“Oh boy,” Morty said. “This is good. Nothing like a little B&E to get your blood pumping.”
We walked in and looked around. Empty.
“There’s something going on in here somewhere,” Diesel said. “I can hear activity.”
I stood very still. “I don’t hear anything.”
“That’s because I’m the one with the heightened senses, and you’re the one . . .”
Diesel stopped in mid-sentence.
“And I’m the one who makes cupcakes?”
“Honey, there’s nothing wrong with making cupcakes.”
“You are so not going to see me naked.”
“You haven’t seen her naked yet?” Morty said to Diesel. “What’s with that? How long you two been together? Maybe we need one of those man-to-man talks. I would have nailed her by now. I got a way with women. Once they see I can bend a spoon, they’re all over me. It’s like taking candy from a baby. So, what are we gonna steal this time?”
“We don’t know,” I told him. “We’re scouting.”
We walked to the left, past the bookstore, and stopped at the elevators.
“Going up,” Diesel said, pushing the button.
I stepped back. “No way. This is as far as I’m going. We can come back tomorrow when the building is open.”
“I thought you were motivated.”
&
nbsp; “I’m not motivated to go to prison!”
The elevator doors opened, and Diesel pushed me in. “You worry about rules too much.”
“She reminds me of my son,” Morty said. “Uptight fussbudget. I love him, but I’m not gonna lie to myself. He’s got problems. And he’s not even good-looking, like me. I don’t know how he ever found a woman to marry him. I guess it’s what they say . . . there’s a lid for every pot.”
We stepped out of the elevator at the second floor, and it was clear the noise was coming from the back of the building. We walked through the Hall of Flags toward the Great Hall. The glass doors to the Great Hall were open and the hall was being prepared for a party. Round tables seating eight each were set around the perimeter of the room. They were draped in red linen tablecloths and decorated with candles and flowers. Two bars were manned by bartenders in white shirt, black tie, and black slacks. Two carving stations were being prepared by chefs in silly hats and white chef coats. And two long buffet tables were getting stocked with a mountainous shrimp display, too many steaming chafing dishes to take a count, an artistic arrangement of breads, salads, sauces, pickled vegetables, exotic sliced fruit, smelly cheese, and smoked salmon.
“That’s some spread,” Morty said, “but I don’t see no baloney.”
A guy in a white chef coat came up to us. “You look like you’re lost. You must be from the agency.”
“Yep,” I said. “The agency sent us.”
“Doors are open in fifteen minutes, and I’m short. You can get changed downstairs. You know the drill, right? You’ve done this before?”
“Oh yeah,” I said. “Lots of times.”
He checked Morty out. “He looks kind of old.”
“I’m old as dirt,” Morty said, “but you should see what I can do with a spoon.”
The guy in the chef coat shook his head. “Sky-high unemployment, and this is the best they could send me.” And he hurried away.
“Now what?” I said to Diesel.
“We go downstairs and get changed. If we look like waiters, we won’t stand out, and we’ll have access to the building.”