Sapphire Gryphon Page 3

  And if the value rose exponentially with gem size...

  My palms were sweating, and my mouth was dry. Holy fuck. Calm down, Ezra. Be cool.

  Suddenly, it didn't feel safe to stay here. I was hyper-aware of the carving in my pocket, like it was pulling on me with unnatural gravity. I had a winning lotto ticket in my pocket, and I was sticking around to grab maybe a few hundred bucks? Doing that was stupid.

  And I hadn't survived this long as a thief by being stupid.

  It was time to leave.

  But as I turned to go, I caught sight of the mark across the room. He stood near the exit door, looking above the crowd.

  Looking directly at me.

  Fuck.

  I whirled in the opposite direction and tossed my cardboard sign in the trash.

  3

  SAM

  "Thomas, you there? Can you hear me?"

  The response was a garbled mess of static. I strode out of the gate and held the phone out to check my signal, which was fine. The problems were all on his end.

  "...Sam," a voice came through the static. "...there... are you... can..."

  "I'm here, Thomas," I said. "How about now?"

  "That... better," my boss said. "Where are you?"

  "I just got off the plane in Denver. Once I pack a bag I'll be on my way to the work site. A few hours, at least."

  "...that's fine." Another burst of static. "...need you... the equipment... office. Can you do that for me?"

  Thomas was always doing that: rushing to a work site in a hurry, taking only the bare necessities and later realizing he needed far more than he'd brought. Usually it meant one of us grunts climbing down from the mountain, then driving all the way back to the office to pick them up. He was lucky I was late and could save him the effort.

  "Sure, pick up some equipment at the office," I repeated. I pulled my free hand out of my pocket--where it'd been clutching the gryphon totem--and used it to plug my ear to block out the airport noise. "Just tell me what to grab."

  "Extra battery packs. And..." Crackle. "The... with the red wire bundle, but not... without that."

  "Thomas, hold on, wait," I tried interrupting. "Just email me the list--"

  "...need another dish antenna," Thomas continued. "Because... winds were too... ripped it right off."

  Battery packs. Heavy-gauge red wire. Dish antenna. I made my way through the airport terminal, trying to keep the mental list.

  "Can you repeat that?" I said, seeing the flow of passengers turning toward the security exit.

  "...not too late," Thomas said, hardly audible at all now. "...confirm when... arriving at..."

  My phone beeped, the call being dropped.

  I exhaled with annoyance. Thomas hated email; even high on the top of a mountain with barely any signal, and with a list of things he needed, he insisted on speaking by phone.

  I took a deep breath and allowed myself to be funneled through the revolving door at security, and then out into the baggage claim area.

  For a brief moment I considered texting Thomas, insisting he email or text me the list so I knew I had it right, but that would just piss him off. I'd call him back as soon as I got to my car.

  And then my phone vibrated; Thomas calling me back. The rush of wind and sound of static attacked my ear as I picked up.

  "Thomas," I began, scanning the airport for the nearest exit. My car was in parking garage D, but all of the signs pointed to garages with numbers instead of letters. There was a mass of people to my left, jutting out into the walkway. Assholes crammed around the luggage chute of the baggage claim.

  "Just a second Thomas," I said. "Let me get to my car and I'll call you back. Alright?"

  CRACKLE. It was like a damn television set of static. "...Sam! Need... repeat back... equipment."

  An elderly man stepped backwards from the left, knocking me sideways with an elbow. I moved around him, bumping into someone else I couldn't see. God, I couldn't wait to get away from the crowds and up on the secluded mountain.

  "Thomas! I'm calling you back in five minutes!" I hung up, and shoved my phone in my pocket. Now, where were the garages with the letters? This was the same damn entrance I'd come--

  I froze, then patted my pocket. It was empty.

  It was gone.

  It.

  I patted myself down, hips and then butt, searching for the totem. It was just here. I'd just had it!

