https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01M6XGMN0

The Theory of Everything

(A Lee Gavin Crime Novel?)

By

Al Lamanda

Copyright by Al Lamanda

The Lee Gavin Crime Novels

Brother Can You Spare A Dime?

The Cat’s In The Cradle.

Dodos

Chapter One

Lee Gavin was many things.

To his teachers at the Catholic school he attended as a child he was a loser who would never amount to anything. The nuns would often tell him “Leslie Gavin, you will never amount to a hill of beans.” To his high school football coach he was the next Jim Brown as Gavin was a large, powerful kid and real good at knocking people down (something he still excelled at today.). To the Social Security Department he was a blank page as Gavin never held a steady (or any other kind) job long enough to pay taxes or FICA (whatever that was?)

To the Department of Corrections he was a two-time loser having been sent up both times on a receiving stolen property charge (okay, the second time wasn’t really his fault but it still counted.)

To his loving and devoted wife, her name was Patience (yes, really) he was a big slob of a guy she fell in love with at the age of twelve when, as the paper boy for her family, he swiped the silverware from the kitchen when her mother went to get money to pay him.

To his infant son Junior, Gavin was just a big goofy face that stuck his nose into the crib every now and again, fed him bottles and changed his diapers.

First and foremost, what Lee Gavin was could be summed up by simply labeling him as a professional thief, something he great pride in as not many could excel at the trade.

At the moment what he was, wasn’t any of those things, mostly because he was too busy brooding. Brooding over the fact that the last job he pulled was six months ago and he would be stuck in the apartment again while Patience went off to work and enjoyed herself and he watched reruns of The Golden Girls. (Okay, so he had a thing for Bea Arthur, so what?)

“Lee, where are you?” Patience called from the bedroom.

“Living room,” Lee said. “Where else?”

“Come in here, please,” Patience said.

Gavin stood and lumbered into the bedroom. Patience, dressed in her nurse’s attire stood over the crib.

“I just fed and changed Junior,” she said. “He’ll probably be hungry in two hours or so. The bottles are in the refrigerator. Clean diapers are in the diaper bag along with the wipes.”

“I know all this,” Gavin said.

“I’m off a midnight, so I’ll be home by twelve-fifteen,” Patience said.

“I know that, too.”

“Kiss,” Patience said.

Gavin kissed her softly.

“Behave yourself,” Patience said, turned and walked away.

Or attempted to.

Gavin grabbed Patience by the back of her shirt.

“Hey, what …?” she said.

“Let me see your bag,” Gavin said.

“My bag?”

“Your bag. Let me see it.”

“You don’t trust me?”

“No.”

“I’m your wife of almost fourteen years.”

“Bag.”

Patience slid her bag off her shoulder and opened it. Gavin rummaged through it, and then patted down her pockets.

“For God’s sake, Lee, I don’t have any cigarettes,” Patience said.

“Roll up your pants legs,” Gavin said.

“My …” Patience said.

Gavin knelt and checked her socks for cigarettes.

“Satisfied?” Patience asked.

“No, but go on,” Gavin said.

*****

As Patience rode down on the elevator, she felt as if any moment she would have a breakdown her nicotine fit was so bad. Ten hours without a smoke, she was ready to rob a nun for one puff on a Marlboro lights.

She quit (sort of) when she became pregnant with Junior. Lee made sure of that by removing all cigarettes from the apartment, including her secret hiding places and also the car.

Patience was a tall (five-foot-nine or six-foot-one, it was difficult to tell because she slouched so much) brunette, considered pretty if a tad thin. Smoking helped keep her thin and she saw first-hand what happened to people who quit. They tended to blimp up and ate a lot of candy and chewed a lot of gum, they reminded her of blimpy, gum chewing cows with eye twitches.

She stopped at the mailbox in the lobby and used her key to open the door. She ignored the mail and reached behind the stack of bills for the pack of cigarettes she kept hidden in there, the one place Lee would never look. Lee considered mail boxes as unlucky as they always seemed to have bills demanding money for something or another.

Patience waited until she was on the next block to light up and happily puffed her way to the hospital where she would begin her shift as a nurse in the ICU ward.

*****

Ian Nelson, Patience’s brother, strolled along West End Avenue as if he hadn’t a care in the world.

Which, at the moment he hadn’t.

When particularly happy, Ian whistled. Over the years he became a very good whistler. At the moment he was whistling ‘Whistle while you work,’ a very upbeat little tune indeed and quite ironic as Ian had never had an honest job in his life. He spent four years in high school without ever attending a class and made money hand over fist by selling stolen test answers and pre-prepared homework. He graduated with honors by fixing his grades and even though not one teacher recognized him, he proudly accepted his diploma on graduation day.

As he whistled and walked, he carried a brown paper shopping bag that contained various booties and bibs and such for Junior, knitted by Ian’s wife Maggie-Jo. For most of her life Maggie-Jo was called Muffie-Jo, but she recently decided that Muffie-Jo sounded too much like a striper (even though the whole Muffie-Jo thing was her idea because she hated her real name of Margaret-Josephine) and made the change.

Ian considered himself dashingly handsome, as did most of the rest of the world. Slender of frame with bright blue eyes and chiseled features, Ian was a dashing figure indeed and never missed an opportunity to check himself out in a window or mirror, even if in passing.

