Lifeguard - James Patterson [7]
Mickey handed out the envelopes.
Chapter 8
IT WAS MICKEY’S PLAN, down to the last detail. Only he knew it. And how it all fit together.
There was this fabulous house on South Ocean Boulevard. On Billionaire’s Row in Palm Beach. It even had a name. Casa Del Océano.
Ocean House.
And in it, 50 to 60 million dollars’ worth of world-class art. A Picasso. A Cézanne. A Jackson Pollock. Probably other valuable stuff, too. But Mickey was clear: only these three were to be taken.
There was a mastermind behind the job. Went by the name of Dr. Gachet. Mickey wouldn’t tell us who it was. The whipped cream and cherry on top was we didn’t even have to fence the stuff. Just a textbook B and E. Our cut was 10 percent in cash. Five million. The next day. Just like the old days, split five ways. I was risking everything on this. A clean record. The life I’d been leading, whatever that was.
“Bobby, Barney, and me, we’ll be the ones going in,” Mickey explained. “Dee’s outside on the walkie-talkie. Ned, I’ve saved the really cushy job for you.”
All I had to do was zip around Palm Beach and trigger the alarms in several expensive homes. All the owners would be at some posh charity ball at the Breakers. There were pictures of the houses and a sheet with the addresses. The local police force was small, and with alarms going off all over town, they’d be like the Keystone Kops going in fifteen different directions. Mickey knew how to get into the target house and disable the alarm. There might be a housekeeper or two to worry about, but that was it. The hardest part would be not dropping the paintings when we took them off the walls.
“You’re sure?” I flipped through the house photos and turned to Mickey. “You know I’ll go in with you.”
“You don’t have anything to prove,” he replied, shaking his head. “You’ve never been arrested since you were a kid. Besides, for the rest of us, what’s a little conviction for grand robbery and interstate traffic of stolen goods gonna matter? If you’re caught, whadda they get you for—petty vandalism?”
“If you’re caught, don’t even come back here.” Barney laughed, then downed a swig of beer. “We’ll hold back half your stake.”
“We all voted,” Dee said. “It’s not up for discussion. We want to keep you safe and sound. For your little Tess,” she giggled.
I looked at the addresses. El Bravo, Clarke, Wells Road. Some of the nicest streets in Palm Beach. The “core people” lived there—the Old Guard.
“We meet back here at half past nine,” Mickey said. “We should have the money in our accounts tomorrow. Any questions?”
Mickey looked around the table. The people I’d known all my life, my best friends. He tilted his beer. “This one’s it. After this, we’re done. Dee, you and Bobby can buy that restaurant you’re always talking about. Barney’s got a car dealership in Natick with his name on it. Neddie, you can go write the Great American Novel or buy a hockey team, whatever. I always told you I’d get you this one chance, and here it is. Five million. I’m happy we’re all here to share it. So . . . hands on the table. . . . This is what we’ve been working for since we were thirteen years old.” He looked from face to face. “Last chance to bow out now. Guys . . . Neddie, are we in?”
My stomach was churning. This was bigger than anything I’d ever done before. Truth was, I was actually happy living a regular life down there. But would something like this ever come my way again? Life had taken a few things from me up North. It seemed this was my way of grabbing back a piece.
“In,” said Bobby, Barney, Dee.
I took a breath. Five million. I knew I was crossing the line. But I wanted this. Like Tess said, maybe my luck was changing. I was starting to dream again, and a million dollars buys a lot of dreams.
I put my hand on top of the pile.
“In,” I said.
Chapter 9
IT DOESN’T RAIN in Palm Beach, it Perriers. Some asshole told me that line once, but there was an element of truth to it. This was definitely the place for the perfect score.
An hour