Feint of Art: (34 page)

Views were sporadic through the shifting black-and-white tuxedo forest, but I headed in the direction of the last X-man sighting, filled with grim determination to get the truth from him, once and for all. I tippy-tapped around on my little Cinderella high heels, but try as I might I lost him. Damn.

I had just about given up when I practically bumped into my old pal, the goon I called Mr. Suave, aka the New Yorker, whom I had last seen when he was threatening me in a vacant factory. And unless I was mistaken, standing next to him was none other than the lovely cat-eyed Quiana, blond and statuesque in an ice-blue satin sheath. I swallowed, hard, and frantically looked around for Annette. No luck.

“Why, Ms. Kincaid. I thought that was you,” Mr. Suave said, grasping my arm in a bruising grip. “What a delightful coincidence, running into you tonight. I know so few people in town.”

“Is that right?” I said, trying to pull free. “Why, we’ll just have to remedy that, won’t we? I have this friend, Annette, whom I could hook you up with. I feel sure you two would have a great deal to talk about. She’s right over—”

“Oh, but Ms. Kincaid, I’m perfectly content being with you. And the lovely Miss Nash, of course. I believe you two have met?”

“Cut the crap, asshole,” Quiana said. Such ugly words from such a pretty mouth. Her catlike eyes fixed on me feverishly. “Where is it?”

“Not here,” Mr. Suave said. “Let’s take a little walk, shall we?” he whispered as he propelled me toward a side door.

“Thanks, but I’m fine right here,” I said as I minced along unwillingly. I was trying to drag my feet, an exercise that my spike heels made almost impossible. In response to this ineffectual show of resistance, Mr. Suave flashed me a glimpse of the gun in his coat pocket.

That did it. No way was I going anywhere with this character. I was dropping a dime on Coombs.

“Listen,” I said. “It’s not me you’re after. It’s Harlan Coombs.”

“Where is he?” Quiana demanded.

The gun in Mr. Suave’s jacket scared me, but not nearly as much as the look in Quiana’s eyes.

“He’s here,” I said. “At the gala.”

“We know that, imbecile,” Mr. Suave hissed. “That’s why we’re here. But
where
is he here?”

That was the question of the hour, wasn’t it? I flashed on the clumsy waiter. He’d seemed a little old to not know what he was doing. And anyway, surely the caterer would have hired only professional waiters for a gig this important. It finally clicked. No one had ever seen Harlan Coombs without his beard. Shaving a beard could dramatically alter a man’s appearance.

“He’s in the kitchen,” I said, trying to yank my arm away.

“I’ll go,” Quiana said.

“Let’s all go, shall we?” Mr. Suave added, and started to hustle me toward the swinging door.

“Annie! How nice to see you.”

I heard a welcome voice behind me. Mr. Suave turned reluctantly, pulling me around with him. Quiana adopted a simpering stance, eyes half-lidded and lips pouty, in what I could only assume was the “come hither” posture of the successful man-magnet.

It was wasted in this case. Michael looked neither at me nor at Quiana, but stared intently at Mr. Suave. “Let her go, Gordo,” he said quietly.

Gordo? Mr. Suave’s name was Gordo?

“Always a pleasure, David,” Suave/Gordo replied. “Oh, that’s right, you’re going by Colin these days, aren’t you?”

David? Michael/Paddy/Bruno/Colin was also known as David?

“I believe you’ve met my friend Ms. Kincaid?” Suave Gordo inquired politely.

“We’re acquainted. She has nothing to do with this.”

Gordo chuckled. “I beg to differ. She says she knows where Harlan is.”

Michael lobbed a chuckle right back at him. “She doesn’t know
anything,
Gordo. She’s a third-rate painter who sticks her nose in other people’s business and mucks things up.”

Well, that was a little harsh. I glared at him.

“I want Harlan as much as you do, Gordo,” Michael continued, unfazed. “Why don’t we throw in together and figure out what’s going on here?”

Gordo mulled it over. “What do we do with this one?”

“Oh, just let her go,” suggested Michael. He still had not met my eyes, and I was starting to wonder about his intentions toward me. How far would he go to acquire the precious Caravaggio? Would he remain loyal to his criminal colleagues? Or had I thoroughly beguiled him with my womanly charms?