Today he passed his sister Patience as they walked on opposite sides of West End Avenue, she to work, he to her apartment. He didn’t notice her as he constantly glanced at his reflection in apartment building glass doors, she hid her face so as not to be seen puffing away on a Marlboro Light.

Ian considered himself to be ‘An Idea Man’ but in reality he was a petty thief, con man, small-time fence, safe-cracker and pick pocket. He wasn’t above skimming money out of a Santa’s donation pot at Christmas or money from a Girl Scout’s shoebox stuffed with cookie cash.

He reached Lee and Patience’s building and used his key (copied without permission) to open the lobby door. Still whistling, he rode the elevator to the sixth floor and then used his other (stolen/copied key) to let himself into Lee and Patience’s apartment.

Gavin wasn’t in the living room. “Hey, Lee, where are you?” Ian called as he tossed the shopping bag on the sofa.

“Bedroom. Be right out,” Gavin called back.

Ian went to the kitchen and helped himself to the thick pastrami on rye sandwich Gavin had prepared for his lunch and a cold bottle of beer and carried them to the living room where he sat in Gavin’s favorite chair in front of the television.

A rerun of the Golden Girls was on the television and Ian used the remote to find the cartoon network.

Gavin emerged from the bedroom with Junior in his arms and immediately felt the band of thorns around his skull that he always felt when around Ian. Gavin sat on the sofa, which he hated and gently placed Junior on the cushion beside him.

“How’s that sandwich?” Gavin asked.

“Delicious,” Ian said.

“And the beer?”

“Likewise delicious,” Ian said as he took an enormous bite of the sandwich.

“Glad you’re enjoying them,” Gavin said.

“Oh, hey, did you want some?” Ian said.

“Not anymore,” Gavin said. “How’s the chair?”

“Comfortable as always.”

“Good.”

“Muffie … I mean Maggie-Jo made some more baby stuff,” Ian said. “It’s in that bag there next to Junior.”

“I’ll put it with the others,” Gavin said.

The problem with Muffie … Maggie-Jo’s knitting was that she was a terrible knitter. One bootie would fit a six-year-old while the other would be too small for a Barbie Doll. Sometimes she would forget to stitch the bootie closed and it was more of a tube than a bootie.

“Hey, she tries,” Ian said.

“Sure,” Gavin said.

“So listen, why I’m here … hold on, let me get rid of this empty plate,” Ian said.

Ian went to the kitchen and moments later returned with a plate of cold fried chicken and another, the last other, cold beer.

“So what I was …” he said as he bit into a leg.

“Is that good?” Gavin said as the thorns in his skull dug deeper.

“Delicious,” Ian said. “My sister is such a good cook.”

“Glad you’re enjoying it. What do you want, Ian?” Gavin said.

“I got us a score,” Ian said.

“No,” Gavin said.

“Sweet, easy and with a big payoff.”

“No,” Gavin said.

“Very low risk for a very high return.”

“No.”

“We need to be at the Pub in one hour to meet the client.”

“No, no and still and forever no,” Gavin said.

“And the kicker is what the client wants stolen isn’t even valuable,” Ian said.

“For the last time … what’s that mean, not even valuable?” Gavin said.

Ian swilled beer and smacked his lips in satisfaction. “Just what I said, not even valuable,” he said.

“How can … hold on, junior just pooped,” Gavin said.

Gavin stood and gently lifted Junior.

“Give me a hand,” he said.

“With what?” Ian asked.

“Changing Junior.”

“Oh, hey, see, the thing is I can’t,” Ian said.

“Why not?”

“I’m … allergic to babies.”

“You were once a baby, were you allergic to yourself?”

“What? No, see, I’m …”

“Give me a hand or I won’t listen to your score,” Gavin said.

“That’s blackmail.”

“No, it’s baby poop.”

Gavin carried Junior to the bedroom and set him on the changing table. Ian followed from a safe distance.

“Okay, come here,” Gavin said.

“What?” Ian said.

Gavin opened the diaper and Ian jumped back a foot.

“Oh … My … God,” Ian said.

Folding the diaper, Gavin said, “What?”

“It’s green,” Ian said. “His poop is green.”

“So?”

“Why is it green? Is the kid from Mars or something?”

“Just take the diaper to the kitchen trash.”

“No.”

“Ian.”

“You can’t make me.”

“I can make you,” Gavin said. “Now take the diaper while I wipe Junior.”

Ian grabbed one of Muffie … Maggie-Jo’s shopping bags from the corner and dumped the lopsided booties.

“Put it in here,” he said.

Gavin placed the diaper into the bag and Ian held it at arm’s length as he gagged his way to the kitchen. After he tossed the bag into the trash, he returned to the living room and continued eating fried chicken.

After a few minutes, Gavin and Junior appeared.

“You didn’t come back,” Gavin said.

“You didn’t ask me to come back,” Ian said.

“How’s that chicken?” Gavin asked.

“After seeing the green baby poop, my appetite is shot,” Ian said as he bit into a large chicken breast.

“Sorry about that,” Gavin said.

“Hey, it’s not your fault the kid poops green.”

“I was being sarcast …”

“So let’s go,” Ian said.

“Where?”

“The pub to meet the client.”

“I said I would listen. I didn’t say I was going anywhere.”

