Til Death Do Us Part

by Leonard Petracci

  She crossed in front of the other booths in steps choreographed with another waiter, set to intersect directly in front of booth thirty-two. Lingston’s booth. From my distance, I rehearsed her lines in my head, and read the waiter’s lips.

  “Excuse me,” she said to the waiter through her mask, a peacock with a long, purple feather that draped behind her head and over her left shoulder. “Where can I find the restroom around here?”

  “To the left,” said the waiter, pointing, “just through that double door.”

  “I’m most grateful. Could you send another glass of wine to booth four please? And I’d dare not miss it, but if I could have a reminder when the canvas by Dysi is to be shown, and particularly when the Elesni is to be shown, I’ll ensure you leave with the most generous of tips. I intend to leave with both, I am most taken up with their work.”

  “Of course, madam,” said the waiter, and he continued on his way. But the edge of his silver plated iron tray caught a magnet hidden within the peacock feather, and as he walked, he pulled the mask with him.

  “My lord!” he exclaimed as the mask fell to the floor, and Karen Miles’ face was exposed.

  Karen Miles, the pop star who had taken the market by force before she had turned seventeen. Who every director was now begging to be in one of their movies. Who was reported as the fifth most beautiful woman in entertainment, and the most seductive, yet had not had a partner in years and was rumored to still be a virgin.

  Who was one of the most desirable women on the planet. And who was interested in a painting Lingston himself had created.

  From my position, I watched her dart down to recover her mask, replacing it over her face with just enough time for the occupant of booth thirty-two to realize her identity. And I smiled as I saw the head within the booth turn for a full five seconds, watching her saunter away across the warehouse floor.

  Chapter 42

  “The point of the council is to eliminate the Void,” said Jamil, speaking to the men and women gathered before him. Each of them sported the clothes of their countries, from all corners of the mapped world, dressed in the fashions associated with their cultures and adorned with council stoles. They were the world council, the full council, before many of its members started to flake away throughout the ages. “But why do we stop there? Why not do more?”

  “And what, exactly,” asked a king, clothed in red with a golden circlet about his head, his heavily-ringed hand settled on the table with gemstones that scattered the light onto the wood, “are you implying?”

  “I am implying,” Jamil said, “that we not just eradicate the Void itself, but eradicate another void as well. The void that exists between us, the rulers, and those that follow us. The void between citizens and kings.”

  The king laughed, rolling his knuckles on the table, each of his rings clicking as they made contact with the surface.

  “Jamil,” he said, “you are overstepping your bounds.”

  “I am only introducing an idea. The idea that citizens ought to have a right in the government. That, though they might not be born of royalty, they are given a second chance at influence.”

  “You are pointing a sword at us,” the king answered, “with these dangerous ideas. It is a threat, no? What will happen to us should they become implemented? Do you expect us to open our treasuries to the public? Do you expect us to leave our decisions to the common mob? There will be riots in the streets, and order will collapse.”

  “That has not occurred in my city,” Jamil said. “Here is the proposition—”

  “I know your proposition, Jamil. And I, along with half the council, outright refuse it. Following such actions would immediately divide our power amongst commoners. I do not wish for voting. I do not wish for the ignorant to have a controlling stake in our lives. We know best and will continue to know best. And we will continue to make the laws that they will follow for their own good.”

  “I highly recommend,” said Lingston, raising his eyes as several other members nodded in agreement, “that you drop this, Jamil.”

  “You know I will never do that,” came the answer.

  ***

  “And now, for the star of the show! Our most anticipated piece! We’ll start the bidding at six hundred thousand,” announced Pete as the last painting was unveiled, an Elesni. The Elesni.

  Before he had finished speaking, the number on the board behind him changed. Astonished whispers erupted across the room.

  One million.

  One million, entered by Lingston himself, a tactic intended to scare off noncommitted bidders.

  “Off to a hot start!” exclaimed Pete, and the number rose again, by a hundred thousand. “And getting hotter!”

  Barely had he finished that sentence when the number jumped to a million and a half, then a million and three quarters. Then it flickered to two million. A frustrated bidder at booth nine stood up and walked out of the warehouse mid-auction, shaking his head at the rising cost.

  The whispers started when the bidding reached ten million. The gasps occurred once it rocketed past fifty. And at ninety, each bid was met only with laughter.

  When the bidding reached ninety-nine and a half million, a buzzer behind Pete sounded, and he held up his hands as an assistant rushed forward to whisper in his ear.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, it appears that we have an issue with the auction. It appears that, through a fault of our own, we mistakenly predicted the highest bid to be that of one hundred million for any of our pieces, and have therefore failed to ensure that your finances are capable of paying such a price. Due to the extreme nature of this situation, we ask that you provide three sources of proof of liquid assets so that we can check that you have the means of payment. We apologize for this inconvenience and remind you that you need not supply any sort of access—we simply need to check your information.”

  Ten attendants arrived beside Pete, and he continued to speak.

  “To preserve your confidentiality and safety, ten of my staff will be dispatched to various booths, eight of which will be random. The ninth and tenth will be the actual bidders. You will have twenty minutes to provide authentic proof, then the bidding will continue. Thank you for your cooperation.”

