Chapter 23

Simon arrived in Los Angeles mid-afternoon. Dalton had insisted on tagging along. That was fine by Simon. He wanted to keep Dalton close so there would be no delay in dealing with him when the time came.

Phillip had taken an earlier flight and was waiting for them at the curb outside baggage claim when they exited the terminal.

Without a word, Phillip took their bags and placed them in the trunk of the town car.

Dalton had started to get into the back with Simon, but Simon blocked his way. "You're in front."

"Why?"

"I have business to conduct that is of no concern to you."

Dalton's expression turned suspicious. "How do I know that?"

"Because I just told you."

"We're partners now, remember?"

"We are not partners in all of my business dealings. And in the part that we are, my decisions will be made without your input. Now, get in the front."

Dalton grumbled but did as he was told, and soon the town car joined the mass of vehicles making the slow trek out of LAX.

Simon raised the privacy barrier and called his brother. "Well?"

"All done."

"You got it?"

"Yeah."

"Any issues?"

"Um, not really."

Simon's eyes narrowed. "What happened?"

"Nothing big. We got the painting. Everything's fine."

"What happened?"

"The fire we used as a distraction flared up again after we left. It's no big deal. The fire department put it out before it could damage any homes."

"I told you not to cause a scene." It had been an impossible task, given the nature of what they had been doing, but drawing more attention to the theft was not something Simon wanted.

"It's fine. The only casualties are a few trees."

"That's not the point! I need you to do what I tell you, no matter what."

"I know. I'm sorry. We thought we'd put it out. I should have double-checked. Won't happen again."

Benji had always been a thorn in Simon's side. They were fifteen years apart and shared the same father. Simon would have broken off all contact with him years ago if it weren't for the fact that Benji was willing to do whatever Simon asked of him. Having someone like that in his pocket had been very handy.

"Where are you now?" Simon asked.

"A motel in the Valley. North Hollywood, I think."

"Text me the address. I'll come to you."

As expected, the motel in which Benji had chosen to hold up was a dingy place. Simon was loath to set foot in it, but he supposed it was better than meeting someplace like the Hotel Bel-Air, where his brother would stand out like the proverbial sore thumb.

"Stay here until I call you," Simon told Phillip and Dalton.

"What are we doing here?" Dalton asked.

"We are not doing anything. I am."

Simon exited the car and slammed the door shut.

He found Benji's room at the far end of the first floor, and his knock was quickly answered by Benji's partner Devin.

"Hey, Simon."

Simon pushed past him without responding. The fire guy with the stupid nickname was on a bed, eyes on his phone. There was no sign of Benji.

"Where's my brother?"

From the back of the room came the sound of a flushing toilet and then a door opening.

"I'm here," Benji said. He walked into the room, still zipping up his pants.

Simon glared and said, "The painting?"

"In the trunk of our car."

"You left it in your car?"

"I didn't think you'd want anyone to see us bring it inside."

Benji had a point, not that Simon was going to acknowledge it. "Show me."

"Sure." Benji headed for the door, and Simon followed.

The car was backed into the spot directly outside of Benji's room. After his brother opened the trunk, Simon leaned in, peeled back a portion of the plastic covering the package, and gazed excitedly at the canvas.

"Absolutely lovely."

"Yeah, it's nice, isn't it?" Benji said.

A retort leaped onto Simon's tongue, but he bit it back and said, "Bring it to the gallery at midnight. Phillip will meet you at the back entrance."

"Cool."

After Benji closed the trunk, Simon handed him a piece of paper. "Your next job. It's in a town just north of San Francisco."

"Okay. What's the piece?"

"I'll send you the information along with the security specs and blueprints of the location. It's a quick turnaround."

"How quick?"

"The sooner the better. Be on the first flight out tomorrow. If you see an opportunity tomorrow night, take it."

"Tomorrow night? That's kinda fast. We won't have enough time to…"

Simon's glare cut Benji off.

"Just do it."

"Sure. Whatever you want."

Nico Savage sat on the couch in his boss's office, listening to Petry apply the hard sell to a potential client over the phone.

