Lost Art Assignment Read Free Page A

her wrist. He didn’t twist or yank. He just squeezed. Nicole’s brown eyes widened.
    â€œLook it, lady,” Morgan began in a low voice, “I am not a patient man. We been following lover boy here for three weeks. I know he left his father’s house with that Bechtle oil painting and I know he handed it over to you. Now we could tear the place up to find it, but that would seriously, seriously piss me off.”
    â€œHe can squeeze harder,” Felicity said. “Since when you collect the new realists, anyway? New buyer?”
    â€œOui,” Nicole said. “In the closet. Shopping bag. Please.” She stared up into Morgan’s light brown eyes. Heeased the pressure a bit.
    Felicity pulled a large shopping bag from the hall closet. A dozen rolled posters stood on edge in it, held closed with rubber bands. Smiling, Felicity ran a hand across each until she reached one that wasn’t paper, but canvas. She pulled it out and unrolled it on a low table.
    â€œBreathtaking,” Felicity said. It was a simple picture, a teenager leaning against a hot rod, but with astounding accuracy of detail. It was oil on canvas, but a casual viewer might mistake it for a photograph.
    â€œBechtle’s work is beautiful, but like I said, it’s not your usual market,” Felicity said, turning to Nicole. “No coincidence, we know, since you took two others earlier. Who’s placing the orders?”
    â€œHow did you know?”
    â€œWell, if you must know, we handle all of Mister Cartellone’s security, his business and home,” Felicity answered. From the corner of her eye, she saw Tommy Cartellone reach quietly for a large, heavy ashtray. “During a conference recently, we were invited again to view his impressive collection of the new realists.” Tommy stepped behind Morgan, but Felicity gave no warning. “There probably aren’t a dozen people outside of museums who’d have spotted the copies you replaced the real Bechtle work with. Too bad for you it was me.”
    Morgan slipped his gun into its holster under his left arm, moved his shoulders as if stretching, and thrust a stamp kick out behind him. His heel sank into Tommy’s solar plexus and the younger man crumpled to the floor. Felicity wasn’t surprised. She knew Morgan received a danger warning almost mystically whenever something threatened him. Only one other person she knew of had such an instinct.
    â€œYou just shouldn’t have been greedy,” Felicity continued, as if nothing had happened. “If you hadn’t come for a third painting, we wouldn’t have got you. But since I knew my intrusion alarms to be foolproof, it had to be someone inside. We put tails on all the suspects and little Tommy got caught with his hand in the cookie jar.”
    Keeping her movements slow, Nicole retrieved her bag and pulled a cigarette from a flat silver case. “So what happens now? You’re right, of course. I’m filling orders right now. Someone wants to fill holes in their collection, I guess. But I can’t get the other two paintings back.”
    â€œWell, we could just hand you over to the cops,” Morgan said, hauling Tommy back up onto the bed.
    â€œWhat can I give you to avoid this unpleasant course of action?” Nicole asked. She lit her cigarette and crossed her legs loosely in Morgan’s direction. “I am unwilling to go to prison for five percent of any painting’s value.”
    â€œLet’s cut a deal,” Felicity said. “You give me your contact, your guess as to the buyer, and your word not to ever see Tommy again. We let you walk.”
    Nicole smiled a sly, calculating smile. “I would not see that boor again in any case. I paid a high price in boredom for those paintings. My contact, I’m afraid I can’t provide.”
    â€œCan’t, or won’t?” Morgan asked.
    â€œIf you were a mercenary, Mister Stark,