Ghost Hero

“Speaking of wimps”—I picked the glass up and sniffed at it—“Jack, I said it before but I’ll say it again: You were fabulous.”

“Completely convincing,” Bill agreed. “Except you said ‘smuggler’ about three dozen times.”

“I was trying to plant the seed and I wasn’t sure Jerrold was catching on. I’m sorry, Lydia, but your client does seem a bit thick.”

“He works for the government,” I reminded him. “Your client, on the other hand, has an instinctive genius for the con. As do you. Jack, you so sold it!”

We all clinked glasses. Jack said, “I’m not sure that’s a good thing.”

“What, that your acting talents are Oscar-level?”

“That I can be that convincing as a sell-out lily-livered spineless rat.”

“Bill was convincing as a Russian thug.”

“I’m talking about acting.”

“Guys?” That was a fourth voice. We looked up to see Eddie To standing at our table. “What just happened?” I slid over and Eddie slipped in next to me. He was introduced to Bill, whose hand he shook; then he looked around the table, blinked, and said, “Frank and I just had a long conversation with a gentleman, and I use the word dubiously, named Lionel Lau.”

“So he did call,” Jack said.

“Just the way you said he would. It’s a good thing we were prepared or we’d have both been on the floor in a swoon. He represented himself as the new owner of Baxter/Haig, which he’ll be liquidating as soon as he can. No, as soon as we can. He wants Red Sky to handle the sale of the current inventory, for a fee.”

“A fair one?”

“Jack. Those works, I’d have paid him to have our name associated with. But very fair, thank you. And he tells us we’re welcome after that to whatever artists are willing to sign with us, their existing contracts becoming null and void upon the dissolution of the gallery. Apparently Frank and I were highly recommended as experts in the field.”

“Is that wrong?”

“No, of course it’s not wrong. It’s merely miraculous.” A waiter appeared at his elbow. “Would it be out of line to order champagne?”

Jack said, “I don’t think so, no.”

The waiter was dispatched for some Tattinger’s and a selection of munchies.

“Furthermore,” Eddie To continued, “two also dubious gentlemen are reported to have appeared at Baxter/Haig within the hour, waving badges and wanting to discuss various things with the proprietor.”

“Who reported that?”

“Caitlin Craig, when she called to inquire whether we’d be needing administrative help.”

“Haig’s nervous assistant?” I asked. “She’s leaving the sinking ship already?”

“It seems so. Do you think we should take her on?”

“She probably knows a lot about the inventory. You’d have to nurse her through a case of PTSD, but it might be worth it. I wouldn’t touch Nick Greenbank, though.”

“Uck. Not with surgical gloves. But that’s on principle. You have something specific in mind?”

“We think he was Lau’s inside man. Probably ever since Haig first borrowed money from Lau. He’s how Woo knew about me.”

“Who’s Woo?”

“Never mind,” said Jack. “Just do this: Get things in writing with Lionel Lau and stick to the letter of the contract. In case of a tie, do it his way.”

“Jack, what are you telling me? The man’s a crook?”

“Yes.”

“In the art world? How can that be?”

“And I’d suggest that when you’re done with the liquidation, you be done with Lau, too,” I said.

“I see. Well, you people have certainly proved to be fonts of wisdom so far. I’ll tell Frank to do as you say.”

The waiter returned with a champagne flute, and plates of prosciutto-wrapped figs, tiny merguez lamb meatballs, and boiled peanuts with salt and seaweed. This hip multi-culti bar was one of Jack’s favorite haunts. Bill and I had let him pick the celebration spot because he’d had the hardest role in the con.

Eddie To lifted his glass, watched the bubbles rise, and took a swallow. “Yum. So tell me, besides being unable to pay his debt to a crook, is Haig in trouble? The men with the badges—has being a douchebag become a crime?”

“It hasn’t, but he is,” said Jack. “It won’t last, though. For what he’s accused of, there’s no proof.”

“Did he do it?”

“No. The trail’s long, but it’s mostly fresh brushstrokes to fit the picture we wanted to paint.”