Artie and the Green-Eyed Woman (The Artie Crimes Book 3) Read online

  Artie and the Green-Eyed Woman

  By Jan Christensen

  Copyright 2012 by Jan Christensen

  Cover Copyright 2012 by Ginny Glass 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.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold, reproduced or transmitted by any means in any form or given away to other people without specific permission from the author and/or publisher. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

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

  Also by Jan Christensen and Untreed Reads Publishing

  Artie and the Long-Legged Woman

  Artie and the Red-Headed Woman

  http://www.untreedreads.com

  Artie and the Green-Eyed Woman

  By Jan Christensen

  Artie Applegate stepped into the dark alley and closed the jewelry store door behind him, his hands still gloved. As he turned to sneak away, he bumped into a soft something. For a moment he just stared at the woman in front of him. She stood at least an inch above his six feet. A swift up and down glance confirmed that her body could grace any James Bond film. But the most striking thing about her were her eyes. Green as emeralds. Cool as ice. Absolute gems.

  Artie’s burglar heart thumped in his chest. She couldn’t be a cop, could she? He almost lost his grip on his athletic bag, full of recently acquired fine jewelry and expensive watches.

  The impression of cop intensified as he watched her draw a gun from beneath her short, black leather jacket and calmly point it at his chest. Said chest seemed to shrivel, and a slight moan escaped Artie’s frozen lips. His grip on the bag loosened. It bounced nosily on the pavement.

  “Do not worry,” she said in a throaty voice. “I will not shoot as long as you do as I say.”

  “Uh huh,” Artie managed. He couldn’t take his eyes away from hers.

  “Pick up your bag. See that door over there?” She pointed with her other hand to a blue door across the alley. “I need you to open it.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me. Let’s go.”

  Artie picked up his bag in a daze and started walking toward the other door. He could sense her behind him. And the gun.

  Artie didn’t like guns. He never carried one. They tended to go off at inconvenient times, as often killing or maiming the person who owned one as it did anyone else. Guns were trouble, with a capital T.

  A trickle of sweat made its way down his back as they arrived at the blue door. Someone had obviously attempted to pick the lock—it was badly scratched. The green-eyed woman? He doubted it. She looked too confident to ever fail at anything she attempted.

  “Get it open,” the woman demanded, “and be quick.” He glanced at her over his shoulder and saw the gun, steady in her hand, pointed at his back. He set his bag down and unzipped it. His hand automatically found the black case with his tools inside.

  He studied the lock a moment, chose a tool, and worked it carefully inside. The lock was one of the newest on the market and considered by the trade to be the hardest of all to pick.

  “Hurry,” the woman said. She sounded a bit short of breath.

  “I’m going as fast as I can,” Artie said, wondering if he should be fast and get the hell out, or slow, trying to thwart her.

  He decided on fast. He leaned near the lock, listening closely. His latex-gloved hand was steady as he slowly turned the door handle. He heard a click, removed the pick, and chose another one from his kit.

  Glad the woman knew enough to be quiet, he tried the second pick and finally heard another click. It took a third pick to finish the job. He straightened up and turned the handle. The door opened silently. Artie held his breath as he looked inside.

  “Out of the way,” the woman said. The gun pressed into his back.

  But not before he got a good look. The place was as big as a ballroom and crammed with electronic goods. He saw no one in the room and stepped aside as the gun pressed even more firmly into him.

  “You can go now,” the woman said. “And forget you ever saw me or anything else.”

  “But…” Artie began.

  “You don’t want to know.”

  Ah, she was probably right. Artie moved away from the doorway and put his tools inside the kit, the kit inside his bag. He peeled off his gloves, threw them inside and took out a patterned shirt to slip over his black T. He zipped up his bag and turned to leave.

  A sound like a hammer hitting a melon made him turn back. The green-eyed woman had a shocked look, and Artie saw a man behind her, gun raised with butt poised to hit the woman again.

  But she turned so swiftly that Artie almost missed it. And shot the man in his left eye. A look of amazement came over his face, and then he crumpled to the ground.

  Artie and the woman stared at each other a moment. Then she pointed the gun at him again, and he felt his guts clench. How he hated guns.

  “I am afraid I need more help,” she said.

  He nodded.

  “Grab him and put him into the building.” She began rubbing her right shoulder, and he realized that was where the man had hit her. He’d probably aimed for her head, but she was too tall for him. Even rubbing, the gun in her right hand remained steady on him.

  Artie set his bag down, and with great distaste, grabbed the man under the arms and pulled him into the room.

  “Put him over there.” She gestured with her left arm towards a corner of the room.

  Right, Artie thought. Even though the guy was pretty short, he was stocky and a dead weight. Artie grimaced at his own macabre pun.

  Grunting softly, he managed to maneuver the guy over to the corner. Artie noticed he hadn’t bled much.

  Now what? He realized the woman might kill him as easily as she had this other man. Might find it necessary, after what he’d seen.

