Thanks to: Paulina Ann, BMSH, Candylou, max2013, sm200349, julzdagger88, Jilsen, hlahabibty, Barb, Guest, musicgurl21284, and all others who read and enjoyed. I am giving up apologizing for how long it takes me to post, but I have to say, this chapter did NOT want to get written. I redid it about five times before I was happy with it, so I hope you enjoy.

Chapter 14

Carmine squinted at the screen, tilting his head first to one side then the other, trying to see the image in the bright sunshine pouring in through the windows of the café.

"'Dis what you was gettin' the other night?" He glanced sideways, caught Frank's nod, then grunted and waved a finger at the brown blob of the right side of the flickering frame. "What the hell is that?"

Frank leaned in close to see what the older man was pointing at, sliding a pair of half-moon glasses across the table as he did so. "A shoe."

"And look. There I am. In the chair." Joe's voice got louder with each word. He was standing next to the table, his fingertips pressed lightly on its surface to balance himself as he bounced on the balls of his feet causing both the laptop and the cups of coffee next to it vibrate. "And since I was tied..."

"Joe." Frank's voice was sharper than he had intended. With one hand he moved the coffee away from the laptop, put the fingertips of the other to his head in an effort to stave off the headache he could feel coming on, then shot his brother an apologetic look. "Sorry."

Joe nodded, the bouncing subsiding a touch. "'S'okay," he said in a lowered voice. "We're both a little on edge."

Frank looked around, making sure that no one had noticed his brother's outburst, and was relieved to see it didn't appear anyone had. Most of the other customers had their faces buried in their own computers, many bopping their heads in time to whatever music was playing through their earphones or earbuds, or were in deep conversation with their companions. He sighed and rubbed his eyes, feeling the lack of sleep from the night before, took a large gulp of coffee, and returned his attention to Carmine.

"Yes. This was what I was trying to get. Or at least some of it. These must have transferred before they shut the computer off." He let out a frustrated breath. "Given the new computer Liz mentioned yesterday, they probably destroyed the hard drive I had connected to the old one."

"Yeah. I saw the new one when I got there in the morning. You're lucky you got 'dis much." Carmine settled the glasses on his nose. He tapped them and snorted. "This is what happens when you get old, boys. Not everythin' works so good as it did. Oh, yeah. Now I see it. Leather from the looks of it. Interestin' choice of footwear for a break-in."

The screen changed, showing another view, this one from above and to the right. Joe's legs and sneakers were visible in the bottom right corner. The rest of the screen showed a few large shiny blurs leaning against or attached to the walls, with one in the middle of the floor. Then the screen went black.

Frank clicked a button on the keyboard, and the image flickered back to life. It paused, and he pointed to the top left corner.

"The date stamp on this one shows two in the morning." He backed up to the first image. "This one is..." He squinted at the numbers on the screen.

"Twelve forty-five," Joe said, his bouncing speeding up again. "Whoever they were, this makes it obvious they were stealing stuff with me not in any condition to help them."

Carmine nodded. "You sent this to detective what's-her-name yet?"

"Rodriguez, and no." Frank shook his head.

Joe snorted. "I'm pretty sure she'd think we doctored the footage somehow."

"Put it on one of them… Whaddaya call em… Flash drives. I got someone I can give it to who'll take it seriously." The older man pulled the glasses from his face and plunked them down on the table. "I'll tell him it was an anonymous tip. He won't ask too many questions, and he'll make sure it don't get buried."

"Is he on duty today?" Frank slid the laptop across the table, closing the lid.

"Nah." Carmine lifted his wrist to check his watch. "If I leave now, I can catch him when he gets home from church. If I get lucky, I'll get an invite to Sunday dinner. His wife cooks like nobody's business." He winked as he rose and pushed in his chair. "You back tomorrow?"

"I'll be there," Frank said.

"I'll see you then." The older man waved as he left.

Joe watched him go, then sat down with a thump in the seat Carmine had just vacated.

"I don't like you going back there," he said, his fingers tapping the table top.

Frank was looking at the screen. "It's just for one more day. Then Carmine's work is done, and there won't be any reason for me to be there." His fingers traced a pattern on the laptop's trackpad. "You never know, I might get lucky. Hey, look at this." He turned the laptop around and pointed to the screen.

Onscreen was the image where Joe was completely visible in the chair.

