Collection (22 page)

Raleigh looked at the weapon as if to check it.

“This is for you.”

Raleigh moved to hand the weapon to Gerald. Just as he was about to give it to him, he fired the gun. Jane didn't hear anything besides a click, but Gerald staggered as if he had been shot. For a moment, Jane thought they were acting out a gruesome pantomime, but then she saw the blood coming from Gerald's mouth. He slumped onto the floor and gasped once or twice before falling silent.

“What did you do?” Jane shrieked without thinking. He still had the gun, but he wasn't pointing it at them.

Raleigh was calm and acted as if he'd just stepped on a bug rather than kill one of his most trusted employees.

“I got rid of a loose end. He should have found that gun on Sullivan. And, he knew about the third Vermeer. I hate being
embarrassed in front of the help. He's dead now. This is your fault. I had to kill him so that he wouldn't tell anyone.” He turned to look at Lucien. “I will not be made a fool of by you or anyone else.”

Lucien tried to put himself between Jane and Raleigh in case he wanted to make another point. He wasn't sure how much damage the gun could cause. It might be able to go right through him and hit her. “You've made yourself clear. May we go?”

“Yes, for now. Remember what I said. You'll make yourself useful to me until I decide that you've made amends for what you did. She will keep her mouth shut, or her family is dead. Don't think I can't do it. I have a man watching every move they make. If it looks like she's tipped them off, I'll kill them all. Now, get out.”

They turned toward the service elevator and got in. Jane refused to turn around towards the kitchen. She didn't want to see Gerald laying on the floor, and Raleigh standing over him. Lucien pressed the button to get them to the ground floor. She could see Raleigh step around Gerald's body to place the Vermeer carefully on an empty easel. When the doors closed, Jane started to cry. She couldn't help it; she wanted this to be over. Now, she was stuck with Lucien until Raleigh decided to kill them. If Lucien couldn't deliver whatever Raleigh demanded, then what use were they? He killed Gerald just because he knew about how Raleigh got conned. What would he do to the con man who did it, and his pretend girlfriend?

Lucien put his hand on her shoulder and held her. She let herself lay her head on his chest and hug him back. She sobbed and then pushed him.

“This is your fault!”

Lucien crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Yes.”

“I don't want this!”

“I know.”

“I hate you!”

Lucien stood silently, not wanting to upset her more by speaking.

“Shut up. Just shut up.” Jane knew he hadn't said anything, but she was mad.

They rode the rest of the way in silence.

31

WHEN THE DAVIES GOT TO THE MAGNOLIA HOUSE,
Cicero got to show off his latest breakthrough. Dani was aghast as she opened the shipping crate.

“It's blue! It's really, really blue. How did you do that?”

“Technically, I didn't do that, they did.”

“Oh really?”

“I just got the gum on the canvas, they did the rest. Of course, I mixed up the gum in my lab and made sure it would react to whatever solvent they tried to use to clean it off. The solvent they chose made the gum run and produced fumes that discolored the surface varnish. After that, I'm pretty sure they were too scared to try anything else. Mr. Sebastien couldn't wait to get it out of his office. It was like a dead body was laying on the floor.”

Dani put on her magnifying lenses and raised the painting to eye level to inspect the damage.

“Great, you're a genius, now how do we get it out?”

“I have the solvent in the conservation studio. It will correct the varnish as well.” He smiled mischievously. “You'll just need to be very, very careful and work on it for a few days. The solvent smells like rotten eggs and dead animal, so you might want to use a respirator and bathe with tomato juice.”

Dani glared back at him. “You used sulfur? Did you have to?”

“No. Is the copy done?” The smile never left his face.

Dani put the painting down before she was tempted to smash it over his head. She checked the edges to make sure the frame hadn't made obvious damage to the painting. If it had, Jenny would have to modify the replacement.

“Yes. Jenny has to look this one over to make sure everything matches, then she'll age it in the oven. We returned the original to the vault.”

Cicero gestured towards the momentarily ruined painting. “How many copies of this particular Davies do we have now?”

“Three. I think we'd better retire it until the rest are out of circulation.”

He nodded and smiled. “I agree. We can't have one for every day of the week, now can we?”

