"Not bad, not bad at all," Zack said after he and Trev had brought the first load of cartons up to Trev's studio apartment. "You're right. It's very airy."
Trev gave a sharp nod and started out the door. He didn't make it any farther than that because Zack took hold of his arm, tugging him back into the room while asking, "What's going on with you? The closer we got to here, the quieter you got and now—"
"I guess…it's all sort of hitting me. I mean…this is the end of things, Zack."
"How do you figure? From where I'm standing, you're starting a whole new life."
"Meaning the old one's over. The way it ended…with John's murder and all. I know it doesn't make sense. It's just… What if things don't work out the way I hope? What if I'm stuck here"—Trev waved his arm around, encompassing the small apartment—"forever, because no one likes my art except Clay and you? It could sit in his gallery until the dust is an inch thick on everything. Then what? I melt it down for salvage and keep on being a waiter for the rest of my life?"
"What brought this on? A day ago you were bubbling in anticipation."
Trev walked over to one of the wide windows at the side of the living area, staring out. "My whole life has been my art. Everything else was just doing what needed to be done so I could afford to create it. Now I'm about to find out if it was all worth it or if I was just fooling myself."
Coming up behind him, Zack wrapped his arms around Trev. "What you're going to find out is that you are more than good. You have a talent, Trev, one a lot of people would die for."
"Then why has it taken so long for anyone to realize that. I'm twenty-five. I've been doing this forever, it seems like, and trying to get someone to really notice me. It's always been, 'We like your work. We'll get back to you.' Maybe Clay's just being nice. Let me exhibit there for a month then that's it. Especially when no one buys anything."
"I'm sure a lot of artists were older before they gained recognition. Look at Renoir. He was thirty-three. And Hopper was thirty-one. Hell, some artists had to die before they were appreciated, like Van Gogh and Gauguin."
Trev turned in Zack's arms to look up at him, a ghost of a grin on his lips. "So if those men had killed me, I'd be famous now? And how do you know all that?"
"Remember, my fathers collect art. I was raised learning about famous—and not so famous—artists." Zack's gaze dropped to Trev's lips. "I think," he said somewhat distractedly, "I'm just as happy they didn't kill you. There's not much to be said for posthumous fame." Then he gently kissed Trev. He smiled when Trev returned it after drawing in a breath of surprise. "See," Zack murmured long moments later. "If you were dead, I couldn't have done that."
Trev tossed back his head in laughter. "If I was and you had, wouldn't it have been considered necrophilia?"
Zack snorted. "Yeah, I guess so. So be glad you're alive and kicking, because that is not something I even want to contemplate."
"Me neither, on any level." Trev stared at him momentarily, then kissed him quickly before saying, "We really should get everything else moved up here. I mean…well, we should."
"Unless you've decided to camp out in my friend's truck for a while, it would be a good idea."
"I think I'll pass on that. I'm going to make you supper for helping me."
"With what:"
"With moving."
Zack shook his head. "I mean, what are you going to make supper with?"
"Remember the cooler? I put the stuff from the fridge in it, and hell, we should get that up here now. It's a nice cooler but not meant to keep perishables for too long and… Come on."
With a laugh, Zack followed Trev out of the apartment, resisting the urge to mutter "Children". But he couldn't help feeling that the kiss he'd given Trev had been tossed off by the younger man as just that—a kiss and nothing more—even though he'd kissed him back, albeit swiftly. He probably thought I did that to take his mind off of everything. I suppose, in a way, that was part of it, but… Ah well, next time…
*****
The sun was setting when Zack and Trev returned to the truck for the last of the boxes. With the apartment building casting long shadows across the parking lot, Trev was glad that the security light over the back door had come on. It didn't illuminate the whole lot, but at least it made him feel safer. Zack jumped into the truck bed, and he'd just bent down to pick up one of the cartons to hand over the side to Trev when there was a popping sound and the back window of the cab shattered.
"Get down," someone hollered.
