by JB Sanders
Mrs Olivari frowned, obviously exasperated. "I am thrilled you like it."
"To be specific, you don't appear to be in any financial trouble, so it's unlikely you arranged the robbery yourself." Tyler kept slowly walking past the other paintings, not even looking in her direction.
Mrs Olivari made an outraged noise. "What an outrageous accusation!"
Tyler spared her a glance. "No accusation, Madame Olivari. Simply an observation." Tyler went back to looking at the paintings. "I also had my people look into your personal finances and those of your staff. Nothing interesting there."
Mrs Olivari clenched her jaw.
"Which leads me to believe that professional thieves broke in, evaded your fairly good security system, avoided appearing on camera in any significant way, stole four specific paintings, and nothing else. Just in my brief walk around your lobby gallery, I can see several other paintings at least as valuable as the ones stolen. Which leads me to believe that they already had buyers lined up for those specific pieces."
Mrs Olivari had unclenched her jaw, and nodded. Glen could see a certain amount of respect dawning on her face.
"Astute observations, Mr Conrad. But now what?" Mrs Olivari ran her hand over her necklace again.
"Now? Two things. One, I make sure my people go over all your video footage, as far back as you have, to spot the rich people admiring specific paintings. Tedious, but perhaps illuminating. Two, I go find out how to buy paintings on the black market." Tyler smiled at her.
Chapter Seven
Other Little Items
Monday afternoon
"Why are we running this errand and not Tim?" Glen looked around. The street was a dilapidated one, where the cobblestones shown through the asphalt, and the buildings looked like they hadn't been painted in this decade -- or the last. There was a half-hearted looking bookshop, a convenience store that had every flyer or poster ever made pasted inside it's windows, and one tiny hair salon. Actually, the hair salon looked like it was doing good business and had a regular clientele. Go figure.
"Got him on something else." Tyler motioned vaguely.
"Jolly. So is this the place?" Glen looked up at the window of what the sign claimed was a "quality antique" store, but was clearly the kind of junk shop that college students would thoroughly enjoy. Or found-art artists.
"Yup. Let's see what they got."
Kevin opened the door ahead of them, looked around the store and then motioned them in. They stopped just inside to survey the place. It might have looked uninviting from the outside, but inside the place was kind of cozy. Stuff was stacked, piled, shelved, binned and otherwise tucked everywhere. It was overflowing with knickknacks, bric-a-brac and gewgaws. Glen went left, down an aisle of broken toys, and Tyler took another aisle that appeared to be every style of phone produced in France in the past eighty years. And then bins of dominoes, not in sets. And then hula hoops.
They met back up at the counter, which was an island in the middle of the -- as it turned out -- quite large space. Behind the raised counter was a man with a white fly-away hair, a slight stoop and half-glasses perched on his nose. He was perusing what looked like a thick catalog or phonebook. Glen guessed the man was in his early 70's, maybe older.
"Bonjour," he said without looking up.
"Excuse me, but I'm looking for tickets to the Odd Auction." Tyler seemed to be emphasizing his American accent and was sticking to English.
"Oui, monsieur. I can help with that. How many bidders?" The man closed the book he was reading and thumped it down on the counter next to a register that was probably older than he was.
"Just one. I also understand that you run the Red Auction, and I was hoping to get a ticket for that as well."
The man pulled out two postcards with photographs of various oddities on one side and stamped on the other. He paused before handing them to Tyler and then passed them over.
"I'm sorry, monsieur, but I do not know what you mean. I do not know a Red Auction."
Glen could see the man was lying.
"Oh, right! Uh, I also need the red tickets, for the number five type seats." Tyler pronounced the words slowly, like he was reading them off a script.
The man's face tightened slightly, and Glen got the distinct impression that he was greatly resisting the urge to roll his eyes. "Yes, monsieur, I will add those." He handed Tyler another set of postcards, these were simply red on one side.
"Thanks!" Tyler's face was in Vacuous Mode. He could have been Bertie Wooster.
