the wiser.”
“I can’t wait. I am so sick of small-town living. I can’t wait to go back to a real city.” Angeline kissed him passionately. “I want to be with you.”
“I want to be with you, too. But we have to be patient.” Once inside, he whispered, “You know I’m just as vulnerable as you are, Angeline. I still have the two original panels.”
She was flabbergasted. “You do? I thought you already sold them.”
“The client didn’t want to pay me in installments. The truth is I think he has an overseas buyer who will only pay for all four works. So he didn’t want the responsibility of having any until we had all four to give him.”
“Where are they?”
“Need-to-know basis, Angeline. Especially now.”
She was aware that he had several places to hide the stuff because he had given her keys—just in case. One bin she had even rented out for him. But as far as she knew, it was empty. But maybe not.
Need-to-know basis.
“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” she told him.
He kissed her again. “You know you are my girl.”
“I sure hope so.” She broke away and sat on the futon, the cogs in her brain beginning to turn the wheels. She had spent almost all the money he had given her on her latest handbag. “Can’t we just sell the two panels we have?”
“We can’t do anything right now.”
“I know that. But maybe later.”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Right now we’re in the weeds. First we have to get ourselves out of this mess and then we can move on. In the meantime, we just shut up and deny.”
“But, like, can’t we use the panels as leverage? Either your client buys them or we’ll get rid of them as we see fit.”
He glared at her. “Are you being deliberately thick-headed? We can’t touch the Tiffanies. They are stolen, Angeline! The police know they’re stolen! Have patience and then when we’re thinking more clearly, the solution will be evident.”
She nodded. “I guess you’re right. The panels aren’t going anywhere. I suppose somewhere down the line, we should be able to make a little money out of this.”
“Exactly.” He could feel his mojo coming back “I’ve been doing this for a while, babe. Long before you came into the picture.”
“Yadda, yadda, yadda.”
He smiled. “You want to fuck before I go?”
She hadn’t penciled in fucking. She still had a paper to finish up and she was going to meet a couple of friends later in the day and get shitfaced at Morse McKinley: the best parties, the nicest RAs and the most lax on booze. She looked at her watch. She supposed there was enough time to rip off a quick one. She shrugged, sat on her twin mattress, and began to undress.
WITHIN TWENTY-FOUR HOURS, a preliminary list from Ken Sobel had come through the station-house’s fax machine. Since most of the extended Bergman/Sobel family lived in Manhattan, Decker began to make preparations for an overnight into the city. That meant gearing up not only for the three-hour drive, but also packing a few gifts since he and Rina would be visiting the kids.
Rina’s oldest son, Sam, his wife, Rachel, and their baby daughter lived in a rented tiny one bedroom in Brooklyn. They could have rented a bigger place but the kids wanted to save up to buy something after they were done with their training. Jacob, Rina’s second son, had moved from Baltimore to Williamsburg where the kid, now in his thirties, was as comfortable with the Chasidim as he was with the hipsters. He and a college friend rented a modest two-bedroom flat that was party central. Hannah, Peter and Rina’s daughter, lived a few blocks away from Sam, sharing a place with three roommates. Decker’s oldest daughter, Cindy and her husband, Koby, lived in Philadelphia. There was absolutely no room to stay unless they wanted to share the nursery with the twins and sleep on an air mattress on the floor.
The days of roughing it were long gone. Decker was willing to stay at a hotel in Queens
“I can’t wait. I am so sick of small-town living. I can’t wait to go back to a real city.” Angeline kissed him passionately. “I want to be with you.”
“I want to be with you, too. But we have to be patient.” Once inside, he whispered, “You know I’m just as vulnerable as you are, Angeline. I still have the two original panels.”
She was flabbergasted. “You do? I thought you already sold them.”
“The client didn’t want to pay me in installments. The truth is I think he has an overseas buyer who will only pay for all four works. So he didn’t want the responsibility of having any until we had all four to give him.”
“Where are they?”
“Need-to-know basis, Angeline. Especially now.”
She was aware that he had several places to hide the stuff because he had given her keys—just in case. One bin she had even rented out for him. But as far as she knew, it was empty. But maybe not.
Need-to-know basis.
“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” she told him.
He kissed her again. “You know you are my girl.”
“I sure hope so.” She broke away and sat on the futon, the cogs in her brain beginning to turn the wheels. She had spent almost all the money he had given her on her latest handbag. “Can’t we just sell the two panels we have?”
“We can’t do anything right now.”
“I know that. But maybe later.”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Right now we’re in the weeds. First we have to get ourselves out of this mess and then we can move on. In the meantime, we just shut up and deny.”
“But, like, can’t we use the panels as leverage? Either your client buys them or we’ll get rid of them as we see fit.”
He glared at her. “Are you being deliberately thick-headed? We can’t touch the Tiffanies. They are stolen, Angeline! The police know they’re stolen! Have patience and then when we’re thinking more clearly, the solution will be evident.”
She nodded. “I guess you’re right. The panels aren’t going anywhere. I suppose somewhere down the line, we should be able to make a little money out of this.”
“Exactly.” He could feel his mojo coming back “I’ve been doing this for a while, babe. Long before you came into the picture.”
“Yadda, yadda, yadda.”
He smiled. “You want to fuck before I go?”
She hadn’t penciled in fucking. She still had a paper to finish up and she was going to meet a couple of friends later in the day and get shitfaced at Morse McKinley: the best parties, the nicest RAs and the most lax on booze. She looked at her watch. She supposed there was enough time to rip off a quick one. She shrugged, sat on her twin mattress, and began to undress.
WITHIN TWENTY-FOUR HOURS, a preliminary list from Ken Sobel had come through the station-house’s fax machine. Since most of the extended Bergman/Sobel family lived in Manhattan, Decker began to make preparations for an overnight into the city. That meant gearing up not only for the three-hour drive, but also packing a few gifts since he and Rina would be visiting the kids.
Rina’s oldest son, Sam, his wife, Rachel, and their baby daughter lived in a rented tiny one bedroom in Brooklyn. They could have rented a bigger place but the kids wanted to save up to buy something after they were done with their training. Jacob, Rina’s second son, had moved from Baltimore to Williamsburg where the kid, now in his thirties, was as comfortable with the Chasidim as he was with the hipsters. He and a college friend rented a modest two-bedroom flat that was party central. Hannah, Peter and Rina’s daughter, lived a few blocks away from Sam, sharing a place with three roommates. Decker’s oldest daughter, Cindy and her husband, Koby, lived in Philadelphia. There was absolutely no room to stay unless they wanted to share the nursery with the twins and sleep on an air mattress on the floor.
The days of roughing it were long gone. Decker was willing to stay at a hotel in Queens
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