Dani looked up and realized she still had her magnifying lenses on. She took them off before Cicero's head got even bigger.

“Is your meeting with Alvarado set?”

“Yes. We'll make the exchange at Underground Atlanta.”

Dani was surprised at the location. Lucien preferred handoff places with a little less chance of being picked out by the curious onlookers. Underground Atlanta was at the site of an old railroad line that had been converted to a busy tourist spot.

“It doesn't get more public than that. How are you going to do it?”

“I'm going to pose as a street portrait artist outside the main entrance. You know, right next to the human statue and the guy who juggles chainsaws.”

“I think you'll fit right in.”

“I'll take that as a compliment.”

32

SADIE OPENED JANE'S DOOR
to peek into her room. She could see from the lumpy comforter that her roommate was still sleeping. It was almost five o'clock in the evening and Sadie was getting worried. Jane hadn't gotten up to eat lunch and it didn't look like dinner was going to happen either. Sadie was sure that something was wrong. Jane didn't usually hide away in her bedroom when something was bothering her, so whatever happened must have been pretty bad. Maybe she had a fight with her new boyfriend?

Sadie didn't want to pry into Jane's business, but she wanted to know what was going on! She opened the door a little bit more and stood just inside the threshold.

“Jane, are you awake?”

The comforter shifted and Jane's muffled voice could barely be heard.

“No.”

Sadie persisted despite Jane's reluctance to emerge.

“Your advisor called, she wanted to remind you about your appointment tomorrow. She said you cancelled last time, and she wanted to make sure you made it in. You need to decide on your schedule for next semester before the freshmen start grabbing all the good classes.”

The edge of the comforter lifted slightly and Sadie thought she could see Jane's face. It was red and puffy as if she'd been crying. This must be serious. In Sadie's experience this kind of reaction could only be one thing: boy trouble.

“Okay.” Jane's voice sounded scratchy and pathetic.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I just caught a cold. I need to sleep. Don't worry, I'll be fine tomorrow.”

Sadie felt a little hurt. Jane had confided in her about her problems in the past, and Sadie had reciprocated with her own drama. Granted, Sadie's drama usually revolved around boys, shopping, and the odd uncomfortable encounter with her current boyfriend's ex-girlfriend; but Sadie valued their conspiratorial sharing. Jane always seemed to find Sadie's stories funny, and Sadie thought hearing them helped Jane to manage her stress about her own problems with her mom and sister back home in Wisconsin. For her part, Sadie valued the trust her friend put in her by talking about the painful realities of caring for a prematurely aging parent and the guilt of not being there to help. Sadie was an only child, and her relationship with Jane filled a void of intimacy that she had always wished for. She wanted to protect that friendship for as long as she could.

Whatever Jane was going through now, she didn't feel comfortable talking about it. Sadie wanted to know if Jane's problem was something truly life-altering, or maybe just a dip in the road. She decided to keep an eye on her. If there was one thing she knew from the past year with Jane, she usually didn't ask for help until it was too late.

33.

“CAN YOU MAKE MY NOSE A LITTLE SMALLER?”

Cicero fought the urge to take the black colored pencil and draw devil horns on the figure in the sketch he was drawing. He was posing as a street artist until Alvarado arrived and picked up his painting. Instead of relaxing and taking in the atmosphere, this customer, this demented woman, was driving him crazy. What should have been a five-minute sketch had now taken twenty minutes, with no end in sight.

A man standing next to the woman, rotund and wearing a fanny pack, sighed. “Carla, if your nose were smaller, he would draw it smaller. Let's go. I still want to go to The World of Coca-Cola and you know we've got to be in the doors by four o'clock.” Carla's husband, the much-abused Stan, had waited patiently as his wife pestered Cicero into drawing a highly edited version of her face. Carla and Stan were visiting from Oklahoma. They liked to tell strangers the fine details of their entire day from wake up at the Holiday Inn (they ran out of cinnamon rolls!) to their plans for the evening (dinner at five o'clock and an early night.)They had spent the whole day in Atlanta going to all the usual tourist sites, and now they were slowly driving Cicero insane.

