Page 51 of Caper Crush
“Look, I don’t believe you,” I say to the guy—from a distance of ten feet. “I’ve never heard of a Staten Island art ring. We’ll pay you a hundred bucks for your time and this information, but we don’t need any more.”
The guy does a double take. He glares at us.
“That’s not enough. I gave you good information,” he says. “I can get you in touch with them.”
Edmund says, “We’ll give you two hundred.”
“Edmund.” I feel like I’m playing bad cop.
Edmund takes out two hundred dollars and hands it to him. I shake my head.
The guy pockets the money. “Your loss.” He snickers.
Am I wrong?But there’s no way he’d be wearing a fake mustache. Plus, if there is some Staten Island art ring, we can figure it out from here.
We hurry out of the diner ahead of him. Now we’re stuck waiting for the Uber. I walk a safe distance away from the door, but Edmund takes his sweet time, as if he’s oblivious to any danger.
“Edmund,” I bite out.
The guy exits and turns left, but then suddenly doubles back around, runs over, and grabs Edmund’s briefcase. Edmund gives a shout of shock, his mouth open, his body frozen. The guy takes off in the opposite direction.
I give chase. He’s fast, but he’s heavy and shorter than me. I’m gaining.
Out of the corner of my eye, a car is pulling alongside.Shit.Probably his accomplice. No Edmund behind me.
The car stops. Last chance. I leap to tackle him. He flings me off with his arm. I stumble, but I’m up again. Going for the shoulders was a mistake. Aim for the legs. I sprint to catch up, and I dive for his legs, grabbing them.
We both go down.
Aargh. Shooting pain. My knees hit the concrete.
He lets go of the briefcase as he puts out his hands to stop his fall. My knees sting. At least my upper body is on top of him.
“Oof.” He curses me.
I scramble up quickly and grab the briefcase.
He gets to his feet, cursing me again, and crouches. He’s going to tackle me or grab the briefcase. We lock glances, and his eyes narrow. His jaw clenches.
I can smell my fear. I should turn around and run, but my legs are jelly. He juts his forehead out, like a bull about to charge, his eyebrows drawn together. I whimper and back away.Okay, Miranda, on three, run as fast as you can. One, two—
His phone rings. He looks down.
I whirl around and race back to Edmund. He’s holding his phone and opening the door to the Uber. I yell for him to get in. He gets in. I slide in behind him.
“Go!” I say to the Uber driver, who has turned around in his front seat to stare at us.
“What is this?” the Uber driver asks.
“That man just tried to steal our briefcase.” My voice cracks.
A woman exits what I thought was the getaway car. Not an accomplice, then.
The guy has disappeared. My whole body quivers. He was so enraged, he might’ve hit me if he’d gotten the chance. I take deep breaths and stare out the window at the passing cars. My legs and stomach still feel jittery. The anger in his eyes—that seemed very real. I squeeze my hands between my knees so Edmund can’t see them shaking.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
“I’m fine. Just processing it all.”
