"Perhaps your wife or-"
"I live alone. Don't even have a cleaning lady. But I'm looking for one. You know of anybody? Because I-"
"Please go on."
"Oh, yeah. Well, it kept moving and I kept making excuses, blaming my memory. But Saturday... Saturday really got to me. You see, I'd planned to take it down to a locksmith that day, but when I was ready to leave, I couldn't find the case. I looked everywhere in that apartment. And finally, when the locksmith was closed and it was too late to do anything, I found the damn thing under my bed. Under my bed! Just as if someone had hidden it from me. In fact I know it was hidden from me, and I have a pretty good idea who did it."
"It was your Uncle Matt."
"I think so too."
"No. It was your uncle. He told me."
"You mean to tell me you knew about this all along? Why'd you let me go on so?"
"I needed to know if you were telling me the truth. Now I do. What you say agrees with what your uncle told me."
Yeah, right.
Foster said, "There were a bunch of scratches on the case lock. Looked like this jerk tried to pick it himself. Hit him with that."
Madame Pomerol cleared her throat. "But you left out a few things."
Jack wished he knew how to blush on cue. Probably wouldn't be noticed in this light anyway.
"Such as?"
"How you tried to open the case yourself and failed."
He covered his eyes. "Oh, man. Well, yeah. Tell Uncle Matt I'm sorry about that."
"Also, you believe the case holds valuable coins, and if so, they belong to your brother, yes?"
"Now wait just a minute, there. Uncle Matt left the coin collection to Bill and the house and its contents to me. This here case was part of the contents. So it's rightfully mine."
"Your uncle disagrees. He tells me they are silver coins of little monetary worth."
Jack could feel her eyes on him, looking for some sign that he already knew what the case held. He avoided a quick, negative reaction, but he didn't want to appear too accepting.
"Yeah?" he said, frowning as he hefted the case. "Seems kinda heavy for just silver."
The lady brushed past his doubt. "I know nothing of such things. All I know is that your uncle told me they were of great sentimental value to him. They are the very first coins he collected as a boy."
"No kidding?" Jack was getting an idea of where she might be heading with this.
"Yes, your uncle was hoping to take them along with him when he crossed over, but he could not manage it. That was why they remained in the house."
"Take them into the afterlife? Is that possible?"
She shook her head. "Sadly, no. No money in the afterlife. At least not permanently."
"Can't take it with you, eh? Well, I guess that settles it. I'll just have to give this to Bill."
"Don't let him get away!" Foster cried. "I'm telling you there's a small fortune in that case!"
Jack slapped his hands on the table, picked up the case, and made as if to stand. Wasn't she going to say anything? Was she going to let him walk out with all those rare gold coins? A mook like her? He couldn't believe it.
"One moment, Monsieur Butler. Your uncle wishes me to apport the case to the other side so that he can see them one last time."
"I thought you said that was impossible."
"I can do it, but only for a very short while, then they return."
"All right. Let's get to it."
"I am afraid that is impossible right now. It is a grueling procedure that takes many hours, and for which I must be alone."
"You mean I just give you this case and walk away? I don't think so. Not in this lifetime."
"You do not trust me?"
"Lady, I just met you two days ago."
"I have promised your uncle this favor. I cannot break a promise to the dead."
"Sorry."
Madame Pomerol closed her eyes and let her head fall forward. As they sat in silence on opposite sides of the table, Jack debated whether to ask for some security. He decided against it. Better to let her come up with the idea.
Finally Madame Pomerol raised her head and opened her eyes.
She released a heavy sigh. "This is most unusual. Embarrassing almost. But your uncle thinks-"
"Wait. You were just talking to him?" He didn't ask how she'd managed to do that without all the amplified moaning and groaning.
"Yes, and he says I should provide you with a show of good faith."
Even better! Let the idea come from Uncle Matt.
"I don't think I understand."
"As a show of good faith I will put one thousand dollars in an envelope for you to keep while I apport the case to the other side. When I return the case, you will return the envelope."
"A thousand dollars... I don't think that's enough. What if the case doesn't come back from the other side? Then I'm out everything." He tapped the case. "I'll bet the coins in here are worth a couple-three thousand."
"Twenty-five hundred then, but ask no more, for I do not have it."
Jack made a show of considering this, then nodded. "I guess that'll do."
She rose with an air of wounded pride. "I shall get it."
"I hope you're not mad or anything."
"Your uncle is annoyed with you. And so, I must say, am I."
"Hey, it's not like it's for me, you know. I just feel I've got to look out for my brother's interests. I mean, seeing as how the coins in this thing are his and all."
She walked off into the darkness without another word.
She's good, he thought. Just the right mix of arrogance and hurt. And smooth.
He heard a door shut, then the lady's voice started in his ear.
"Do you believe this shit?" she said. "A thousand ain't enough for that dickhead bastard! Twenty-five hundred fucking dollars! Have we got that much in cash?"
"Let's see," Foster said. "With the cash donations from this morning and his own five hundred, we just make it."
