“I’d like to meet you later, if that’s all right. It’s important or I wouldn’t be calling.”
“Yes. Yes, of course.” He paused. I could have suggested a meeting place but I was curious what would happen if I left that to him. He gave it a few seconds; then since I wasn’t coming through, he said, “There’s a bar on West Street and Eleventh called The Fraying Rope. Do you know it?”
“No, but I can find it. About an hour?”
“Yes, that’s fine.”
“See you then.” I clicked off, aware of Jack hovering at my elbow. “Excuse me,” I said as I put the phone away. “Do I know you?”
“Not well enough.” He was grinning, so I guessed the twin traumas of the gunshot and Dr. Yang’s dressing- down had faded. “Sorry to keep you waiting. Though I’m actually five minutes early.”
“I was ten.”
“Does anyone ever get over on you?”
I sighed. “People do it all the time. That’s why I have to win when I can.”
“I guess that’s not unreasonable. Uh-oh. Eagle-eyed Nick’s spotted us.” Cheerily, Jack waved through the glass door.
I turned to see Nick Greenbank scowling. I waved, too, and said to Jack, “Good thing he doesn’t have Vladimir Oblomov’s cell number or he’d be calling him to rat me out for two-timing.”
“He doesn’t?”
“No,” I said. “He has mine.”
Jack’s eyebrows went up. “Oh. Oh ho ho ho. Is that an apology?”
“No way. But it’s an interesting fact.”
“That’s true. Should we discuss it with him?”
“I think so.”
“Any special gag?”
“I haven’t thought of one. He knows you, right? He knows what you do?”
“Yes. Does he know what you do?”
“Not unless he Googled me. I was here as Vladimir’s art consultant.”
“Nick doesn’t have that kind of enterprise. If you were convincing, he believed you.”
“So how do you want to go in?”
After a second he grinned. “Winging it, like you and Bill. Walk this way.” He turned and pushed through Baxter/Haig’s oversized doors.
Nick’s scowl fizzled around the edges as we approached. He was clearly happier expressing his disdain through an inch and a half of glass.
“Hi, Nick.” Jack stuck out his hand. “Jack Lee. We’ve met a couple of times.”
“I remember.” Nick gave Jack a perfunctory limp mitt.
“And you know Lydia Chin. She’s a consultant, she was here this morning. With Vladimir Oblomov. The Russian guy.”
Nick licked his lips. “Yeah.”
“The thing is, Lydia’s an old friend of mine. This Vladimir, he was making her nervous. So she asked me to check up on him.”
“Is that why you’re here? He hasn’t been back or anything. Made me nervous, too.” Nick gave a weak laugh, seeming relieved that he and I were on the same side.
“From what I found, he’s a nervous-making guy,” Jack said. “Though actually, no, we didn’t come here to talk about him. We weren’t headed here at all. We’re going upstairs to see the show at Red Sky. ‘Bright Sun, Still Sea, Green Homeland’? ”
Nick nodded. “It’s good. If any of those three guys gets a following over the next year, we might take him on.”
“Really, you liked it? I hated it. But no accounting for taste. Anyway, on the way here, something weird happened. Lydia got a phone call. So we thought we’d stop and see you before we go up.”
Nick looked unhappily bewildered, as though he wasn’t sure what to respond to: the fact that Jack hated a show he liked, or the weirdness of me getting a phone call. In the interest of progress I helped him out. “A man named Samuel Wing. The odd part is, he called my cell phone. I keep that number kind of close. But Vladimir gave it to you before.”
It took Nick a minute. “You think I gave it to him?”
“Yeah,” said Jack, leaning on the counter. “Yeah, Nick, I do.”
“Oh, Jack, back off!” I snapped. “You know that he-man stuff drives me nuts. I may have to put up with it from clients, but not from you.” Jack, startled, turned to me. I spoke to Nick. “I don’t know what makes some guys think I need a prince riding to the rescue all the time. Is that how I come across to you? I mean, because I’m small, or what? Anyway, Jack has it wrong. As usual. He thinks I’m upset. So he can, I don’t know, beat you up and save me or something.”
Jack started to protest. “I thought—”
