Read Online Henry Wood: Time and Again: by Brian Meeks - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Brian Meeks
Tags: Historical, Crime, Mystery, Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, Crime Fiction, Noir, Thrillers & Suspense, Mystery/Crime
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two hours carefully examining the piece, and each would be permitted to bring an expert. Patrick laughed at this last rule, as his clients were much too vain to bring an expert, and thus cast their own “credentials“ into question. To arrange separate viewings, Patrick had assembled individual teams. This was expensive, as the members of each team didn't know one another.
Over the years, Patrick had mastered living in the shadows. If forging was his best skill, reading people was a close second. He knew how to press buttons. Each team had been carefully built. Patrick could tell who might betray him and who would be loyal. He knew what motivated his prospects: to some he provided money, to others fear, and, to a few, friendship. Whatever it took to get people to do his bidding – and never speak of it – he did.
In his early years, before the war, he had pulled off some brilliant cons and was never caught. There were a couple of close calls, but he always had an out. During the war, however, he really flourished. There were all sorts of people stealing, selling, and dying. He excelled at profiting from the chaos. Working both sides of the street taught him the value of anonymity. By the time the shooting had stopped, he was wealthy beyond most people's wildest dreams. He was also a ghost.
It was then that he moved to the U.S. He spent years building up the network of people he would need to start fencing the works of art, which nobody else could touch.
He added a touch of yellow, then put his brush down and walked to the table in the center of the room. The plan sat patiently, waiting for at least one more review. His love of planning was perhaps his third greatest asset. Tonight he would review every detail. At 3:00 a.m., he would go to bed, confident in his vision and his plan.
Chapter Seventeen
Henry put Katarina in a cab around 10:30 p.m. and walked home. He tried to think about the case. He wanted to concentrate on Mickey…but the thoughts of her hauntingly beautiful eyes and soft touch were filling his head.
Mostly, they had spent the evening eating and drinking. The conversation was of the “good ole days.” Henry had tried to ask her about what she was up to, why she was in town. He couldn't remember her giving him a straight answer.
Was she being evasive on purpose, or just letting the wine go to her head? She had mentioned working with art once or twice, and that she was in town on business. He thought she had said she would only be around for a few weeks, but he also remembered her mentioning that she was considering staying.
The only thing he was completely sure of: the steak was fantastic.
As Henry tossed his keys on the dresser, he gave a glance at the clock on the nightstand. It was 10:47. He grabbed a glass. The clink, clink, clink of the ice cubes and the fizz of the Coke were like the round bell going off. He had taken some time off, but the fight was back on, and it was time to focus on finding Mickey's killer.
He picked up the phone and dialed. When he heard the voice on the other end say “hello,” he started.
“Mike, any news?”
“Nothing yet, Henry. We found an abandoned car…it was towed to the garage with some marks that might match the ones on Mickey's. I’ll know tomorrow. The car itself appears to be wiped clean, and the registration is to an elderly woman in Poughkeepsie. She is in her 80s, and didn't know her car was missing. How about you?”
“I made a little headway, but not much. Well, I had a guy, possibly chiseled from granite, stop in today, looking to hire a private dick. He said he was shopping around, but I’m not sure he was being straight with me. He wouldn't let on much about the job, but it sounds like a pretty big payday. Too big a payday.”
“Nothing wrong with making a living, buddy.”
“I know, but something doesn't feel right. Look, I need a favor. It's a big one.”
Mike had been back at work for about a month, but had
Over the years, Patrick had mastered living in the shadows. If forging was his best skill, reading people was a close second. He knew how to press buttons. Each team had been carefully built. Patrick could tell who might betray him and who would be loyal. He knew what motivated his prospects: to some he provided money, to others fear, and, to a few, friendship. Whatever it took to get people to do his bidding – and never speak of it – he did.
In his early years, before the war, he had pulled off some brilliant cons and was never caught. There were a couple of close calls, but he always had an out. During the war, however, he really flourished. There were all sorts of people stealing, selling, and dying. He excelled at profiting from the chaos. Working both sides of the street taught him the value of anonymity. By the time the shooting had stopped, he was wealthy beyond most people's wildest dreams. He was also a ghost.
It was then that he moved to the U.S. He spent years building up the network of people he would need to start fencing the works of art, which nobody else could touch.
He added a touch of yellow, then put his brush down and walked to the table in the center of the room. The plan sat patiently, waiting for at least one more review. His love of planning was perhaps his third greatest asset. Tonight he would review every detail. At 3:00 a.m., he would go to bed, confident in his vision and his plan.
Chapter Seventeen
Henry put Katarina in a cab around 10:30 p.m. and walked home. He tried to think about the case. He wanted to concentrate on Mickey…but the thoughts of her hauntingly beautiful eyes and soft touch were filling his head.
Mostly, they had spent the evening eating and drinking. The conversation was of the “good ole days.” Henry had tried to ask her about what she was up to, why she was in town. He couldn't remember her giving him a straight answer.
Was she being evasive on purpose, or just letting the wine go to her head? She had mentioned working with art once or twice, and that she was in town on business. He thought she had said she would only be around for a few weeks, but he also remembered her mentioning that she was considering staying.
The only thing he was completely sure of: the steak was fantastic.
As Henry tossed his keys on the dresser, he gave a glance at the clock on the nightstand. It was 10:47. He grabbed a glass. The clink, clink, clink of the ice cubes and the fizz of the Coke were like the round bell going off. He had taken some time off, but the fight was back on, and it was time to focus on finding Mickey's killer.
He picked up the phone and dialed. When he heard the voice on the other end say “hello,” he started.
“Mike, any news?”
“Nothing yet, Henry. We found an abandoned car…it was towed to the garage with some marks that might match the ones on Mickey's. I’ll know tomorrow. The car itself appears to be wiped clean, and the registration is to an elderly woman in Poughkeepsie. She is in her 80s, and didn't know her car was missing. How about you?”
“I made a little headway, but not much. Well, I had a guy, possibly chiseled from granite, stop in today, looking to hire a private dick. He said he was shopping around, but I’m not sure he was being straight with me. He wouldn't let on much about the job, but it sounds like a pretty big payday. Too big a payday.”
“Nothing wrong with making a living, buddy.”
“I know, but something doesn't feel right. Look, I need a favor. It's a big one.”
Mike had been back at work for about a month, but had
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