Carla adjusted her glasses and silenced her husband. “Stan, don't you rush me. I'm going to get my twenty dollars worth. My nose is not that big,” she leaned around the easel to see Cicero's work and pointed violently, “and my ears don't stick out like that.”

Cicero bit his tongue and made the requested corrections. He didn't want to draw attention to himself by blowing up at the tourists from
hell. There were dozens of pedestrians just around the entrance to Underground Atlanta, and police regularly toured the area to keep order among the chaos.

“There we are, all done.” The resulting sketch more closely resembled Angelina Jolie than Carla from Tulsa, but Cicero would sell his soul to get her on her way.

She nodded vigorously. “That's more like it. I'm gonna get it framed and give it to the kids as a souvenir!”

Cicero gratefully watched them go and prayed that nobody else would approach him for another portrait. Just as he was putting his pencils away he heard a man's familiar voice behind him.

“Are you Lucky?”

Cicero turned and saw a Hispanic man with blue eyes. He was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. He could have been another tourist, but Cicero recognized the voice from their negotiations on the phone.

“Lucky as they come.”

The man looked confused for a moment. “No smart ass, I mean is that your name?” A distinct Brooklyn accent became more evident as he raised his voice.

“Yes, it is. Would you like to sit for a portrait?” He gestured towards the stool recently vacated by his previous customer.

“Hell no. My name is Luis Alvarado, and you got something for me.”

“Indeed, I do. Please sit down so that we won't attract unwanted attention.”

Alvarado looked around and realized that Cicero wanted to make the exchange there. He nodded and sat down on the customer's stool on the other side of the easel. Cicero grabbed a large portfolio among his gear. He put it on his lap, slid out the painting, and showed it to Alvarado. His eyes immediately lit up.

“That's it? How'd you get it?”

Cicero had to smile at the man's enthusiasm. “Stole it from a restoration house. I've been keeping an eye out for any Davies' on the move. This one came from the National Museum via the Met. They're keeping it quiet in hopes of recovering it without too much attention. If you want to hang onto it, you'll keep it quiet also.”

Cicero slid the painting back in the portfolio and put it under his easel. “Now, if you could wire the money, we're done.” Cicero got out his colored pencils again and started to sketch.

Alvarado got out his smartphone to make the bank transfer. Within moments, Cicero's phone buzzed in his pocket. Dani had texted him to let him know that the transfer had been made.

“Mr. Alvarado, you are the proud owner of a Davies original.” Cicero took out the portfolio and placed his sketch on top. It was a caricature of Luis Alvarado with a huge smile on his face.

“If I wanted something you drew, I wouldn't pay so goddamn much.” He took the portfolio under his arm, crumpled up the sketch, and shoved it in his pocket.

“Can I ask you something?” Cicero had wondered about Alvarado since he first spoke to him. He was against type for this sort of painting. From his first impression, Cicero thought he was just a thug out to use the art for black market bartering. Then, he had asked for a specific artist and subject matter. The painting was personal, and Cicero wanted to know why.

“Because I'm in such a good mood, you can.”

“Why Davies? You don't seem the landscape type.”

Alvarado sneered and then answered seriously, “He painted what's gone.” He lifted the portfolio. “This world doesn't exist anymore. This is all that's left of it. I wanted a piece of it, and now I got it. I'll call you if I want more.”

Cicero watched him as he left. Within minutes he disappeared among the crowd of tourists and city dwellers. Cicero rubbed his head. The heat must be getting to him. He could swear that Luis Alvarado was suddenly a poet, of sorts. Apparently everybody wants to own a piece of something larger than themselves; in this case the fleeting image of a simpler world.

34

CICERO DRUMMED HIS FINGERS
on Lucien's desk as he waited to be connected with Mr. Sebastien. There was one loose end he had to take care of before declaring his latest deal a success. He had to cover his tracks and ensure that Mr. Alvarado wouldn't come looking for him the way Raleigh Harris had tracked down Lucien. Cicero wouldn't mind handling things a bit more decisively than Lucien, but he had other people to worry about, as his brother had pointed out on numerous occasions. However, Cicero still firmly believed in the permanent persuasion of a bullet to the brain.