"I don't understand your reluctance," Petry was saying. "You won't find a better company to partner with than us. With our help, you are all but guaranteed to succeed."

Through the speaker, the CEO of the start-up Petry was courting said, "I've heard some disturbing news about a lawsuit brought against you that you lost."

The muscles in Petry's jaw flexed. "Oh, that. It's not what you think. Sadly, the judge had it out for us right from the start and excluded vital information that would have exposed the other party as an opportunist trying to take advantage of me. We've appealed and are reliably told the judgment will be overturned."

"You're appealing?"

"You bet I am. In any sane courtroom, the suit would have been dismissed on the first day."

Nico's phone vibrated. He looked at the screen: No Caller ID. It could be any number of people, most of whom he would have no trouble ignoring. Unfortunately, there was at least one person he could not.

He accepted the call and whispered, "Yes?" into the receiver.

Petry shot him an annoyed glare, then continued on with whatever nonsense he'd been spewing.

"Nico? It's Simon. Is this a bad time?"

"Depends on the reason you're calling."

"I have very good news."

"Hold on." Good news was something Petry should hear. Nico walked over to his boss and whispered in his ear, "It's about the paintings."

Petry's eyes lit up. "Mr. Greer. Unfortunately, I have a meeting about to start. I'll call you back and we can continue this discussion then."

Greer said, "I don't think that will be—"

"Bye now." Petry hung up before Greer could say anything else. He pointed at Nico's phone and mouthed, Put it on speaker.

Nico did so, then said, "Sorry about that, Simon. What's this good news you wanted to share?"

"We are now in possession of our first Matilda Stone painting. It's even on the list."

Nico cringed.

"What's that mean? On the list?" Petry whispered.

"I'll tell you later," Nico whispered back.

"Fine, but why only one?" Petry asked, his tone turning annoyed. "What's the holdup?"

"I told you this would take time," Nico whispered back. He raised his voice again, "Thank you, Simon. That is good—"

"Give that to me," Petry said, no longer hiding his presence. He grabbed the phone out of Nico's hand. "This is Winston Petry, Nico's boss."

"Mr. Petry, I didn't realize you were there. A pleasure to meet you."

"Yeah, yeah. How long is it going to be before you have any more?"

"I should have a second painting within a week, and a third a week after that."

"That's unacceptable," he snapped.

"I'm sorry?"

"How many can you get by Friday?"

"This Friday? Are you joking?"

"Answer the question."

"I don't think we can get any others in that time frame."

"Then the deal's off. Keep the painting you have. I'll keep my money. Oh, I'll make sure anyone who wants to use your service knows how unaccommodating you can be."

"Hold on," Simon said. "Let's not be hasty. What if I could deliver two?"

"Three, or I'm walking."

"Why the rush? Is this for an event?"

"A private showing."

"And you don't care which ones we get?"

"As long as they were painted by Matilda Stone, I couldn't give a shit. Can you do it or not?"

"I'll need to check a few things, but—"

"See, I knew you could make it happen."

"But not for the five hundred grand we agreed on."

"A deal's a deal."

"Our deal gave me a month-long window, not four days."

"Hang on for a moment," Petry said, then muted the call. He shot Nico a look. "A month?"

"You and I discussed that, remember? You never said anything about wanting them by—"

Petry waved him off and unmuted the call. "What would you need to meet my deadline?"

"Double," Simon said.

"A million? Are the pictures even worth that much?"

"This isn't about worth. This is about the risks I will be taking to meet your deadline."

Petry locked eyes with Nico as if this was all his fault. "Fine. One million."

"Half now," Simon said. "The rest on delivery."

"And you'll have them by Friday."

"I'll have obtained them by then, but the earliest I could get them to you in New York would be Saturday."

"I don't need them in New York. I need them in Los Angeles. Can you do that?"

"I might be able to arrange that. I would need to verify a few things first."

"Then why are you still talking to me?" Petry snarled and disconnected the call.

"We never talked about Los Angeles," Nico said. "Why there?"

Petry snorted. "I guess I'm better at digging up information than you."

