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I want to tell Bella that when you don’t get a five-figure allowance from Daddy every month, you kind of have to go places and do things. But I stuff that thought down deep, plastering a smile on my face.
“So you can’t go down to the vault room yourself?” I say to Bella, pretending to check my watch. “I better get going, then. I don’t think I have time to wait around for your dad . . .”
“I really wanted him to meet you,” Bella pouts.
Yeah, I bet Raymond Page would love to meet me, too. My father is one of the few movers and shakers in Chicago who doesn’t keep his money here. Ironically, it’s because he thinks Raymond is too dirty. Papa always says, “Don’t break the law while you’re breaking the law.” What he means by that is you should only commit one crime at a time. Otherwise you draw attention to yourself. After all, Al Capone never would have gotten caught for bootlegging if the feds couldn’t prosecute him for tax evasion.
The fact that the Gallos don’t do business with Page is exactly why I’ve got no problem robbing him blind. He’s not under our protection.
“Well . . .” Bella says hesitantly. “I can still take you down! We just can’t go inside without Daddy.”
“Are you sure?” I say.
“Yeah, of course!” she replies, trying to sound more confident than she looks.
She takes me over to the private elevator, guarded by a scowling gorilla in a suit.
“Hey, Michael,” Bella says to him. “I want to show my friend the vault room.”
“Is he in the appointment book?” Michael grunts.
“No,” Bella giggles. “I’m never in the appointment book.”
“I better call up to Mr. Page,” Michael says, stubby fingers reaching for his walkie-talkie.
“Okay,” Bella says carelessly. “He’s in a lunch meeting right now.”
Michael hesitates.
“It’s fine,” Bella says, in a passive-aggressive tone. “He’ll be less mad if you interrupt him than if you don’t help me.”
Michael’s fingers drop away from the walkie-talkie.
“Okay,” he says. “You can go down. Don’t touch anything, though.”
“Of course not.” Bella smiles sweetly.
Michael hits the elevator button and lets us inside. The doors close, and we drop down to the underground vault.
As we descend, I say to Bella, “I bet your dad knows everybody important in Chicago.”
Bella flushes with pleasure. “He knows everybody,” she agrees. “Every time he takes me to a party, he knows everybody’s names, and they all know him. The mayor, all the CEOs, even celebrities . . .”
While Bella’s talking, I’m noting the control panel in the elevator, and the location of every camera and sensor.
When we enter the vault room, I walk slowly and deliberately, counting my steps. The stupid cuff links I’m wearing aren’t just so I can look like a finance douche. Every time I adjust the one on my right wrist, I’m taking a picture. I can angle the cuff link in any direction to snap shots of the elevator, the vault room, and the vault door itself.
There are no decorations down here. No handy niches or vases I could use as a hiding place. I have a secondary camera I want to stash in situ, but I can only see one good place for it: over by the fire extinguisher. I wander over in that direction, asking Bella, “So what’s in the vault? Gold bars or something?”
“All kinds of stuff,” Bella says. “Actually . . .” she sidles over to me, lowering her voice. “I heard my dad talking on the phone. He said he had this big diamond from some Russian guy . . . but I guess he died? And nobody’s come back since then. He thinks the rest of them don’t know about it.”
My heart skips a beat. It’s hard to keep my expression neutral, like this means nothing to me.
The Griffins killed Kolya Kristoff this winter. He was the head of the Bratva. And he was a flashy fucker. I could see him stashing some rock in here, without telling the rest of his men.
Poor Raymond must be horribly tempted . . . knowing that there’s no record of the giant stone in his possession, but terrified to sell it, in case the Russians find out . . .
Maybe I should solve his dilemma by relieving him of the diamond.
