Artie and the Long-Legged Woman (The Artie Crimes Book 1)

  Artie and the Long-Legged Woman

  By Jan Christensen

  Copyright 2011 by Jan Christensen

  Cover Copyright 2011 by Dara England and Untreed Reads Publishing

  The author is hereby established as the sole holder of the copyright. Either the publisher (Untreed Reads) or author may enforce copyrights to the fullest extent.

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  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to the living or dead is entirely coincidental.

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  ARTIE AND THE LONG-LEGGED WOMAN

  By Jan Christensen

  Artie watched with horror as first one beautiful leg emerged from the white limousine and then a second equally gorgeous leg followed. He held his athletic bag tightly in his gloved left hand, his right hand on the doorknob, ready to leave the jewelry store out the back exit into the alley. But there were the limo, and the legs, and here he was, holding the goods.

  Artie sighed. He closed the door quietly behind him and started to walk away. Maybe the woman belonging to the legs wouldn’t notice. Sure.

  “Artie?” a melodious voice called to him.

  He debated whether he should continue on; even took a couple of steps.

  “Artie.” The voice was firm this time, and closer.

  He turned and bumped into a woman who almost matched her legs. A woman he’d dreamed about all through high school. She was now in her late forties, good-looking enough, but not as spectacular as the legs.

  “Yes?” he said, feeling the sweat begin on his forehead, pretending he didn’t remember her.

  “You don’t know who I am?”

  “Sorry,” he muttered.

  “It’s been a long time. Let’s see. Maybe ten years. You were about twenty-two, and you and Henry were best friends.”

  “Uh, yes, Mrs. Henderson. How are you? How is Henry?” He’d never forget those legs. Since he’d been fourteen and became friends with Henry, he’d known they were spectacular. He paled when he realized the name of the jewelry store he’d just robbed was, yes, Henderson’s Fine Jewelry. Rats. Henry’s parents hadn’t owned a jewelry store back then. It had been a dress shop.

  “Henry is why I’m here.”

  “Huh?”

  “Come, let’s sit in the car where it’s comfortable.” She took his arm and led him over to the limo. They climbed in, and she continued. “Henry needs some help. I’m afraid he’s been a naughty boy. Would you like a drink?” She opened the door of a bar and Artie saw bottles of different drinks, mixers, an ice chest, and tongs and stirrers. What more did anyone need? He could use a whisky sour. But he thought he’d better not. No telling where all this was leading. He shook his head.

  “I’ll just have a small one.” Mrs. Henderson fixed herself a Manhattan, straight up. “As I was saying, Henry needs some help, and you’re just the one for it. He took something that didn’t belong to him, like you do. We need you to put it back.”

  “How…how do you know about me?” Artie asked.

  “Oh, you’re rather famous in jewelry circles. So many heists, as I believe you call them, and so few arrests? You’re very, very good. Of course, our secret cameras are state-of-the-art, and the moment I was alerted to someone being in the store, I checked the monitor and saw it was you. You haven’t changed much, you know.”

  Feeling a bit faint, Artie took out his handkerchief and wiped his sweaty brow. He was sure he’d blocked all the cameras, but he must have missed one. He tried to relax, leaning back in the cushiony seat. “Tell me about Henry.”

  Mrs. Henderson sighed. “Henry has acquired a taste for the finer things in life. This includes expensive cars, fine art, wine, two homes, and women.”

  “Women, plural?”

  “Well, one at a time. It’s the latest one who’s the problem.”

  Artie didn’t like the sound of that. “How so?”

  “Let me put it this way. He stole her from Warren Marino. Warren doesn’t quite realize she’s gone yet, but I’m sure he’ll figure it out soon enough.”

  Mrs. Henderson finished her Manhattan and set the glass down on the bar. “It’s a long story.”

  Artie imagined so. Anything to do with Henry took a lot of explaining.

  “Henry met MaryLynn about a year ago at a party given by Ronald and Estelle Carpenter. You know them?”

  Artie cleared his throat. “Only by reputation.” He didn’t think it necessary to mention he’d robbed their jewelry store about three years ago. Ancient history.

  “MaryLynn and Ronald came late and left early, but there was enough time for Henry to meet and charm MaryLynn.”

  Henry always had a way with the opposite sex.

  “He called her the next week, and they had lunch. You may be wondering how I know all this. I keep an eye on Henry. He’s proven over the years to be a bit of a problem.” Mrs. Henderson crossed her legs. Artie tried not to stare. “Anyway, they only had lunch. Went their separate ways afterwards. Seems they discussed art. MaryLynn runs a medium-sized gallery, and Henry convinced her he was interested in one of her artists.”

  Artie shifted in his seat. He didn’t understand why Mrs. Henderson was telling him all this. What could he do?