The man was shaking his head as they turned away and left via the front door.
Out in the car, Tyler had a laugh. "That was fun. I forget, sometimes, how much fun it is to play stupid."
"Now that you don't have to make it your daily routine, you mean."
"Yeah. Ok, so, it looks like we're going to a black market art auction. What do you think we should wear?"
"Bullet-proof vests?" Kevin put in sarcastically.
Tyler smiled widely. It had taken them what seemed like forever to get Kevin so he'd feel comfortable enough to be sarcastic with them. Not that it didn't have it's downside sometimes.
"Yes, plus the right kind of suit -- I'm thinking--"
"--James Bond 1960's tuxedos?" Glen put in.
"No. That's for the party tomorrow night. For this, I'm thinking the Armani double-breasted blue with the silk lapels for me and the Boss double-breasted grey for you."
"So you want me to look like a banker?"
"No, no, the slim one. The one that makes you look like a movie star, not the one that makes you look like a rugby player at a press conference."
Glen smirked at Tyler. "You know, I remember a time when the most thought you put into what to wear was which player's hockey jersey you were going to choose."
"Yeah, it did make laundry easier, too -- toss 'em all in the wash and go. Now our dry-cleaning bill looks like the rent we paid on our first apartment."
"True. Though, I have to say, seeing you in a tight suit...totally worth the extra effort." Glen gave Tyler a searing ogling, inspecting his current suit in detail.
Tyler swallowed, and then leaned into Glen as the car pulled out into traffic. "Damn."
Glen looked down at Tyler in some humor. "Damn?"
"It still amazes me how fast you can rev my engine, without even touching me." Tyler expelled a breath. "I mean, damnnnn."
***
"Well, this isn't very impressive." Glen looked out the window of their SUV at the large, drab warehouse. The thing looked like it had escaped being bombed in World War II only because it was already derelict. It was a little amazing that it was still standing.
"What did you expect? A palace? This is a secret black market auction. You can't exactly rent the Sheridan for that." Tyler tucked the red ticket into his finely tailored suit, and waited attentively while James and Kevin looked around outside the car. "Plus, I'm hoping the inside is much, much nicer than the outside."
"That, or we're going to be buying new shoes." Glen frowned down at his hand-made leather shoes. They were almost as comfortable as the custom sneakers he had. Glen and Tyler weren't crazy, over-the-top spenders, even with all their money, but they liked to dress well.
"Oh my god. Listen to you. Where's the guy who told me I had too many shoes back when I had three pairs of sneakers?"
Glen couldn't help grinning a little. "One pair for tennis, one pair for everyday and one for dates? Really?"
Kevin knocked on the window before Tyler could make his retort. Tyler popped open the door and stepped out. Glen grabbed the briefcase from the seat beside him, and followed.
Steve and Jacques got out of the front of the vehicle. They put together the standard phalanx, with Kevin and James in front, then Glen and Tyler and then Steve and Jacques. Glen reflected when they reached the person-sized door in the side of the building, a touch glumly, that he didn't even think it was weird to be the quarterback in this formation of guys. Well, really, Tyler was the quarterb
ack.
A square opened in the grimy, dilapidated door. A face looked out at them. Tyler passed the red card through, and the door opened. Beyond was a dimly lit corridor, done up in Early Industrial Disgusting. The small man who greeted them with a brief bow was dressed in a suit nearly as nice as the one Tyler wore, and he wasn't bad looking for an old librarian-type guy. Behind him were two men in much less expensive attire. They were very big, and had obviously spent their extra money on guns. The small man conducted them wordlessly down the corridor to one of the anonymous doors on the right-hand side, and ushered them into a room.
The contrast between that room and the rest of the building up until that point was like jumping into snow after taking a sauna. The plush furnishings, the walls, the ceiling and every last glass in the room was white. Glen felt like he was stepping onto a movie set, one where shortly there would be a dream sequence and maybe a lot of serial-killer blood splatter. It was a little unnerving.
