The Mountains Bow Down (38 page)

Vinnie stepped into the store.

I crossed the street. People streamed past the store's open door and I could see only bits of Vinnie's looming frame. He seemed to lean over a glass counter, speaking to someone. But he turned suddenly, staring out the door. I darted to the right.

The girl at the door gave me a smile. “You know what would look great on you? This.” She picked up a gold necklace from her tray. “If you go in, they have one you can try on.”

I didn't even look at the thing. “Great. Thanks.”

She beamed like twenty-four karats, waving me inside. But when I stepped over the threshold, an electronic eye beeped. I froze.

Vinnie didn't turn around. Neither did the man behind the counter. He was small, compact, and held a jeweler's loupe to his right eye.

Leaping toward me, a salesman called out, “How can I help you?”

I turned my head, shielding my face, but once again Vinnie was fixed on whatever the small man held in his hands. The salesman continued to prance toward me, looking like a blade of grass in a thin green suit that bagged at the knees. Keeping my voice down, I told him the girl outside showed me a necklace.

“Wonderful, wonderful!” He stuck out his hand, the grip soft as a child's. “I'm Marcus and we have many
delightful
accompanying pieces.” Marcus hopped behind the counter opposite Vinnie and the jeweler. “Some really
spectacular
sets. And imagine when you tell people that you got it in Alaska!”

He unlocked the counter's back and slid open the door. I glanced once over my shoulder. Both men continued to lean over the object.

“And where are
you
from?” Marcus asked.

I didn't answer, hoping he would shut up. But he asked again.

“Virginia,” I whispered.

“Virginia!” Marcus started naming every city he could think of. “Vienna? Norfolk?”

I shook my head.

“Chesapeake?”

When I turned around, Vinnie was bent low, speaking into the ear of the small man. When he straightened, the jeweler's face rose with him. He looked surprised. And I saw the object in his tiny hands.

A bright blue stone.

“We have same-as-cash twelve-month financing,” Marcus said. “You can be wearing this in Virginia as soon as you get home.”

Vinnie turned toward Marcus's prattle. I pivoted, dropping my chin so my hair would cover my face. After a moment, I picked up a hand mirror on the counter and held it to one side. In the reflection, the mansard brow shadowed his eyes. But his head was moving furtively, checking the front door and the jeweler.

“Hell-
lo
?” Marcus was holding up a gold necklace, waiting for me.

Since Vinnie's back was toward us, I pivoted again and lifted my hair. Marcus clasped the necklace and I watched the jeweler shift the blue stone back and forth, the facets sparkling under the display lights.

“There you go!” Marcus said, giddy.

I dropped my hair, turned, and lifted the mirror.

“Oh!” Marcus gave a clap. “It looks
amazing
on you.”

In the mirror, I watched the jeweler saying something to Vinnie. I reached up, touching the necklace, pretending to be interested. But the gold felt smooth and warm, and I could sense the peripheral glow, pulling my eyes like a magnet. I shifted my eyes. Gold lapidary leaves circled in a twenty-four-karat halo, with each leaf holding a dewdrop emerald. Marcus was beside himself.

“Stunning!”

Something my mother would wear. Elegant, and she would pair it with some flamboyant outfits she favored in good mental health. Gazing into the mirror, I stared over my shoulder again. I was doing some quick math when the jeweler lifted a short index finger, signaling Vinnie to wait. The man walked to the back of the store, disappearing around a corner. Vinnie wiped his forehead, looking anxious.

“I'll take it,” I said.

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want to know how much it is?”

“No, I want it gift wrapped.”

“Oh certainly—
certainly
! We gift wrap.” Marcus paused, feigning graciousness. “And how, um, would you like to pay for it?”

In the mirror Vinnie stared directly at my back. I saw him squint, like his brain hurt, and as he began walking toward me, I knew time was up.

I turned around. “Find something you like? Or maybe you're selling.”