  The ten attendants were dispatched, criss-crossing the floor with clipboards in hand. After twenty minutes of deliberation, they returned, each handing their papers in to Pete, who shuffled through them with furrowed eyebrows.

  “It appears we have adequate proof,” he announced, and the number behind him jumped upward, the bid rising by over half the previous value to settle at exactly one hundred and fifty million.

  Silence filled the room as the number held steady, the reflection of the red digits appearing in dozens of eyes behind masks. And the timer began to count down.

  Thirty seconds remaining.

  Twenty.

  Ten.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” said Pete, flashing his smile again as the clock reached zero, “it appears we have a winner.”

  Chapter 43

  “It’s absolutely ridiculous,” said Karen, her mask doing little to hide the mascara running down her cheeks. “I wanted it. I would do anything for it. And now it’s gone.”

  She sat at the bar, leaning over the countertop, two empty glasses of wine in front of her, along with a third that would soon share the same fate. She wobbled slightly, then steadied herself to take another sip, then wobbled again.

  Beside her, a taller figure approached, placing his right forearm on the bar while he held a parcel containing his winnings in his left hand.

  “A McEll’s, neat,” he said to the bartender, his voice commanding, his eyes watching the pour. He sniffed it, then took a sip, rolling it in his mouth.

  Just fifteen minutes earlier, I had followed Lingston as he returned to his jet with his winnings. I had waited with held breath as he disappeared for a full five minutes, watching with binoculars through the window where his silhouette removed the precious painting f
rom its package and slipped something else inside. Then he retreated, hurrying back to where the auction was wrapping up, and where he had spotted Karen throwing back wine like shots at the bar. And where I, a mere waiter, stood in the shadows.

  “Miss,” he said, scotch in hand, “whatever is the matter?”

  “Everything is the matter,” Karen replied, the wine in her glass sloshing as she turned. “Absolutely everything.”

  “Come now, come now,” he said. “Surely there is something that can cheer you up? Something that can make it better?”

  “Not unless you can go back and win the Elesni auction for me,” Karen sniffed.

  “Oh what a shame, what a shame,” he said, putting a hand on her shoulder and leaning in, “Personally, I do love a good Elesni. He is the absolute best, of course, and puts everyone else to shame in comparison. I’m assuming you were there until the end then? But were outbid at the one hundred and fifty million mark?”

  “I would have gone farther,” said Karen, “but that was the limit placed on me by that wretched assistant. Apparently my racehorse is not considered a liquid asset in the eyes of the auction. Nor is my truck. Do you know how much I spent on upgrades for it? Let alone the lobbying to make it street legal?”

  “Absolutely ridiculous, I agree,” said Lingston. “But what if I—”

  “Of course it’s ridiculous! Do you know how many races my horse has won?”

  “I can’t say I do. But if you look here—”

  “Countless! Countless!” she said. “And he’s on the way to countless more.”

  “Miss, I do agree that your horse should be included in liquid assets. However, it doesn’t matter.”

  “Doesn’t matter?” yelled Karen, straightening up, the wine doing little to dull her blazing eyes. “How dare you say that? That’s how I lost the auction!”

  “True, but it doesn’t matter because I won the auction. And I happen to have the painting right here.”

  He cracked open the parcel, revealing the contents inside. And in the corner of the room, I hid a smile.

  The bastard had made a counterfeit. Had he lost the auction, he likely planned to switch it out with the real painting. Of course, that never would have occurred. I’d taken special care to ensure that Lingston would win the auction, no matter what the circumstances. Marco and I had the amount he would pay for the painting down to a ten-percent range based on our estimates of his finances, and could have driven him as high as two hundred and fifty million if we so desired. He would have paid it. To him, that money would be well worth it, and it would hardly make a dent in his accounts.

  But now that he had won, he had a new plan for the counterfeit.

  “Oh my God,” mock whispered a shocked Karen, her mouth open. “You were the winner.”

  “Indeed I was,” said Lingston, holding a finger to his lips. “But let’s keep that a secret, just between you and me. There are many here who would be inclined to steal it from me. But perhaps you’d like to take a closer look at it?”

  “I don’t just want to look at it, I want to own it,” said Karen.

  “Perhaps we can strike a deal,” said Lingston. “I’m quite the expert in Elesni paintings, so I could perhaps show you a few more of his works as well.”

  “Oh, you are?” said Karen, and she wiped a tear away while biting her lip. “Are you who I think you are?”

  “I’m sure you’ll recognize me when the mask comes off,” said Lingston, “but here is not the place. Perhaps you’d like to come back to my jet?”

  Karen hesitated, raising her eyes to meet his, her pupils wide.

  “That could be arranged. But only if there is wine.”

  “I assure you,” he answered, leaning in, “there’s plenty.”

  Chapter 44

  “I’m not getting into that,” said Karen, her arms crossed, the clicking of her high heels against concrete coming to a stop as she glared up at the jet.

  “And why would that be?” asked Lingston.