Damn, Jack thought. They were going to give him back his own queer. Oh, well, that had been a risk all along.
"All right, stick it in an envelope for me. I'll make up the dummy." Jack heard rustling paper, then, "I tell you, I'd love to shove this twenty-five hundred right up that geek's ass!"
Carl Foster laughed. "What difference does it make how much he wants? He's not going to walk away with a cent of it."
Madame added her own laugh. "You've got that right!"
That's what you think, my friends.
While apparently adjusting his position in the chair, Jack counted five bills off his pile of queer and shoved them back into his sleeve, leaving twenty-five in his lap.
"It's the principle, Carl. He should have trusted me for a thousand. It's the fucking principle!" More rustling paper, then, "All right. I'm set. Showtime."
With that, the overheads and chandelier came on, flooding the room with light.
What the hell?
Jack glanced down at the pile of bills in his lap. He'd been counting on the semi-darkness of the seance; now he'd have to do his work in full light. This complicated matters-big time.
He leaned forward to cover the bills as Madame Pomerol returned. She carried a white legal-size envelope and a small wooden box. With a great show of noblesse oblige, she tossed the envelope onto the table.
"Here is your good faith. Please count it."
"Hey, no, that's-"
"Please. I insist."
Shrugging, Jack took the envelope and opened it. He noticed it was the security kind with a crisscross pattern printed on the inner surface to keep anyone from scoping out the contents through the paper.
Now the hard part... made harder by all this damn light... had to play this just right... be cool and casual...
He removed the wad of bills from the envelope and lowered it beneath the level of the table top. As he pretended to count them he felt the muscles along the back of his neck and shoulders tighten. He knew the Fosters had a camera in the chandelier, but he couldn't remember if it was a simple, wide-angle stationary, or a remote-controlled directional. If Carl Foster spotted Jack's switch, he might do something rash. Like shoot him in the back.
Jack decided to risk it. He'd come too far to back down now. And his ear piece would give him a heads-up if Foster got wise.
Keeping close to the table, Jack switched Madame Pomerol's bills with the counterfeits waiting in his lap.
"It's all here," he said as he brought the stack of queer onto the tabletop and shoved it into the envelope.
He listened for comment from Foster, but the husband remained silent. Had he got away with it?
The lady picked up the envelope, took a quick look inside, then ran her tongue over the glued flap.
"Please check to make sure the lock on your case is secure," she said. "For I wish to return it to you in the exact condition that you gave it to me."
Jack bent over the case, pretending to examine the lock, but kept watch on the lady's hands. There! As soon as his head dipped, he saw her switch the cash envelope with another from her billowy sleeve.
One good switch deserves another. But I'm still one ahead.
"Yep," he said, looking up. "Still locked up tight."
"Now," she said as she opened her little wooden box, "I am going to seal the envelope."
She withdrew a purple candle from the box, followed by a book of matches and something that looked like a ring. She struck a match and lit the candle. She dribbled some of the wax onto the back of the envelope, then pressed the ring thing into it.
"There. I have affixed a spirit seal to the envelope. You are not to open it. Only if the case does not return from the other side may you open it. If you break the spirit seal before then, your uncle will punish you."
Jack swallowed hard. "Punish me? How?"
"Most likely he will make the money disappear. But he may do worse." She wagged a finger at him as she pushed the envelope across the table. "So do not open it before you return."
Very clever, Jack thought. She's covering all exits.
"Don't worry. I won't." He put the envelope in his lap, then quickly transferred that plus her twenty-five-hundred dollars to his side coat pocket. "Oh, hey, I got a little business trip tomorrow-overnight to Chicago-so I can't come back till Thursday. Will you have ap-whatevered it by then?"
"Apported. Yes, and I believe it will have returned by then."
You mean, he thought, that you believe you will have been able to replace the gold coins with junk silver by then.
He pushed the case toward her. "Then fire away. And good luck, Uncle Matt, wherever you are."
Jack rose, waved to Madame Pomerol, and headed for the door. "See you Thursday."
He felt laughter bubbling in his throat as he strode through the waiting room and hurried down the hall, but he suppressed it. He didn't want to arouse their suspicions. He took the stairs instead of waiting for the elevator because a load of shit was poised over a windtunnel fan and he wanted to be out of range when it dropped.
"Lock the front door," Madame Pomerol said through Jack's earpiece, "and let's take a look at those coins."
Jack had made it to the lobby when he heard Foster say, "Shit! Something's up with this lock!"
"What's wrong?"
"Like it's jammed."
Good diagnosis, Carl, Jack thought as he waved to the doorman and stepped out onto the street. He'd broken off a pin tip in the lock of the second case.
Instead of hurrying away, Jack loitered on the sidewalk outside. He wanted to hear this.
"Look at that," Foster said. "Wonder how that got in there. No matter, it's out now. Only take me a few seconds to... there. Now, feast your eyes on-oh, shit! Oh, no!"
"Let me-" Madame Pomerol cut herself off with a gasp. "What the fuck? You told me this was packed with gold coins! Are you fucking blind?"