June 4th, 1993
San Francisco Museum of Archaeology
Stephen paid the taxi driver and ran up to the entrance. A police officer stopped him.
“Official business only. These premises are under investigation.”
“Stephen Smith, Private Detective. This is my partner, Robert Jones. We’ve been hired by Chief Jonathan to help with investigations.”
Stephen showed him his badge.
“Go right in.”
Smith and Jones walked in and dug around the scene of the crime. After four hours of fruitless searching, they took a bathroom break. After leaving the restroom, a figure hit Jones over the head with a club and dragged him away.
“Maybe if we look in different parts of the—” began Smith. “Hey Rob, where’d you…”
He saw a shadow at the end of the hall.
“Hey!” shouted Smith, and ran after it.
The figure ducked into a room. Smith heard the click of a lock and took out a lock pick. He tried to break open the door, but the pick broke instead. Smith heard muffled voices in the room. He couldn’t make them out, but he heard the exchanging of money.
Who else is in there? thought Smith.
The door opened and Jones fell out, seemingly unconscious.
Smith smacked him awake. “Rob, what happened?”
“I…I don’t remember. How’d we get here?”
“Some goon knocked you out. I heard the exchanging of money. Think it’s the Mafia?”
Jones rolled his eyes. “No, it’s the Humane Society…Of course it’s the Mafia!”
Smith opened the door and was greeted by gunfire. He rolled to the side and took an Ancient Greek discus off the wall. He threw it at the would-be killer and the discus smacked the gun away. Smith kicked the man in the abdomen and pinned him to the ground.
“Who are you, and what do you want?” asked Smith.
The man laughed. “Call me Joe Bob. I want you dead.”
Smith studied him. “You killed that McDougal guy, didn’t you.”
“I gave the command to some thugs, if that’s what you’re asking.”
He handcuffed the man and pulled out a portable radio. “There are Mafia agents in the building, at least one. I repeat, there are Mafia agents in the building. I have one in custody, over.”
A detachment of police officers took the man to jail for murder and attempted murder.
“Why would he want you dead?” asked Jones.
“Use your head, Rob. The Mafia is behind these robberies. I come in and they want me killed. They don’t want anyone to find out anything more than what we already know,” said Smith.
Suddenly, an alarm went off.
“I knew there was more agents in the building!” shouted Smith. He and Jones ran to the front of the building.
“This wing is directly opposite where the first robbery took place…” muttered Smith.
“What do you mean?” asked Jones.
“The explosion was in the outer wall of the west wing, the Treasures of the Far East exhibit. This one happened in the east wing, the Mesoamerican section.”
“We need more guards in those sections,” said Jones. “Move the guards from the center of the museum toward the front, where the robberies happened.”
“What about the exhibits there? There’s an Egyptian necklace worth almost a billion dollars,” said Smith.
“The Mafia isn’t after those! They’re trying to get the stuff in the front!”
“Right. Notify the curator of the museum. We need his approval.”
Jones grinned. “Consider it done.”