He plucked a thin folder from his desk and shoved it into Nico's hands. Inside was a printout of a column from the Hollywood Reporter, covering upcoming industry events.

"The second item," Petry said.

Nico skimmed down until he found it.

The board of directors for Centurion Pictures will conduct their quarterly meeting at the Studio on the twenty-third and twenty-fourth of this month. Rumor has it that Academy Award–winning producer Billy Barnett will host a dinner party at his house that Saturday evening for the attendees and invited guests.

"You told me yourself, Stone's on the board, right?" Petry said.

Nico nodded.

"What better way to humiliate him than to destroy his mother's precious paintings in front of all his business associates and friends?"

"About that."

Petry tensed. "Is there a problem?"

"Quite the opposite." Nico explained what Simon had meant about the list, while covering up how long Nico had known about it.

Petry let out a laugh. "That's fucking fantastic. So, the paintings we're going to rip apart are extra special to him?"

"At least one of them will be. The other two will depend on what they can get their hands on with the new timeline." Nico could see his boss's mood start to sour. "But they'll all be by his mother and will still matter to him."

"You damn well better be right."

Instead of being elated at getting an additional half million from Petry, Simon felt uneasy.

He'd hedged about the delivery of the second painting. Barring a disaster, Benji should be handing it over to Simon on Wednesday. A third Stone would be tricky but doable. And an L.A. delivery wasn't a problem, obviously.

What bothered Simon was Petry's insistence on an accelerated timeline and the man's total disregard of the art itself.

Whatever Petry's intentions were, Simon knew they couldn't be good. And while Simon might not have been a scrupulous art dealer, he had nothing but respect for the art itself. Which meant he very much wanted to know what Petry's intentions were.

He called his PI friend, to see if he could find anything out, thinking that would ease the knot in his stomach. It didn't.

There was one other thing he could do, a just-in-case measure. It would mean spending a bit of the cash Petry was paying him, but with the man paying him double now, the hit wouldn't be as painful.

It took five rings before Rudy Morgan answered Simon's call with a distracted, "Yeah?"

"Rudy? Simon Duchamp."

"Simon, long time no talk. I was beginning to think you didn't need me anymore." Rudy was the best forger on the West Coast, possibly on the entire continent.

"Not true. I just haven't had any jobs requiring your services, that's all."

"I take it that's changed."

"It has."

"I'm listening."

"Are you familiar with the American painter Matilda Stone?"

"Sure. Great eye. Beautiful work. New York City settings."

"That's the one. I'm in need of a few of her pieces."

"How many is a few?"

"Three. Can you do them?"

"I can do her style, but it'll depend on when you need them."

"Friday, ten a.m."

Rudy laughed.

"I'm not kidding."

"Simon, you've always been a good customer, but I'm going to have to pass on this one."

"I'll pay a premium."

"Good for you. That doesn't change the fact that I couldn't even get one done in that time."

"Here's the thing. They don't have to be perfect. They just have to be good enough to pass a quick look from someone who knows nothing about art."

There was a beat of silence before Rudy said, "What are you playing at?"

"You know I can't go into details about a client. But suffice it to say this one won't even notice they aren't original."

"He might not figure it out right away, but at some point he would, wouldn't he?"

"I don't think so. But even if he does, he'll never know you had anything to do with it."

"What kind of a premium are we talking about?"

Simon smiled. "Twenty thousand."

"All together? Or each?"

"Each."

The line went quiet for several seconds as Rudy thought it through.

Finally, the forger said, "Drying's going to be an issue."

"You can use whatever method it takes to have them ready in time. As long as they look close enough to the originals, it doesn't matter."

If Simon determined he needed to use the forgeries, then on top of the million Petry was going to pay him, he could also sell the originals for more than he'd pay Rudy. He even had a buyer in mind. Thinking that way, sixty thousand for a few forgeries would be a good investment.

"You send me the info on the originals right away, and you got yourself a deal."

"What would you say to having the originals to work from?"

"I would say that would be the most helpful thing you could do."

"I'll bring the first one to you tomorrow."

"Someday, I want you to tell me what this is all about."

"I will, and thank you, Rudy. I knew I could count on you."