"What are we looking at? I literally have no idea what you're showing me."

Frank minimized the window and opened another one. "It was something Carmine said." The new window showed an expansion of the top corner of the image. "About interesting footwear." The enlarged section was grainy and pixelated.

Joe shook his head. "I don't see it. You're going to need to explain it to me."

"I'm not sure..." Frank drummed his fingers once on the tabletop. "I need to see if there's a way to enhance the image. There's something about the shoe..." He sighed. "I'll work on it later."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

The banging noise in the hallway at six-thirty in the morning startled Frank into dropping his toothbrush on the floor. He tried bending over to pick it up, but the burning poker pushing through his chest convinced him it would be a bad idea.

Bang. Bang. Bang. This time the sound was more like a hammer, and it wasn't coming from the hallway, it was coming from his door. He sighed, flinching as the breath left his lungs, wrapped an arm around his midsection, and walked carefully toward the door.

"Took you long enough." It was Joe, looking much too awake for an hour of the morning he usually refused to admit existed.

"What are you doing here?" The words carried more of a suspicious edge than he had intended, and Joe snorted.

"And good morning to you, too, 'bro. You gonna let me in? Or do I have to stand in the hallway?"

Frank shuffled back a few paces, allowing his brother to enter the apartment and shutting the door behind him.

They stood in the open room for a few seconds staring at each other, then Joe jerked his chin toward his brother's chest.

"Impressive bruises."

"Thank you." Frank pulled his bathrobe closed and retied the belt. "You still haven't answered my question. What are you doing here?"

Joe shook his head. "You're heading back to the gallery today, right?" He waited for Frank's nod, then continued. "I've had cracked ribs before. I'm guessing you can barely move without it feeling like your chest is on fire, so I came here to help with bandages. If they're tight enough, you'll be able to move easier, and von Ormond won't be suspicious."

Frank took a step back, touched by his brother's consideration. "Oh. Thank you."

"Because, of course you weren't going to ask for help." Joe rolled his eyes. "You never do. So, let's get wrapping." He marched across the open space toward the tiny bathroom. "Hey, did you know your toothbrush is on the floor?"

Once Frank's torso was bandaged, Joe sat down at the kitchen table, and Frank pulled out some bagels and cream cheese and put them on the table with some plates, silverware, and a glass of milk for his brother. Once seated, he reached for his laptop and tapped on a few keys.

"What'cha doing?" Joe grabbed a knife, neatly sliced open a bagel, and smeared cream cheese on one half.

"I got the pictures enlarged. Now I'm trying to reduce some of the blur so I can get more details. I feel like there's something important I'm missing."

Joe grunted. "You get them to Carmine?"

Frank nodded. "I dropped the drive off in his mailbox yesterday afternoon. He called when he got back from his friend's house to say he'd gotten it. He said he told him about Rodriguez's insistence that you're guilty."

"She is pretty fixated on me, isn't she?" Joe sighed, the knife stilled halfway down to the tub of cream cheese. "I didn't really think I was her type... Oh. Before I forget. Jamie called last night."

Frank's bagel stopped halfway to his mouth, and he raised an eyebrow. "He trying to shake you down for even more of Aunt Gertrude's cookies?"

"No, which was kind of weird." Joe put more cream cheese on the bagel and took a bite. "You talked to Liz, right?" The words were muffled by the food in his mouth.

"Which one?" Frank asked, putting his bagel down and taking a swig of his coffee.

"Wmmph..." Joe looked surprised at his brother's puzzled look. He swallowed and tried again. "Webling."

Frank nodded. "For a bit. She told you about Mr. Michaels having a new gallery space?"

"Yeah. Apparently it's real hush-hush. I'm not even sure how she found out about it." Joe put the bagel down and took a swig of milk. "Jamie says the company was pressured to expedite payment on the policy."

"Even before the police investigation is done... I don't imagine that went over well at the agency." Frank raised an eyebrow. "I wonder if Mrs. Michaels knows about it..."

Joe shook his head. "Probably not. And no, it's going over like a lead balloon, so he wanted to give me a heads up in case there is more police pressure." He glanced over at the computer. "It working?"

Frank slid the laptop closer and turned it so his brother could see the screen. "Still processing."

"Can't you just click on a section and tell it to enhance?" Joe's fingers started drumming on the table.

