FanStory.com - Unfinished Brushstrokes -Chap 6by Begin Again

Matthew straightened up in his chair. "Did you recognize the guy?"

"I can't say that I did. He was older than the kid and a classier dresser, for sure. He followed our suspect into the shop and brought him outside."

"Did the kid have time to pawn something?"

"I would say no. Neither of them was in there that long."

"So, what happened when they came outside?"

"They made an exchange. The older guy handed over a wad of cash, but I couldn't clearly see what the kid gave him in exchange."

"You got it on film, right?"

Martinez glanced at his Sony AX53 camera lying on the front seat. "Bertha never fails me, sir."

"Great job! You don't think this was just a guy loaning his friend some money, do you?"

"It was a quick exchange, but my instincts tell me it was something more than a casual loan."

"I'll take your instincts any day, Martinez. Are you still on him?"

"Yeah, we're stuck like glue. He's pumping gas now and talking with someone. Wish I could get closer, but it's not an option."

"Just stick with him. See if that money is burning a hole in his pocket. Odds are he'll be meeting up with someone soon."

"I'm on it, boss!" The line disconnected, and Donatelli leaned back in his chair again, pleased with Martinez's results.

*****

Dusk was settling around the city, but it was still too light for Trevor. Even in the alley between tall buildings, he felt exposed. He paced back and forth, kicking a garbage can. A stray cat hissed at him for interrupting his dinner, then scampered away.

About fifty feet down the alley, Martinez, dressed as a homeless man, lay against a few garbage cans, sipping from a bottle in a brown bag. He'd called Donatelli, and the backup was easing into place. He wasn't sure what was going down, but he was ready.

A man in black, hidden beneath the wooden stairs, spoke. "Is it a deal or not?"

"Come on, man," Trevor pleaded, his voice filled with desperation. His need for a fix was clouding his judgment. "I have the money, and I want something special this time. Like I told you on the phone, no more of that weak stuff."

The source, a scruffy man with a cigarette dangling from his lips, leaned against the brick wall, eyeing Trevor. "You don't get it. I'm not running a corner store where you get to pick and choose. If you want the good stuff, you gotta do something for me."

Trevor's hands were trembling out of need, not fear. His eyes narrowed, irritation bubbling beneath the surface. "I'm not your delivery boy."

The source shrugged. "Then no deal. Take it or leave it."

A tense silence hung between them. Trevor clenched his fists, considering his options, which were nil. He needed the stuff. He inhaled sharply. "Fine. Just this one time. What do you need me to do?"

A satisfied grin spread across the source's face. "You're a smart kid. I knew you'd come around."

Nervously, Trevor glanced up and down the alley. "Let's just get this over with, man."

"Calm down. The first time is always the hardest. You'll get used to it."

"I told you. This is the only time."

The source chuckled. "If I had a dollar for every time I've heard someone say that, I wouldn't have to be standing here in a dark alley with the likes of you."

A busboy opened the steakhouse's back door and tossed a garbage bag into the bin. Trevor jumped, knocking a garbage can over. His nerves were about to explode.

"Sorry, man. Didn't expect nobody to be out here." The boy gave Trevor a quick once over and returned to his job. The aroma of grilling steaks filled the alley.

Martinez whispered into his mic, "It's about to go down."

Crouched behind a dumpster, Michael Donatelli signaled his team to be ready. His voice crackled back to Martinez. "It's a go."

The source stepped forward and handed Trevor a small, unmarked package. "Deliver this to the address on the note. Don't open it," the source instructed. "Or it will be your last time — for anything."

Trevor took the package. A sense of urgency gnawed at his stomach. "This better be worth it."

The source handed Trevor another bag, smiling. "Enjoy! This one's on the house."

Martinez's heart pounded as he watched the two men make the exchange, his camera capturing every moment.

Trevor grabbed the bag and turned to walk away. A sudden flood of blinding lights illuminated the alley.

"Freeze! Put your hands in the air!" one officer shouted.

A gun fired!

Trevor saw the flash and heard the officer hit the ground behind him. Terrified, he watched the source scramble out of the darkness and rush up the stairs.

Another gunshot fired through the dimly lit alley, and then another, before the source tumbled down the stairs, landing near the steakhouse's back door.

