Free Lady Justice on the Dark Side (Volume 19) by Robert Thornhill

Hotel Phillips and rent a room. I think our sucker took the bait.”
        I called Suzanne and filled her in.
        “Rent two adjacent rooms,” she said. “I’ll call the detective in charge and let you know how we are going to proceed.”
        We rented rooms 406 and 407 and settled in, waiting for a call from Andrew Pitts.
        “Wot about me?” Willie asked. “You need me anymore?”
        “Don’t think so,” Kevin replied. “You did a good job.”
        “When does de limo have to be back to de rental place?”
        “Not until ten tomorrow. Why?”
        “Mind if I borrow it fo’ de evenin’? Emma would be really impressed if’n I showed up an’ took her for a spin. She be real grateful, too, if you know wot I mean.”
        “Sure, enjoy yourself,” Kevin replied, smiling. “You earned it.”
        Willie beamed and gave him a high-five as he headed for the door.
        “What sounds good?” Kevin asked, opening the room service menu.
        I glanced at the prices. “How about we order a pizza? Those prices are outrageous.”
        “You’ve got a lot to learn about the P.I. business,” he replied, patting my leg. “Expense account. You’ll just pass the bill along to Ms. Romero and she’ll take care of it. That’s just how it’s done.”
        At first I felt guilty, but I got over it quickly when our tenderloin medallions, garlic mashed potatoes and green beans arrived. The ticket, complete with dessert and a bottle of wine came to just over a hundred dollars.
        I had never enjoyed a stake-out like this when I was a cop. There were definitely some advantages being on the dark side.
        At six, the phone rang.
        “Mr. Cavendish? Andrew Pitts here. I spoke with the collector and he’s reluctant to part with the Benton. He’s turned down a previous offer of fifty thousand.”
        “Pity,” Kevin replied. “I had my heart set on that oil. Do you think he would consider an offer of sixty?”
        “All I can do is ask, Mr. Cavendish. I’ll do my best.”
        “Thank you. I’ll be waiting for your call.”
        “Greedy son-of-a-bitch,” Kevin mumbled, hanging up the receiver. “He knew he had a patsy, so he’s going for the gold. Oh well, it’s that same greed that’s going to be his downfall.”
        Fifteen minutes later, the phone rang again.
        “Cavendish here.”
        “Congratulations, Mr. Cavendish. Looks like you are going to be the proud owner of a Thomas Hart Benton oil. The collector accepted your offer.”
        “Splendid! But as I mentioned earlier, I must have the piece authenticated. Can you bring it by the hotel?”
        “I believe I can arrange that.”
        “Excellent. I’ll make a call to my art expert. Can you be here by eight?”
        “That shouldn’t be a problem. I’ll see you then.”
        I called Suzanne. “We’re on. He’ll be here at eight.”
        “Great! So will we.”
     

     
        At seven-thirty, Suzanne arrived with Detective Derek Blaylock.
        Ox and I had worked many cases with Blaylock and he was constantly amazed that a couple of grunt cops seemed to always be up to their ears in the most bizarre cases.
        “I thought I’d seen the last of you when you retired. Apparently not.”
        Then, he spotted Kevin. “You, too! How can I be so lucky?”
        “Lucky!” Kevin replied. “That’s the operative word. In a half hour, we’re going to deliver an art thief right into your hands. It’s the easiest collar you’ll ever make.”
        “Yeah, right. So how are we gonna play this?”
        “We’ve got audio equipment set up in the next room, number 407. You and Ms. Romero can wait there, listen to our conversation, record it, and when he delivers the painting, come on in and cuff him. It’s that simple.”
        At precisely eight o’clock, there was a knock on the door.
        Kevin opened