  She stood looking at him, the gun still unwavering in her hand, her emerald eyes calculating.

  “What is your name?” she asked.

  “Artie. What’s yours?”

  She shook her head. “You do not want to know.

  Maybe not. “Can I leave now?”

  “I am thinking. Let’s see. You burglarized the jewelry shop across the way. If you report what you have seen here, that little fact will have to be mentioned to the police. You understand this, correct?”

  “Correct.” He tried to smile, but it didn’t work.

  “Stop grimacing at me and get out of here before I shoot you,” she said.

  He almost laughed from relief, but instead walked quickly to the door. He found his bag where he’d dropped it, grabbed it, and loped out of the alley, slowing down when he reached the street. Don’t run, he told himself. Don’t run. Don’t draw attention to yourself. You know how to do this. He found the bus stop and waited, glancing at his watch. Should be here in five minutes or less. Come on. Come on. Usually he timed his work so that the bus came within minutes of his arrival at a stop.

  The bus lumbered up, stopped, and Artie climbed on board. Two blocks from home, he got off and walked as fast as he could without breaking into a run. Once safely inside his apartment, he placed the b
ag next to his favorite chair, sat down, and put his head in his hands. It seemed the best place for his head to be.

  A few minutes later, his wife came out and touched his shoulder.

  “Bad night?” Josie asked.

  “Uh huh,” he said without looking up.

  “Want to talk about it?”

  He heard her go to the opposite chair and sit down.

  “You wouldn’t believe me.”

  “Sure I would. Tell me.”

  He told her about his evening.

  When he finished, she said, “Well, it’s over. You can relax now. Hot shower, and to bed.”

  He headed to the bathroom, reassuring himself that he would never see the green-eyed woman again.

  * * *

  Two days later he left the apartment house to scout out a jewelry store not far from the place he’d hit last. As he walked through the large plate-glass front door, the green-eyed woman stepped away from the fake gothic pillar holding up the overhang.

  “Hello, Artie,” she said.

  His gut twisted. “What do you want?” he asked, walking briskly down the street, away from where he had planned to reconnoiter.

  “I require your help again. I will pay you this time.”

  “You don’t have enough money, lady.”

  “Oh, I am positive I do.”

  She didn’t say any more, and Artie continued walking fast. But with her long legs, she kept up easily. Artie turned a corner abruptly. Her stride didn’t slacken.

  He noticed that today she wore a green coat that matched her eyes. Brown leather bag, brown leather boots with two-inch heels. No hat, so her dark brown hair bounced as she walked.

  She was smoother than he, he admitted to himself. “How much?”

  “Fifty thousand.”

  “What? You want me to kill someone?”

  “No. I can do that myself.”

  He stopped abruptly and grabbed her arm, pulling her into a doorway so they wouldn’t be trampled.

  “Who are you?”

  “You do not want to know, Artie.”

  He sighed. Guess not, he thought. “Okay, tell me what I would have to do for fifty thou.”

  “You have to agree to do it, first.”

  “No way,” he said and started walking again.

  “If I told you it was in your country’s interest, would that help?”

  He glanced at her. She seemed perfectly serious. “Don’t try to con me,” he said.

  “I would not. We seem to have run into a personnel problem. We need someone, and we know you are one of the best.”

  Okay, he admitted to himself, he was flattered. And fifty large was a lot. No haggling with his fence, either. Just cold, hard cash.

  “What’s so difficult to get into that one of yours can’t do it?”

  “Our best is, unfortunately, dead. I killed him the other night.”

  “Oh.”

  “Right. I surmise that he botched the lock on purpose.”

  “Oh.” Then maybe Artie himself would have died that night if the green-eyed woman hadn’t killed the other man.

  He stopped in another doorway. He needed to think, but she was a huge distraction. Her perfume was obviously expensive. Her eyes—he could hardly draw his gaze away. Then he remembered her gun. This whole adventure could get him killed.

  “No,” he said and left the doorway.

  She grabbed his arm. “Artie, please. This is really important. It is a small foreign consulate, okay? It should not be difficult or take too long. As soon as the locks are open, you can leave.”

  “Doors?”

  She cleared her throat. “Only three.”

  “Three.” He began to walk faster, trying to get away from her. But again, she kept pace. “Three!” he almost shouted. He entered a coffee shop and sat down at the nearest table. The green-eyed woman followed him inside, and they stared at each other until a waitress approached to take their orders.

  After she left, Artie said, “No. You understand the word, right? I’m not gonna do it. Find some other sucker.”

  “Artie, please.” She rested her hand on his. He wanted to snatch his away, but remained still. Two beautiful teardrops formed, one in each of her eyes. They balanced on her lower lids a moment before trailing down her high cheekbones and landing on their hands. “At least think about it. We have five days until we go in.”