The small man spoke English with a crisp German accent. "Please wait here. Help yourself to the bar. Shortly the auctioneer will stop by to discuss payment options, then you will have ten minutes with the art. After that you will come back to this room for more waiting, while other patrons inspect the art. Once all patrons have had their time, we will begin the auction. Questions?"
Tyler tilted his head, looking at the man. "Ich glaube, ich höre die Geräusche von Basel, ja?"
The small man looked surprised. "Ja, aber Sie sind nicht Schweizer! Wo haben Sie studiert?"
"Ich verbrachte viel Sommer in Zürich, und einer meiner Kindermädchen war von Basel. Schön, dich zu treffen." Tyler smiled and Glen could feel the charming vibes from ten feet away.
"Schön, dich zu treffen, Sir. Ich bin Dieter. Lassen Sie mich wissen, wenn Sie etwas brauchen - drücken Sie einfach auf diese Schaltfläche." The little man pointed to a doorbell-like button the wall. Whatever he was saying, he seemed to really be taking a shine to Tyler.
The little man nodded smilingly to Tyler, and then left the room.
"Make a new friend?" Glen said, hopefully with less exasperation than he felt.
Tyler grinned back at him. "Jealous?"
Glen rolled his eyes. "No, though I'm --"
"--Annoyed that one of the seven languages you speak isn't German?"
Glen pursed his lips and then released a small laugh. "Yeah, I guess I am. I'm really going to have to pick up German someday. I did get that his name is Dieter."
"Yeah, Dieter seems like a cool cat. He's Swiss, from Basel."
"And you heard that in his accent, didn't you?"
"Ayup. You know--"
"--Yeah, Martine. The Swiss maid."
Tyler wandered over to the large mirror on the far wall. "So, one-way glass?"
"Looks like it."
"Fancy setup."
They sipped some champagne -- after James tested it with his little kit for drugs -- and talked about hockey. Well, Glen and Tyler talked about hockey. The guys patrolled the room looking steely-eyed.
After about fifteen minutes, there was a discreet knock at the door, it opened and then a dapper little man stepped in. He made Glen think of one of their Swiss bankers -- extremely well-groomed, short, hair clipped. Even the man's mustache looked discreet. He was wearing what Glen thought of as an Old Money suit -- drab colors, light grey and dark grey, but cut so well and with such exceptional fabrics that he exuded class just standing still.
"Bon soit, monsieurs. I am Anthony, and I conduct the auction." He came forward and shook hands with Tyler. Then with Glen. He smiled. "Now, as to payment?"
Tyler nodded at Glen, who brought the briefcase up to the bar and set it down. Tyler dialed the combination lock on both sides of the case and opened it. "We brought cash, I hope that's ok."
The man nodded, picked up one of the bearer bonds inside the case and brought it close to his face. He got a thoughtful look, pulled a jeweler's loop from his pocket and looked even closer. He nodded.
"These should do quite nicely. What total amount do you have with you today? We do not do credit, nor will we wait for more to be brought."
"We have five million euros."
The man nodded. "Very well. If you're ready, I can take you to the viewing room."
Tyler nodded and followed the little man. Glen, James and Kevin followed.
The group proceeded down the hall six doors -- Glen counted -- and went in another door. It was a large room with overhead lighting and guards. Lots of guards.
In the center of the room, in a pool of light, were seven paintings.
Glen and Tyler looked at each of them, spending a minute at each one. None of them were a Sargent portrait, nor were they any of the other paintings stolen from the gallery.
None-the-less, Tyler had Glen look closely at each painting with a magnifying glass, and then nod, somewhat theatrically, to Tyler.
They were escorted back to their room, where they resumed sipping champagne. James made a circuit of the room with one of his devices and then nodded at Tyler.
"We're clear." He pointed a speaker set below the window. "That's switch-activated and it's off."
"Great." Tyler turned to Glen. "Well, this is kind of a bust. See anything you like?"
Glen shrugged. "The Manet was nice, though I kind of wonder if it's a fake. I thought all of those were in galleries or museums at this point."