“For Christ sake, Lee,” Ian said. “You’ve been sitting around here for months up to your eyeballs in green poop and diapers and here I bring you this nice score and you won’t even go to the Pub to listen to the client.”

“You tell me,” Gavin said.

“It won’t be the same.”

“Sure it will.”

“Fine. Forget it. If you don’t mind sponging off your wife, my beloved sister, who am I to mind,” Ian said. “Sponge away, sponger.”

“I don’t sponge,” Gavin said.

“Yeah? When was the last time you put bacon in the basket?”

“What?”

“You know, brought home the eggs.”

“I think you got that …”

“Six months ago, that’s when. A lousy eighty grand and I’ll bet most of it is gone by now,” Ian said.

The band of thorns around Gavin’s skull was so tight now he thought at any moment he was going to have a stroke.

The only cure was to surrender.

“I’ll have to bring Junior,” Gavin said.

“Just make sure he doesn’t poop on the client,” Ian said.

Chapter Two

Gavin held Junior if a front harness and carried the diaper bag over his left shoulder. Ian walked to Gavin’s left as the made their way to the Broadway Pub and Grill (a mysterious name indeed as it was actually located on Amsterdam Avenue.)

“So tell me about the client,” Gavin said.

“He’s some kind of … hold on,” Ian said.

Ian skirted ahead and dipped into his pocket for loose change. There was a bum on the corner holding a coffee mug stuffed with change and dollar bills. As he tossed in the change, Ian swiftly removed the bills and skirted back to Gavin.

“Bless you, man,” the bum said.

“So as I was saying,” Ian said.

“Hey you son of a bitch,” the bum yelled.

“What’s his problem?” Gavin said.

“Some people have no appreciation,” Ian said.

“So you were saying,” Gavin said.

“Right. So the client is some kind of genius scientist or something,” Ian said.

“Or something,” Gavin said. “What’s the money?”

“Gog’s,” Ian said.

“The genius scientist client said that, gog’s?” Gavin said.

“No, he said … I believe he used the term ‘a lot.’

“A lot?”

“Yes.”

“A lot doesn’t sound like gog’s to me. You vetted the client?”

“Of course. What’s vetted?”

“Checked him out.”

“Yes I checked him out,” Ian said. “Or rather Wheezer did. I trust Wheezer completely, don’t you?”

“No, I actually don’t trust him at all.”

“Well, we’re here so you can vetted him yourself,” Ian said.

Gavin and Ian entered the Broadway Pub and Grill. It was a large seedy sort of place with a clientele of seedy sort of drinkers.

The plump man wearing a white apron who stood behind the bar was the owner. His name was Garko and he was always in a cheerful to the point of nauseating mood.

“Hello gents and baby,” Garko said, cheerfully.

“We’re expecting someone,” Ian said. “Are they here yet?”

“I’ll say,” Garko said. “He ordered the most expensive bottle of wine in the house.”

“Bring us a couple of beers,” Ian said.

Garko looked at Gavin. “He has a baby and it doesn’t look twenty-one to me,” he said.

“He won’t give him any, I promise,” Ian said.

Ian led Gavin to the private back room where a round man wearing a tuxedo sat at the table. He was balding and wore a pony tail at the same time. With him was a woman wearing a formal evening gown. The very expensive bottle of wine was in an ice bucket. Two wine glasses were full on the table.

“Is this a costume party?” Gavin said.

“That man has a baby,” the woman said.

“Are you the man Mr. Nelson called Lee Gavin?” the man said.

“I am. Who are you?” Gavin said.

“Why do you have a baby?” the woman said.

“I found him on the subway,” Gavin said. “Finders keepers.”

“I’m Wellington Woodwood,” Woodwood said.

“Of course you are,” Gavin said.

“This is my wife, Wilma Woodwood,” Woodwood said.

“Of course she is,” Gavin said.

Garko appeared with two beers on tap. “Do you want to run a tab?” he asked, cheerfully.

“Sure,” Gavin said.

Ian sat, and then Gavin sat.

Garko went away.

“Now then young man and baby,” Woodwood said.

“Why are you wearing a tuxedo?” Gavin asked.

“What? Oh, because Wilma and I have tickets to the ballet at Lincoln Center in one hour,” Woodwood said. “We adore the ballet you see and always attend whenever we are in town.”

“Who doesn’t?” Gavin said. “What do you and Wilma do?”

“Do?” Woodwood said a bit confused.

“For work?” Gavin said.

“Work? Heavens, Wilma and I don’t work,” Woodwood said. “We’re inheritance babies, you see. We’re heirs to our family fortunes so to speak. We’ve never known anything but wealth and fortune.”

“That’s just lovely for you, so to speak, but you must do something or you wouldn’t be sitting in the back room of a very seedy bar on the Upper West Side talking to us,” Gavin said.

“We’re nuclear scientists and mathematicians,” Woodwood said. “We consult to NASA and the military.”

“What, did you meet in nuclear scientist school?” Gavin asked.

“Young man, you are being very rude,” Wilma said.

“Very rude,” Ian said.

“I need to make sure you aren’t the police on a sting operation, so my rudeness is necessary to vetting you,” Gavin said.

“Very necessary to vetting,” Ian said.

“I see,” Woodwood said.

“He sees,” Ian said.

“Wilma and I met at MIT you see,” Woodwood said. “Back in the late seventies. We were seated together in lecture hall and compared notes on a mathematical equation and it was love at first sight, so to speak.”