Panic washed over Trevor as he dropped the package and raised his hands above his head. The officers moved in, handcuffing him and securing the package.

His shoulders slumped as he listened as the officer said, "You're under arrest for possession and intent to distribute."

Donatelli hurried up the alley, checking his downed officer and facing Trevor. "Remember me?"

Trevor's eyes widened as he stared back at Donatelli. "Yesterday, at my aunt's."

"That's right. You were throwing off vibes like crazy. But I never thought it was going to be this easy."

"It's not what you think," Trevor stammered. "I just wanted to score some stuff."

"Go ahead and stick to that story, son. You might need that million dollars if my officer dies."

"I didn't kill anyone. You can't pin that on me.

Michael grinned. "Watch me!"

*****

At the sound of gunshots, Garth pushed back his chair, yelling at a nearby busboy. "Get down. Stay away from the windows."

The boy rolled his eyes. "Calm down, mister. It's just another drug bust. Happens all the time."

Garth looked at Dylan. "I've got to check this out." Dylan followed behind as he raced through the kitchen, showing his badge.

With his gun in hand, Garth swung open the kitchen door, coming face to face with another police officer. Garth's eyes went to the dead body covered with a tablecloth as the team waited for the coroner. He showed the officer his badge and stepped over the body, directing Dylan to stay put.

The officer yelled to Donatelli, "Sir, this man is FBI!"

"FBI? What —" As Michael Donatelli turned away from Trevor, he saw the man walking toward him. His expression hardened.

"Donatelli," Garth greeted the detective. "Still chasing the small timers, I see."

Michael's jaw tightened. "Woodman. I would never have expected to see you at my crime scene. Don't you have enough of your own thieves to keep you busy?"

Garth smirked, tipping his cowboy hat. "A friend and I were enjoying one of your city's finest steaks when you rudely interrupted our meal with your fireworks show."

Michael's eyes flickered to Trevor, who was being led away in handcuffs. "Taking a drug pusher off the street is a big win any day in my book."

Garth nodded, chuckling as he turned away. "I'll let you bask in your moment of glory. My dinner's waiting."

Unable to let loose of the bit, Michael called out, "Garth, before you go — what brings a cowboy from Texas to this quiet town?"

Garth paused, turning to face Michael. "An art theft case."

Michael's gut tightened as if he'd taken a hit to the stomach. "Art theft?"

"Yeah, my friend flew in from England. Metropolitan police believe it's an international theft ring."

"In our town?" Donatelli's mind shot directly to Eleanor Bennett.

"Well, that remains to be seen, but someone brought one of your local artists to my attention."

"That wouldn't be CJ Grey, alias Eleanor Bennett, now, would it?"

"Why, yes, it is. Are you familiar with her?"

Michael shook his head in disbelief. "I'm investigating her murder."

"Murder? I just arrived in town today. Hadn't heard that she was murdered?"

"They haven't made it common knowledge yet. The kid's her nephew."

"Hmm — you think he's involved in his aunt's murder?"

"I met the family yesterday. It could be any of them. And then there's the art gallery's owners. Definitely something going on with them."

"Guess we'll be seeing more of each other than."

Michael glared at Garth, his blood boiling beneath the surface. He battled with himself to not ask the next question, but he lost. "Is Allie with you?"

When Allie was mentioned, a series of emotions flooded Garth's mind, but his skills at hiding those emotions took charge. He smiled. "No, she's not."

Garth stepped over the body without looking back and went inside. Michael clenched his fist and muttered, "She was important to me, too."

*****

"Let's get back to our dinner. I hear a good ole steak calling my name."

As they returned to their table, Garth glanced at the two men at the end of the bar. An alarm went off in his head. Something told him he knew one of them.

Dylan sensed a change but thought it was because of the detective. "You and the detective have history?"

"You might say that. We've crossed paths a time or two."

"Will it be tough working with him since our cases might be intertwined?"

"Nothing I can't handle."

"I don't mean to pry. It's just you seem distracted since we returned to our table."

"Sorry — it's a fault of mine. But it has nothing to do with Michael Donatelli." Garth nodded his head sideways toward the bar. "It's those two men sitting at the end. I've got this sixth sense, and right now, there's an alarm ringing in my head. I know one of those guys, but I can't figure out why."