  “But that was just the beginning.” Mrs. Henderson grimaced. “They kept meeting, and Henry even met the artist—someone called Claud, no ‘e.’ One of those pretentious ones with one name and a funny way to spell that. From Texas, no less. I’ve met him a couple of times—insufferable young man. Anyway, Henry soon had MaryLynn falling in love with him, and he seems smitten himself.”

  Smitten? Artie shuddered. He remembered when Henry would fall for a girl when they were still in high school, and women later on. It was always quick, intense, and finally messy during the break-up, which usually followed in about six months.

  “Mrs. Henderson,” Artie said.

  “Yes?”

  “If history repeats itself, and it usually does, Henry should be ready to send MaryLynn back to her husband any day now.”

  She patted his hand. “I’m afraid this time is different. MaryLynn is different. MaryLynn is a class act. And you know how smooth Henry can be.”

  “Yeah,” Artie said.

  “So, I need your help.”

  “I don’t see what I can do, Mrs. Henderson,” Artie said, feeling desperate.

  She patted his hand again. “I’m sure you’ll think of something. You’re his oldest friend. I know you went your separate ways several years ago, but I think you can still influence him. Or maybe think of a way to influence her. You may keep what you took from the store as payment. We’ll simply file an insurance claim. Of course, I’ll keep the tape in a safe place.” She tapped on the window to get the chauffeur’s attention.

  Artie cringed. Not a good thing to have such evidence out there. He’d have to get it back. In the meantime, he’d pretend he wasn’t worried about it. “How is Mr. Henderson?”

  “Same as always, Artie. Same as always.”

  Artie knew she meant he was as ineffectual as ever. Even though she grumped about that, he had long ago realized
she preferred running things herself.

  Mrs. Henderson handed Artie a piece of paper as the chauffeur opened the door. “I’m sure you can find your way home,” she said. “And, Artie? I expect results within the week.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Artie said. He climbed out of the car, walked to the mouth of the alley and stood in the cool fall air waiting for the bus. In a couple of minutes, the limo crawled past him. The bus arrived, and Artie rode it to one stop beyond his apartment, then walked back, a habit he’d gotten into when he began his career so no one would be able to pinpoint where he lived. He debated with himself whether to tell Josie about the Hendersons.

  She was curled up in the big chair by the fireplace when he entered. After being with Mrs. Henderson, he looked at her with fresh eyes (which fell involuntarily to her cleavage). Maybe the legs weren’t quite as spectacular, but the rest of her was, and Artie had never for one moment regretted marrying her. The scent of the perfume she always wore and he could never remember the name of wafted across to him, and he inhaled deeply.

  He brought the bag over, and she raised her face for a kiss. As he sat down on the couch across from his wife, she straightened herself up and put the book down.

  “I can tell. You did good.” She grinned at him, her big brown eyes sparkling.

  “Yes and no,” Artie said, spreading the jewelry out on the coffee table.

  Josie gasped and picked up a diamond necklace. “This is beautiful,” she said as she fingered it reverently, then put it down. Artie knew for just a moment she wished she could own it, but then reality set in, and she pushed the thought aside. Once in awhile he’d weaken and offer her a piece she particularly admired, but she’d never accept it. She worried it would be recognized, and they’d both be caught. Plus they hardly ever went anywhere fancy enough for her to wear such a thing.

  “How can you say ‘yes and no’?” This stuff will keep us for six months, at least.”

  Artie cleared his throat. “There’s a bit more I have to do to keep it and to keep out of trouble.” He explained his conversation with Mrs. Henderson.

  When he finished, Josie frowned. “But what can you do?”

  “That I haven’t figured out yet.”

  Josie leaned back in her chair. “I think there are two different ways you can approach it. You can talk to Henry, or you can talk to the woman. Which do you think might work best?”

  “I’d guess Henry since we already know each other. A woman I’ve only just met will hardly listen to me, will she?”

  “Probably not,” Josie said. “Unless you can seduce her away from this Henry. No, you’ll have to find another way.”

  “I will, Josie. I promise.” His heart thumped heavily in his chest. He didn’t know what Josie would do if he went to prison. He hadn’t gone there since they’d met. She said she’d stand by him the couple of times they’d discussed it, but he knew she wished he’d stop this business. He’d tried, several times, but he always came back to it. He didn’t know what he’d do if he ever lost Josie. The thought of that was worse than the thought of prison.

  Artie took the paper Mrs. Henderson had handed him out of his pocket and studied it. She’d written down Henry’s address and phone number and the name and address of MaryLynn’s gallery.

  The next morning Artie stood in front of Henry’s apartment building, early for both of them. One of the things they had in common was their love of staying up until the early morning hours and sleeping late. But Artie didn’t want to miss him.

