Collection (11 page)

To get a true original, they would steal, “borrow,” and in rare cases purchase what they needed. Numerous legitimate art restoration projects found their way to his people, and this too provided an opportunity for substitution. Paintings in warehouses or other storage facilities were easily taken without the owner's knowledge. These paintings could be copied and replaced. Years could elapse before the copy could be viewed and truly put to the test. It was rare that any of their paintings were truly suspect.

Usually the black market customers gave him the most hassle. If you are a criminal, you naturally conclude that there are criminals
everywhere. There was little trust among thieves, and Lucien often had to submit to some sort of rigorous authentication on the eve of a significant purchase. Legitimate purchasers, auctions houses, and museums were easier. He operated on reputation with them. Over the years, he had established respected names and front organizations. Sometimes all he needed was for the right person to say it was genuine, and any question as to provenance was removed.

Portia tapped on the keyboard distractedly. “The preliminary results are identical. There is an equal likelihood of authenticity for both paintings. It's a very high likelihood as well. Independently, I would verify either. But seeing as one must be a forgery, it doesn't seem wise. I'm starting a secondary analysis based on the finer characteristics I mentioned. I usually don't have to, but we need an answer, don't we?”

Sam shifted on the leather couch and made obscene noises as his flesh rubbed against it. “What the hell Raleigh? How much longer is this going to take? I agreed to the authentication. She says it's good, then it's good. I'm not responsible for this guy.” He pointed his thumb in Lucien's direction. “I'm responsible for me. She says I gave you the genuine article, so do we have a deal or what?”

Raleigh had refused to sit down since the analysis began, and he walked over to Sam with a menacing glare. “Portia has not confirmed anything, yet. I won't pay for a fake.”

“Hey! I didn't come here to get screwed over. You either want the thing, or you don't. Take it or leave it, I got other takers.” Despite his brave words, Sam didn't get up off the couch. He may talk big, but he was afraid of Raleigh.

Raleigh turned his back on Sam as if to taunt him. “You will not sell it. I have the real one, and I won't allow you to pass off a forgery.”

“Who would know? What difference does it make to you? It's not like people are gonna find out. I don't think you're going around advertising your collection! It's mostly stolen! Anyone would be crazy to show this thing off.”

“It's mine. It will stay mine.” Raleigh walked to stand in front of the “Lucky” painting and rubbed at the frame as if he were removing a speck of dust.

Sam leaned forward and rested his arms on his knees. “Look, I'm not leaving here without the painting. I need to recoup my money and time. If you want, I'll sell it to you for a discount. Otherwise, I've got another seller on the hook. He'll pay full price 'cause I'm pretty sure you won't say a word about the chance that it's a copy, will you?”

“I think you underestimate my pride of ownership, Mr. Sullivan.” Raleigh refused to turn around to address the man.

Sam Sullivan. Lucien had heard the name before. He was a crude and blunt instrument where Lucien was careful and deft. He dealt in the more risky acquisitions. The known stolen paintings. You went to Sam Sullivan if you were willing to sell cheap and buy stuff you couldn't show anyone. He was the ideal seller for the duplicate Vermeer, whomever bought it would never let on that they had it. The only problem was that Sam Sullivan tried to sell it to Raleigh, the one man who would know that it was suspect because he already owned it. Lucien remembered the way Raleigh had threatened him back in Atlanta. Obviously he had been more gracious to Sam, otherwise he never would have come here. Sam had no idea that this test would reveal a victor and a vanquished. Raleigh had made it quite clear to Lucien that the vanquished would bear a harsh punishment.

Portia hovered in front of her computer without sitting down. The tension in the room was building and her movements became rushed. As she checked the progress of her authentication software, her body blocked any view of the laptop screen. The minutes ticked by, and Jane was growing more tired and hungry by the minute. In the adrenalin rush of the past few hours, the need for food and rest had been obscured by the need for some assurance of survival.