  Frantically, I unslung my bag and checked the outer pockets, which was stupid because I knew it wasn't in there, I'd kept it in my pocket since passing through Belize security. But I was almost delirious with panic, and had to do something.

  My heartbeat was racing. It made no sense; I'd only had the totem for a day, and it meant nothing to me, but I felt a deep dread as if I'd lost a priceless family heirloom.

  I stood back up. Had it fallen out of my pocket on the plane? No, I'd had it after that. Maybe it was in the terminal. Had it fallen out of my pocket while I was pulling my phone out? Shit, I'd have to go back through security. Maybe if I told the friendly-looking security guard at the revolving door, she'd offer to go look for--

  Something happened then that I couldn't explain. Something supernatural.

  One moment I was staring at the people streaming through the security door, and the next moment my eyes were pulled to the left as if someone were yanking on them with strings. My eyes passed over the crowd, men and women who did not concern me, and stopped on a figure across the room.

  She had dark red hair pulled back in a ponytail, with sharp black eyebrows and an oval face. A cardboard sign was in her hand. She stared back at me--no, that's not accurate. She'd already been staring at me before I noticed her. Watching me.

  And somehow, in a way I couldn't explain, I knew she had it.

  Her eyes widened, and then she turned away.

  "Hey..."

  I pushed through the crowd after her, following slowly. I was drawn to her as she zig-zagged down the concourse, parallel to the exterior windows. I could practically feel the totem on her person, pulsing with anger and passion. It made no sense but I knew it.

  It was like a spotlight hovered over her, pointing her out.

  The woman looked back one more time and saw me following.

  Then she started sprinting.

  4

  EZRA

  I was no stranger to getting caught.

  Phoenix was the worst. Four wallets and two clutch-purses stolen, a hell of a day's take, and I got greedy. Just one more pinch. One more and then I'd be done, I'd go home and count my winnings, and that would be that. But the seventh mark's wife caught me, and some Boy Scout bystander grabbed my arm, and before I could do anything security was patting me down. That had been a rough six months until my parole.

  And of course the Midway disaster. I'd been in Chicago a whopping eight minutes before getting made on my first attempt. It was almost a good thing it happened so quickly, before I had a coat full of evidence. Thank God I'd been able to convince the security guard it was all a misunderstanding.

  But I didn't want to get caught here. Not today. I had bigger plans for Denver.

  The mark I'd taken the figurine from followed silently. That was strange by itself: all he had to do was scream about a thief and security would descend on the area like a tornado. But it made sense the more I thought about it. Whatever this figurine was, it was probably stolen. Smuggled into the country. Of course the mark couldn't shout for security.

  Shit, who had I stolen this from? I wondered what kind of mafia presence Denver had.

  I walked speedily down the concourse, fast but not alarmingly so. Trying to play it cool and not attract any attention. I could probably lead the guy to some secluded place and just give it back. If I was right, he'd take it and go without turning me in. He didn't have a weapon, not if he'd just gotten off a plane, and I had the switch blade in my pocket in case anything got crazy. That was a scenario that I had control over.

  But good God, this sapp
hire.

  When I was nineteen, I'd helped my cousin rob a liquor store in St. Louis. He went inside while I manned the getaway vehicle, a beat up Ford Taurus with two busted headlights. But the liquor store must have had a side-business selling drugs or something, because instead of returning with a few hundred bucks my cousin came out with a bag full of hundreds, rubber-banded together in thick rolls. We later learned it was $45,000, after getting pulled over and arrested. More money than I'd ever had in my life, even though it was only in our possession for half an hour before we got caught. But I remembered the power I felt while it was in my hands. That bag opened a world of possibilities I'd never considered. It was intoxicating.

  The sapphire in my pocket felt like that, dialed up to 11.

  How much did someone need to retire? That was an applicable question with the sapphire in my pocket. If it was worth a quarter of a mil, or even half a mil, I'd be set for a long time. Long enough to figure out a better way to live my life. A way to go straight.

  I couldn't just give this shit back. It pulled at me, heavy in my pocket. A presence I couldn't ignore.

