2 Chapter 2
The first thing he did, after locking and bolting the door, was to put the messenger bag in the room safe. Then he stripped and went to take a shower. When he left the bathroom, he was three inches taller, much more muscular, and had light brown hair. In other words, he was the man who had checked into the hotel under the name Jonathan Malloy.
* * * *
After a good night’s sleep, Jax dressed and went down to the hotel dining room for breakfast. Then he packed his things, putting the messenger bag with his ill-gotten gains into the laptop pocket of his carry-on bag. After he checked out of the hotel, he caught a cab which had just dropped off a pair of guests, giving the driver the address of a building on the edge of the downtown area. When they arrived, he asked the driver to wait. He left his suitcase in the cab, but brought the carry-on bag with him as he entered the building, and then took the elevator up to the third floor.
Halfway down the hallway, he stopped at a door with a sign that simply said ‘Appraisals’ and listed the hours. He rapped twice, paused, rapped again, and after another pause rapped three times. A buzzer sounded to let him in.
“It’s been a while, Jackson,” a well-dressed man seated at a desk said. Although Jax still looked like Jonathan Malloy, the man knew him as Jackson Martin. “Take a seat and let’s see what you have for me.” He smiled. “If I don’t miss my guess, it’s jewelry taken from a robbery yesterday afternoon.”
“You always were smarter than you look, Alan,” Jax replied with a brief grin. He handed the messenger bag to the man, who emptied it onto the desktop.
“Not bad, for a few minutes work,” Alan said after examining each piece. He named a price for the lot, which Jax accepted, then asked, “The usual arrangement?” When Jax nodded, Alan opened what Jax knew was a well-secured site on his computer to transfer half the money into Jax’s numbered offshore bank account. Then he went into another room, taking the jewelry with him. He returned and handed Jax a small security bag with a combination lock. “It’s all there,” he said, telling Jax the combination.
Jax didn’t bother to count the money. He and Alan had done deals like this many times before and he trusted the man not to try to screw him around. Thanking him, he tucked the bag into an inside pocket of his jacket and departed.
The cab was right where he’d left it. He told the driver to take him to the airport, tipped him well when they got there, then headed inside. His first stop was one of the men’s rooms where he transferred the security bag to the suitcase he would check through to his destination. When he had, he strolled to, and through, the security checkpoint—with ID that said he was Jonathan Malloy. Three hours later at another airport, he got his suitcase from the baggage claim carrousel, picked his car up from the long-term lot, and drove into the city to the building where he owned a penthouse condominium. When he left the car he looked like the condo’s owner, the real Jackson Martin.
The lobby was deserted as Jax crossed to the elevator, which he took to the forty-second floor, where he exited. Next to it was his private elevator that would take him up two more flights to his condo. He input the security code to open the doors, got on, and when it reached the forty-fourth floor he stepped out into a small entryway with one door across from him. He pressed his thumb to the pad of the security box, unlocked the door, and entered the foyer of his residence. Only then did he finally relax completely.
That he liked where he lived was a given. He wouldn’t be there if he didn’t—both in the city and the condo. After he’d bought it he’d almost totally redesigned it from the floor to ceiling. Where there had once been plush carpets, there was now hardwood flooring. The walls had originally been painted in shades of wine, gold, and royal blue. Now they were in colors varying from beige to white to pale gray, making the modern furniture stand out in stark contrast—be it the turquoise upholstered chairs and sofa in the living room, the deep gray and mahogany dining room set, or the dark oak beds and dressers in the two bedrooms on the second floor, each of which had a lavish en suite bathroom. Only the kitchen remained the same with pale copper appliances, matching cabinets, and copper-toned granite countertops. The work area for his business of record, as a restorer of damaged antiquarian books and prints, was on the second floor in what had originally been the condo’s master bedroom. Now, it was plainly decorated with utilitarian tables, chairs, and shelves for the tools he needed.
