He brought the hammer down with a bang. When he said, “Sold. Two-twenty-nine to Mr. Clarke over there.” Princess looked up and peered around for the buyer. Pierce watched her register the older man pressing a smile between his lips.
The auctioneer pointed with the gavel to the smiling man and dispatched an assistant as he slowly turned over the next big page of the book. When he looked up and spoke, it was with an easy drawl, in a normal voice. It was like he was another man completely.
“Before I call the next lot, ladies and gentlemen, I have to remind you, or tell you if you didn’t know it before, the Marchmade farm sale has been held over—that’s lots two-thirty-one to three-five-five. The Marchmade farm sale is held over. We’re expecting it to be listed on the first sale next month and that listing will be out on Monday, but keep an eye on the website and watch your catalogs.”
He repeated all of that, then announced the coming lot as a collection of farm buildings with equipment and a number of acres of plot. The photo on the easel was replaced. Pierce Agostini was engrossed in conversation with Callaghan.
The electricity rose in the air, along with the warm, ripe smells. Excitement made the air thrum. There were codes and signs that insiders would know instinctively, that would be unreadable to outsiders, like a set of manners, not so very different from the car auctions and property sales that Pierce had attended in the city and New Jersey.
The barn stirred as the next lot came up. Hums of pleasure greeted the picture on the easel, and Pierce smiled at the massive yellow combine harvester with eight wheels on the front and caterpillar tracks at the back.
Some grunts and chuckles and a buzz of enthusiasm went around the barn. Agostini didn’t share the love of heavy farm equipment, but he understood it and enjoyed it. Big boys’ toys.
At the end of a fierce run of bids, the hammer came down to a burst of applause. Men smiled and nodded to each other and the harvester sold for one point six million dollars.
When bidding started on the next lot, Princess jolted by his side. She must have thought that the auctioneer was nodding at her until she realized that his hammer was pointed at Agostini.
She looked from Pierce to the auctioneer on the stand. The picture on the easel was of some nondescript meadows. Fairly flat fields, marked off with hedges, fences and stone walls. It could have been any of the places they had passed on the way.
The caller’s chin lifted as he waited with his eyes on Pierce. Pierce dipped his head very slightly and the auctioneer nodded back. There was a formal courtesy in his nod. The bidding rose.
As far as she could see, two other bidders were against him. A tall man, far off to the left wore a scarf in Burberry colors, knotted around his throat. The other was someone at the back who she couldn’t see.
Agostini occasionally tilted his head to speak quietly to Calhoun, but he kept his attention firm on the auctioneer. The caller pointed his black gavel from Agostini to the man with the scarf, then to the other, way at the back.
His chant rose in pitch and it got faster. As far as Princess could make out, the bids went from eight hundred to a thousand, through twelve, fourteen hundred, and up to eighteen. He pointed at Agostini for two thousand.
After a moment, Agostini nodded, his lips pressed tight together. The caller pointed to the back of the room and waited before he turned to the other party.
“Twenty-two?” the caller said, then he nodded and looked to the back of the room before he came back to Agostini. “Twenty-four, do I hear twenty-four? Who’ll gimme twenty-four now, twenty-four, twenty-four, am I gonna let it go now?”
There was a pause. “It’s with you, sir, twenty-four now, will you gimme twenty-four?” And the call rolled on like a song, urging him, pressing him. He clenched his teeth and stood still.
Agostini kept eye contact with the man as he murmured something to Calhoun. Calhoun turned to look at the back of the room, then he looked back at Agostini and shook his head.
The auctioneer raised his bushy eyebrows in encouragement and jabbed the gavel at Agostini. Agostini turned his head once.
The gavel smacked down. “Sold at twenty-two.” And the hammer pointed at the man to the far left. He spoke to a young assistant. “Carson, would you be kind and get the fine gentleman’s particulars, please?”
Calhoun and Callaghan walked on either side of them back to the car. Pierce Agostini stayed quiet all the way and paid little attention to the others.
Princess felt isolated, excluded from the silent tension in the group as Callaghan started the car. He chewed his top lip as he looked around to back out of the parking space.
She looked up at Agostini, wanting to offer him sympathy or consolation. But why? She barely knew what had happened, and why should she want to comfort the brute, anyway?
The car shook as three angular, matte black SUVs swept past them onto the lot. They kicked up a mist of dust and the doors began to open before the cars had come to a complete stop. Half a dozen men in shades and black leather jackets spilled out, looking right and left.
They clustered around the middle vehicle, where a blond man dressed in white stepped out. Pierce tapped Callaghan on the shoulder to stop, then he wound down his window and shouted, “Hey, Yvgeny!”