  Just before noon, Henry stepped out the door and said good morning to the doorman. As far as Artie could tell, he hadn’t changed since they’d last met. Still tall, lean, brown hair untouched with gray and as full as ever. Long strides took him to a café. He went inside, ordered a cappuccino from the barista, and sat down at one of the small round tables with hardly enough room for a cup of coffee and a biscotti.

  Artie slipped into the uncomfortable metal chair opposite Henry and said good morning.

  “Artie? Artie! How are you?” Henry grinned and held out his hand.

  They shook, and Artie said, “I thought it was you I saw walking down the street, but I couldn’t be sure, so I followed you in here. How have you been?”

  “Great. Just great!” Then the smile disappeared, and Artie knew his friend was thinking about what Artie did for a living. They hadn’t seen each other since they graduated from Rutgers, even though they both still lived in the city. Henry had been uncomfortable when Artie took up robbing jewelry and computer stores while in college so he could meet his tuition. “You still in the same business?” Henry asked.

  “Yes.”

  “What a waste.”

  Artie knew it slipped out, and he bit his tongue, remembering Mrs. Henderson. “What are you doing now, Henry?” he asked.

  “My parents bought a jewelry store. I help them out.”

  Artie almost said, What a waste, but instead did some more tongue biting. He didn’t want to antagonize Henry. Instead he said, lightly, “So we’re in almost the same business.”

  Henry laughed, and suddenly the tension was gone. Artie remembered why he’d always liked Henry so much. Being able to make someone laugh always made a person feel good.

  “You could say that. You married?” Artie nodded. “Four years. The love of my life. You?”

  “No. No, but I have hopes. High hopes.”

  “Really? Sounds serious. But you always got serious quickly, and then almost as quickly, lost interest.”

  “Not this time, boyo. We have so much in common. She’s gorgeous, funny, and smart.”

  Artie laughed softly. “They all were, Henry. They all were.”

  Henry looked nonplused for a moment, then grinned. “You haven’t changed. Ever the cynic.” He finished his coffee and stood up. “Come on, I’ll introduce you, and then you’ll understand.”

  Surprised, but happy, Artie followed Henry out of the café, and they walked toward Broadway, stopping a few blocks away at a gallery.

  “At least it’s not a jewelry store,” Artie remarked when Henry opened the door.

  Henry gave his booming laugh, which Artie hadn’t realized until now how much he missed, and motioned Artie inside. The gallery was long and narrow, walls filled with artwork. At first Artie felt there were too many paintings and other objects, but in a few minutes of looking around, he decided it was an exciting way to present the work. Instead of each artist having a separate area, MaryLynn had mixed it up—oil paintings next to wall sculpture next to water colors next to small stands with statues or pottery.

  A tall, willowy woman walked toward them on spectacular legs. As she came closer, Artie felt a flash of insight. She looked surprisingly like Mrs. Henderson. He wondered if Henry or Henry’s mother realized that fact. The only major difference was her long, blonde hair.

  Henry introduced them, and slender, ringed fingers slipped into Artie’s hand as they shook. “Old friend,” Henry murmured.

  MaryLynn looked at Artie curiously. Obviously, Henry had never mentioned this old friend.

  “Come, look around,” MaryLynn said. She pointed out some of the pieces she seemed most excited about, and then they came to a special area, set aside by two folding screens. A poster on an easel showed the picture of a young man with a long, thin nose and piercing blue eyes. Underneath, the man’s name, “Claud.” Then his signature.

  Artie stepped in front of the first painting. In the center was a face, mask-like because there was no hair, rather well done, Artie thought. Around the face were abstract objects, none of them meaning a thing to Artie. “Would you explain this a bit?” he asked MaryLynn.

  “Of course. The face is obvious, although the gender of the person not so. But if you understand the objects, you will see this is a woman—around her are makeup—” she pointed to a few lines and one circle, “chocolates—” lumpy brown objects, “stockings—” more lines vaguely in the shape of stockings, Artie observed, “and lips.” More obvious, and bright red.


  Unusual, Artie thought, but the objects were so trite. Odd the artist seemed to have some imagination, but didn’t follow through with something extraordinary about the objects surrounding the face.

  MaryLynn pointed out four more faces with mundane objects surrounding them. Claud had also done some animals with objects in each corner. A dog with bowl, leash, collar and toy; a bird with worm, nest, seeds and a bird feeder. Again, all obvious, Artie thought. But who was he to judge? He didn’t usually steal artwork because he felt it was both too bulky and too hard to put a value on.

  “Interesting,” he kept saying as MaryLynn showed him more and more of this Claud’s work. He learned that a table in the center of the area with a chair, a rug, a cabinet, and a punch bowl (punch bowl?) in the four corners was also a piece of Claud’s work.