“So to speak,” Gavin said. “You both went to MIT?”

“That’s that school in Boston with the janitor who’s secretly a genius and hates everybody because he’s smart,” Ian said. “They made a movie about it.”

“I hated that movie,” Wilma said. “They painted us as all snobs.”

“A dreadful movie it was,” Ian said.

“So what do you do and what do you want?” Gavin said.

“I told you, we consult to NASA and the military on matters of nuclear fusion and precision and such,” Woodwood said. “And what we want is a notebook.”

“A notebook?” Gavin said.

“Yes, a notebook,” Woodwood said.

“Young man, your baby is spitting up,” Wilma said.

“They tend to do that,” Gavin said. “Tell me about the notebook and leave nothing out.”

“Is that necessary?” Woodwood asked.

“No, not at all,” Ian said.

“Yes,” Gavin said.

“Of course it’s necessary,” Ian said. “To the vetting.”

“It’s my neck and I like to know what I’m risking it for,” Gavin said.

“And a big risk at that,” Ian said.

“Your baby spit up again,” Wilma said.

Gavin removed Junior from the harness and wiped his tiny mouth. “I’m listening,” he said.

“Conrad Crabtree,” Woodwood said.

“I detest even the name,” Wilma said.

“I can see why,” Gavin said. “So who is Conrad Crabtree?”

“Conrad Crabtree, heir to the Crabtree fortune,” Woodwood said. “I see you don’t read the Journal or trade magazines.”

“I’m too busy cleaning up after Junior here,” Gavin said. “So why don’t you enlighten me on what I missed.”

“Back in the day at MIT, Conrad was a brilliant student,” Woodwood said. “He boasted that one day he would shock the world by composing such a new and radical theory that average scientists wouldn’t be able to comprehend it.”

As Gavin replaced Junior into the harness, he said, “Go on.”

“Well don’t you see, man, he’s done it,” Woodwood said. “Or claims to.”

“Done what?” Gavin said. “Ian, bottle please.”

“Why, old Conrad has announced to the scientific world that he will publish his theory on the first day of the New Year,” Woodwood said.

Ian dug out a bottle and handed it to Gavin who immediately stuck it in Junior’s mouth. “So?’ Gavin said.

“So? So. Is that what you said, so?” Woodwood said.

“I think he said that, yes,” Ian said.

“Yes, so?” Gavin said. “So he publishes his whatever, what’s it to you?”

“We want to see it first, before it’s published,” Woodwood said.

“Why not ask him to see it?” Gavin said.

“Old Conrad would never show what took him nearly forty years to write before it’s published,” Woodwood said.

“You want us to steal it for you,” Gavin said.

“Yes,” Woodwood said.

“So you can claim authorship for yourselves,” Gavin said.

Woodwood and Wilma exchanged mischievous glances.

“That’s okay, that’s good,” Gavin said. “It’s good when our clients are also dishonest because that way they can’t fink on us to the cops because they would also have to fink on themselves and there are no five hundred dollar bottles of wine in prison.”

“Wellington, the man is implying we’re criminals,” Wilma said.

“Lee would never imply that,” Ian said.

“How delightful,” Wilma said.

“Simply charming,” Ian said.

“Can you do this, young man?” Woodwood said. “Can you steal for us Conrad’s Theory of Everything?”

“That’s what he calls it, his theory of everything?” Gavin said.

“When he announced he would be publishing it, Conrad joked to the press that his theory would prove once and for all how the universe came into being and other matters related to Einstein,” Woodwood said. “He called it his theory of everything.”

“And exactly what does this theory of everything look like?” Gavin said.

“Old Conrad likes to work using a child’s homework notebook, the hardback kind with lined pages,” Woodwood said. “To you it would appear as one continuous mathematical equation probably spread out over three or four notebooks.”

“What’s it look like to you?” Gavin asked.

“One continuous mathematical equation, what else?” Woodwood said.

“Spread out over three or four notebooks?” Gavin said.

“The bottle is empty,” Wilma said.

“Bib,” Gavin said to Ian.

Ian dug a bib out of the bag and gave it to Gavin. Gavin placed the bib over his right shoulder and Junior over the bib. “Go on,” Gavin said.

“Where was I?” Woodwood said.

“Three or four notebooks,” Gavin said.

“Right,” Woodwood said. “We want those notebooks, Wilma and I. You see, all our professional lives old Conrad has been a thorn in our sides. He’s very snooty, you see. We want to see if his theory holds water. If it does we will claim it as our own. If it doesn’t, we will use it to humiliate him once and for all. It’s a win-win either way.”

“I sense bad blood between you and old Conrad,” Gavin said.

Woodwood looked at Gavin.

“Look, it doesn’t matter to me if you love or hate the guy,” Gavin said. “I am a professional thief and very good at what I do. That said I take no unnecessary risks and if there is some blood feud between you two that could lead to my getting arrested I expect to know about it in advance. Understood?”

“Well said,” Ian said.

“When we were students Conrad once called me a fool and tried to steal Wilma away from me,” Woodwood said. “He claimed his inheritance was larger than mine.”

Gavin stared at Woodwood.

“It wasn’t true,” Woodwood said. “My inheritance was every bit as large as his. He exaggerated his size and tried to sway Wilma to dump me and take up with him. She didn’t, of course, but can you imagine the embarrassment I had to endure over the rumors he spread that I had a small inheritance. Really.”