Trev's first instinct was to see if Zack had been hit. Then a shot rang out. Trev dropped flat on his stomach beside the truck. There was another popping sound and a loud ping directly above his head. Sucking in a breath, he rolled under the truck, fear washing over him.
Another shot sounded, then Trev heard footsteps heading around the building, followed by a second set giving chase. At least Trev hoped that's what was happening.
He inched along until he was at the back of the truck then, very cautiously, he got up just enough to peer over the tailgate.
"That wasn't fun," Zack muttered. He was pressed flat against the truck bed, looking very pissed. "Damned good thing Quint has someone watching us, or we'd be dead meat by now." He looked at the shattered truck window, grimacing. "Now all I have to do is explain this to my friend."
"Why was he shooting at you?" Trev asked, ignoring Zack's worry about his friend while trying unsuccessfully to keep his voice from quivering.
"Best guess, to quote our favorite detective, they've put two and two together and decided I'm in cahoots with you, so to speak." Zack sat up and slid over to the edge of the tailgate. "Meaning, I'm probably not going to be able to go back for the painting. Somehow I doubt Alberts would give it to me, even if I made it into the building."
"Damn." Trev jumped up to sit beside him. "So all this planning was for nothing."
"Maybe. Maybe not. And here comes our intrepid hero with his prisoner."
"It's him," Trev whispered, looking at the man the police officer was escorting in their direction. At the same time, Trev heard the sound of sirens.
"The cavalry arrives," Zack said.
Two patrol cars sped into the lot, pulling to a screeching halt next to the truck. Officers jumped out of both cars, two going to join the one with the prisoner.
A third one came over to Zack and Trev. "Did either of you get hit?" he asked, after introducing himself as Sergeant Cal Dempsey.
"No," Zack replied. "Whoever he is," he nodded toward the shooter, "his aim sucks. Thank God."
Trev watched the three officers put the man he recognized as the taller of John's two killers into the squad car. "Did he say who sent him?" he asked, before realizing Dempsey wouldn't know.
Dempsey replied anyway. "Chances are he won't at this point. Maybe after he cools his heels in jail overnight, he'll be more willing to talk."
Zack snorted. "He'll lawyer up, and that'll be that."
"That too," Dempsey admitted. "Punks always do." He took out a notebook and a pen before asking Zack and Trev to tell him exactly what had happened.
"Can't your guy tell you?" Trev wanted to know.
"Yes. But we need your statements too."
So, bit by piece, Zack and Trev related what they remembered. "Most of which was just pop, hit the deck, bang, pop, hug the side of the truck, another bang and running feet," Zack said at one point with a brief smile.
By the time they finished, Trev had finally stopped shaking enough to sign his statement when Dempsey handed it to him. After Zack signed his, Dempsey told them they were free to return to the apartment. Trev realized the squad car with the prisoner was gone, leaving behind one of the officers. Dempsey went over to talk with him before both men came back to the truck. Dempsey introduced the other officer as Luiz Hernandez. "He'll be taking over for Officer Mills, who was watching the building," Dempsey explained.
"Serving and protecting," Hernandez grinned. "At least it gets me out of the car for a whi
le."
"Don't mind Luiz. He's the precinct comedian. He is also, before you get worried, one of the best cops we have."
Hernandez's grin widened. "I resemble both those remarks. But if I'm going to prove I really am as good as Sergeant Dempsey says, I'd better do my job. That means escorting you inside and checking things out. Want some help with the boxes?"
"We're good," Trev said tightly when he saw Zack looking at the handsome Hispanic officer with what, to him, seemed like a bit too much interest.
Zack shot Trev a look of surprise before nodding. "We can deal with the boxes, if you can get the door."
"Will do." Hernandez waited until they'd retrieved the boxes, then the trio walked to the back door of the building. "I'll need the key," he pointed out. Trev juggled the box he was carrying so he could dig them out of his pocket.
"Nice building," Hernandez commented once they were in the lobby, waiting for the elevator. "I drive by it daily, but I've never been inside."
"Wait until you see the apartment," Zack told him. "Big windows. Very bright and airy."