The group stopped as the blond man swung around. Pierce said, “Thinking of buying up some farm machinery?” The blond man’s watery gray eyes narrowed and he came near to the car. He had pale, almost white skin, and his dark red lips were tight and drawn thin between his teeth.
Agostini told him, “The whole of Marchmade farm was pulled from the sale at the last minute. Re-listed for next month.” Agostini’s head shook. “Would have been some of the biggest lots of the day.”
Yvgeny’s jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed. Agostini went on, “Meant the auction ran about an hour earlier than anyone expected.”
The blond man’s eyes blazed and he dispatched two of the black leather jackets into the barn to check. They ran all the way.
Pierce smiled and said, “Looks like you might have had a wasted trip. Still, the countryside is beautiful out here. Ain’t it grand to get some clean air, get away from all the noise and pollution and corruption?”
The two henchmen came back, still running. Yvgeny kept his eyes on Pierce when they reached him. There was murder in his eyes as they spoke to him in Russian, shaking their heads.
The blond man’s eyes hardened and then swung to Princess. Her heart thumped as he looked her over, slowly chewing his lip. Then his eyes slid back to Pierce. “Are you afraid of me, Mr. Agostini?”
“No, Yvgeny,” he said, “I’m not.”
“And yet in other ways, you seem so very intelligent.”
His chin tilted up. “You play with big boys now, Pierce Agostini. You should be careful you don’t get burned.”
Pierce spoke in a lazy drawl. “I know what I can handle, Yvgeny. But your concern is touching.” He touched Callaghan’s shoulder and the big man put the car into gear.
Yvgeny said, “I was not speaking metaphorically.”
He squinted against the sun into the car and straight at Princess. “You shouldn’t be with this man. He is not someone to be trusted. Come to me when you need help.”
He stood and watched as Callaghan drove them out of the lot. Princess turned to see that his eyes were still on her as they headed out to the highway.
Princess asked, “So, the auction didn’t run to schedule?”
Pierce smiled and shook his head. “Seems not.”
She frowned. “Yet, we got there in perfect time.”
He raised his brows. “Uncanny, isn’t it? What a stroke of luck.”
Princess said, “So, was Yvgeny there for the lot that you bid on?” Agostini nodded. “But how come you’re so chipper? You didn’t win the bid.”
“Oh, some you win, some you lose.” She knew there was something he wasn’t saying. He added, “Just up there on the left, Callaghan. That family diner looks good for lunch, doesn’t it?�
�
~
At the far end of a yellow Formica lunch counter in the little mom and pop diner, a tall man perched on a stool. He had a knotted Burberry scarf. Princess’s eyes widened as she recognized him. The winning bidder from the auction made no move as the group approached.
Pierce sat next to him and the man put a brown envelope on the counter between them. Pierce said, “Did you have to let the bidding climb so high, Dino?”
Without looking round, the tall man said, “Didn't intend to. Damned auctioneer pretty much railroaded it.”
“I saw it,” Pierce said. “Of course, if either of us had complained…”
Dino made an elegant and discrete shake of his head. “That could so easily be misinterpreted.”
“Could sound a lot like collusion,” Agostini agreed and slipped a thick white envelope back to him. “Then that would lead to an investigation.”
Dino took the envelope below the counter. His eyelids drooped as he peeked at the wad inside before he pocketed it. “The barker just extracted some juice for himself. Upped the sale price and so his commission rose along with it.”
He took a sip from his coffee cup before he stood. “Shocking, isn’t it, the things people do to get ahead.” His hand touched Pierce’s shoulder as he left. “You still made a steal on the property, Pierce.”
Pierce nodded. “Take care, Dino.” Dino stopped and gave Princess an appreciative glance. He told Pierce, “I’d look after that one, if I were you.” And he was gone.
Agostini worked the laptop and made calls as they drove.
“Hi. You got my email? Good. Go take a look at the club this afternoon. I’ve sent you sketches and lists of what I want. You need to work them up into plans, including the wiring and fittings, and get back to me with a budget.”
The contractor on the other end started to shuffle papers and make the busy noises that people make when they want to stall. He cleared his throat and said, “Of course. And we’ll need to work out a schedule. We’ll get back to you.”
Agostini told him, “Sure you will, and here’s your schedule: You need to be finished and out, with the place spotless and shining, next Thursday, no later than noon. I need your drawings by nine tonight, and a quote with your best finished price.”
The voice on the other end sounded tight. “I’m not sure how practical that will be.”
Pierce said, “I’m asking six people for bids, and you’re one of the lucky half-dozen. If you want to stay lucky, don’t imagine you can deviate from the specifications or the schedule. Just be sure you give me your best price. I won’t come back to you, and I won’t haggle.”