Trying not to be obvious, Dylan looked around the restaurant and then let his eyes stop at the two men in question. He smiled at Garth. "The one guy is the gallery owner. You probably remember him from the picture I showed you." Dylan brought the picture up on his phone. "See?"

"Good catch, Dylan. The problem is, it's the other guy who's got my head buzzing. Sit tight. I'm going to go to the bar and order a drink. See if I can overhear anything."

"I could go."

"Nope! You need to gnaw on that steak. I'll be right back."

*****

Garth circled the bar and approached from the other side. The only available seat was next to a woman who instantly noticed him. She smiled and patted the seat beside her.

"Take a load off your feet, Cowboy." Her lips said one thing, but her body language said a lot more.

Garth tipped his hat, his lips curling into a charming smile. "Don't mind if I do, ma'am." He straddled the bar stool with his back to the two men.

As he sat, the woman leaned in closer. "What's a handsome guy like you doing in here alone?"

Garth signaled the bartender. "Just unwindin' after a long day. Give the lady another drink on me, and I'll take one of those longneck beers."

The bartender nodded, and Garth subtly adjusted his position to eavesdrop on the men and their conversation.

*****

"You look troubled, Jackson," the Judge remarked, swirling his scotch. "Is something bothering you?"

Jackson hesitated, his eyes darting around the bar. "It's about the gallery."

"We've been friends for years. You can tell me anything. I won't shout it all over town. What's going on?"

"You heard that CJ Grey donated $100,000 to the gallery, right?"

"Yes, I saw that in the newspaper. Must have been an enormous boost to the gallery." The Judge watched Jackson's reaction.

"To tell you the truth, our doors would probably be closed if it hadn't been for that influx of cash."

"Is it that bad? I wasn't aware."

"It's worse. One of her paintings is missing." Jackson glanced around. "I sent it out for restoration, but I tried to contact him when the guy didn't send it back. I drove over to the shop, and it was closed down. Now the painting is gone, and I don't know what to do."

The Judge's face remained impassive. "That's awful. Do you suspect foul play?"

"I don't know what to think. Why would someone say they would restore the picture, then shut up shop and disappear?"

"You've got receipts showing you sent it to him, right?"

"That's the thing. He sent a courier to pick it up. The courier said he lost the receipt but would bring another one back. Of course, that didn't happen." Jackson took a long swallow of his scotch. "I can't afford for this to come back on the gallery. If people find out the gallery lost a picture, they aren't going to bring their work to us. Worse yet, what if I get accused of stealing it?"

"Yeah, I heard something about an international art theft happening nationwide. You think they would come to a small town like ours?"

"We're not exactly small potatoes anymore. Art is a big thing in this city."

The Judge leaned back, swirling his drink thoughtfully. "You do what you think is right, but personally, I don't think you should involve the police just yet. I think Donatelli would be all over you."

"I met him yesterday at Eleanor Bennett's house. They were having the reading of the will."

"And Donatelli was there?" Now, the Judge was curious.

Jackson looked around and leaned closer. "It's hush-hush, but you being a judge and all, I suppose you might already know, but he said an autopsy on her body showed she was murdered."

"They did an autopsy? That's odd. But you say she was murdered?"

"I guess she requested it in the will. Donatelli said he was going to be questioning all of us. You think he's trying to pin it on one of us?"

"He might have been fishing. Seeing how people would react." The Judge finished his drink. "I've got to go, but I wouldn't tell anyone else what you told me tonight." He stood, tossed some bills on the bar, and in a low voice said, "Let me make some discreet inquiries. I have connections that might help."

Jackson nodded gratefully, oblivious to the Judge's true intentions. "Thank you. I appreciate any help you can offer."

"Remember, this is just between you and me."

The judge left, and Jackson ordered a double.

*****

Meanwhile, Garth had kept the woman engaged. "So, what brings you here tonight?" he asked, his tone warm.

She smiled, her eyes twinkling. "Just looking for good company."

"Glad to hear it," Garth replied, his smile never faltering. He knew he had heard enough. He finished his beer and stood, giving the woman a charming smile. "It's been a pleasure, ma'am, but I have to go."

She pouted but nodded. "I hope to see you again."

"You never know," he said with a wink, then made his way around the bar, his mind racing with the new information. He had a lead to follow and not a moment to waste.

His next thought was — I bet my steak is cold!