FRED FLICKER had just pulled into the garage in the Bentley when the alarm siren wailed for a moment, then turned off. Had the garage door opener set off the system? he asked himself. That shouldn’t happen. He got out of the car, unbuttoned his jacket, and unholstered his little .380 automatic, which was big enough to frighten or wound, but not big enough to bring a man down, except with a shot to the heart or the head. He walked over to the door and let himself quietly into the house.

He walked stealthily into Stone’s office and saw the door to the security panel open. Uh-oh, he thought. He heard a noise to his left and wheeled, the gun in front of him. The figure of a man was running toward the kitchen. Fred screamed, “Please! Stop or I’ll shoot!” The “please” was intended to sound like “police.” The man kept moving; Fred lowered his aim and squeezed off a round. He was surprised at how much noise the small gun made in the enclosed space. The man made the kitchen door and kept running. A moment later, Fred heard the back door slam. The man had made the garden.

—

UPSTAIRS, Curly had four pictures on his cart when he heard the gunshot. He ran toward the back stairs to the kitchen, down them, and out into the garden, passing Irv, who was running with a big limp.

“Don’t you leave me here, you son of a bitch!” Irv yelled.

Curly made the gate to Second Avenue and looked for the van. Shit, she had parked across the street, and traffic was heavy. Irv caught up with him just as the light changed, and they both made it into the van. “Let’s get out of here!” he yelled at Maria, and she floored the vehicle.

—

FRED CHECKED UPSTAIRS and found the cart with the four pictures on it, then he looked into the kitchen before he called. Nobody there. He called Stone’s cell number and got an answer after four rings.

“What?” Stone demanded.

“We’ve had an intrusion,” Fred said calmly. “I put a bullet into one of them, but he kept running. They both made it out of the house. They were after your mother’s pictures, had four of them on a cart, but they left everything behind. Shall I call nine-one-one?”

“No, but the police will be there soon. Get your story straight before they come.” Stone hung up.

“Yes, sir!” Fred said into the dead phone.

—

SID FINALLY FOUND a pay phone in a candy store two blocks away and made the call, then he waited at the service door to his building, and four minutes later a Strategic Services van pulled up, and a man got out.

“I’m locked out,” Sid said.