He could have said it all in the email, but that part of a negotiation, he always found, went better when people had his voice directly in their ear. They knew more what to expect.
There were five more calls like that to make. Princess’ club was going to make a fantastic venue to set open his venture. He thought about having Princess there for the big event, taking care of guests, making sure everything ran properly.
He took a sideways look at her, staring out the window like a bored teenager. Imagined her the way that he saw her the first night, that capable, defiant look in her eye. Her hair back, showing the soft, pale skin of her neck. Her cheeks blossoming. Her breasts swelling under the white shirt.
“The club is going to be fantastic,” he told her. “You want to see the plans I have?”
She didn’t look around. “The club was already fantastic. What I want to see is your plans for handing it back to my father and me.”
At every turn, Agostini surprised her. She had no idea whether what he did at the auction was legal, but it was certainly sharp. He and Dino had talked about the risk of an “investigation,” and it was obviously something they wanted to avoid. And that thing earlier. A chill ran through her. She couldn’t think about it directly.
They traveled over country that seemed featureless and dull to Princess. Callaghan drove for the better part of an hour. Towns slid by in the distance, but they never drove on a road bigger than a two-lane.
And the damned man was so hot. She couldn’t think directly about that for too long either or it could blur her sense of purpose.
Turning into a low-rise suburban subdivision, they passed clusters of well-kept houses with tended lawns out front and new-ish cars in the driveways.
Callaghan pulled up at a chain-link around what had once been a carefully planted front yard. Now it was overgrown with brown and gray grasses.
Agostini pushed the bell and rapped his knuckles on the door. The owner took his time to open up. An old man in a wheelchair wore a faded wool dressing gown with pajamas underneath. Tubes ran from his nostrils to an oxygen bottle strapped to the back of the wheelchair.
“Dale Honer?” Prince said. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.” Dale Horner’s eyes narrowed as he scowled up at Agostini and then at the rest of his party. The look he gave Princess was simply, Who are you and why are you here? He obviously wasn’t expecting her, Pierce Agostini, or anyone else. And he wasn’t thrilled by the surprise.
Agostini leaned down to speak to Horner. Princess couldn’t hear any of what he said, but the tension on Dale Horner’s cheeks and jaw told her that what he heard hadn’t filled him with joy either.
With a dark scowl, Dale waved his arm to call the group inside. Then he turned his chair. He made no effort to hurry the manoeuver or to disguise the awkwardness of it.
Stepping into the corridor, Princess was immediately aware of disinfectant, day-old PJs and slippers past their retirement age. Behind it all as they passed through the house, everywhere, was a faint whiff that Princess couldn't ignore or dismiss, and that she couldn't pretend was anything other than weak, stale urine.
Pierce touched her arm. It was meant to reassure her, but as she looked up at his face, she saw that he must have felt the same surprise flash of lightning that she did.
His eyes searched hers. Still, he put his hand on her shoulder and she felt comforted. Like whatever happened here, Agostini would look after her.
She had to remember that in Marley’s bar, when the old man pulled a gun, the first thing Agostini had done was to pull her behind him. To put himself between her and the weapon.
In the living room, a big man stood waiting in a white tunic and pants with long black hair tied back in a ponytail. Horner said, “I only have Nate here for two hours, Mr. Agostini.” Horner’s voice seemed to have a military beat and the sense of command, long worn away by age and care.
Princess thought that if she listened long enough, she could hear his whole history, like a forensic trace or an archaeological document. She hoped she wouldn’t hear too much more of it.
“Nate’s got about twenty minutes of kitchen chores to do,” the old man told all of them, Nate included. “After that, if you ain’t through talking, you’ll be finishing up while Nate scrubs me in the bath.”
Mr. Horner did not seem eager to reach that feature of his day. Nate kept his light, professional smile in place. Princess sat in the only available armchair, which was not comfortable at all.
Pierce Agostini hitched the creases in his suit pants to settle onto the mottled brown velour couch. He told Callaghan, “Help Nate to fix us all some tea.” Nate’s eyes stayed on Pierce as Callaghan accompanied him out of the room.
Agostini sat back and expanded his arms like he was never in a finer lounge. He could certainly be an actor if he chose, she thought. He told Horner, “I’ll get right to it, Dale. I believe you have a grandson. Got into Princeton. You must be very proud of Angus.”
“Proud? Poor bastard's dying under the weight of the fees. He’ll never be able to do what he qualified for, not for anyone other than a Wall Street bank. Angus went to university to help people out of poverty. Those damned bankers make him do nothing but grind other folks down into it. Folks just like him, often as not.”
Perfectly Bad: a bad boy romance Page 7
