'Yes, but how did you know?'
'Well, sir, my client is prepared to invest a great deal of money for the research into his family's art collection. It's only natural to perform some background inquiries beforehand. Don't you agree?'
'Yes, yes, I suppose. I just never stopped to think about it. What is it exactly that you require?'
Connor ignored the last question. 'And how is your daughter's health at the moment, if I may ask?' I can picture him with his hands folded, index fingers touching and poised under his lips. Looking sincere.
James Middleton sighs deeply. 'If you must know, not very well. Up to this point, conventional treatments have not proven to be successful.'
CJ: With a sad smile, 'And…'
Middleton: 'And it appears that there is an experimental treatment which could possibly work. The problem is that the health system refuses to pay for experimental treatments.'
CJ: 'How much money are we talking about?'
Middleton: 'Two hundred and fifty thousand pounds.'
CJ: 'What if I told you that my client is prepared to pay you precisely that amount, per year, in monthly installments for a two year period.'
Middleton lets out a low nervous laugh. 'Who would I have to kill?'
Connor proceeds to lay out the plan. Keep in mind, Middleton only hears about the portion of the plan that involves him. I don't have to tell you that this established and respected Oxford professor was not a happy camper.
Time to sweeten the pot. 'Professor, two quick things. Aside from this small favor that we're requesting, the research work that I mentioned is genuine. You will be employed for two years at the numbers quoted and you can work at your own pace. This work does not have to interfere with your present responsibilities.
Also, when the two years are up, you will receive an additional quarter of a million pounds, deposited in your name in any bank of your choosing, anywhere in the world. You will receive this bonus regardless of the success or failure of our plan, assuming of course that you part is carried off without a hitch.'
At this point, like all good salesman, Connor probably shut his mouth. In reality, this deal was a fait accompli. But, as you already know, the Brits are sticklers for appearances.
Middleton: 'I'll have to think it over.'
CJ: 'Take all the time that you want, Professor.'
Early the next morning the professor called. He was in.
June 1976 London
'They're planning on killing you.'
Jean Pierre had made the trip from Paris for this meeting.
'I'm not surprised.'
They were sitting in the library of Simon's London townhouse. Outside was overcast with low clouds; a gentle rain was falling; the temperature 80 degrees.
'And the Italiano, l'artiste.' JP's delivery of the news was calm; matter of fact. His tone never divulged the seriousness of the situation.
Connor was playing with wooden trains on the Persian carpet.
'That's unfortunate.'
Simon understood that the operation was spiraling towards the finale. In the end, only one of the players could triumph.
'They broke into the studio.' Jean Pierre removed a video tape from his attache. He stood up; placed it into the machine; pressed play.
The entire building on Antique Row was wired with state of the art security apparatus; including hidden surveillance cameras. On the screen two men methodically searched Anthony's studio unaware of being taped.
Simon offered the humidor to Jean Pierre. They lit their Cuban cigars; sat back in their wing chairs and watched the screen.
'I see that Mr. Brown managed to compromise the safe.' The oversized jewelry safe contained the copy that Anthony was working on. Brown also discovered the museum's 8'x10' color photos of the original tucked in the safe drawer.
'Simon, where's Van Gogh's painting?'
'Watch.' The camera followed the two intruders around the studio. 'There. Under the table with all the other canvases.'
'Mon ami, you left a hundred million dollar work of art out in the open?'
Simon cracked a smile. 'Hidden in plain sight.'
The two men on the screen recorded everything in the room with a camera. They took great pains to ensure that the contents of the room appear undisturbed.
'Brown n'est pas son nom reel.'
'I figured as much. Does he do Engelond's dirty work?'
'Oui. Brown is the only one that he confiances completement.'
Simon sat, closed his eyes and sat perfectly still. After a few minutes he sat up and looked directly at JP.
'Does he know about us?'
'No. Absolument pas!'
Simon stood, the two men embraced. Jean Pierre asked, 'Ou allez-vous?' Where are you going?
'To see the doctor.'
I give cigars to the godfather
I popped the trunk and pulled out a red, wooden box with black and gold lettering. Walked over and knocked politely. A tall, overweight man asked if he could help me.
'Sure. Mr. Santucci requested to see me.'
The Italian Social Club is a long narrow room dating to the turn of the previous century. An ancient bar runs down the left side of the room, booths on the right, scattered tables with wooden chairs in the center. Black and white tiled floor, a pressed tin ceiling with a few rotating fans. A handful of men were present doing nothing more than sipping espresso, playing gin rummy and shooting the shit.
Straight back in the rear of the building sat a desk on a raised floor. Behind the desk sat an elderly man, bald on top with gray hair brushed back on the sides. Suit, tie, nothing extravagant. The man motioned for me to come back.
Kato trotted next to me. Two chairs were positioned in front of the bosses' desk. I sat in the one on the left. Kato sat on the floor between the two chairs. I placed the red wooden box on the desk.
'Is there any reason to have you frisked Mr. Picker.'
'I believe, Mr. Santucci, that you invited me here. Therefore, I am your guest.'
'Sure, sure. Of course you are. Besides, your reputation precedes you. I'm sorry for your loss. Espresso?'
Without waiting for an answer, Uncle Carmine Santucci held two fingers up for the bartender and said, 'Due espresso.'
It felt like I was in a scene from the movies. Perhaps 'The Freshman'.
'Mr. Santucci, what can I do for you?'
Carmine Santucci is the acting head of organized crime in Southeastern Pennsylvania and South Jersey. Uncle Carmine's rise to the top was due to the fact that upper management was either incarcerated or killed off in the previous twenty years. As it turns out, he is also Mildred DeAngelo's brother-in-law.
The espresso arrived. 'Is your animal friendly, Mr. Picker?'
