THE EL DORADO HUSTLE (PART FOUR)

PSY PUBLISHING

&

MATTHEW LOVECRAFT

PRESENT

A PARANORMAL CRIME CAPER

BY

K.D. KILGORE

THE EL DORADO HUSTLE

PART FOUR

____________________________

THE EL DORADO HUSTLE

PART FOUR

ADAPTED FROM

THE CASE BOOK

OF

VICTORIA ISABELLE WINTERBOURNE

OCTOBER 13, 1921

DAYTIME - MICHIGAN AVE

I enter the jewelry store and see the Fat Man behind the counter. He’s an open book – a mess of emotions. His life is chaos and he’s going in so many directions at once, he doesn’t even bother to put up an emotional barrier, let alone a psychic defense.

He is a Big Man. He looks like a Pig Man. Fat, sausage shaped fingers, pudgy red cheeks and a bulbous red nose – blood vessels broken from too much – is it Scotch..? No, he’s a Brandy man.

It doesn’t take the heightened senses of a vampire to smell the booze, tobacco and sweat of this Fat, Little Man, standing sentry over millions of dollars in baubles, jewels and diamonds.

I walk straight to the back of the store, linger a moment and then move right, down the case and to the corner of the counter where I stop. I turn and look at the Fat Man, in his cheap brown cotton haberdashers’ suit.

A man comes into the store behind me. He turns to the left to peruse the tall cabinets on the opposite wall. Of course, no one pays attention to a man in a jewelry store which means I have the clerk’s full attention.

“Darling,” I say, watching his eyes linger on the low cut bust line of my dress.

It’s not overboard, but it is burgundy red and just sexy enough to turn a Fat Man’s eye my way, but not so much as to draw any attention going in or out of the little jewelry store.

“Madam,” the Fat Man replies, meeting my gaze; slow and greedy.

I clean up the cockney in my usually brash British accent and lay it on him Prim & Proper.

“Mi’ Lady, if you would please,” I say.

It’s always easy to put a man who works high-end retail off balance by suggesting that you not only have taste and class, but also the money to back it up. I look down at the red crushed velvet lined case for a moment or two, not wanting to appear too eager.

I move down the counter towards the door where the Fat Man was standing when I arrived. He follows me looking casual as he takes the watch from his coat pocket and pretends to check the time. He clicks the watch closed.

I stop, look down and make a sound that could be mistaken for a purr as my eyes fall upon a diamond encrusted Moon Stone necklace that is sparkling and shining bright as the colors of the rainbow.

The centerpiece contains a flat round rose tinted Moon Stone surrounded by 5 pink diamonds all held in place by a gold setting that could be unclasped from the 4-string set of pearls which could then be worn as bracelets.

The diamond outlay around the Moon Stone would mean nothing. To an immortal Witch with a penchant for Occult Artifacts that sparkle and shine – it had a presence – like it had its own soul.

“Said to have been a gift from Rasputin to Princess Irena Alexandrovia of Russia – cousin to Czar Nicholas (II), and wife to the wealthiest man in Imperial Russia, Prince Felix Yussopov – suspected of murdering the Russian Mystic, Grigori Rasputin, in 1916,” the Fat man says, “She was said to have been able to hear the voice of god when she wore it.”

The history Frankie had given me was far more interesting. The necklace being a gift from Zeus to the Witch Cierce – an enchanted necklace the when worn guided one to a city that was beautiful in a way that only a god could comprehend. One of the ancient Witch’s descendants lost the necklace during the French Revolution and it made it into the hands of Rasputin, during World War I, who went mad after wearing it.

It’s always best, however, to play dumb for the sake of jewelers, retailers and Fat Men. It is also always good form to let men feel as though they are the sole repository and keepers of all valuable knowledge. Any Jewel Thief worth their weight in precious stones knows the story of Rasputin and wish to educate the retailer. Not being in a hurry to let the Fat Man in on the deeper history and expose my penchant for purloined priceless pieces of paranormal artifacts.

The Fat Man takes the necklace from its place in the crushed red velvet case and places it on the green felt mat to my left.

“May I try it on?” I ask.

“I assume, Mi’ Lady, has suitable funds on her person to cover any unexpected damages?”

It’s also good practice to walk away from Fat Men who think that you need jewelry more than they need a sales commission, so I turned my Prim & Proper, up a notch and took a chance.

“MY… DEAR… SIR!!!” I say – pronouncing every word and syllable with as much disdain as I can muster for a sad Fat Man. “I… HAVE… NEVER!!!”

“MADAM!” the, Fat Man says, flustered.

“Do you know who I am!?” I look directly into his beady little eyes, tucked away between folds of flesh. “I am Lady Eleonore Rigby the 3rd wife to the 3rd Earl of Elerby - cousin to the Second wife of Henry the Eight’s 2nd Son Roderick the Great!”

There are benefits to being a Witch turned Immortal by a Vampire. A true Vampire like Marcus can compel most, if not all humans to do anything he tells them to. No moral stop gap – no ethical issues.

Due to the unusual nature of my condition – I am not able to compel people, but I have acquired the ability to cast a psychic glamour that makes people susceptible to my emotional suggestions. It’s much like feeding off a person’s emotions, and a little bit like what people might imagine hypnosis to be.

The Fat Man becomes flustered and befuddled just long enough, trapped in my gaze. I make the switch. I slip the original necklace into my purse and place an imitation of the necklace on the green felt mat.

The man in the back of the shop, turns towards us, takes three large strides and steps in to interrupt.

It’s Marcus, but he looks every bit the Pinkerton Man or Police Dick.

“Pahdon me sur,” Marcus says, to the Fat Man behind the counter in his best Southern accent. “Ma’am, please do me a fava and empty out yer purse.”

It’s easy to fool people in just about any city if you can pull of an unfamiliar and believable accent. Marcus had the talent and the charm to pull it off. He reached into my handbag and pulls out the real necklace.
I believe this is yours, sur,” Marcus says taking up the fake up off the mat and placing the original back down on the counter.

I gave Marcus and the Fat Man a look of incredulity and utter disdain.

“You think that I am a thief!?’ I say, looking Marcus in the eyes and trying not to smile.

“I don’t think you are. I watched you make that switch. It was slick, but not slick enough,” Marcus pulls a Blank Badge from his inner coat pocket and holds it up for the Fat Man to see. “Jordan Wintergreen, FBI – I picked up the case in Boston, but she’s been pulling this scam all across the country.”

A Blank Badge makes people see any form of ID that is suggested to them. There’s a bit of mesmerism that occurs and while the Fat Man was inspecting the ID, I switched the necklace out again with a second fake that was still stashed in my bag.

“I do apologize for the inconvenience, sur. I’m going to need to confer with the guard outside for a moment and have him accompany me to the police station,” Marcus says. “Ma’am please place your hands out in front of you. I will do you the favor of not perp-walking you out of here so that everyone can see.”

I turn and face Marcus, noting a small glimmer of joy in his eyes as he slaps the cuffs around my wrists, He takes off his over coat and drapes it over my hands.

“Once again, suh, I appreciate your understanding in this matter. You’ve helped a lot of people,” Marcus says as we turn and walk out the front door.

We stop and confer with Frankie, who still looks like the spitting image of the guard that Marcus sent home and we all walk off down the street and around the corner.

TO BE CONTINUED...