Chase Baker and the Seventh Seal (A Chase Baker Thriller Book 9) by Vincent Zandri Page B
Authors: Vincent Zandri
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but they’re not fucking around . . .
“Nice kosher convincer,” I say. “I guess that’s as good as ID. Cross really knows how to pick his employees. You two buddies or bros?”
“Both,” Tall Hasidic Jew says. “And yes, Cross knows what he’s doing. Now, if you don’t mind, the plane is waiting.”
“I need to head upstairs, grab my bag,” I say. Shifting my gaze to Magda. “But my partner can load in now.”
Short Hasidic Jew is quick to shake his head, make slashing motions with his arms like a referee indicating a missed field goal.
“Cross did not say word one about a girl joining us,” he says. Then, turning to his taller partner. “Hey, Moshe, did Cross say anything about a girl?”
“Nah, Itzhak,” Moshe says. “He most definitely did not. Or I would have remembered it.”
Dr. Azzahra looks at me like, what do we do?
“Tell you what, Moshe, Itzhak,” I say, “why don’t you give Cross a call now. Go ahead and wake him up. Ask him if it’s okay that I bring along an expert in the field of the ancient metal texts I’ve been placed in charge of finding. I’m sure he’s been up almost all night playing Tekken or Tetris or Final Fantasy or whatever video game it is he’s trying to beat the crap out of these days. But then, he’ll be happy as all hell to be woken up out of a sound sleep to field your justified concern.”
Moshe turns to Itzhak.
“The Goyim has a point, Itzy,” he says. “Cross is a good boss, but he’s cranky too.” Nodding at Azzahra. “Okay, lady, you can come.”
Itzy takes hold of her knapsack, carries it around to the back of the SUV, opens the hatch, tosses it in. Meantime, I go upstairs, put some food in the bowl for my pit bull, Lulu, who is no doubt sleeping under my bed. Knowing she will be well taken care of with all the pizza crusts she can eat by the guys who work the pizza joint downstairs, I grab my bag, head back down the single flight of stairs and out onto the sidewalk.
I go to hand Itzy my bag. But he looks at me like I just stepped on his Old Testament.
“I’m not your slave, Mr. Baker,” he says. “And last I looked, you ain’t no pharaoh. You can do your own packing.”
“I’m not Egyptian,” I say. “Not even a teensy bit. But I was an altar boy, and I know that the Jews escaped the Pharaoh when Charlton Heston parted the Red Sea.”
He looks at me wide-eyed, then turns to Moshe. They both start laughing.
“Looks like Chase Baker has watched Ben Hur one too many times,” Itzy says.
Moshe responds, “It’s not Ben Hur, Itz. You got it all confused with The Ten Commandments.”
“Yeah, but he was in Ben Hur. He played the good part. The Jew. That Roman asshole stepbrother of his tried to crash his chariot.”
“Charlton Heston is bad ass, Itzy. He played a killer John the Baptist in The Greatest Story Ever Told.”
“That was a good one, yeah. He should have played Jesus. Not that German guy. What’s his name?”
“Max Von Sydow.”
Itzy laughs hard. “Imagine a blonde German playing Jesus. He’s a big fat Goyim like our boy Chase here.”
They both belly laugh over that one. I laugh too. Not because anything’s funny. But because I’d rather laugh with them than be laughed at.
We all pile in.
“This is going to be a fun drive,” I whisper to Magda who’s seated beside me in the back seat.
“My guess is it will be the most fun we have in the search for the lost codices,” she predicts.
We proceed out of Manhattan, in the direction of the rising sun, just like Moses leading the Israelites out of Egypt.
CHAPTER 14
Cross must have some real pull with the TSA (not to mention dough) because Moshe is allowed to enter through a series of secured gates and directly onto the tarmac beside Terminal 4 at JFK International. The white Gulfstream G650 is already powered up with engines idling. We pile out and immediately board the luxury plane. A flight attendant is standing at the open
“Nice kosher convincer,” I say. “I guess that’s as good as ID. Cross really knows how to pick his employees. You two buddies or bros?”
“Both,” Tall Hasidic Jew says. “And yes, Cross knows what he’s doing. Now, if you don’t mind, the plane is waiting.”
“I need to head upstairs, grab my bag,” I say. Shifting my gaze to Magda. “But my partner can load in now.”
Short Hasidic Jew is quick to shake his head, make slashing motions with his arms like a referee indicating a missed field goal.
“Cross did not say word one about a girl joining us,” he says. Then, turning to his taller partner. “Hey, Moshe, did Cross say anything about a girl?”
“Nah, Itzhak,” Moshe says. “He most definitely did not. Or I would have remembered it.”
Dr. Azzahra looks at me like, what do we do?
“Tell you what, Moshe, Itzhak,” I say, “why don’t you give Cross a call now. Go ahead and wake him up. Ask him if it’s okay that I bring along an expert in the field of the ancient metal texts I’ve been placed in charge of finding. I’m sure he’s been up almost all night playing Tekken or Tetris or Final Fantasy or whatever video game it is he’s trying to beat the crap out of these days. But then, he’ll be happy as all hell to be woken up out of a sound sleep to field your justified concern.”
Moshe turns to Itzhak.
“The Goyim has a point, Itzy,” he says. “Cross is a good boss, but he’s cranky too.” Nodding at Azzahra. “Okay, lady, you can come.”
Itzy takes hold of her knapsack, carries it around to the back of the SUV, opens the hatch, tosses it in. Meantime, I go upstairs, put some food in the bowl for my pit bull, Lulu, who is no doubt sleeping under my bed. Knowing she will be well taken care of with all the pizza crusts she can eat by the guys who work the pizza joint downstairs, I grab my bag, head back down the single flight of stairs and out onto the sidewalk.
I go to hand Itzy my bag. But he looks at me like I just stepped on his Old Testament.
“I’m not your slave, Mr. Baker,” he says. “And last I looked, you ain’t no pharaoh. You can do your own packing.”
“I’m not Egyptian,” I say. “Not even a teensy bit. But I was an altar boy, and I know that the Jews escaped the Pharaoh when Charlton Heston parted the Red Sea.”
He looks at me wide-eyed, then turns to Moshe. They both start laughing.
“Looks like Chase Baker has watched Ben Hur one too many times,” Itzy says.
Moshe responds, “It’s not Ben Hur, Itz. You got it all confused with The Ten Commandments.”
“Yeah, but he was in Ben Hur. He played the good part. The Jew. That Roman asshole stepbrother of his tried to crash his chariot.”
“Charlton Heston is bad ass, Itzy. He played a killer John the Baptist in The Greatest Story Ever Told.”
“That was a good one, yeah. He should have played Jesus. Not that German guy. What’s his name?”
“Max Von Sydow.”
Itzy laughs hard. “Imagine a blonde German playing Jesus. He’s a big fat Goyim like our boy Chase here.”
They both belly laugh over that one. I laugh too. Not because anything’s funny. But because I’d rather laugh with them than be laughed at.
We all pile in.
“This is going to be a fun drive,” I whisper to Magda who’s seated beside me in the back seat.
“My guess is it will be the most fun we have in the search for the lost codices,” she predicts.
We proceed out of Manhattan, in the direction of the rising sun, just like Moses leading the Israelites out of Egypt.
CHAPTER 14
Cross must have some real pull with the TSA (not to mention dough) because Moshe is allowed to enter through a series of secured gates and directly onto the tarmac beside Terminal 4 at JFK International. The white Gulfstream G650 is already powered up with engines idling. We pile out and immediately board the luxury plane. A flight attendant is standing at the open
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