levels.'
The living area was large; perhaps 25' x 40', decorated with glass, chrome and leather. The walls were covered in expensive art from different periods. Engelond taste was obviously eclectic. The object that most interested Simon was the large crystal ashtray on the coffee table before him.
'You're referring to Mr. Koch specifically?'
Simon's brain went into high speed. Engelond was monitoring the operation. Was this a good thing or a bad thing? The answer arrived in a millisecond. Good thing. He didn't miss a beat… 'Absolutely. If anything happens to Mr. Koch; if he has an accident, a stroke or even changes his mind… it doesn't matter. Too much exposure.'
'And if he goes to the authorities?'
'We'll know about it. His office and home are tapped; plus he's under twenty four hour surveillance.'
Engelond passed Simon a slim leather attache. 'Twenty million in bearer bonds. Your thinking is sound and I accept your terms.'
Bearer bonds are unregistered securities. There are no records kept of either ownership or eventual transactions. The practical application here is that whoever physically has possession of the bonds owns the instrument. Particularly helpful in instances where one wishes anonymity.
'Then we're in business.' Simon stood and they shook hands. 'The next time we meet, I'll have your painting.'
Simon returned to the London the following morning.
We say goodbye
Monday was the funeral. Kelly and I walked into the church. There were at least a couple of hundred people there to remember our friend, Anthony DeAngelo, Sr. We took a pew directly behind the family.
Before I left the house I went into the stables. Selected a Doo Wop original oil painting and wrapped it in butcher paper. Hid it not-so-carefully in the closet of the master bedroom. Left the security system turned off. Turned the hidden cameras on. I told Mrs. Murphy that we would be gone most of the day and to keep Zena and Zeus indoors.
I took Kato with us.
The church was filled with family. There were uncles and aunts, cousins, nephews and nieces. Plenty of people from the neighborhood and close friends. TJ and the girlfriend of the month was seated with us. A lovely Chinese woman.
I recognized many of the people there, but not all. As a precaution, I had TJ set Jaw-long up across the street from the church with a digital camera. Later, Jaw would continue filming the crowd at the cemetery.
Millie DeAngelo and her sons, their wives and children sat in the front pew as a line of mourners shuffled passed and offered their condolences. You already know that Anthony, Jr. is the eldest. He was accompanied by his wife Angela and their two boys. Anthony's younger brothers were there as well. Michael, Alberto, Paulo and Giovanni. All have wives except for Giovanni, who is attending college in Boston.
I took to this opportunity to remember Doo Wop.
DW got his nickname from the fact that he would sing Doo Wop songs to himself in his studio while he painted.
Doo Wop is a style of music derived from both rhythm and blues and jazz. It originated in the larger cities of the east coast. A Doo Wop group would typically consist of five members. This included a bass, a baritone, two tenors and a lead. And, the subject of the songs was love.
More specifically, Doo Wop music is a certain type of vocal group harmony. It combines various vocal parts, nonsense syllables, a very simple beat and may or may not be accompanied by instrumentation. It was especially popular in the 1950s and 1960s.
To this day a Philadelphia Doo Wop Festival is held annually which Anthony would attend every year.
The song that I most often heard him singing was 'I Wonder Why' by Dion and the Belmonts.
As a young man, he demonstrated a brilliant talent as an artist. Initially, he was quite content to work on his craft and turn out paintings, improving as time progressed. While still in his twenties he had managed to become a world class artist.
But he became frustrated. Anthony and Millie married young and started a family. He struggled as an artist and while he achieved great critical acclaim, commercial success eluded him. Finally, desperate for security and stability for his young family, Anthony turned to making 'copies' of famous artists.
These were not copies in the usual sense. Instead of reproducing the works of famous artists, Anthony DW DeAngelo would study and practice the techniques of those artists. Then, and only when he had mastered a particular style, would he create a brand new picture in the style of a certain artist.
Wait, it gets even better. To complete the illusion of authenticity, a provenance for this new work of art would be fabricated. This 'provenance' could consist of any series of documents which would explain both the origin of the work and its history up to the present time. It would even explain, if just implicitly, why this work of art had remained hidden all of these years.
The piece de resistance would be to insert this newly manufactured, but aged, documentation into existing works residing in the archives of educational, cultural and religious institutions.
This entire process from creating works of art with old canvases, handmade pigments and brushes to cannily crafted and well placed documentation was designed to prevent any blow back.
And, it worked. Well, at least until the guys from the FBI's Art Crimes Unit stepped in. At which point the entire enterprise was put on hold for decades until Doo Wop gets it into his thick head to create his masterpiece.
A brand new, previously undiscovered work from that 17th century Dutch Master, Johannes Vermeer. Number 37.
It cost that poor bastard his life.
As the service nears the end, Detective Ignatius 'Mac' McKee slides into pew.
'What can I do for you, Detective?” I whisper.
He hands me a folded piece of paper. 'Here are the names that you requested.'
I raised one eyebrow. I thought he couldn't give me the Tweedle's actual names.
In answer to my unasked question he said, 'You didn't get it from me.'
'Oh,' he adds, 'You'll be arrested when you step foot outside the church.'
June 1975 London
'Wherrrrre did you get that?'
It was a bright, sunny day; the temperature in the low 80s. Uncle Moe had showed up just as Simon and Elisabeth were finishing breakfast.
Moses tilted his huge head as a grin spread across his face. 'I bought an estate in East Anglia. The guy that I made the deal with was a funny fellow, kind of scruffy, if you know what I mean. Knew an awful lot about antiques, I'll tell ya. The car was in the shed. Thought you might like it.'
The Morgan sat parked at the curb in front of the townhouse. A '66 Plus 4 with Triumph engine; Zenith carbs; 4 speed trans; chrome wire wheels; leather bonnet strap; ash wood frame and Brooklands steering wheel. And of course, finished in that wonderful British green.
'Uncle Moe, like it? I love it. How much do you want for it?'
A family owned car company that has persevered since the 1920s manufacturing automobiles the way in which the Morgan family conceives that they should be and in the process, ignoring those that disagree.
'Tis a gift laddie. Drive it in the best of health.'
Connor came toddling out the front door. Simon grabbed him around the waist and put him in the passenger seat. They went for a joy ride through the neighborhood.