Since Portia had not exposed the fact that both paintings were fakes, Jane had growing confidence that this situation was survivable. In light of this promising turn of events, her stomach was making up for lost time. It gurgled loudly and Lucien glanced at her. He had been focused on the two paintings for much of the time Portia had been conducting her analysis. Jane thought this was a waste of time since anything they did right now wouldn't change the situation. Depending on whom Portia revealed to be the counterfeiter, Raleigh would punish either Lucien and Jane, or the rude Sam Sullivan. Despite her typically benevolent attitude, Jane hoped that whatever Raleigh did, he did it to Sam.

Portia finally stopped twitching and spoke to the screen. “The final analysis is complete.” She looked up to address her employer, “Raleigh?”

Raleigh turned around to face her. “What are your results?”

He joined Portia in front of the computer. Both crouched over the screen and spoke quietly. When Raleigh turned back to face them he was smiling, but Jane didn't know how to interpret that expression. “Well, it looks like we have a winner. Lucky, I apologize for the treatment you've endured in the past few hours. Mr. Sullivan, I don't think we'll be doing business.”

Two of Raleigh's security detail had approached Sam from behind and when he noticed it, he moved quickly for his waistband. He managed to pull out a gun from a concealed holster and jumped away from them with surprising agility for a large man. He grabbed Portia by the arm and put her in front of himself with the gun to her head. “You lying bitch! You set me up!”

He turned his attention to Raleigh and screamed, “I'm leaving here with my painting and your whore. You keep your money. I shoulda never come here in the first place.”

Gerald seemed to appear out of the shadows behind Sam. Raleigh continued to talk so that Sam was distracted. “Portia is not my whore. I don't pay her for sex, but for her expertise in other areas. If you kill her, my business will suffer a bit. However, don't imagine that a romantic attachment to her or anyone would compel me to release you now, and without consequences.”

Gerald managed to get right behind Sam without the other man hearing him. He removed his gun from the holster under his jacket and cocked it. Sam jerked at the sound, but Gerald fired before he could turn his head. Blood and gore exploded out of Sam's right temple. Portia screamed. Sam's body fell to the ground. It was silent in the room for a good five seconds before anyone spoke. Raleigh broke the silence. “Why did he have a gun?” It was hard to tell if he was speaking to Gerald, Lucien, or the world in general since he was still staring at Sam's crumpled body on top of a slowly expanding ooze of blood.

Gerald cautiously answered Raleigh. “We searched him, but we were rushing since he was late and we knew you wanted to start. He must have had it in all that fat. It won't happen again.”

Raleigh managed to tear his attention from the lifeless hulk that was Sam Sullivan. He took a deep breath and looked at Gerald, who was putting his gun back in its holster. “Gerald, you're lucky that you fixed your problem before it became my problem. Get him out of here and clean everything up. We're eating in half an hour.” He looked at Lucien, Jane, and a quietly sobbing Portia.

“You can wait in the game room.” Without another look at the dead man on the floor, Raleigh turned and left the room.

Gerald silently ushered them through another door and down a short hallway to the game room. There were several tables with green felt, a roulette wheel, a craps table, and several other game tables that Jane didn't recognize. She sat at one of the tables and felt numb. She had expected Raleigh to negotiate with Sam. Although she could understand the panic that Sam acted on, she didn't think he was really going to kill Portia. Then again, she had never seen anyone get killed before. She didn't realize how quickly it happened. He probably didn't even know what was coming when Gerald snuck up behind him.

Lucien sat down next to her and started drawing playing cards out of the boot on the table. He looked at each before discarding it onto the table.

“I'm sorry, Jane. I didn't know that was going to happen.”

“I don't think I want to be here anymore.” Jane was staring at nothing. He stopped drawing out cards and looked at her.

“It's almost over. Raleigh won't hurt us. I know how he operates. With Sam dead, he sees the issue as resolved. He's a very rational sociopath.”

Portia stood with her back to them at the fireplace. She hadn't said a word since Sam grabbed her, but she had stopped crying. She seemed to have regained her superior air, but Jane suspected there was something more going on.

Suddenly, Jane turned to look at her. “Did you set him up?”