Vinnie opened his mouth as the jeweler stepped from the back of the store. Marcus waved. Marcus waved like he was hailing a cab, afraid it wouldn't stop.

“Mr. Lister, Mr. Lister!” His voice was speeding up. “She wants to purchase the
leaf
necklace! With the
emeralds
! Gift wrapped!”

Mr. Lister gave me a warm nod, so warm I started recalculating the necklace's price tag.

“
Very
nice choice.” His voice sounded like three packs a day with a lot of yelling. And he proved me right on the second part. He yelled, “Cheyenne!”

The pretty blonde poked her head inside, making sure the jewelry tray still faced the boardwalk.

“I need you in here! Gift wrap! Now!”

She ducked her head under the halter's leather straps, trying to maneuver the tray without spilling the valuables, when she suddenly fell to the boardwalk and the jeweler started yelling again.

“Get him!” he cried. “Get him!”

Confused, I looked at Marcus. But he was tickling the air with his soft fingers, uselessly.

“Catch that thief!” The jeweler was bug-eyed. “Get him!”

Cheyenne whimpered on the boardwalk, and a crowd was gathering. But Vinnie didn't move one gigantic muscle. He stared at the blue stone in the jeweler's hand.

“I'll call the police,” Marcus said, leaping for the phone.

I ran out of the store and collided with a woman carrying a large bag. I tried to follow the string of exclamations bursting down the boardwalk, tracking the thief's progress, but the path was clogged with rubberneckers. Jumping to the street, I raced to the corner and caught a glimpse of the runner's back. A kid, no more than twelve, thirteen years old. And both hands clutched long strands of gold. When he turned the corner, I realized his flight had sparked the red-blooded American males on the boardwalk. They were in hot pursuit.

Or warm pursuit.

The first guy wore orthopedic shoes and whipped his fists through the air, yelling like he'd been personally robbed. Two men in Sansabelt slacks chugged like coal trains, cursing at the kid. As I ran past I heard the loose change jiggling in their pockets. One guy was ahead of me. He was tall and his arms pumped like a sprinter, closing the twenty yards between himself and the thief. The pebbly concrete was empty, the road wide and lined with picket fences and long front yards that set the houses far back from the cracked sidewalk.

At the next corner, a dirt bike leaned against the stop sign. The sprinter was only fifteen yards behind, but the kid grabbed the motorcycle and kicked down the start. Gold fell from his hands as a blue cloud billowed from the tailpipe. And just beyond him was the forest. No houses, no roads. No way to catch him.

“Get down!” I yelled.

The sprinter turned, took one look at my stance, and dove for the ground.

The kid's hands clutched so much gold that he was struggling to steer the dirt bike as I unzipped my fanny pack. He spun out a U-turn, spewing loose stones across the intersection. I aimed the Glock for the back tire. My first round clipped asphalt. The second
ping
ed the mud-splattered rear fender and went into the woods. The third round exploded rubber.

The bike slid out from under him, but he still held the throttle. The engine whined and the blown back tire lopped torn rubber. The bike was racing in a circle, rushing toward his body when the sprinter leaped up and ran over, yanking the kid away. His fingers sprung open, gold spilling on the ground.

The bike coughed and died.

His other hand was still threaded with gold, tennis bracelets wrapped around his fingers like gilded worms. When I stood over him, staring into his young face, I thought at first his skin had road rash. It was his eyes that changed my mind. Deep brown, almost black, they had the vitreous blank expression of a hard-core addict. All shine, no light behind it. On his face the pox oozed.

Automatically I patted my belt. No handcuffs. And in his eyes, the crazed impulses rattled around his damaged brain. In broad daylight, in the middle of town, with thousands of would-be vigilantes around him, he decided on grand larceny.

“Roll over,” I said. “On your stomach.”

The kid didn't move. The sprinter picked him up like a twig, flipped him over, and placed his hand on the back of his head. “Hold still, son. Y'all got some explaining to do.”

