Page 59 of The Picasso Heist

DO NOT WALK. Run.

Bergamo and I don’t look back, not once. It’s not a decision, it’s instinct, a million years of Darwinism kicking in at once. Feet racing. Hearts racing faster.

“I can’t breathe,” says Bergamo as I start the engine, shift into drive, and speed away almost in one motion.

He’s gasping from the sprint to my rented Camry but I know that’s not what he means. He can’t breathe because he’s in shock.

I don’t say anything. I focus on driving.

Only when the shipyard disappears from my rearview mirror do my first words come.

I’m talking to myself, thinking out loud.

“They knew we’d be there, but how? We weren’t followed.

You and I didn’t say anything over the phone.

Hell, we never talked about any of this over the phone.

All our texts were clean, spotless. No mention of the shipyard or Shen or anything.

So how did they know? How? How did they know? ”

“It was them. It had to be,” says Bergamo. “The guys who were following me, right? The two guys in the white van?”

“I’m thinking the same thing.”

“What about Shen, though?”

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“Whoever those two guys are, they knew beforehand how they were getting away. Shen’s boat. Maybe it wasn’t anything you and I did. Maybe they were also tracking Shen.”

“You’re right about the boat. They couldn’t know about it from us.”

I can feel Bergamo’s anger building like a wave. It’s overtaking his shock. “Why did he have to say anything? He should’ve just stayed quiet. What the hell was he thinking?”

“Stop it!” I yell at him. “Don’t do that!”

“I know you were close to him, I get it. But he could’ve gotten us all killed.”

I swerve off the road, jam the brakes. “Shut up!”

But he doesn’t. He won’t. “I don’t really give a fuck about your feelings right now!” Bergamo yells back. “We need to focus. We need to figure out what we’re going to do.”

“There’s only one thing we can do,” I say. “We’re going to the police.”

I can hear the gears turning in his head. He’s picturing how it would play out, start to finish. “No,” he says. “We can’t. We can’t do that. We can’t go to the police.”

“Of course we can. We have to.”

“Think about it.”

“What’s there to think about?”

“Everything.”

“That night at Shen’s casino, do you remember? When we were being followed afterward? That’s all you wanted to do,” I say. “Go to the police, go to the police.”

“That was different and you know it.”

“No. This is different. Shen was just killed right before our eyes.”

“Yeah, I know. I was there, for Christ’s sake,” he says. “But what the hell are we going to tell them?”

“How about the truth?”

“Oh, really? Suddenly now that’s what you want to do—tell them everything we’ve been up to, the whole plan?”

“It doesn’t have to be everything.”

He looks at me like I’m a dog chasing its tail. “I thought you were smart,” he says. “Do you want to end up like your father? Because I sure don’t.”

“My father’s in prison because he didn’t tell the truth when he had the chance. That’s why he’s there, remember?”

“Yeah, all too well. But that was about money.”

“And this isn’t?” I ask.

“There’s a dead body this time. Money’s one thing, murder’s another.”

“What are you proposing?”

“We lie low,” he says. “Just like we were doing.”

“That’s because we were being followed. Or, rather, you were,” I say. “Everything’s changed now.”

“All the more reason to go about our lives as if nothing’s happened. Because that’s the least suspicious thing we can do.”

“But all of our planning, the work we put in… I know you’re covered on the Picasso with the insurance money, but—”

“After tonight, I don’t give two shits about those two vases,” he says. “And if we can get through this, consider your father’s debt paid.”

“I don’t know, though. It might be a big risk to go to the police, but not going might be even bigger.”

Bergamo stays silent. He knows I’m no longer talking to him. It’s just me and my conscience. He also knows that he’s already played his trump card: my father’s debt to him. It’s gone—poof—as long as I play this his way. That’s twenty-five million dollars.

Enzio Bergamo has my number.