"Sounds a lot better than some places I've seen."
"Given what you do, I'm sure you've seen some real rattraps," Zack replied.
"You have no idea."
Trev remained silent as they talked, punching the elevator button viciously with his elbow. Was he jealous? Yeah. Did he have any real reason to be? He knew he didn't, but it did nothing to assuage what he was feeling.
The doors opened seconds later, and the three men got in. Once they were on the fourth floor, Trev led the way to the apartment, then waited while Hernandez opened the door. Zack and Trev put the boxes down next to the already empty ones when they got inside.
Hernandez looked around, commenting, "Not bad. You're right, lots of light, Zack. Or there would be if it wasn't almost dark out. Okay, I'll check out the rest of the building to get the general layout and see what I have to be aware of, while the two of you finish settling in."
"I'll settle in," Trev said tightly. "Zack's leaving soon. He has his own life to get back to."
"Oh. Sorry. I thought you both were moving in."
"Well, you thought wrong." Trev knelt beside one of the boxes, tearing off the tape to open it.
"Got it." Hernandez dropped the keys on the kitchen divider. "I'll be back in a few minutes. Lock the door after me."
As soon as the officer was gone, Zack did as Hernandez had said. Then he dropped down beside Trev, sitting back on his heels as he looked quizzically at him. "Mind telling me why you're acting like an ass?"
"You figure it out," Trev shot back, as he began unpacking the box.
"Trev," Zack said firmly, "tell me."
Trev chewed the corner of his lip, keeping his gaze on what he was doing. "He's a good-looking guy."
"Yeah. And? Oh hell." Zack gripped Trev's jaw with one hand, making Trev look at him. "You're jealous."
"Am not," Trev said—wanting to deny it, even though he'd already realized it was the truth.
"You are, and there's no reason to be. Sure, he's not bad looking, and he seems personable and all. But even if he is gay, which is doubtful, I have no desire to find out. There's only one man I'm interested in and he's sitting—okay, kneeling—right beside me."
Trev studied him, his gaze slowly scanning every inch of Zack's face, looking for anything that said Zack was just trying to placate him. He was certain that wasn't the case when Zack put one arm around him, pulling him close enough to kiss. Trev put both hands on Zack's knees as he responded to the kiss hungrily.
"Damn." Trev made a grab for Zack's shoulders, just before they toppled sideways onto the carpet.
"See what you do to me?" Zack said, laughing. "Your kiss threw me totally off-kilter and boom. Are you all right?" He touched Trev's shoulder.
"Yes. Are you all right?" Trev asked with concern, since he'd landed on top of Zack.
"Very all right." Zack proved it by continuing the kiss that had begun before their fall. A kiss Trev returned enthusiastically.
A sharp knock on the door ended that. When Trev sprang to his feet, intending on answering, Zack was right behind him, grabbing his arm to stop him.
"What do you think you're doing?" Zack asked, sounding upset.
"Letting him in. It's just Hernandez."
"Do you know that for sure? After what we just went through, don't you think you should be a bit less trusting?"
"Oh…" Trev paled as he put the chain on the door before calling out, "Who's there?"
"It's me, Trev," Hernandez replied, "and I have company."
"What if one of the bad guys has him and is forcing him to say that?" Trev whispered, his imagination going into overdrive.
"I think, if that was the case, the last thing they'd want him to do was announce that he wasn't alone," Zack replied.
"Yeah, I guess." Very cautiously Trev opened the door an inch to peer out, keeping his foot at the bottom in case someone tried to force the door open. Then, with a sigh of relief, he undid the chain to let Hernandez and Quint enter.
*****
"I know you've already given your statements," Quint said, once he and the others had found places to sit in the studio apartment, "but I'd like you to tell me again, please."
Taking a deep breath, Trev said, "It was getting dark. We were just about to get the last two cartons from the truck, then that guy shot at Zack. If he hadn't bent down, he'd be dead now."
"You're certain the man was aiming at him, not you?"
"Absolutely. I was at the side of the truck right then. The bullet hit the back of the cab where Zack had been standing seconds before."