I was in trouble.

“She’ll talk,” Gordo said. “Or follow us.”

He seemed to have a pretty good read of my character. Frankly, that didn’t sit well.

Michael shrugged. “So we’ll stash her somewhere. How about in Edward’s office? That’s out of the way.”

And then I was dragged toward a door near the kitchen. I was about to yell to attract attention—this did not seem to be the time for demure silence—but Michael curled his arm around my shoulders and shoved my face into his tuxedoed chest. Thus effectively muffled, all I could do was smear lipstick all over his lapel.

Quiana stayed behind as Michael opened a door and Gordo shoved me forward into a maintenance corridor. The three of us followed it along to the left and through another unmarked door that opened onto the hallway leading to the museum’s administrative offices. Simultaneously being pushed by Michael and pulled by Gordo was no joke. My feet were hurting, and now that the panic was subsiding, I was becoming angry.

I opened my mouth to scream, and this time a familiar hand came down on top of it. I heard Michael’s voice in my ear and felt his warm breath on my cheek. “Shut the hell up, Annie,” he muttered. “Gordo here is not playing around.”

I shut up.

Michael used a master key to open the door to Edward’s office and the three of us slipped in. The room was a shambles. The desk had been ripped apart, drawers flung to the floor, and papers strewn about. The wall safe Michael had riffled through the other day stood open and empty.

When I got over the shock, I turned to Michael. “Jackass!”

“Lovers’ quarrel?” Gordo asked, leering at my cleavage.

“That goes for you, too,” I snarled. “By the way, in my book you’re no longer Mr. Suave. From now on, you’re Gordo the Goon.”

“Jesus, Annie,” Michael sighed, shaking his head in exasperation.

Gordo reached out and slapped me across the face.

“Hey!” Michael said, stepping toward him, but Gordo pulled out his gun and pointed it at both of us.

Michael put his hands up. I did the same.

“Listen, Gordo,” Michael said. “I can’t stand to see a woman hit, you know how it is. Tell you what. We’ll lock her in the closet and go find Harlan. Looks like he’s already been through the office here.”

“No, David,” our friend with the gun replied. “I’ll tell
you
what. I’ll lock the both of you in the closet and take care of Harlan myself. Move it. Now.”

Michael reluctantly surrendered the master key to Gordo, who opened the closet door, pushed us both inside, and shut and locked the door behind us. It soon became apparent that we weren’t alone.

“Hiya, Edward, how’s it going?” Michael asked in a jovial tone in the pitch-black darkness.

“How do you think it’s going, jerk-off?” Edward spat. I wondered whether Agnes missed her favorite grandson at the gala, and what she would think if she knew he was locked in a closet with me, Annie Kincaid, forger’s spawn. “You left me here for hours! What’s going on, you son of a—”

“Tsk. Such language, Edward. There’s a lady present.”

“You mean Kincaid? Isn’t she just another one of your whores like Qui—”

There was a scuffle and a choking sound.

“I thought we’d gone over this, Edward,” Michael said almost pleasantly. “You keep your filthy mouth shut. I know it’s tough, but if you say anything else about Annie, I am going to beat the crap out of you.”

A low moan was his reply.

Michael switched on a small penlight, and used it to find a bare lightbulb in the ceiling, attached to an old-fashioned string pull. He gave the string a tug, and the bulb’s twenty watts glowed weakly.

“Take this,” he said, handing the penlight to me. “Shine it on the door lock.”

I hesitated for a second, loath to take orders from the X-man, especially after everything he’d put me through. But my common sense won out—there’d be plenty of time to kick his ass after we got out of the closet. I took the light.

Michael drew a Swiss army knife from his pants pocket and started picking the lock with a tiny screwdriver. I was going to have to get me one of those knives. They were clearly handy in cases of abduction.

After he fiddled for several minutes, the lock turned. Michael smiled and pushed on the door.

Nothing happened.

“Shit.”

“What is it?” I asked.

“Gordo must have barricaded the door. Edward, get over here and help. We’ll push together.”

Edward shuffled forward, and we took up positions on either side of Michael.

“Okay, on my count. Ready? One. Two. Three.”

We heaved. The door budged about an inch. We tried again, but it wouldn’t move any further.

