesn’t intend for us to walk out of here alive.”

“Don’t be such a mouse, Leonard,” Dennis cut in. “Have you forgotten that we’re not here alone? The big brother’s got your back,” he added, alluding to the FBI.

“Tsk. Lots of good that will do. We’re cooked I tell you. Cooked!” Leonard sunk into a chair and covered his face with his hands.

“Snap out of it,” Dennis commanded. “Bassand is going to walk in here any minute.”

As if on cue the door opened, and the man who had to be none other than Armand Bassand entered the room.

“Forgive me for keeping you waiting.” Bassand barely acknowledged Leonard’s presence, as he instantly directed his attention to Janet and Dennis. “I am Armand Bassand, pleased to make your acquaintance.” He offered a smile that had about as much warmth in it as an icepack. He walked over to Janet and pressed her hand to his lips and then he shook hands with Dennis.

“Thank you for taking the time to meet with us,” Janet said. “It is truly an honor to meet you.”

“Oh!” Bassand waved his hand, an expression of mock modesty on his face. “There’s no need for such formality. We are, as the saying goes, among friends.” He pronounced each syllable with exaggerated clarity, sounding like a diction tape recording, which combined with his pleasant, but completely unreadable facial expression, made for an eerie effect.

“You’re very kind,” Dennis said. “And we really appreciate your taking the time to meet with us.”

“Oh, please. It is nothing—absolutely nothing. In fact, it is I who is grateful to you for coming. A drink?” he offered, gesturing to the bar in the corner.

“Thank you. Scotch neat, please,” Dennis asked.

“And for the lady?” Bassand inquired.

“The same, please,” Janet said.

Bassand didn’t bother asking Leonard for his choice of beverage and headed over to the bar. “If you know your scotch, and to me you look like the people who do, you’re going to enjoy this one.” He lifted up a bottle of Balvenie Scotch just long enough for Janet to see the number fifty on the bottle. She was no expert, but she remembered seeing in a magazine that a bottle ran for about thirty five grand, but then that was probably chump change for someone who traded stolen art works worth millions of dollars.

Still ignoring Leonard, who was shrinking further and further into the back of the armchair he was sitting on, Bassand handed Janet and Dennis their glasses. Then he poured himself one and took a seat in a chair across from them.

“To new acquaintances,” Bassand raised his glass in a toast and brought it to his lips. “Mmm. Exquisite, simply exquisite. I typically save this bottle for special occasions, and I believe tonight certainly qualifies as one.” He paused. “How do you like it?” he asked, his eyes burrowing into Dennis.

“It is an excellent choice indeed,” Dennis agreed. “I believe you’ve just made a convert out of me.”

“Huh!” Bassand’s laugh was sharp like a bark. “The finer things in life can certainly be addicting,” he added. “Like art for example. If you are art lovers like me, you’re bound to enjoy my collection.” He got up from his seat and made a sweeping gesture with his arm. “Years of hard work. A story behind each painting,” he said wistfully, looking almost melancholic.

“It is a very impressive collection indeed,” Janet agreed. From her prep meeting with the FBI, she could tell that at least several artworks were on the world-wide missing list, their thefts attributed to Bassand.

“Oh, that is so kind of you. I’m so pleased to hear you’re enjoying it.” Bassand bowed slightly, a proud smile on his face. “Now, do you think that I would’ve amassed all this if I were someone who could be swindled like a school boy?” he asked, his voice smooth as silk.

“Of course not,” Dennis cut in. “And that’s why we came here tonight—to discuss our business proposition with you.”

“I was speaking to the lady,” Bassand said sharply. His dark stare locked on Janet. “It was very clever of you—very clever indeed to come up with that little scheme of yours. But if you think you’re going to get away with it, you’re mistaken. My former protégé, Leonard, might’ve made a fool of himself, but do not make the mistake of projecting the pupil’s ineptness on his former patron.”

Janet took a deep breath, instantly understanding why Leonard had been so afraid of Bassand—she’d dealt with her share of tough criminals, but it took a psychopathic megalomaniac to be talking about himself in third person. No wonder Leonard looked paler than death. “We are here because we have a proposition for you,” Janet said in a cool tone.

“Is that so?” Bassand asked. “I certainly hope your proposition involves returning the painting to me.”

“I can’t do that,” Janet said flatly.

Bassand clenched his fingers around his glass so tightly, his skin turned white. “And why is that?” he asked in a low, silky voice that was a thousand times scarier than a yell.

“Because we sold it. Our buyer offered us twice what you were going to sell it for. Naturally, we’re going to share the profit with you fifty-fifty,” Janet replied calmly, trying not to think about the fact that her armpits were getting damp in the designer dress Leonard had picked for her.

“This is getting interesting. I must say, it has been a long time since I’ve been addressed in such a manner,” Bassand said slowly, as though deciding between being annoyed or amused. “And what would the figure be?”

Janet named the amount they had cleared with the FBI. To bait a highly sought after criminal like Bassand, the bureau was prepared to shell out some serious cash.

“And how would the funds be transferred to me?” Bassand asked. Not a single facial muscle had changed in his expression, but the grip on his glass had relaxed.

“Cash or wire transfer if you prefer. But first, I’d like to tell you about the second part of our plan,” Janet added.

Bassand patted his chin, half laughing. “There’s a second part? I haven’t even agreed to the first one. What makes you think that I will accept this offer and disappoint my buyer? I have a reputation to maintain and that costs a lot more than what you offered.”

“Hear us out. We have a partnership proposition for you,” Janet pressed on confidently, ignoring the growing clamminess under her armpits.

Bassand launched into uncontrollable laughter. “A partnership? Is there no end to your presumptuousness? Please, go on. This is highly amusing.” He lifted his glass to his lips and drained it in one quick gulp.

“It will be even more amusing when you hear the whole plan,” Dennis cut in.

Bassand’s expression grew stone cold as he measured Dennis with a contemptuous gaze. “Who said you could talk?”

“We work as a team,” Janet said firmly. “Dennis is my partner on this. The plan isn’t workable without him.”

“My, my, you seem to be very good at making demands.” Bassand shook his head. “It’s all I’ve heard since you entered my house. Your self-assurance is admirable. I must give you that.”

“Self-assurance is justifiable when it’s based on facts,” Janet said boldly. “How would you like to add the Eternal Light to your collection?”

Bassand stared back at her, his expression unchanged. “It’s impossible,” he said gruffly. “Just because I haven’t thrown you out due to my curiosity, does not mean that I have an inexorable supply of patience. I suggest you stop wasting my time.”

“It is possible,” Janet urged. “The Eternal Light can finally be yours.”

Bassand’s skin turned a shade paler and his eyes narrowed. “How could you possibly know about that?”

“I like to do my research,” Janet said matter-of-factly. “And I should think a man like yourself would welcome an opportunity to settle scores.”

“Vengeance is not in my nature.” Bassand’s tone turned languid and his eyelids became half-closed. He was trying very hard to look at ease.

“Of course not,” Janet agreed. “But personal satisfaction is. And we have a way to grant it. We have a way to get to the Eternal Light—we thought it’d be a fitting exchange for the Monet.”

“The diamond?” Bassand asked in a reverential whisper, his clearly constructed façade dissipating like smoke. “How could you possibly know where it is? The last I’ve heard of it is the Saudis guard it like hawks in some underground bunker, watched day and night by an equivalent of an army battalion.”

“So you’ve kept track—then you are interested,” Janet said slowly.

“Provided you have real information, yes. But I don’t see how that’s possible. As I’ve said, the Eternal Light is impossible to get to. The Saudis would never let it out of their sight—it’s said to be priceless.”