"It doesn't work that way in real life." Frank sighed. "That's TV's version of tech."

Joe shrugged. "Too bad. It would make things a lot easier." He glanced at the clock on the wall. "I should head over to the office. Calvin should be there soon. You okay with the rest of the disguise?"

Frank nodded. "Yeah. Thanks, by the way. I appreciate the help."

He twisted experimentally. Not too much pain, he thought. Good.

"Any time, 'bro." Joe rose and brought his dirty dishes to the sink. "Let me know if anything comes up today, okay?"

Leaving the program running, Frank went back into the bathroom and applied the make-up and wig that turned him into Paul, grateful the wig hadn't suffered any damage in the attack. Before he left the apartment, he checked the laptop one more time.

It was still fuzzy, but more detail was visible. He could see the bottom of a soda bottle on the left side of the frame near Joe's feet, with something that looked like its contents spilled on the floor. The shoe on the right side showed some darker contrast, but it wasn't clear enough to tell if the contrast was stitching or shadows.

He sighed, closed the laptop, and left for the gallery.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Carmine was standing outside waiting for him when he got there. "You okay to be here?"

Frank tapped his chest. "Wrapped up nice and tight."

"Good. New installation's about ta show." He indicated a couple of guys waiting at the edge of the sidewalk, then rubbed the back of his neck. "Even better, we don't have ta move it in. Once everything's set up, all we gotta do is make a few adjustments, then we're done."

"All right."

"You got enough?"

"I don't know." Frank shrugged. "I can only hope so." He indicated the door. "After you."

It was strange being back in the gallery. Everything had been cleaned. The cameras were still in place, but the walls had been cleaned, the track lights had been shifted around, and there were new hooks and hangers in place waiting for the new installation, this time consisting of paintings.

Through the open door of the office, Liz raised a tentative hand in greeting before flushing and lowering her head to her computer.

I should have expected that, Frank thought.

"She's been doin' real good," Carmine muttered. "She ain't let nothin' slip."

The next few hours were spent checking the security interface on the new office computer to make sure all the cameras would sync correctly, then making slight modifications to their angles so both the paintings and the patrons would be captured on film.

When they were on the last camera, Frank heard footsteps approaching them.

"How are things looking here?" Even without looking up, the attitude told Frank it was von Ormond.

"Just peachy," he said, not turning around and trying very hard to keep any note of sarcasm out of the words.

"So, you are almost done?" The man's accent deepened slightly. "Not that I am trying to rush you."

Yes, you are, thought Frank. Something has you on edge. You're nervous.

"Paulie's just got one or two more adjustments to make, then we're good," Carmine said.

"Paul." Without looking up from the number pad, Frank made sure to put the right note of complaint in his voice.

Von Ormond grimaced, then tried to cover it up with a fake smile. "Of course. Paul. You and Mr. Esposito have been very professional. We will be sure to recommend you to other galleries in the neighborhood."

Frank typed in the last two numbers on the keypad, lifted his hands with a flourish, and spun the desk chair around to face the other two. "Finito," he said. "You're good to go." He held out a hand to von Ormond who looked at it for a long moment before grasping it in a weak, and obviously unwanted, shake. "Nobody's gonna steal these out from under your nose."

"Paul," Carmine hissed.

"Sorry, uncle. Mr. von Ormond." Frank lowered his head, pretending to be embarrassed. "Sometimes my mouth gets ahead'a my brain..."

He shifted his gaze to the floor, lighting on the gallery manager's shoes. The shoes were expensive, possibly handmade. Brown leather with dark, contrast stitching, and a slight stain near the toes. He froze.

Oil, he thought. Or soda…

He jumped up, pulling his phone from his back pocket as he did so and flipping it open. "Hello?" He send an apologetic look to Carmine, and mouthed, "Police academy. Sorry," before bolting out of the office and out the door onto the street.

Once outside, he called the office.

"Hardy Investigations. How may we help you?" The voice was deep and smooth.

"Calvin? Where's Joe?" He held the phone close to his mouth, speaking as quietly as he could.

There was a moment of silence. "Mr. Hardy?"

"Yes," Frank hissed. "Where's my brother?"

"I'm right here," Joe's voice came through the line, tight like a taut wire. "What's up? Calvin said you sound like something's wrong."

"Not wrong. Right." He took a breath, trying to release some of the tension he felt. "I think we've got von Ormond."