Gavin sighed.

“The size of a man’s inheritance is his own business,” Ian said.

“Exactly,” Woodwood said.

Junior fell asleep and Gavin placed him back into the harness.

“How did you find Ian?” Gavin asked.

“Didn’t he tell you?” Woodwood said.

“I want to hear it from you,” Gavin said.

“Before we flew into New York, we …”

“Where do you live?” Gavin said.

“Palm Beach, of course. The Kennedy’s are our neighbors,” Woodwood said. “The stories we could tell you about old Ted. Wilma, remember the time old Ted …”

“Show me,” Gavin said.

“I’m afraid I don’t …”

“Your driver’s license, show it to me,” Gavin said.

Woodwood produced his wallet and showed his license to Gavin.

Gavin nodded. “So before you flew to New York you did what?”

“I asked our driver if he knew of any people in your profession,” Woodwood said.

“Who is your driver?” Gavin asked.

“A fellow named William Bellman,” Woodwood said.

Gavin and Ian exchanged glances.

“Billy Bell is doing three to five in Glades,” Gavin said.

“He was. He’s on parole. We believe in hiring the less fortunate,” Woodwood said. “He’s outside waiting for us in the limousine we rented. It’s a rather small limousine I’m afraid, but this trip was last minute you see.”

Gavin nodded to Ian and Ian stood and left the room. He returned a moment later, sat and said, “That’s Billy alright.”

“Continue,” Gavin said.

“Mr. Bellman suggested I call this positively dreadful fellow he called the Wheezer,” Woodwood said.

“A horrible, sweaty man,” Wilma said.

“We met with this Wheezer and he charged us ten thousand dollars for Mr. Nelson’s name,” Woodwood said. “And here we are.”

“Here we are,” Ian said.

“Where can we find Conrad Crabtree?” Gavin said.

“Why, right here in New York,” Woodwood said. “He lives in an apartment.”

“An apartment,” Wilma said. “How dreadful.”

“Appalling,” Ian said.

“And he keeps these notebooks in the apartment?” Gavin said.

“I’m sure of it,” Woodwood said. “He probably sleeps with them under his pillow, the cad.”

“Do you have the address?” Gavin asked.

Woodwood produced a slip of paper from a pocket and set it on the table.

“Okay, this is how it works,” Gavin said. “I’ll check out the address and we’ll meet tomorrow around the same time. I’ll tell you then if the job is doable or not.”

Woodwood looked at Wilma. “We’re criminals, how exciting,” he said.

“Enjoy the opera,” Gavin said.

“Ballet,” Woodwood said.

“Right,” Gavin said.

“Until tomorrow,” Woodwood said.

Once Woodwood and Wilma left, Gavin looked at Ian.

“Jesus Christ,” Gavin said.

“What do you want to do, Lee?” Ian asked.

Gavin picked up the piece of paper.

“Check out the address,” Gavin said. “After I change Junior’s diaper.”

“I’ll wait outside if you don’t mind,” Ian said.

Chapter Three

“There’s something familiar about this address,” Ian said. “West Eighty-first and Central Park West.”

They were walking south on Central Park West on the park side of the street.

“Very familiar,” Ian said.

“There’s a pan handler, don’t you want to rob him?” Gavin said.

“What? No. I’m concentrating,” Ian said.

They crossed Eighty-third to Eighty-second Street. Gavin could see the building on the next block, looming large and imposing.

“There’s probably a reason the address sounds familiar,” Gavin said.

“Lee, please, I’m trying to concentrate here,” Ian said.

They crossed Eighty-second to Eighty-first Street and Gavin found a bench in the shade against the Central Park wall and watched as Ian kept walking and muttering to himself.

Gavin sighed.

His cell phone rang and he sighed again before answering the call.

“Why aren’t you home?” Patience said. “I tried the home phone and you aren’t home.”

“I’m not home because I’m out,” Gavin said.

“With Junior?”

“Yes, of course with Junior,” Gavin said. “Ian brought over more useless socks and we decided to take a walk in the park. Don’t be such a …”

Gavin froze and bit his tongue.

“A what?” Patience said.

Gavin kept silent, realizing his mistake.

“A what?” Patience demanded. “A nag?”

“Don’t be silly,” Gavin said. “I would never call you that.”

“Oh, so now I’m a silly nag,” Patience said.

“I was going to say worrier,” Gavin said.

“We’ll talk about this later,” Patience said. “Just make sure you get home before dark so this nag doesn’t become a worrier.”

“It’s June. It doesn’t get dark until nine,” Gavin said. “What’s that noise?”

“Alarm. I gotta go,” Patience said. “Some old geezer is stroking out.”

Gavin replaced the phone into his pocket, thanking God for old geezers.

He looked south and Ian was a tiny dot several blocks away. He looked at the apartment building across the street and sighed.

Junior woke up and wanted another bottle. He fed Junior and was burping him when the northbound bus pulled up to the stop on the corner and Ian got off. He came running over, somewhat exasperated.

“For Christ sake, Lee,” Ian said.

“For Christ sake what?” Gavin said.

Ian sat on the bench next to Gavin.

“I had to take the bus,” Ian said, still exasperated.

“I saw,” Gavin said.

