Sam and Remi edged their way around the armoire as the two men walked into the gallery, then made their way toward the back. The young woman blocked them as they tried to get down the hallway. “Monsieur Karim,” she called out. “Tarek and Hamida are here.” She looked up at Tarek’s bruised face. “What happened to you?”
“None of your business. Karim,” he shouted.
The older man stepped out. “I wasn’t expecting you today.”
“We’ve decided to remove the mosaic and list it elsewhere,” Tarek said.
“Unfortunately, it’s already sold. Today, in fact.”
That brought the pair up short. “Who bought it?” Hamida asked.
“The couple waiting up front.”
“What couple?”
“They were here a minute ago. Maybe they stepped out. But should you be worried, I sold it for twice the asking price.”
“The nerve,” Remi whispered and elbowed Sam. “We need to do something before we lose that mosaic.”
“Are you kidding? I just paid seventy-five K for that thing.” He pointed to the hallway. “I’ll distract them. You text Lazlo to call the police, then get Echo.”
Remi nodded, walked over, and positioned herself next to the wall, pressing back so she wouldn’t be seen. The moment she was in place, Sam walked toward the shop entrance, calling out, “I’m sorry, were you looking for me?”
CHAPTER EIGHTY
Do not provoke the anger of a strong man.
– AFRICAN PROVERB –
Several thoughts flashed through Tarek’s mind as he looked down the hall and saw Sam Fargo standing in the doorway. First and foremost was that he should have paid more attention to Makao’s warning. The Fargos were far more dangerous than the typical people they were used to bilking and robbing. Second was that he was going to relish wiping that smug, taunting look off Fargo’s face. “After him.”
Fargo slipped out the door, but Hamida hesitated. “Shouldn’t we wait for Ben?”
“Now. Before he gets away.” He pushed Hamida that direction and turned toward Karim. “I’ll be back.”
Still sore from his earlier encounter with Fargo, Tarek followed at a much slower pace, waving to Ben, who was parked in their SUV down the block. Fargo crossed the narrow street, then darted into an alley, Hamida on his heels. By the time Tarek rounded the corner, the two men were faced off. Hamida was built like a bulldozer. He’d have no difficulty taking down Fargo.
A good thing, because it took a moment for Tarek to catch his breath once he caught up with them. “You’re not”—he gulped in air—“taking …”
“Spit it out,” Fargo said. “I’m in a hurry.”
How Fargo wasn’t winded, he had no idea. “Taking that mosaic …”
Fargo edged to his left.
Hamida followed him. “You broke into our office.”
“Feel free to tell the police,” Fargo said. “They should be here any minute.”
Tarek wrapped his fingers around the grip of his holstered pistol.
Fargo closed the distance, driving his fist into Tarek’s stomach. Pain shot through him. He doubled over. Hamida charged, but Fargo sidestepped, pulling Tarek in front of him. Hamida’s fist struck Tarek in the ribs and he dropped to the ground, unable to breathe. When Hamida went for his gun, Fargo grabbed his wrist and spun it around. A sickening crunch sounded as Fargo rammed his shoulder into Hamida’s hyperextended elbow. He fell to the ground, his bloodcurdling scream drowning out the faint sirens heard in the distance.
Ben sped down the alley in the SUV as Fargo grabbed Tarek by the collar, ready to drive his fist home. He heard the screech of tires, looked up, saw the SUV bearing down on them, and let loose of Tarek, jumping out of the way.
Ben skidded to a stop, pointing a gun out the window, as the sirens grew louder.
“Forget him,” Tarek called out. He opened the back door and dragged Hamida to his feet. He shoved the injured man into the car and scrambled in after him. “Go.”