“No. Of course not. That man was insane.” Portia had resorted to haughtiness to deflect from further discussion. Jane could hear the anger in her voice and the outrage on her face, but she knew Portia was lying.

Jane spoke quietly but harshly. “What did you do!?”

“I did nothing. The computer indicated which painting was genuine. That's why Raleigh hired me. I had no way of knowing that man would have a gun. He was an idiot. He deserved what happened to him. You saw how he attacked me! That's proof enough.”

Lucien realized Jane's outrage was more than just shock at seeing the man shot. He looked at her, but couldn't ask her anything with Portia standing there.

“I don't have to stand here and listen to this crazy woman. I did my job. You should be thankful. It could have been you.” She walked out of the room with as much indignation as fear.

Lucien turned to Jane after she was gone. “What?”

Jane rolled her eyes. How could he not be able to tell that she was lying? Guys could be so stupid.

“She skewed the results somehow. She was lying when she said the computer identified the real painting.”

Lucien considered this new variable. “If that's true, then the computer probably couldn't determine which one was real. She had to give someone to Raleigh. That's what she meant when she said it could have been us. She just picked one.”

They both sat in silence. From down the hall they could hear a metal bucket clanging on the marble tile in the room they had just come from. Someone seemed to be cursing in Spanish, but Jane couldn't understand what they were saying. Finally, Jane spoke again. “I think she was surprised that Sam reacted the way he did, but how could she not know something terrible would happen?”

“She was just covering for herself. It was a question of self-preservation. Raleigh scared her, so she panicked.” Lucien was so busy trying to control Jane that he didn't realize she was not his biggest problem. Jane was probably a little crazy, but there were several far more crazy people in this house. One of them just got a man killed because she couldn't make a stupid computer program work.

Thinking back on how she felt during the authentication, Jane was ashamed. She might have done the same thing as Portia, panicked and done anything to get out of a crappy situation. She didn't want Raleigh's attention focused on her either. Things had gone too far, too quickly. Now she understood why Lucien was so cautious. There was no way to predict how people would act when guns and money
were involved. If Portia had said that Lucien's painting was the fake, they would be the ones defending themselves against Raleigh's henchmen. It could have been her blood on the floor.

Gerald came into the room and invited them to the dining room. His demeanor was somewhat more relaxed, and perhaps a bit more polite. Jane and Lucien's status had shifted from kidnap victims to avidly recruited guests. “Raleigh would appreciate it if you would join him in the dining room.”

Jane, by now resigned to the fact that she was along for the ride, followed after Gerald and Lucien. They walked through the room that Sam was shot in, and Jane noticed that there was no trace of what had just happened. The lights were dimmed, the body was gone, and the floors were as spotless as when they had first arrived. The paintings were also gone, as was the table with Portia's computer on it. Her lighting and other gadgets had been cleared away. It was as if it had never happened, but Jane could smell the faint scent of bleach. They walked silently through the quiet, still room.

When they got to the dining room, she was shocked by yet another ostentatious display. A large table capable of seating twenty guests was set with crystal, silver, and elaborate china. There were tropical floral arrangements down the center of the table, each rising to a height of five feet at least. Raleigh was seated at the head of the table, and Portia was seated to his left. She appeared completely recovered from her scare with Sam, and smiled when they entered the room. It was oppressively hot in the room, and Jane saw that the fireplace at the other end of the room was blazing. Jane could only imagine that the fire was another form of torture in an already too-long night. She could feel sweat trickle down the back of her neck and down her back. She fanned herself without effect.

“Please excuse the fire. Though unseasonable, I thought it was the most fitting way to permanently dispose of Mr. Sullivan's painting. Sit, eat. I promise I'll send you on your way as soon as we're done.” Lucien moved before she could decide if it was a good idea to sit so closely to a man who could kill someone, and then immediately have a little snack. He approached the table without delay and sat down to Raleigh's right, Jane took the next chair down. As he unfolded the cloth napkin and laid it on his leg he asked Raleigh, “Are you expecting more guests?”