the sixteen hour delivery delay?”
“What? What do you mean it was a fake? It was authenticated Friday afternoon. The paperwork is included in the briefcase. It never left my sight. Evans-Sterling security transported the painting to the airport. It was a carry-on, and I had it with me the entire time I was waiting for the flight to be rescheduled. Your guys signed off on delivery at the airport.” I was recounting all of the events. Suddenly, the threat from yesterday made a lot more sense. Goddamn, I thought angrily.
“I see,” Mr. Evans sounded condescending. “Can anyone verify the authentication?”
“Jean- Pierre Gustav was present when the painting was authenticated and transported to my hotel room.”
“I have some other things to check, but we’ll be in touch.” Evans disconnected the call.
I rubbed the intact portion of my face. How the hell could they think I stole a painting? My mind was racing around my threatening houseguests. I was never one to frighten easily, but at the same time, I wasn’t sure how far down the rabbit hole I was willing to go for a painting, especially when my employer was accusing me of the theft. It was a good thing I called O’Connell yesterday, and he insisted on making a report, even if it wasn’t filed through the normal channels. At least I had a paper trail and some corroboration.
Glancing at the clock, I hadn’t eaten since the London airport, and I needed to get some pressure bandages and other first-aid supplies. Clipping on my shoulder holster and handgun, I put on my jacket and made sure to take my wallet out of my still packed bags. I placed my P.I. license and carry permit inside. Trying to obscure as much of the left side of my face as I could, I parted my hair on the side and put on a pair of oversized sunglasses. With my two new keys, I exited my apartment and made sure to lock the deadbolts. There would be no more surprise visitors for me.
Each step d own the six flights of stairs was painful. I didn’t want more stitches after having the last set ripped out and then removing the remnants myself. Truthfully, I was a bit of a baby when it came to doctors. After stopping at the deli on the corner for a quick sandwich, I bought some antiseptic, bandages, and a few icepacks since peas weren’t practical when they had a habit of melting into goo. I returned to my apartment building and hobbled back up the steps. Why couldn’t I live on the first floor or even the second, I thought as my leg repeatedly threatened to give out on me. Emerging onto the sixth floor, I was confronted by a man in an expensive suit, standing outside my door.
“Go home, Martin,” I ordere d. If Ski Mask and his friend were keeping an eye on me, then Martin could inevitably get caught in the crosshairs.
“Alex?” He was confused by my odd appearance. “Where have you been?” he asked angrily. “You missed the meeting. You’re always so punctual. If Marcal hadn’t picked you up yesterday, I might have thought you were still in Paris.”
“Someth ing came up. Now, if you wouldn’t mind leaving.” My angry tone outmatched his, and I ducked my face down, hoping he wouldn’t notice. Maybe he would get the hint and go away.
“What the hell is wron g with you?” I pushed past him toward my door and attempted to remember which key unlocked which lock. Why did they all have to be the same color?
“I’ve had other things to deal with. You don’t like it, fire me. I don’t care. Just leave.” I was doing my best to piss him off so he’d storm out and away from any potential danger that could theoretically be waiting on the other side of my door.
“Are you on some kind of bender?” he aske d, sounding shocked and incredulous. One of the keys got stuck in the lock, and I was trying to coax it out when his words took me completely by surprise.
“Yes, of course, I’m on a fucking bender. How did you ever guess?” I replied sarcastically and impulsively turned
“What? What do you mean it was a fake? It was authenticated Friday afternoon. The paperwork is included in the briefcase. It never left my sight. Evans-Sterling security transported the painting to the airport. It was a carry-on, and I had it with me the entire time I was waiting for the flight to be rescheduled. Your guys signed off on delivery at the airport.” I was recounting all of the events. Suddenly, the threat from yesterday made a lot more sense. Goddamn, I thought angrily.
“I see,” Mr. Evans sounded condescending. “Can anyone verify the authentication?”
“Jean- Pierre Gustav was present when the painting was authenticated and transported to my hotel room.”
“I have some other things to check, but we’ll be in touch.” Evans disconnected the call.
I rubbed the intact portion of my face. How the hell could they think I stole a painting? My mind was racing around my threatening houseguests. I was never one to frighten easily, but at the same time, I wasn’t sure how far down the rabbit hole I was willing to go for a painting, especially when my employer was accusing me of the theft. It was a good thing I called O’Connell yesterday, and he insisted on making a report, even if it wasn’t filed through the normal channels. At least I had a paper trail and some corroboration.
Glancing at the clock, I hadn’t eaten since the London airport, and I needed to get some pressure bandages and other first-aid supplies. Clipping on my shoulder holster and handgun, I put on my jacket and made sure to take my wallet out of my still packed bags. I placed my P.I. license and carry permit inside. Trying to obscure as much of the left side of my face as I could, I parted my hair on the side and put on a pair of oversized sunglasses. With my two new keys, I exited my apartment and made sure to lock the deadbolts. There would be no more surprise visitors for me.
Each step d own the six flights of stairs was painful. I didn’t want more stitches after having the last set ripped out and then removing the remnants myself. Truthfully, I was a bit of a baby when it came to doctors. After stopping at the deli on the corner for a quick sandwich, I bought some antiseptic, bandages, and a few icepacks since peas weren’t practical when they had a habit of melting into goo. I returned to my apartment building and hobbled back up the steps. Why couldn’t I live on the first floor or even the second, I thought as my leg repeatedly threatened to give out on me. Emerging onto the sixth floor, I was confronted by a man in an expensive suit, standing outside my door.
“Go home, Martin,” I ordere d. If Ski Mask and his friend were keeping an eye on me, then Martin could inevitably get caught in the crosshairs.
“Alex?” He was confused by my odd appearance. “Where have you been?” he asked angrily. “You missed the meeting. You’re always so punctual. If Marcal hadn’t picked you up yesterday, I might have thought you were still in Paris.”
“Someth ing came up. Now, if you wouldn’t mind leaving.” My angry tone outmatched his, and I ducked my face down, hoping he wouldn’t notice. Maybe he would get the hint and go away.
“What the hell is wron g with you?” I pushed past him toward my door and attempted to remember which key unlocked which lock. Why did they all have to be the same color?
“I’ve had other things to deal with. You don’t like it, fire me. I don’t care. Just leave.” I was doing my best to piss him off so he’d storm out and away from any potential danger that could theoretically be waiting on the other side of my door.
“Are you on some kind of bender?” he aske d, sounding shocked and incredulous. One of the keys got stuck in the lock, and I was trying to coax it out when his words took me completely by surprise.
“Yes, of course, I’m on a fucking bender. How did you ever guess?” I replied sarcastically and impulsively turned
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