delivery of a child.
The successful theft of one of the world's great masterpieces dimmed in comparison to meeting Emily. Simon was in love. And now, a beautiful baby boy.
He leaned over, kissed Emily and whispered in her ear. He turned around, took his son and held him. Simon was delirious. He could not believe how happy he was.
'Well, lassie, what will you be namin’ the wee one?'
Emily recalled when she first met Moses. She gave him a big hug. 'Uncle Moe, I've heard so much about you. This is such a pleasure.'
'No, gearrchaile, I believe that the pleasure is mine.'
She leaned in to him and stood on her tip toes. 'Is that Borneo story really true?'
'Every word, dear one, every blessed word.'
Moses was standing at the foot of the bed. She couldn't decide if he reminded her of a big, soft teddy bear or Santa Claus. 'Haven't decided yet Uncle Moe. If you have any suggestions, I'd be happy to hear them.'
Emily turned to Simon. 'Where are you going now?'
'Nowhere. I'm planting my ass in that chair until you and No Name are free to go.'
Kato stops a bad guy
Kelly: 'What do you make of that?'
'Fishing expedition. Not a bad guy, sort of liked him.'
'What's next, genius?'
'Back to the beginning. Let's go to dinner.'
Two opposing thoughts occupy my mind. One is that the sooner that #37 is publicly sold, the sooner this nightmare will end. There will be no reason to further involve me once the painting is out of my hands. Unfortunately, it's not as simple as placing it at auction. A few crucial steps have to be unrolled before that can happen.
The other thought, perhaps less productive but at least as powerful in my mind, is to find out who is responsible for Doo Wop’s demise. I'm not talking about Tommy Gunn. He may be one of the people that pulled the trigger, but in the end I wanted the actual person that was responsible.
We hop in the shower and maybe mess around a little bit. After getting dressed, while waiting for Kelly to get ready, I set up the laptop. Type droneme. com into the search bar and set up a temporary wall. I leave a brief message that has meaning for only one other person: Commence Phase One.
We head out the front.
'Kato, back seat.' The beast jumps up, bounds through the doorway and leaps into the Morgan. I see the Rolls in the driveway near the main house. Nathan must be back from his trip. Have to talk to him later.
We take the Schuylkill Expressway to South Philly.
While driving, Kelly looks over and says, 'So, your father gave you the Van Gogh.'
'Yep.'
'It's gotta be worth, what, like forty million.'
The most recent auction for a Van Gogh is from 1987. It tripled the previous high record price that was established only two years prior. The reason that this sale is so important is that it set a record for a modern painting, in this instance one from 1888. Previous to this sale, record prices had always been held by 'old master paintings'.
'Well,' I said, 'Considering that it's not the 'Sunflower' painting, I'd say somewhere north of forty.'
I risked a glance over. Kelly scrunched up her nose while processing this information. She came back with, 'And, you didn't sell it?'
'No, what for?' I paused to get my thoughts in order. 'It's true that when my father left it to me that I was still struggling to make it in the antique's business. But it's not like I was starving to death. I realize that this sounds silly, but it kind of has sentimental value. It's one of the things that my father left me.'
At this point we were pass Boathouse Row, the houses outlined with lights and all lit up. Very cool.
'What else did he leave you?'
'The Morgan. Apparently he had a thing for Morgans. So does Connor. Somehow he got it in head that I would too. Guess he was right. This is my favorite car of all time.'
There's a little mom and pop restaurant at the corner of 17th and Dickerson. Kato leaped from the car. At the front door I told him to wait. Once inside I told 'Mom', I never knew her actual name, 'Kato's pulled guard duty'. She hustled into the kitchen for something to feed the poor beast.
The owner, 'Pop', came over to the table with a bottle of wine. Then a young waiter, white shirt; black tie and white apron brought some appetizers and placed them before us. We hadn't ordered anything.
Kelly let out a small chuckle. 'How long have you been coming here?'
'About twenty years, give or take.'
'Sweetheart…'
Oh, no. Here it comes!
'I've been offered a job to curate an exhibition in Paris.'
Dinner had arrived. I spun the Spaghetti Aglio Et Olio on my fork and popped it into my mouth. Took a sip of wine. 'When?'
Kelly cut a piece of her Eggplant Parmigiana and fed it me. Melted in my mouth. 'Next week, if I accept.'
'And, how long will you be gone?' The garlic bread was sumptuous.
'Six months, maybe a year.'
I didn't say anything. Just finished my dinner and polished off the wine.
The nice young waiter brought over a Cannoli, two Cappuccinos and a couple of forks. I had to ask, 'What did you tell them.'
She stuck out her lower lip. Very cute. 'That I would have to think about it.'
I thought about this for all of two or three minutes. Finally, I said, 'Let me know what you decide.'
Got up, pulled out her chair. There was no bill. Dropped two twenties on the table for the kid, thanked Mom and Pop for a wonderful dinner and held the door for Kelly.
This is what I saw when we got outside. Two bowls on the ground, one with water and the other one empty. Kato's dinner. A very large man with a pot belly wearing a powder blue running suit, sneakers, a heavy gold chain around his neck and a diamond pinky ring.
His back was against the restaurant wall, palms flat touching the bricks, practically standing on his tippy- toes. Kato's mouth was open, teeth bared and positioned right on this guy's nuts. Kato was saying 'Grrr.'
I reached into my coat pocket and retrieved a cigar. Bit the end off, stuck it in my mouth and lit the damn thing. After a couple of puffs I look over and ask this guy, 'What can I do for you?'
His response, 'Um, um, um…'
'Don't be frightened, he won't hurt you unless you do something stupid.'
The big oaf stuttered, 'Uncle Carmine requests that you stop in tomorrow, around lunch if it is not too inconvenient.'
'Not a problem. Please tell Uncle Carmine that I will be there at noon.'
'Mr. Picker, can I ask you a question?'
'Sure, pal.'
'How did your dog know to stop me?'
'Simple, your gun. He hates guns.'
'But, but, but,' more stuttering, 'my gun's under my jacket. How did he know?'
'That I don't know bub. He just does.'
We got back into the car and headed over to see Doo Wop's nephew, Joey Amato.
