Hailey Lind [Annie Kinca

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Surely the Brocks don t think the people who fainted
were in on the theft? They re a bunch of folks taking an
Adult Ed class, for heaven s sake.
I m just an art restorer, Ann. It s not up to me, she
pointed out. And speaking of which, if we re done with
our little chat I need to get back to work.
One more thing. Who was the Adult Ed tour guide?
That sort of thing is handled by Community Outreach.
Art restorers are far too busy in the workrooms to attend to
all that.
I gritted my teeth, thanked her, and hung up. I wouldn t
trade places with Naomi for all the art in Florence, but the
constant references to her flourishing career at the Brock
rankled nonetheless. Naomi had a respected role in the
fine-art world, as well as health insurance and a pension
plan. I had squat. Every once in a while I was tempted to
cave in to my grandfather s pleas to join him in creating
brilliant forgeries and making fools of the establishment.
Too bad I hated prison so much.
According to Naomi, someone had disabled the Brock s
security system and taken the Chagall in the confusion sur-
rounding the Stendhal faintings. I had once been told by a
highly impeachable but thoroughly knowledgeable source
that many electronic sensor systems could be turned off re-
motely by someone with the technical know-how. But to
stroll out of a museum in broad daylight with a painting
tucked inside one s bomber jacket took a cool head and an
abundance of self-confidence.
The very qualities possessed by a certain art thief I
knew only too well. An art thief who once told me that a
SHOOTING GALLERY 55
criminal s cardinal rule was to keep things simple. An art
thief who habitually wore a brown leather bomber jacket.
Along with half the men in San Francisco, I chided my-
self. Besides, the missing Chagall was small potatoes.
Michael X. Johnson hunted bigger game.
Not that he needed to worry about money after the Car-
avaggio heist last spring. Most likely Michael was loung-
ing by the sea in Saint-Tropez, tanning himself in an
indecent swimsuit. Or gambling his ill-gotten gains at the
craps table in Monte Carlo. Or ensconced in a Prague pent-
house, rolling around naked on satin sheets with a Czech
chorus girl.
Not that I cared.
Still not a peep from Pascal s studio.
My stomach growled.
I gazed in vain at the elevator, hoping Mary and Sherri
were on their way up. I banged on Pascal s door. Nothing.
Stretching my arms over my head, I tried some isomet-
ric exercises that a ridiculously fit friend had shown me. I
closed my eyes, took a deep cleansing breath, found my
center, started flexing, felt something pull, and quit.
One thing was clear: I would not be applying to the Po-
lice Academy anytime soon. I was not cut out for the stake-
out kind of life.
Might as well delve into the Chagall theft a little more.
I flipped open my cell phone and dialed Anton Woznikow-
icz, an aging art forger and my grandfather s prot�g�.
Anton had a studio in the City and knew Michael X. John-
son. I would feel better if I could cross Michael off my list
of suspects.
Why, Annie! How nice to hear from you! Anton an-
swered. How is your dear old grandpapa these days?
Last I heard, he s enjoying his book tour. My grand-
father, Georges LeFleur, had recently published a book
56 Hailey Lind
detailing his long and illustrious career as an art forger
and naming names. Interpol salivated and the art world was
furious, forcing the old reprobate farther underground than
usual. He was having a high old time being interviewed for
the BBC while in silhouette and using a voice-altering ma-
chine like a Mafia don, wearing elaborate disguises for im-
promptu book readings in Berlin, and granting interviews
to Reuters reporters, Deep Throat style, from behind the
Doric columns of the Parthenon. Part of me admired his
panache, while another part wondered if it was possible to
disown one s grandfather.
Oh, such a time we had in Chicago! Anton said. Last
spring, he and my grandfather had renewed their friendship
and swept first place at the Fabulous Fakes art show with
what turned out to be a genuine Caravaggio. Immediately
afterward Michael had absconded with the masterpiece.
The reason I m calling is sort of related to that. You
know that guy, Michael Johnson?
I don t know a Michael Johnson, Annie. Let me
think . . .
How about David? Or Patrick? Colin Brooks? Bruno,
maybe? These were but a few of Michael s aliases.
Colin Brooks! Well, of course! A fine fellow, fine fel-
low indeed. Oh! The meals we had, the tales we told, he
chuckled. A randy young man, that one. Reminded me of
myself at his age. Excellent businessman, too. We shared
the proceeds from the sale of . . . Well, you know.
I knew. I did not want to officially know, though, be-
cause that might make me an accessory to fraud and grand
theft. This was a problem I encountered frequently in my
life, which was one reason I was trying to learn yoga.
Would you happen to know where I might find Brooks?
You have something lined up, do you? Anton s voice
dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. If your uncle Anton
SHOOTING GALLERY 57
can be of service, you just give the word. Anything, any-
thing at all Oh, your grandfather will be so proud!
No, Anton, I don t have anything lined up. Old folks
today where are their morals? I need to talk with
Brooks, that s all. Just a quick little thing.
Why was I even bothering? Michael X. Johnson the X
allegedly stood for Xerxes was no doubt thousands of
miles away at the moment.
track him down. Not too hard since he lives here.
That caught my attention. Where?
Here.
Here?
Annie, are you all right, dear? Maybe you should have
your hearing checked. Do you need money?
No, I m fine there was just some static on my end. I
lied with ease, thanks to a genetic predisposition and a life-
time of practice. So let me get this straight: Colin Brooks
is in San Francisco?
Why, yes, dear. I saw him recently at the Brock Mu-
seum.
What do you mean you saw him at the Brock Mu-
seum?
Annie, is everything all right? You sound upset.
Wait until I got my hands on that no-good, lying, thiev-
ing, son of a
I was taking in the Brock s new exhibit of botanical
prints and early depictions of New World flora and fauna,
Anton continued. Have you seen it yet?
Unghh My mind reeled at the thought of Anton and
Michael, career criminals who had recently stolen the
jewel of the Brock s collection, casually taking in the mu-
seum s latest exhibit. For years I had been afraid to set foot
in the place and all I had done was get fired from a crappy
internship.
58 Hailey Lind
It s marvelous. Simply marvelous, Anton went on.
You really must take time to see the exhibit, Annie. It s
those sorts of pre-photographic, detailed depictions that re-
mind us of a time before technology, when
Anton! Once Anton or my grandfather started philos-
ophizing about art they were like runaway freight trains:
impossible to stop without inflicting a lot of collateral
damage. I feared I was becoming the same. Tell me about [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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