“The building, that’s it across the street there, that’s the Montana,” Ian said.

“You don’t say,” Gavin said.

“I do say,” Ian said. “It’s right there. Right across the penthouse it says The Montana 1901. Why do you suppose it says 1901?”

“The year it was built maybe,” Gavin said.

“What was built?” Ian asked.

“The Montana,” Gavin said.

“There it is, the Montana,” Ian said.

The band of thorns began to throb on Gavin’s skull again. He gave serious consideration to choking Ian right there on the bench, but he didn’t want to make a bad impression on Junior.

“The freaking Montana,” Ian said.

Gavin sighed.

“There it is,” Ian said.

Gavin looked at Ian.

“And here we are,” Ian said.

Gavin stood up. “Let’s take a walk,” he said.

*****

Ian came out of Gavin’s refrigerator with half of a chocolate cake and a can of root beer.

“You’re out of beer,” he said.

“Somebody drank the last two,” Gavin said.

Ian grabbed a fork from the basket at the sink, sat and attacked the cake.

“Sowaddayastink?” Ian said with a mouthful of cake.

Ian swallowed and took a sip of root beer.

“Is it doable?” he said.

“Everything is doable if the price is right,” Gavin said.

“What price?” Ian asked as he shoveled in more chocolate cake.

“The … what Woodwood is willing to pay,” Gavin said.

“Oh, that price,” Ian said as he continued to shovel in chocolate cake until it was all gone.

“The Montana is no easy nut to crack,” Gavin said.

Ian stood and returned to the refrigerator, then sat with a can of ginger ale. “You’re out of root beer and this is the last ginger ale.”

Ian pulled the tab and took a long swallow. “Good,” he said smacking his lips.

“Glad you’re enjoying it,” Gavin said.

“Oh, hey, did you want some?” Ian said.

“No thanks, I had air for lunch,” Gavin said.

Ian’s cell phone rang and he answered the call.

“Hi, Muffie … Maggie-Jo,” he said. He listened and then said, “Stop crying, hon. The oven is a difficult, very tricky thing to operate. Daddy is on the way home and we’ll order takeout for dinner. Kisses.”

Ian stood and said, “So we’ll meet with Woodwood tomorrow and talk money.”

“Tell Muffie … Maggie-Jo thanks for the booties,” Gavin said.

*****

Patience was fuming mad as she walked home from the hospital. Three strokes, two heart attacks and a ninety-one-year-old World War Two veteran who swore the Nazi’s were storming his room and he piled up the bed against the door and smashed the window with a chair and kept screaming ,” You won’t get me you sauerkraut eating bastards,” at the top of his lungs.

Then, what really ticked her off; Gavin didn’t answer the phone again. She tried his cell but it went to voice mailbox.

She stormed her way, chain-smoking of course, the fifteen blocks from the hospital to home. She ignored the mugger in an alleyway who tried to grab her purse and the bum who wanted money and the flasher in a trench coat and focused on Gavin.

By the time she reached home, Patience was so mad she almost forgot to pick up the mail and leave a fresh pack of cigarettes in the mailbox.

Almost.

As she put her key in the lock, Patience had reached the pinnacle of her anger and was deciding what in the apartment she could smash against Gavin’s thick skull when she opened the door and saw Gavin and Junior sleeping together on the sofa.

Gavin was on his back with Junior on his stomach and together they were so adorable the anger in Patience simply melted away. She walked to the sofa. The television was on mute; a rerun of the Golden Girls was showing. She turned off the television and went to the kitchen.

A giant bag from a Chinese restaurant was on the table.

Odd, because she left a ton of food. She checked the refrigerator and it was all gone.

Gavin entered the kitchen holding Junior.

“Thought I heard you,” he said.

“What happened to all the …” Patience said.

“Your brother,” Gavin said.

*****

Gavin was about to fall into peaceful sleep when Patience said softly, “Leslie?”

Gavin, awake, kept his eyes closed. Patience called him Leslie only when something bad was going to follow the use of his real name.

Patience figured that after the nice meal of Chinese food, the hot bath afterward and some loving that Gavin would be in a receptive mood.

He wasn’t.

“I know you’re awake,” she said. “You’re not drooling.”

Gavin sighed. “What?”

“My parents …” Patience said.

“No.”

“I didn’t finish.”

“Still no.”

“It’s just for dinner.”

“Still and forever no.”

“But.”

“No and extra no for good measure.”

Patience did what worked best, namely to roll over onto her side and fake crying. She sniffled softly and she could feel Gavin melt beside her like a balloon deflating.

“What time?” he asked.

“Forget it. I’ll tell them no.”

“What time?”

“It’s okay, Lee. Just forget it.”

“What … time?”

“Seven sharp,” Patience said and closed her eyes.

Chapter Four

“How have you been, Bill?” Gavin asked Bill Bell, the ex-con driver for the Woodwood’s.

“Oh, you know,” Bell said.

“How was Glades?” Ian asked.

“Could have been better, could have been worse,” Bell said.

“Sure,” Ian said.

“Do you like working for the Woodwood’s?” Gavin asked.

“It’s a job,” Bell said.

“Sure,” Ian said.

“I heard you had a kid,” Bell said.

“Patience had it,” Gavin said. “All I did was watch.”

“Sure,” Bell said.

At that moment the Woodwood’s exited the Pub.

