A Criminal to Remember (A Monty Haaviko Thriller) by Michael Van Rooy Page B

the jewellery cases and a smoke projector in the centre ceiling, designed to fill the room with impenetrable fog if an alarm was tripped. That alone was enough to stop most thieves, it being damn hard to steal anything if you couldn’t see your hand in front of your face.
    I was impressed. And I was even more impressed by the jeweller himself. He was an old white man who looked middle-European, with piercing blue eyes and long white hair gathered in a ponytail. He wore a black suit and tie with a starched white shirt and constantly polished a pair of rimless spectacles with a silk handkerchief monogrammed with E.G.
    “You wanted an appraisal, sir?” The ‘sir’ came out slowly and softly like an afterthought. His speech had an accent that was almost scrubbed clean and he looked at me dispassionately, weighing my value and my potential to cause trouble and finding me wanting in both categories.
    “Yes, for this.”
    I put the bracelet on the counter and the man picked it up with his right hand while his left exchanged his glasses for a monocle. He checked it over carefully, inside and outside and then said, “Interesting.”
    He was smiling as he put the bracelet down on a green felt pad that lay on top of the counter and stepped back. The smile stayed on his face as his left hand dipped into his vest pocket and came out with a black, flat-framed pistol. The gun looked like a toy but probably wasn’t.
    “You’ll freeze.”
    And I did. The old man looked serious and the gun didn’t waver at all. I checked distances by eye and came to the conclusion that he and his gun were out of my reach.
    “All I want is an estimate. Nothing more.”
    The old man nodded. “You’ll be silent.”
    He reached into his front pants pocket and came out with what looked like a television remote. Without taking his eyes off me he pushed two buttons and I heard the doors lock loudly behind me.
    The remote went back into his pocket and the old man said, “You’ll be calm. The cops are on their way.”
    I relaxed a little. There was nothing I could do, not without risking a bullet. And I could maybe convince the cops but there was no way I convince a bullet and so I waited. Ten minutes later the cops showed up and one knocked loudly with the butt of his skull-buster flashlight. The old man brought the remote out and opened the door, and while he did that he made the pistol disappear. He kept watching me, waiting for me to do something but I just waited too.
    When my hands were cuffed the first cop, a dark-skinned, middle-aged man, asked, “So. Mr. Grim, was that a gun I saw?”
    The old man, Grim, I guessed, looked offended and horrified. “Of course not! Carrying a firearm is a felony.”
    The cop nodded. “So you wouldn’t mind if I searched you?”
    “As long as you have a warrant. In which case I’ll call my lawyer to read it for me. My eyesight being so bad, after all.” He smiled sweetly at the cop. “Shall we do all that again? I got no problems dancing to the same tune if you don’t.”
    The cop and his partner, a younger white guy whom I recognized, looked at each other and then shook their heads in unison.
    “Fine then.” The old man looked a little relieved.
    The younger cop was staring at me with a furrowed brow, trying to remember. His name was Halley and he had been one of the first cops to arrest me when I’d come to town. Realization started to dawn and his partner asked, “Now why did we handcuff this nice man?”
    Mr. Grim gestured at the bracelet. “He brought that in; it’s one of Redonda Paris’s pieces.”
    Halley looked blank but his partner was startled. “Are you sure?”
    “Positive.”
    After that it went fast and I ended up in the back of the Crown Victoria sedan while Halley talked urgently to his partner outside. Inside the shop Mr. Grim looked at me impassively and something must have showed on my face because he finally stepped back into the interior darkness away from me.
    The side door