  He took his hand away from hers and put his napkin in his lap, rearranged the salt, pepper and napkin holder, and aligned his placemat precisely along the edge of the table. “Give me all the details, except the name of the country, and I’ll think about it.”

  The waitress brought their coffees, and when she turned away, the green-eyed woman said, “Okay.”

  Artie noticed there were no more tears. She stirred her coffee briskly and took a sip, nodded and set it down.

  “First,” he said, “what’s your name?”

  She hesitated. “Maureen. Maureen O’Grady.”

  Yeah, sure, he thought, and I’m Robert Redford. But it would do. Not fair. She probably knew more about him than his wife did, but what did it really matter? At least he could stop thinking of her as “the green-eyed woman.”

  “Here is what we need you to do,” Maureen began.

  “Again the ‘we,’” Artie said. “How many is that, and will they all be with us?” He pictured them behind him as he worked on the locks, falling all over each other to get inside. A reverse Keystone Kops.

  “No, no, it will be just you and me, and one other man. There is a back fence, and we will cut an opening in it. No one will be working at that hour, and you will have time to work the locks. When you are done, you will be paid and can then leave on foot. Not two blocks away is a bus stop.” She smiled for the first time. “We know that is your favorite mode of transportation.”

  “True,” he said. “Now, why do you want to get into this particular consulate?”

  She took a sip of coffee, her emerald eyes appraising him over the cup’s rim. She set it down with a small clink. “We believe this small country is harboring terrorists. We also believe they are financing terrorism, and we hope to get the proof of both things when we are inside.”

  Artie nodded. “The room with the goods? What was that about?”

  Maureen shrugged, then rubbed her shoulder absently. “Another case entirely.”

  Warning bells rang, and Artie looked away. Two cases at once? He doubted it.

  “That case is now finished,” Maureen hastened to add. “We are now working on this new one.”

  “And have it ready to go so quickly.”

  “Others have been working on it up until now. Now it needs you, me, and Maurice.”

  “I see.” He watched the waitress fill coffee cups at a table across the room.

  “Why the hurry? Why not wait for someone at your agency to be trained in what I do?”

  “Time is of the essence. These people are very dangerous. We must stop them quickly.”

  Artie turned that over in his mind as the waitress refilled their cups and asked if they needed anything else. They each shook their heads, and she left. Maureen watched him, and he could almost feel her holding her breath.

  Artie finished his coffee, threw some bills on the table and stood up. “I’ll let you know tomorrow. Need to sleep on it.”

  Maureen stood slowly and arranged her handbag strap on her shoulder, wincing slightly. “All right,” she said. “I will see you tomorrow. Four o’clock, outside your building.”

  She preceded him out the café door. Then she turned left, and he went right, but he stopped after a few steps and looked back. Her hips in the green coat swung enticingly. He shouldn’t have looked.

  He walked home without doing the recon on his next potential hit. Josie was cleaning the oven when he arrived, but after peeling off her rubber gloves, she sat down with him at the kitchen table.

  “What happened?” she asked. She could read him like a book.

  “Remember the w
oman from the other night? The one with green eyes?”

  “Uh huh.”

  “She met me downstairs. Wants me to help her with a job.”

  “Uh huh.” Josie’s eyes narrowed.

  “Fifty thousand dollars, Josie.”

  Her beautiful brown eyes widened, then narrowed again.

  “She wants your soul?”

  He tried a smile at her, but she didn’t smile back. “No. Just a B&E.”

  “Really? There’s got to be more to it than that. And you know you don’t work with anyone else. You tried that, and it was a disaster.”

  “This wouldn’t be permanent. A one-time thing. They’re training someone else, but need to do this quickly.”

  Josie sighed. “Okay, Artie, tell me the whole story.”

  He did, and when he finished, Josie stared off into space. “You believe this woman that she’s with our government?”

  “No. I don’t believe a word she says.”

  Josie smiled for the first time. “Fifty thousand dollars is a lot of money. You could stop working for awhile. Maybe learn a new trade.”

  She was frequently on him to give up the only thing he was good at. She was so afraid he’d be arrested once more. If he was, he’d spend a long time in prison.

  “How difficult do you think this would be?” Josie asked, her big brown eyes searching his face.

  “Very difficult.” He didn’t mention that people would be carrying guns, both the people he would be working with, and he assumed, the people on the other side of those three entrances. Maybe he should tell her about them, but then if he decided to do it, she would worry even more.

  “Artie, what do you want to do?”

  “I don’t know.” Artie put his head in his hands and sat, thinking. When he looked up awhile later, Josie was back cleaning the oven.

  “Fifty thou, we could hire someone to come in once a week and clean,” he said to her back.

  She turned to face him, and he could see the love in her eyes. “And then what would I do all day?” she asked.

  “I have a few ideas,” he said and stood up. He went and held her. She kept her arms out straight because of the mess on her gloved hands. Giggling, she stepped away from him and went to wash up. Then somehow, they ended up in the bedroom. Which seemed a very nice place to be.