“Shit,” we said in unison.

Edward returned to the rear of the closet, where he’d made himself a nest of coats. He had a flask with him and seemed to be getting drunk, mumbling something unintelligible about crooks and artists and their ilk.

Michael started checking out the contents of the closet, apparently looking for resources among the coats and office supplies. I joined the hunt and found a stapler, locked and loaded. I decided I could use it as a weapon if somebody got really, really close and held really, really still.

Michael ran his hand through his dark hair. “Shit.”

“You’re repeating yourself,” I grumbled.

He sighed. “Annie, I’m sorry.”

“Really? For what? There are so very many things you should apologize for,
David.
”

“His name’s not David. It’s Colin,” Edward threw in helpfully.

But we had lost Michael’s attention. He was searching coat pockets.

“Even if you find a gun, I don’t think you can blast us out of here,” I said.

“You never know. It would be more use than that stapler you’re wielding. And we can’t just sit here and wait for Gordo to return.”

He was interrupted by an electronic version of Beethoven’s Fifth. A cell phone! Michael was right, the coats did provide a way to get us out of here! Now, we just had to find it. I started furiously patting them down.

“It’s mine,” Michael said sheepishly, pulling a phone from his tuxedo pocket. “Hello? Naomi! I need you, sweetheart. Yes, right now. Well, I can’t explain at the moment, but I’m in Edward’s office, locked in the closet. There’s been a slight misunderstanding. Please hurry. Me, too. Listen, sweetheart, I need you to come now, and then you can tell me in person, okay? Great. Yes . . . Honey? Are you on your way?”

He snapped the phone shut and rolled his eyes.

“I wouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth if I were you, Super Thief,” I said waspishly.

“I said I was sorry.” Michael sounded annoyed.

“I don’t believe you.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re a liar and a thief.”

“Oh, that.”

“Your sister and your dog live in Fremont? Give me a break.”

“What?”

“You said your sister and your dog live in Fremont.

That was a big fat lie, wasn’t it?”

Michael looked perplexed. “After everything we’ve been through, that’s what you focus on?”

“If you’d lie about a sister and a dog, then you’d lie about anything.” Made perfect sense to me.

“She’s got a point, there, Colin,” Edward piped up from the rear of the closet.

Michael sighed. “Annie, honey—you’re a very unusual woman.”

“You got that right, sport.”

There was a noise on the other side of the door, and then we heard Naomi’s distinctive nasal voice. “Colin? Colin, darling?”

“Naomi!” Michael called out. “We’re in here.”

“ ‘We’? Who’s in there with you, darling?”

There were sounds of shifting furniture.

“Edward,” Michael said.

“Oh no!” she cried.

“I’m here, too, Naomi!” I shouted.

All activity ceased.

“Ann? Ann
Kincaid
?”

Good going, Annie,
I told myself. Edward and Michael glared at me.

“Hi, Naomi,” I said, with false cheer.

“Why are you in there with Colin?”

“I’m not in here with Colin. I’m in here with Edward.” This made no sense, of course, but Naomi tended to be easily confused.

“Honey?” Michael cooed. “Please hurry. It’s difficult being locked in with . . . well, you can imagine.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I whispered.

“Or are you trying to give me a reason to use this stapler in my hand?”

There was more shuffling, a little grunting, and the closet door swung open.

Michael stepped out and swept Naomi into his arms. “Sweetheart! Whatever would I have done without you?”

Oh, puh-leeze,
I thought, but Naomi seemed to lap it up. That is, until Michael pushed her and Edward into the closet, slammed the door, and shoved a heavy desk in front of it.

I grinned.

So did he.

And then he sprinted out of the office.

I followed as fast as my high heels would allow, but by the time I got to the door the corridor was empty. I considered my options. Finding Harlan seemed like a good place to start, so I hustled toward the kitchen. Gordo the Goon had no doubt already been there, but it was possible he wouldn’t recognize Harlan without his beard. As an artist, I had been trained to perceive facial structure and even I had been fooled at first.

Three minutes later I burst through the kitchen’s swinging door, nearly taking out some poor guy carrying a tray of caviar canapes. Chefs in white coats and waiters in red bolero jackets were scurrying about, but I snagged one of the youngest by the arm.