  I looked back again, and saw that the mark was gaining on me.

  Throwing aside all caution, I sprinted the rest of the way to the outer door.

  Frigid Colorado air buffeted me, tiny pinpricks on my cheeks and hands. I took in the surroundings at a glance: people lined the street waiting for their rides, and four lanes of traffic were crammed with cars trying to find a place to double-park as close to the exit. I'd walked farther than I thought while escaping the mark: my car was to the left, three garages over and two floors up. A good thief always had an eye on the getaway. Stupid me.

  Knowing he was just behind me, I jogged out into traffic.

  Car horns blared as I cut off a minivan, then bumped into the sedan in the next lane. The security guard who was watching the crosswalk blew on her whistle and stepped into the road, yelling something after me but then shifting her attention to the cars, arguing about right-of-way. And then I was in the first car garage, pushing open the glass door and disappearing inside.

  Not taking the time to glance back, I made a U-turn into the stairwell, taking it down instead of up. Once on the next floor down I kept a steady jog, moving parallel to the terminal back toward the garage where my car was parked. I darted down the fourth row of cars, strode another fifty feet, then ducked behind a giant truck.

  I crouched there between the vehicles, listening.

  Three seconds passed, then four, before I heard his footsteps reach this floor. There was no way he could have known where I'd gone. All I had to do was wait for him to search in one of the other directions, then slip away toward the garage with my car.

  But instead of stopping to choose a direction, his footsteps never slowed. They echoed through the garage as he steadily neared, growing closer, coming in this direction! I heard him turn down the row of cars I'd chosen, and then he appeared in the gap where I was, already turning toward me.

  "Wait!" he yelled, but I was already running back in the opposite direction.

  As I cut through the cars in a random direction, I shook my head. It didn't make any sense. He should have walked hesitantly, peering down each row before giving up. But he'd come right to me like he knew exactly where I was.

  Maybe I was dealing with a pro. If the sapphire was as valuable as I thought...

  I was sprinting then, away from the airport terminal and then left, heading north toward my own garage. I was small and fast, and quickly put some distance between me and the mark. He still never called out for security, or the police, or to announce that I was a thief. That was the only thing saving me right then.

  If I could get to my car, I could escape.

  The separate garages were connected by spiral ramps, which was quicker than running all the way to the front loading area and then back around. I sprinted into the closest ramp, running up to get to my car's level. The twist in the ramp gave me a glance at the dude, maybe ten seconds behind me. I needed to put more distance between--

  The screeching of tires was my only warning as a car came around the corner. I jumped and hit the hood, head cracking into the windshield, then rolled off the right. A woman inside the car screamed, but I was already scrambling to my feet and continuing up the ramp, ignoring the disoriented feeling and blurred vision lingering in my eyes.

  "Hey!" the driver yelled, opening his door and blocking my pursuer. "Dude you see her..."

  "Out of the way!" the mark yelled.

  I made it to the next level and left the ramp, not wanting to get hit again. I was in a full-out sprint now as I ran across the second garage. My head pounded, and as I touched my temple it came away with a smear of red.

  A wave of nausea came over me, and I almost stumbled and fell. I wasn't a blood person. To be more accurate: I hated blood. Even the tiny dot of red covering my fingerprint now was almost enough to make me pass out. If not for the adrenaline of the chase I probably would have.

  Don't think about it, Ezra. Just get to your car before this psycho can do worse to you.

  I reached the end of the second garage and turned left, taking the time to go all the way to the pedestrian walkway instead of possibly getting hit by another car. I took the stairs two at a time, reached my floor on the final garage, and retraced my steps from earlier today: six rows down, fourteen cars in. The rusted Volvo I'd borrowed from Terrance sat exactly where I'd left it. I shoved the key in the lock, fell inside, and started the engine.

  The sapphire felt hot inside my coat, pressed against my breast. It was probably my imagination going crazy. I needed to get safe.

