Free The Further Adventures of Jack Lime by James Leck Page A

give you that painting, even if you pay. I’d be surprised if he ever planned to collect the ransom in the first place. It’s all just a ploy to keep us busy until he’s got the blue ribbon pinned on his lapel.”
    â€œJust the same, Lime,” KC said, “we’ll be at the train station if you need us.”
    â€œThen that’s where I’ll deliver the painting when I get it,” I said. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a nasty flimflam man to follow.”
    Thursday, October 10, 4:38 p.m.
The Steppes, The Cain Place
    Cain wasn’t in a hurry, that’s for sure. He wandered down Main Street, stopping a couple of times to check his cell. Then he strolled over to Monty’s Café, ordered a drink (probably something frothy and expensive) and sat down in one of their puffy leather sofas. I waited down the street and pretended to window-shop for shoes. After forty-five minutes the owner came out and asked me why I was spending so much time outside a women’s shoe store. I told her I was just doing a little market research. She didn’t buy it and asked me to move along. It was starting to get a little chilly, so I ducked into The Diner and grabbed a good old-fashioned cup of joe. When I came out, Cain was on the move again.
    After a leisurely jaunt down Main, he crossed the bridge and walked into Riverside Park. I was starting to smell an ambush, but I couldn’t turn back now, so I followed him in. After half an hour of admiring the leaves in the park, Cain headed out; no ambush, no secret meetings, no painting. It was already 4:38 when he picked up the pace and went back across the bridge. He booted across Main Street, down Milky Way Boulevard and into the ritzy part of town known as The Steppes. I followed him past one giant McMansion after another until he stepped off the sidewalk and ambled across the perfectly mowed lawn of a ridiculously large brick house.
    I checked my watch — 4:45. I had fifteen minutes before the alleged drop at the train station. Cain wandered around to the back, and I crept to the corner of the house. Cain stepped up to a garage and entered the security code. The door slid up, almost silently, and Cain went inside. Seconds later he came back out carrying a black garbage bag that contained something square and flat. Either he was throwing out a very large book or he had Madeleine’s painting in that bag. It was time to make my move.
    When he got within ten feet of me, I bolted around the corner and threw myself at him like a battering ram. Cain crumpled and the painting went flying.
    â€œCaught! Red-handed!” I yelled, pinning him down.
    â€œDoing what?” Cain said, struggling to get his arms free.
    â€œStill playing the dumb mug, eh?” I said. “Well, why don’t we have a little look at what’s inside that bag?”
    â€œGo ahead!”
    â€œDon’t make any sudden movements, Cain,” I said, letting him go and standing up.
    â€œI’ve got no reason to run,” he said, sweeping his hair into place.
    I strode over to the bag and pulled out the painting. It was a red triangle on a white canvas. The lines were thick, and at each of the three points the paint had dripped down the canvas like blood. Cain’s signature was scrawled in the bottom corner in the same red paint.
    â€œI think I’ll call it
The Idiot
, after you, Lime,” Cain said with a smirk.
    â€œWhat are you talking about?”
    â€œDid you enjoy the leaves in the park? They’re so pretty this time of year, aren’t they?”
    â€œWhere’s the painting?” I said.
    â€œI don’t know,” he said, still sitting on the ground. “Mike told me this morning that it’d been stolen or something. We thought it might be funny to string you along. Mike said you’d fall for it. I guess he was right, huh?”
    â€œWhere is Mike, anyway?”
    â€œHe had some