Arthur was quiet for a moment. “You think?” he finally asked.

“I think. Besides, if we get up and walk away from here with that backpack, and the cops stop us because they see me dripping with blood, dollars to doughnuts they’ll soon realize we’re in possession of stolen property.”

“I wish I had never met you.”

Wally shrugged. “Sorry about that. Get out your cell phone.”

“But what about going to his apartment to see if the stun gun is there?”

“That won’t work. I’m a bloody mess. If they catch us going into the apartment then handing over the glass sculptures will mean nothing. They’ll definitely think we stole them. I’ll make some excuse for showing up at the Reillys’ apartment tomorrow even if Rod goes to Connecticut. With any luck I’ll find the stun gun before they do.”

Arthur moaned.

“We can’t risk more trouble, and this is our chance to gain points, I’m telling you. Think of how happy whoever owns the gallery will be. They’ll probably give us a great reward.”

Arthur shook his head vehemently. “Not necessarily! Didn’t you read about the woman who dug a painting out of the trash on the sidewalk, recognized its magnificence, then traced the owners who had reported it stolen years before?”

“No.”

“They gave her pittance! After all her work. It was pathetic. And how about the contractor who found money in the wall of an old home, happily shared the discovery with the new owner, and then got nothing for his honesty?”

“Do you read any good news on the Internet?”

“The world has a lot of problems,” Arthur said sadly. “But I did read about how excited the gallery owners were about all their glass sculptures. They’d collected them from all over the world.”

“So let’s make their day.”

Arthur got out his cell phone. “Do you think information is working?”

“Try.”

Thankfully it was. Arthur was connected to the NYPD non-emergency line, then handed the phone to Wally.

A moment later, Jack Reilly picked up the line and identified himself.

“Jack, this is Wally. You know, I work with Rod on your apartment.”

In his office, a puzzled look came over Jack’s face. “Wally, how are you? Is everything okay?”

“Funny you should ask. My buddy Arthur and I decided to drive into the city tonight—”

As he spoke, Arthur realized what a big mistake they were making. It sounded absurd to drive into the city during a blackout.

“—and my car ran out of gas on the West Side Highway.”

“That’s too bad,” Jack murmured, wondering where this conversation could possibly be headed.

“So we got out and started to walk on the path along the river. A demented guy passes us, and he ends up throwing a punch at me. Blood came gushing out of my nose. It hurts. I bet I’m going to need a nose job.”

“Do you want me to send an ambulance?” Jack asked.

“Well, let me finish.”