Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Friends in Cold Places
CLIFF
Cliff sat on a white leather club chair waiting for his host to return from the back room. He’d been admiring the art on the wall, an original by Marc Chagall, when he heard the tinkling of delicate bone china being carried on a silver tray.
“Here we are,” the older man said as he walked in, his hairy arms carrying an ornate tray loaded up with teacups, saucers, and a tower of biscuits.
The aroma of spiced tea filled the air. The man was in his late sixties with strong shoulders and a thick head of silver hair.
He wore a cashmere sweater and black slacks.
He exuded old-world charisma, full of respect, patience, warmth.
“Ah, thank you Mr. Yeremian,” Cliff said as he helped him set the tray on the jewelry counter.
“Please, call me Vasken, and it is my pleasure, Mr. Weston.” Vasken Yeremian, the owner of Pasha’s Fine Jewelry, sat down in an identical club chair and sighed. “Shall we?”
Cliff looked up at the man. The very one he had stolen from the night before.
Inside his jewelry store, the doors were locked and the shades drawn.
Cliff handed over the backpack he’d been carrying and watched Vasken open it.
The owner gently pulled out two Ziploc freezer bags of nearly $2 million worth of loose diamonds and one unmistakable five-carat diamond ring.
Vasken tilted his head to Cliff. “I stand corrected. I thought my security system was bulletproof.”
“Oh, I think it is bulletproof, Vasken, it’s just not thief-proof.” Cliff sipped his tea and then added, “but I can make it that way.”
Vasken took a deep breath. “If I had told my brother I was going to hire a thief to install my security system, he would have told me to get my head examined.”
“Ex-thief,” Cliff corrected.
“But you bring a certain expertise, a knowledge not everyone possesses.”
“Does that mean we are in business?”
“Yes, it does,” Vasken said as he reached over to shake Cliff’s hand. “When can we begin?”
That was the problem. Cliff didn’t have the capital to buy all the high-end security equipment he would need to make Pasha’s Fine Jewelry thief-proof.
And he couldn’t exactly ask his first and only client to front the money.
He had a flashback to his meeting with a loan officer at Great Western Bank a few days earlier when he tried to get a small business loan.
He was nearly laughed off the premises once they’d found out he was a newly paroled thief and bank robber. He grimaced.
“Vasken.” Cliff paused before continuing, assessing if it was a good or bad idea, but then realized he was out of options. He continued, “Do you happen to know anyone who might be willing to, say, offer a guy like me a small business loan?”
Vasken put both of his hairy arms on the counter and leaned toward Cliff, as if studying his character. “Is tough starting a new business, no?”
Cliff gave him a tight smile. “Indeed.”
Vasken stood up, walked to the back of the store, and returned with a business card. He handed it to Cliff and said simply, “The Siberian.”
“A Siberian?” Cliff looked at the black business card. It didn’t even have a name, just a phone number.
“No, no. The Siberian. He has reputation for helping start-ups like yourself.”
Cliff sighed. Great. A loan shark.
As if reading his mind, Vasken continued, “He is not loan shark. More like Shark Tank but with muscle. You have to pitch ideas to him. He invests in business. If your business succeeds, everybody happy. If your business fail, not good.”
“How not good?”
“Ex-KGB-with-baseball-bats-not good.”
“Got it.” So, like Loan Shark 2.0, Cliff thought. “So, I present my business plan, and he decides whether or not he wants to invest. Seems … doable.”
“One more thing, though,” Vasken warned. “You must bring lady friend.”
“Why?”
“The Siberian believes he can tell the essence of a man by what kind of woman he brings to table.”
“But.” Cliff’s mind raced. Amber was the only woman he knew, and he wouldn’t bring her to a street fight let alone a business meeting. “I don’t have a lady friend.”
Vasken started gnawing on his lower lip as he considered this. Finally, he shrugged and said, “Get one.”
Talk about a tall order. Might be easier to pull off the heist of the century, get away clean, and start life over again with a new identity than find a girlfriend impressive enough for The Siberian. He withered at the thought.
Just then there was a tapping at the door.
Cliff and Vasken looked up and saw the figure of a woman through the sheer shades.
She was standing at the front door. Vasken looked at his watch.
“Oh, I almost forgot,” he said to himself, and then he held up a hand to the woman waiting at the door. “Just a moment.”
“Should I leave?” Cliff asked.
“No, no, this won’t take but a moment.” Vasken stuffed the diamonds back into the pack, carrying it with him when he disappeared behind the counter into the recesses of the store.
Cliff’s eyes wandered back to the woman at the door.
Shapely, with long auburn hair, wearing a white dress and a wide-brimmed black hat.
Vasken returned to the door and unlocked it for her. “Welcome, Ms. Gray.”
“Thank you for allowing me to pick it up today,” she said warmly as she sauntered into the jewelry store.
“I have your watch right in the back, please, have some tea.” Vasken gestured to the tea tray before going back to retrieve the watch.
As she approached, her wide-brimmed hat hid most of her face. All Cliff could see was the curve of her jawline and a portion of her mouth, a small beauty mark above the right side of her upper lip. Her lipstick was the exact same shade as her hair. If a woman could smell like money, she would.
She reached him and finally looked up. She was stop-traffic beautiful, her demeanor chilly, her gaze aloof.
“Hi, I’m Cliff Weston.” He offered his hand. She met his with the briefest touch.
“Hello,” she replied coolly.
Vasken came out with a velvet bag the color of midnight. He handed it to her, and she retrieved the contents. It was a Rolex with an aqua-blue face and Jubilee band. She inspected it.
“We replaced the few diamonds that were missing, polished it, and buffed out a scratch,” Vasken said.
She nodded her approval. “Excellent work, Mr. Yeremian. Thank you.”
“As it so happens, Ms. Gray, you were asking if I knew of any security experts. I’d like to introduce you to the best I’ve met, Cliff Weston.”
Ms. Gray turned her head slowly back toward Cliff. “That’s quite an endorsement,” she said.
“Enchanté, Ms. Gray.” Cliff took her hand and gently pressed it.
“Vasken is generous with his praise.” Cliff lowered his chin.
He wouldn’t miss this opportunity, though.
He looked her directly in the eye. “But I do know my way around a security system. Do you have a business you’re looking to protect? ”
“More like a residence,” she answered.
“I design personal systems, too.”
“Can you examine weaknesses in my current system?”
“I can. In fact, that is my specialty.”
“Color me intrigued, Mr. Weston.” The corner of her mouth tilted up. “Do you have a card?”
Cliff produced his newly printed business cards and handed one to her.
She took it, slid it in her purse, and smiled. “Weston Security. Excellent. I’ll be in touch.” She put on her watch, thanked Vasken, and waved goodbye.
When she was gone, Cliff looked at Vasken. “It’s like she walked out of a Raymond Chandler novel. Femme fatale.”
“A real mystery, too. New in town. I don’t know much about her beyond her address. It is a house here in Manhattan Beach, right on Strand.”
“A lot of new money coming into the beach cities, I’m told,” Cliff said, thinking about what his parole officer had said.
How rich people around here get lulled into a false sense of security.
If that was the case, he was just the man for the job.
He needed the money to start his business, though.
It was a huge opportunity and for once, he felt like he was at the right place at the right time.
But first, Cliff needed to meet a woman. Not just any woman. A woman who would reflect well on Cliff. Someone The Siberian would approve of. Someone perhaps Cliff had been looking for—for a long, long time.