  “It’s not nice enough,” she said. “Much too small for me. Paint job looks faded. Probably doesn’t even have jacuzzi.”

  “A jacuzzi? on a jet?”

  "Honey, I only ride in style," said Karen, her hands on her hips. "If we're going anywhere, it's going to be somewhere worthy of me. Let's go to my jet—it's close by, and not just that, I've rented out the Ann Swann."

  "There's hardly any difference between that one and my own," retorted Lingston, "We might as well—"

  But Karen was already leaving, and she smiled over her shoulder, wobbling slightly but her speech staying sharp.

  "Honey, let me reiterate what I’m trying to tell you, as you seem to be having trouble reading between the lines. My jet has a jacuzzi, and I intend to be slipping in," she said, then she lowered her voice, her eyes flashing, "but I didn't bring a swimsuit."

  ***

  They boarded the Ann Swann together, Lingston following Karen up the flight of stairs, his hand trailing along the gold-plated rail. Underneath him the steps sparkled, the diamond dust embedded in polished concrete reflecting the light of the moon high above. Then his feet met the red carpet of the interior, a vast, open expanse, dimly lit with blue bulbs illuminating a bar, several couches, and, as promised, a steaming jacuzzi.

  Karen walked to the bar, pouring herself a glass of wine, and turned back to Lingston. "I do apologize," she said, "but I'm not a great carrier of scotch, Mr. Lingston. Something else will have to do."

  Lingston froze in the doorway, his eyes narrowed.

  "Ah, so you did know it was me. What gave it away?"

  "There are only a few who order McEll’s. But even without that hint, I would still know you by your figure, Mr. Lingston. You do know that I've attended every one of your parties for the past five years?" she lied, stepping forward, and pulling him by the tie deeper into the plane.

  "Of course dear, of course. With a beauty such as yours, I’d know every time," said Lingston, following her to the bar, where she prepared him a martini.

  "And such parties they were. It's a wonder that a man like you can bear to stay single," she continued, as she removed a cork from a bottle with a soft pop, "with ever so many admirers."

  "Perhaps I just haven't found the right one yet," said Lingston as she approached with his martini, stepping just close enough to feel his breath on her face.

  "Perhaps," she answered, lifting the bottom of his mask as his hand curled around to the small of her back, where her dress exposed bare skin. He leaned forward as her fingernail brushed the outline of his jaw and she pulled back just as his lips were a mere centimeter from hers, taking care to rub the contour of her body the longest distance possible across his.

  "Now, now, Mr. Lingston," she said. "You still haven't shown me the Elesni."

  "Of course," he said, opening the package in his hands and taking care to gently remove the painting inside.

  Karen gasped as he held the canvas up to the light.

  It was small, smaller than most paintings. Years had worn away the hues that had once streaked across its surface, withering them into dull remnants of their past lives. And for the price that it had fetched at auction, it was surprisingly simple.

  It was a picture of a face. A face with a crown upon its head, long locks of hair to the shoulders, and nothing but darkness surrounding it. A face that laughed, its eyebrows high above their natural position, with four dark figures reflected in the pits of its eyes.

  Few would remember that face, very few. But there were some who would.

  And I, Frederick Galvanni, was one of them.

  Chapter 45

  “There, put it there.” Karen gestured at the bar, walking around the jacuzzi to stare at it across the water and steam. “As if it were mine.”

  “But it isn’t,” said Lingston. “It belongs to me. For now, at least.”

  “And what would it take to get it back?” she asked, moving closer to the water’s edge. She reached up to the back of her neck,
where a clasp held her dress together, and with a flick of her fingers, it came undone. The already-too-scarce fabric fell, her hands catching it at the last moment before it revealed too much. “I’m sure there’s something that I can do.”

  “Perhaps there is,” Lingston said, his hand reaching up to his collar.

  “And whatever could that be?” she asked, the dress falling slightly lower.

  “I think you know.”

  “Do I, Mr. Lingston? Perhaps you’ll have to show me.”

  The dress fell to the ground, revealing her body, covered with nothing but thin undergarments. And she spoke again, her voice low.

  “I’ve never been shown before.”

  Then she was in the water, staring up at him, her hand reaching upward to tug down at one of his pant legs. And within seconds Lingston followed, stripped down to his own undergarments.

  He moved quickly, pinning her against the wall of the jacuzzi, one hand gripping her neck as their lips met. She squirmed, but he pressed harder, pushing her shoulder blades such that they were indented against the edge.

  “Not yet,” she gasped as his fingers started to roam, and his thumb pressed into her windpipe.

  “Yet,” he said, and his hand plunged beneath the water.

  “No,” she said sharply, squirming again as he pressed her tighter. “No!”

  Then she bit down against the lip kissing her, hard enough to draw blood. With a yelp Lingston jumped back, his face contorting.

  “Bitch,” he said, reaching for her wrist.

  “Not yet,” Karen whispered, breathless, spinning away from Lingston’s grip in the water. “If it’s going to be my first time, I want it to be right. Let’s do it in the air.”

  “Then let’s take off, I’m eager to get started,” he answered, approaching. “I’m quite experienced. I promise I’ll do it right.”