“I was just explaining to that cheerful little man that his establishment is actually on Amsterdam Avenue and not Broadway,” Wilma said.

“He knows,” Gavin said.

“Why doesn’t he call it the Amsterdam Pub and Grill?” Wilma asked.

“He’s secretly in hiding,” Gavin said. “Are we ready then?”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand why we’re taking a car ride,” Woodwood said.

“Think of it as show and tell,” Gavin said.

Everybody piled into the limousine.

Ian said, “Bill, take us to Eighty-first and Central Park West.”

“Which?” Bill said.

“Which what?” Ian asked.

“Eighty-first or CPW,” Bell said. “I ask because Eighty-first runs west to east while CPW runs south to north.”

“No, see, I don’t … what?” Ian said.

“Central Park West,” Gavin said.

“Right,” Bell said.

Ten minutes later, Bell glided the limousine to a stop on Central Park West. “Say, isn’t that the Montana?” he said.

“Wait for us,” Woodwood said.

“Can’t. No parking,” Bell said.

“Pick us up in thirty minutes,” Gavin said.

After the exited the limousine and it sped away, Woodwood said, “What are we doing here?”

“That building is the Montana Apartments,” Gavin said. “It’s a thirteen-story fortress of concrete and steel built in 1901. It has …”

“Buildings don’t have a thirteenth floor,” Wilma said. “Everybody knows that.”

“Twelve and a penthouse,” Gavin said. It has a guardhouse on the street and fifteen foot high gates that lead to the interior courtyard. The concrete is two feet thick, built to withstand cannon fire and …”

“Cannon fire?” Wilma said. “Heavens why?”

“They were worried the British would sail up the Hudson and try to take back New York,” Gavin said. “The courtyard lobby is a hundred square feet with elevator access to the apartments. Surveillance cameras protect the gates. The side entrance is for deliveries and also has a guardhouse on the street. Six security guards are on duty from eight to midnight, then it’s four. The smallest first floor apartment starts at four million and has a six thousand dollar a month maintenance fee. The penthouse goes for around twenty million. This is where Crabtree lives. To make matters worse, the police …”

“Good God, Wilma,” Woodwood said. “Is it possible Conrad’s inheritance is actually larger than mine?”

“Don’t fret, dear. It’s not the size of the inheritance that counts, it’s knowing what to do with it and you are very good at knowing what to do with yours,” Wilma said.

“I do, don’t I,” Woodwood said.

“What are we talking about here?” Ian asked.

“The bottom line is this is going to be a very risky and complicated job,” Gavin said. “We …”

“Say, isn’t this the building where they made that old movie about the woman who was possessed by her baby?” Ian said.

“Her baby was possessed, she …” Gavin said.

“I believe I saw that film,” Woodwood said. “Jolly good.”

“The bottom line is …” Gavin said.

“Why are there monster’s on the roof?” Wilma asked.

“To scare off British invaders,” Gavin said.

“Is that true?” Wilma asked.

“Hey,” Ian shrugged.

“Mr. Woodwood, the bottom line, as you can plainly see is this is not a simple job. The risk is high and it will be complicated to pull off,” Gavin said. “If you really want these notebooks it’s going to cost you and not what you say but what I say. If you don’t agree to my terms I walk and there are no hard feelings.”

“My dear boy, Wilma and I want those notebooks more than anything,” Woodwood said.

“The fee is four hundred thousand,” Gavin said. “Half now, half when the job is done. In addition I’ll need fifty thousand in expense money up front and more when needed. How soon can you deliver that to me?”

“Is that all?” Woodwood said. “Will tomorrow be soon enough?”

“Tomorrow is fine,” Gavin said. “We’ll meet at the Pub, same time.”

“Jolly good,” Woodwood said. “Look, here comes the limousine. Shall we drop you off at the Pub?”

“Jolly good,” Ian said.

*****

When Ian unlocked the door to his apartment, he knew immediately that something was terribly wrong.

The living room looked like a bomb went off in it. Gavin followed Ian in and a sinking feeling hit him in the pit of his stomach.

“Muffie … Maggie-Jo?” he called out.

“Kitchen,” Maggie-Jo called back.

Ian and Gavin rushed to the kitchen.

Maggie-Jo was seated at the table. Her usually perfect blonde tresses were a disastrous mess. Her makeup had run so much from crying she resembled a messy blonde raccoon. Her blouse was covered in baby powder.

“I tried. I really did try,” Maggie Jo said. “But he kept peeing and pooping and spitting up, over and over again. It was like that horror movie where the girl spits up pea soup as her head spins.”

“The Exorcist?” Ian said.

“The last thing I need right now is to exercise,” Maggie-Jo said.

“No, see the …” Ian said.

“Muffie … Maggie-Jo, where is Junior?” Gavin said.

“The sink.”

Gavin rushed to the sink and found Junior wrapped in a blanket on top of a pillow and sound asleep.

“Why is he in the sink?” Gavin asked.

“So I can rinse him off, silly. Why else?” Maggie-Jo said. She looked at Ian. “That reminds me, how does the washing machine work?”

“You put dirty clothes in and they come out clean,” Ian said.

Maggie-Jo stood and walked to the sink.

“Opps, there he goes again,” she said as a stream of urine nearly hit Gavin in the face.

“Where are his diapers?” Gavin asked.

