<div class="floatleft">(https://www.mediafire.com/convkey/4474/fy1ijwqfvup45ew6g.jpg) <br/><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: Georgia;"></span><div align="center"><strong><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 12pt;">Peter Warcaof</span></strong> <span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: Georgia;"></span><div align="center"><strong><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 12pt;">CGDA Benefactor</span></strong></div></div></div><br/><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 11pt;">I peer, strain to see what’s going on in the cab Jaclyn has gotten into.  All I can tell is she hands something to the driver and sits back.  The car pulls away.<br/><br/>Avi’s in his own cab.  I’ll walk over, get in and follow Jaclyn.<br/><br/>Something doesn’t feel right.  Something . . . <br/><br/></span><div align="center">_________________<br/><br/><em><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 18pt;">AieeeEEEEEeeeeee  Whup Whup Whup</span></em><br/><br/>_________________</div><br/><div class="floatleft">(https://www.mediafire.com/convkey/82d9/fufil6n1i3t0f326g.jpg)</div><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 11pt;"><br/>. . . then a melee of police.  Some head into the jewelry store.  Others block any street traffic moving in or away.  No one in their net will elude them.  Where’s Jaclyn?  <em>Great Caesar’s Ghost!</em>  Jaclyn’s luck has held!  There had to be two minutes between her exit and the police—as if there were some grand architect.  How very fortunate!  <em>Hee-hee!</em><br/><br/></span><div class="floatright">(https://www.mediafire.com/convkey/e322/g3hk3398goqcyg16g.jpg)</div><br/><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 11pt;">I look around.  The ‘homeless’ person is directing some of the Polizei; others of the authority are taking employees from the store.  <br/><br/>It’s a short distance from where I stand to Ari.  I hear his whispered voice in my ear: <em>“Something is off.  Do nothing.”</em>  I nod and assume the role of a curious tourist, watching (and trying to decipher what is going on). <br/></span>