sold copies of his small book and the articles brought back from the island.'
'I'm almost afraid to ask. What did Uncle Moe bring back with him?'
'Blow guns, poison darts, shrunken heads and native jewelry made from ivory. He made a small fortune.'
'That is the most incredible story that I have ever heard. It can't possibly be true.'
'You can decide for yourself when you meet him. Uncle Moe once told me that it was the best bar story that he ever had. He drank for free in pubs all over the world for years on that tale alone.'
We get kidnapped
They came at 3:00am.
Someone was wiggling my big toe. 'Have to get up, laddie. They'll be here in just a few minutes.'
Huh? I shouldn't have been able to feel that.
'They'll be hurtin' the dog. Hide her.' To Uncle Moe, all dogs were female.
I gave Kelly a shove to wake up. Rolled out of bed and took three large steps across the room. Opened the door to the dumb waiter, snapped my fingers and pointed. Kato jumped in, sat and looked me in the eyes expectantly. 'Stay! Not a word,' and lowered the contraption into the basement.
'What the hell?' Kelly jumped out of bed sensing my urgency.
'They'll be here any moment, put on some clothes.'
Kelly looks at me strangely. “How in the hell do you know… Oh, never mind, it's that damn ghost.'
Pulled on some jeans, slipped on running shoes. As I was pulling a t-shirt over my head two men burst into the bedroom. Dressed entirely in black, including ski masks and matching Glocks.
Shit.
Like some poorly performed choreography, we both raised our hands simultaneously.
'You boys play for keeps, don't ya.'
Gunman A, the one to my left, shouts, 'Shut up.'
Gunman B, the guy to my right, shouts, 'Where's the painting?'
Here we go again. 'Which is it fellas? Shut up or tell you where the painting is.'
GA: 'Listen, wise guy, give us the painting now or your girlfriend here gets pumped with lead.'
'You're kidding me, right.' But something tells me not to mess around with these guys. They're not feds and they will shoot. I point to the closet and say, 'In there.'
They grab the painting that I wrapped and planted earlier in the day. Both of us have our hands secured behind our backs with plastic ties. We're lead outside and placed into the back of a windowless van. This makes it twice in less than a week, and honestly, it beginning to grate on my nerves.
The van travels for what I estimate to be roughly forty-five minutes. It pulls off the main road onto an unpaved surface.
Less than five minutes later we’re pulled from the rear of the van. Directly in front of us is an old, red barn. Up the drive, approximately a hundred yards stands a white clapboard house. We're pushed into the middle of the barn. Gunman A tells us to sit on the ground and secures our feet with plastic ties. He leaves and closes the barn door behind him.
There's one bare light bulb hanging from the center of the ceiling.
Kelly says, 'How about finishing the story about your brother. It seems as if we have some time on our hands.'
Nearly that same moment I see Uncle Moe walking towards me from the corner of the barn. 'Actually, lad, you won't be having much time at all. Someone is on their way to authenticate the painting. After that, those boys are intent on killin' ya. If ya goin' to do something, now would be the time.'
I repeat what Moe just said to Kelly. I've got to be honest here; she's beginning to look a little nervous. She said, 'We're going to die.'
'Yes,' I respond, 'but not today.' I ask Moe, 'How far out are they,” meaning TJ.
'Too long, laddie. For the time being, you're on your own.'
I look around the room. There are some garden tools in the far corner. I tell Kelly, 'We're going to be okay. Take some deep breaths and get ready to move.'
I take my bound hands and slide them down over my ass and draw my legs through. Stand up and hop over to where the tools are stored. One of them is a scythe. Great. I rub the plastic restraint over the blade until it breaks. Pick up the implement and slice the ties binding my feet.
I run over to Kelly and repeat the process. Return the scythe to the corner.
Moe practically yells at me, 'One of them's coming.'
Hurry back to the center of the floor, sit down with my back to Kelly, put my hands behind my back and pull my knees up to my chest. I quickly tell her to do the same.
Gunman B enters, walks over to us and says, 'Time to go.' He’s pointing the gun at my face with his right hand and hefts me up with his left.
My left hand grabs his right wrist and pushes it towards the ceiling. I punch him in the throat with my right. I grab his gun as he goes down.
'Get his wallet and cell phone and see if he has any keys.' I really hate shooting people. I hand Kelly the gun, run back to the corner, grab a shovel, return and hit this guy on the head. He's out. 'Oh yeah, take his picture.'
Drop the shovel, take the gun back, grab her hand and run for the barn door. Once outside I whisper, 'Did you get the keys?'
'Yes.'
'Give me his cell phone. There's the van. Get in it and go.'
She looks worried. 'What about you.'
'I'll be right behind you. Just go, now.'
Kelly hops into the van and starts it up. I run up towards the house and get cover behind a large oak.
Sure enough, just as I thought, Gunman A comes running out of the main house and points his gun at the van. He’s going to shoot Kelly! I step around the tree, lift the gun with both hands and fire. Once in the chest. He drops.
I don't hesitate. I run up the steps, swing the door open and turn left, then right. Standing ten feet from me is what I can only describe as a very elegant gentleman. Tall, mature, well kept. White hair combed straight back. The suit must cost at least five grand.
'Ah, Mr. Picker, how nice to finally meet you.' Slight French accent.
'Wish I could say the same. Empty your pockets, carefully.'
He places his keys, wallet and phone on the dining room table. No gun. Interesting. Must be upper management.
I tell him to step back. I place his items into my pocket and snap his picture with B's cell phone.
'Mr. Picker, I think that maybe you are making a big mistake.'
'Why do people keep telling me that?' I lead him over to the basement door, very nicely suggest that he goes downstairs and lock the door behind him.
The painting’s on the table in the dining room. It's not the 'real' one, but I don't want them to know that. I grab it. Outside is a brand new Chevy sedan. Inconspicuous. These boys, whoever they are, are very sharp. Give credit where credit is due.
Throw the painting into the back seat, start that sucker up and the get the hell out of Dodge.
September 1975 New York City-Next Day
4:00am at the Guggenheim.
Price was in the conservation room removing 'Montagnes a Saint-Remy' from the frame. A few days earlier he had ordered six paintings taken down for examination and possible care. He placed Van Gogh's masterpiece side by