“You need to get this kid checked out,” Maggie-Jo said. “Nobody pees this much. He’s like that old faithful geezer or something.”

“His bladder is … that’s geyser and … never mind,” Gavin said. “I better get Junior home.”

“Oh, wait, I made you more booties,” Maggie-Jo said.

*****

While Junior slept peacefully in his crib, Gavin sat in his chair and thought about the job while he watched a rerun of the Golden Girls.

The Montana was a tough nut to crack. Every second-story man in town avoided the building as if it had the bubonic plague.

And for good reason.

The Montana was a tough nut to crack.

Every detail would need to be planned out in every … well, detail, right down to the last and smallest … detail.

The thing was … and Gavin hated to admit this to himself, he had doubts about his skills and ability as a thief to pull the job off.

And it wasn’t just the six month long layoff. His last stint, three years at state, he came out sharp as a tack and raring to go.

No, this was different.

It was Junior.

Changing diapers all day, burping and feeding, feeding and burping, well it made it difficult for a man to concentrate on looting a major building and the Montana was major in every sense of the word.

Major.

Junior started to cry. It was time for a feeding. Gavin fetched a bottle from the refrigerator, warmed it a bit and went to feed Junior. Afterward, he burped and changed him and set him on the bed.

There were a dozen paper bags in the corner. He dumped them all on the bed. A hundred pairs of lopsided booties.

To pull off the Montana required pinpoint precision, every possible scenario planned to the last detail and a razor-sharp crew.

Gavin had Ian.

Just the thought gave Gavin heartburn.

He went through the booties. He matched up three pairs that would fit, although they were different colors.

Junior fell asleep and Gavin placed him back in the crib.

He returned to the living room and was about to watch another episode of the Golden Girls when the timer in the kitchen went off. He went to the kitchen and removed the pot roast from the oven, set it on the counter and covered it to keep it warm.

Gavin returned once again to the living room and watched the episode of the Golden Girls. It was a good one, the one where Bea Arthur …

Patience put her key in the lock and Gavin grabbed the remote and switched to a sports channel.

“Everything alright,” Patience said as she entered the living room.

“Peachy,” Gavin said. “I made us a pot roast.”

“How sweet,” Patience said.

Yeah, big time thief, Gavin thought.

Pot roast and booties, the stuff of legends.

Chapter Five

“I can’t do it, I just can’t” Maggie-Jo said. “I just can’t spend another day with Niagara Falls.”

“No, see, I think you mean Old Faithful,” Ian said.

“I’ve always been faithful and you know it,” Maggie-Jo said.

“What? No, see …” Ian said.

“Never mind that now,” Gavin said. “Maggie-Jo, I’ll pay you to watch Junior.”

“How much?”

“A hundred bucks,” Gavin said.

“For how long?”

“Three hours.”

“One fifty and an additional fifty for every half hour you’re late,” Muffie-Jo said.

“Done,” Gavin said.

“Wow,” Ian said.

“Let’s go,” Gavin said.

*****

“I’ve been thinking,” Ian said.

“Don’t,” Gavin snarled.

“Woodwood didn’t blink when you told him the fee,” Ian said. “You should have told him a half mil and a hundred large for expenses.”

“Two hundred thousand is not enough for you?” Gavin said.

“Actually, I was figuring on a sixty-forty split,” Ian said.

“That’s very generous of you,” Gavin said. “I could use the extra cash.”

“No, see, sixty for me,” Ian said. “It is after all my score.”

“Then you can plan it,” Gavin said.

“I’m the idea man, you’re the planner,” Ian said. “It’s how we’ve always operated.”

“And we’ve always operated on an even split,” Gavin said. “Except for that time I did three years because of you and you didn’t do one second.”

“That old chestnut again,” Ian said.

“Not so old to me,” Gavin said.

“We should have asked him for more,” Ian said.

They stopped in front of the Pub and waited.

“He didn’t blink at four hundred thousand,” Ian said. “We should have asked for more.”

“But we didn’t,” Gavin said. “I’ll give you fifty-one percent if you shut up about it.”

“Done,” Ian said.

“Good.”

“You are a terrible negotiator,” Ian said. “Maggie-Jo cleaned your clock back there.”

The limousine arrived and the rear door opened. Gavin and Ian got in and sat opposite Woodwood and Wilma.

A black attaché case was on the seat next to Woodwood.

Ian looked at the case and his eyes went as wide as saucers.

“I need to say this,” Gavin said to the Woodwood’s. “If you give me …”

“Us,” Ian said.

“If you give us that case and we accept it, then …” Gavin said.

“Why wouldn’t we accept it?” Ian said.

Gavin paused to allow the band of thorns crushing his skull to subside a bit.

“If you give us that case and we accept it, then you become criminals the same as we are,” Gavin said. “Do you understand that?”

“My dear boy, those notebooks are worth more to us than even our inheritances,” Woodwood said.

“Okay,” Gavin said. “I’ll need your phone number where I can contact you with updates and requests for additional expense money if needed.”

“Not a problem,” Woodwood said. “If I may, do you think you can accomplish this before the first of the year?”

“If we don’t you won’t have to make the second payment,” Gavin said.

“Jolly good,” Woodwood said.

“Can you ask Bill to drop us off at Fifth and 49^th Street?” Gavin said.

“Of course,” Woodwood said.

“Jolly good,” Gavin said.