"Then we have a problem," Quint said.
"We sort of figured that out," Zack told him dryly. "Presuming the man works for Carter or one of the others, there's no way I can go back to Alberts' place to pick up the painting."
"I'd say that's a given, unless they believe you're stupid enough to think the shooter was just some punk playing games."
"If they've seen me with Trev—and they must have or why try to kill me—they'd know that I know they sent that man."
"But you have to get the real painting back," Trev said.
"Since Clay promised Mr Miller we would, we will. As I see it, the big problem with that right now is the fact they might suspect we bugged it somehow," Quint said.
"Did you?" Hernandez asked, speaking up for the first time.
"Yes." Quint explained what Clay had done to the painting.
"Would a bug detector pick up on it?"
Zack replied, saying, "I suspect so. It is a tracking device, albeit a medical one."
"So the painting's gone for good. Alberts won't even bother to try to make a fake one," Trev said. "He knows the whole thing was a setup. He'll probably get rid of it as fast as possible, if he hasn't already."
"I'm afraid so," Quint admitted.
Hernandez rapped his knuckle on the divider between the kitchen and the living area. "They don't know me."
"You can hardly walk in there, saying you're supposed to pick up the painting for Zack," Quint told him.
"How many people are involved in this ring?"
"Thomas Carter, who owns the ad agency Trev's roommate worked for before he was murdered." Quint gave him a fast rundown on what had happened. "And Arthur Reed, a gallery owner. We figure he's the one who comes up with artists willing to copy the artworks Alberts is supposed to be appraising. Reed handles both older paintings and those of local, up-and-coming artists."
"Whose painting did you use for the sting?" Hernandez asked.
"Clay Richardson's."
"Santa mierda! How did you get your hands on one of his?"
Zack chuckled. "Clay lives with Quint."
"Need a third roommate?" Hernandez immediately asked Quint. When Quint shook his head with amusement, Hernandez muttered, "Just my luck. Damn, man, he's one sweet artist."
"Won't argue about that, but this is getting us nowhere, unless you have something in
mind."
"Fill me in on all the details first." Quint did, with Hernandez listening intently. When Quint finished, Hernandez was quiet for a few moments before saying, "Like I said, they don't know me, unless there was someone else with the shooter. I really am a big fan of Richardson's art, but I have a feeling if I went into Reed's gallery looking for something of his, he'd just tell me to go to Richardson's gallery."
"Probably. Your point being?"
"What if I said I was looking for an older work of his? The companion piece to one I already own. I know Richardson does series paintings, like the Element ones."
"I'm not sure the one we used is part of a series, but I can find out," Quint said. Taking out his phone, he strolled over to the bedroom window to make the call.
"Do you really think you could convince Reed you're a collector?" Zack asked.
"I've worked undercover a lot, and not to brag, but I'm good at it. Usually I'm infiltrating street gangs, but I think I can pull off being a prospective buyer without any trouble. I do know my way around art, believe it or not." He smiled wryly. "It's my outlet when I need to get away from what I do. I've spent more time at DAM than some of the curators, I think."
"Synchronicity," Zack commented. "Here we're trying to stop an art theft ring, and you show up out of the blue, Hernandez."
"In the blue," he replied, winking as he tapped his uniform. "And please call me Luiz, or Lou."
"Lou it is."
"The painting was one of a pair that Clay called Reflections," Quint said, rejoining them.
"Who owns the other one?" Lou asked.
"This is where we get lucky. At the moment, it's sitting in storage at Clay's gallery. Mr Miller purchased Reflections One, back before Clay became well known. He was taking a chance that Clay's work would appreciate in value, which it did."
"No one knows Clay still has the other one?" Zack asked.
"Nope. It was supposed to be sold to a man back east. He had cash flow problems before the sale was finalized but promised as soon as he could afford it, he'd be back. That never happened and there it sits, gathering dust, as Clay put it."
Lou drummed his fingers on the divider. "Is it common knowledge who that buyer was?"
It Takes An Artist Page 9