  I backed out of the spot, and saw a blur to my left. The mark was sprinting directly at me, tattooed arms pumping wildly. I shifted into drive as he slammed into the side of the car, fingers fumbling for the door handle. I jerked my palm down on the manual lock just in time.

  He banged on the window. "Hey! Hey wait, please!"

  Tires squealed as I peeled away. The man followed for a few steps before falling to the ground, and then he was a quickly receding shape in my side mirror.

  I didn't sigh with relief until I'd circled the ramp to the ground floor, exited the airport, and was on the open freeway leading back to the city.

  *

  Even after making the 30-minute drive from the airport to Denver, the tension remained in my chest. The fear of holding something insanely valuable, that I would lose it if I weren't careful. It was paralyzing if I thought about it too long.

  And that wasn't even worrying about my own safety. That was an entirely different concern.

  Focus, Ezra. Don't be fucking stupid.

  Figurine aside, I had another wallet and an extra cell phone in my pocket--the latter of which was constantly vibrating. A good take for a quick trip to the airport. I owed Terrance ten percent of what I got, the fee for borrowing his Volvo, but even after that it would have been a good haul. I could get out of the slum Terrance called an apartment and rent a hotel for a few nights. A little bit of luxury would be well deserved.

  And some food. I was going to order everything on the McDonalds menu as soon as I got safe.

  Don't be stupid. I realized what I was forgetting: I pulled the stolen phone out of my pocket and then powered it down so they couldn't track it if they had one of those GPS "Find My Phone" apps.

  Traffic was a bitch, even though we had a few hours before the real rush hour. I exited the highway and took some back roads into the city, heading south through Aurora before turning west. I knew the roads like the back of my hand; I hadn't had much else to do before coming here aside from study Google Maps. Knowing where you were, and how to get around, was as important as anything else in my business.

  Business. I let my mind drift towards legitimacy. I'd skipped college, but I was still only 24. Young enough to start over. Once I'd sold the sapphire I'd have enough to go back to school, pay for tuition. That degree in Modern Art I'd always dreamed about. Four years of that
, then a job in a museum somewhere. Taking care of priceless objects rather than trying to steal them.

  Yeah. That sounded nice.

  But I wasn't even sure where to fence something as valuable as this. Bobby back in Chicago had some contacts, although I'd need to be careful with what I told him. Hey, I've got a half-million dollar gem to sell wasn't exactly the sort of thing you bragged to someone on the phone. Or in person. Or at all.

  Shit. I'd need to figure out what to do here. Maybe search out some fresh contacts of my own.

  I was changing lanes in front of a strip mall when I noticed the car following me.

  A black Mustang with a blue stripe down the side changed lanes with me, maybe seven cars back. I'd noticed him exit the interstate too, but now I was concerned.

  There was no way that tattooed dude at the airport could have followed me. Right?

  Alright, be cool Ezra. You've played this game before.

  I made a last-second turn at a stop light, tires squealing as I took it as fast as I dared. I sped up and watched my mirrors, waiting...

  Bam. The Mustang turned down the road to follow.

  Shit.

  I took a few seconds to orient myself in the city, and pulled the figurine out of my pocket for inspection. I didn't see any tracking devices on it, although I didn't know what to look for. Maybe it was on the inside. For a second I considered smashing the figurine to be certain--the sapphire was all that mattered--but something stopped me.

  Well duh. My mark slammed into the car as I exited the garage. If I were being followed with a tracking device, that was almost certainly when he'd stuck it onto my car. That thought would have been too paranoid for me an hour ago: tracking devices and Denver mafia.

  There was no time to get out and inspect the car now.

  It was time to play the game.

  I came to a four-way stop sign and speed through it, sliding sideways in a left turn and then flooring the accelerator. I could see the main road ahead in the distance, so I ran two more stop signs to get to it, going about 30 over the speed limit. There was a school on the right, which probably meant cops, so I slowed down enough to swerve down a side street, avoiding it by two blocks before returning to my original route.