“Y'all?” I said.

He started to answer but was interrupted by Marcus.

“There she is!” he cried. “That's her!”

In his shiny green suit, he was skipping down the street. The three guys in warm pursuit were coming too. And zipping around them all was a police officer, gunning a four-wheel ATV. He pulled to a stop near us.

“She was part of it!” Marcus told the cop. “See that necklace? She stole it!”

Slowly I raised both hands. The Glock was still in my right hand and the cop looked young, and scared. “I'm an FBI agent.”

“Oh, puh-leaz!” Marcus stood behind the officer. “She was supposed to divert our attention. She wasn't even listening to me, she kept looking over her shoulder, using the mirror to watch the entrance. I guess when I went to gift wrap she was going to pull out that gun and clean us out.”

The police officer's eyes snapped between me and the boy. The gold on the ground. The necklace. The sprinter, who also had his hands in the air and his knee in the boy's back.

“My ID is inside my jean jacket,” I told the officer. “In the left pocket.”

The officer didn't move.

The sprinter said, “Son, I'm a retired state trooper. I saw the whole thing. She blew out his tire. Otherwise y'all'd be lookin' for this fella in them woods.”

The officer told me to put my firearm on the ground and take out my ID. I pulled it out slowly, flipping open the case.

“You must be kidding me,” Marcus said.

The trooper apologized.

I put the creds back in my pocket. “You're being careful.”

“We're a little jumpy,” he said. “Two days ago one of them pulled a knife. Sliced the man's face. They're crackheads.”

The boy's bloodshot eyes darted like pinballs as the officer peeled the jewelry from his fingers, then handcuffed his wrists behind his back and radioed for a cruiser. Our audience began drifting back to Broadway, back to families and shopping and the best story to tell at dinner tonight. Marcus stammered, picking up the gold from the ground.

I extended my hand to the retired trooper. “Raleigh Harmon, thanks for your help.”

“Bob Barner. Powhatan, Virginia.”

“We're neighbors,” I said. “Richmond.”

“That right? Well, I'll be.” He grinned. “Nothing like a takedown to add some zip to a vacation, huh?”

I didn't agree, but then, I was on a cruise from hell.

“I'd love to talk to y'all,” he said, “but I better get on back. My wife's gonna have a conniption.”

The Skagway officer asked for a quick statement, and as they talked, I cupped a hand to my eyes. There was a distinctive buzz in the air.

The dark blue plane swooped above town like a stellar jay. As it dropped, I could see white lettering on the door. I reached into my creds case and pulled out a business card, handing it to the Alaska trooper.

“I've got to meet that plane.”

“Wait!” Marcus said, still picking up the jewelry. “You've still got our necklace!”

Fiddling with the clasp, I handed it out to him but now he was reluctant to take it.

“For what you did,” he said, “I'll bet Mr. Lister would take ten percent off.”

“Thanks anyway.” I dropped the necklace into his hand and ran for the airport.

Chapter Thirty-four

S
kagway's hearty souls lived along the western side of town. I ran past weather-beaten houses painted bright colors, defying winter with pink and turquoise and yellow, and small yards that sprouted fishing lines and crab pots and rubber rain boots turned into flower planters.

When I reached the airport, the dark blue plane was taxiing to a stop. Behind the controls, the pilot wore a straw cowboy hat that looked as if somebody regularly sat on it. I flashed my credentials at the window and he leaned over to his right, keying open a small compartment beside the instrument panel.

He opened the cab door and handed me the package sealed with FBI evidence tape. “Drugs?” he asked.

I shook my head. His blue eyes were bleached from years spent staring at sea and sky and snow. “Can I buy you a cup of coffee, breakfast?”

“Thanks for the offer.” He craned his weathered neck, peering up at the sky. “I gotta get out before the weather changes again. You can't take any chances up here. That's how people get killed.”

“It's one way,” I said.