"No way for us to tell, not at this point." Tyler looked thoughtful. "Though I think I'll stay and bid anyway."
"On what? There's nothing there we want."
Tyler smiled. "I was thinking of doing a little drive-by charity work."
Glen looked at Tyler with some confusion, and then startled awareness. "No!"
Tyler turned on his smug look and sipped champagne.
***
Tyler handed Anthony the briefcase, and looked over as several men crated the paintings. All of them.
"Good doing business with you, sir." Anthony smiled business-like: polite, perfunctory and without any warmth. "I'm afraid you did not make many friends among the other bidders."
Tyler shrugged with almost Gallic nonchalance. The French were starting to rub off on him, obviously. "I'm sure they'll find what they're looking for elsewhere."
"None-the-less, monsieur, I would be cautious going home. And I would be wary of thieves when you get there."
"Why thank you, Anthony, I appreciate the advice." Tyler straightened his sleeve. "Rest assured that I take my own and my husband's security very seriously."
"Husband." For the first time Anthony really looked at Glen and then back at Tyler.
"Yes."
Anthony blinked twice. "Then you are...?"
"I am."
Anthony swallowed and nodded, now much more attentive and a little shaken. "I have heard your name whispered among my, ah, colleagues. Your name is well known in my home country."
"Oh yes?" Tyler expressed interest the way one asked about the weather.
Anthony nodded, looked around a bit nervously and shifted his grip on the briefcase. He spoke softly, so his voice did not carry to anyone else in the room. "I'm not, uh, about to be arrested or vanished?"
"Not today. Though I'd recommend finding another line of work. And I'll see that these," Tyler gestured at the paintings. "Get back to their rightful owners."
Anthony nodded a little jerkily, then turned and went over to his men. He seemed to be rushing them.
"We're getting quite the rep." Glen took Tyler's hand.
"I know. Is it bad that I'm having fun with it?"
"Not yet. I'll let you know."
Tyler squeezed his hand.
Chapter Eight
In The Glass
Monday evening
"You want to have a romantic dinner, in the middle of everything that's going on?" Glen was exasperated.
Tyler pulled Glen closer, put his arms around him and looked up with puppy-dog eyes.
Glen sighed. "Ok, yes, we'll do it. Now tell me why you jus
t used your monthly quota of Evil Pleading Eyes on me?"
"Glen, we're in Paris and we deserve to have at least one nice, romantic dinner together. It's really likely that once this thing works itself out--
"--You mean, once you work it out and win the day?" Glen smiled.
"Yeah, that -- once this is all done, we will probably have to get out of town quickly and may not have the chance to have a quiet anonymous dinner in a really nice restaurant for a while. Particularly not in Paris."
"Ok, then dinner sounds fun." Glen kissed him. "I assume you've already made all the arrangements and picked out my suit?"
Tyler looked a little embarrassed. "In my defense, you're irresistible in that bespoke black suit."
Glen sighed, and kissed Tyler again.
***
As they walked into the river-side restaurant, Tyler paused just inside the doors. The whole entourage paused. "Uh, Tim, was there time to square the money with these guys?"
Tim shook his head. "Nope." He padded his suit jacked. "So I brought along everything we'll need. You get seated and I'll talk to them."
"Thanks." Tyler gave Tim's shoulder a squeeze. "I know this was a bit much on top of everything else, but it means a lot to me."
Tim flashed his teeth. "No worries, I'm giving myself a raise, and probably a bonus."
Tyler laughed. "Deserved. Everything I thought you might be capable of doing when we met on the cruise ship has been proved this week."
Tim blushed. "Thanks."
While they waited to speak to the maître d', Glen leaned over and whispered to Tyler. "How expensive is this place?"
Tyler gave Glen a mischievous smile. "So expensive they require a credit check to be seated. I know we don't normally go hog wild, but --" Tyler shrugged.
"You wanted to do something extra special on the anniversary of the day we met?"
Tyler just pushed up on his toes and kissed Glen.
