Read Online The Love of My (Other) Life by Traci L. Slatton - Free Book Online Page B

business called. I got a little queasy.
    “That’s him. The guy. Guy.”
    “The guy guy?” Brian asked, confused.
    “That’s his name, Guy.” I opened my messenger bag. What? My stomach fell out of my torso and I rooted around in the bag, growing more frantic by the second. “Where is it? Why isn’t it here?”
    “I took it,” Brian said proudly. “I want you to return it.”
    “Brian! This guy means business!” I gasped.
    But Brian had marched up to Guy and was waving his finger in Guy’s face. “You shouldn’t smoke, mister. Did you know that it’s the leading cause of premature death?”
    Guy smiled and exhaled a sooty purple plume of smoke into Brian’s face. “Not in my line of work.”
    Guy shifted his leather jacket so Brian could see the switchblade sheathed in his belt.
    Yep, it was Guy, all right. Same accent of uncertain origins; was he Russian? Chechen? Albanian?
    North Dakotan? I hailed him. “Hey, Guy, so here we are.”
    “Tessa Barnum,” Guy said, his face writhing with avarice. “We meet again. Hell must be a winter wonderland. The ancients reasoned this way: as it is in nature, so it must be in art. Therefore, the cold of Hell is resolved into cold, hard cash.”
    “Ha ha,” I said blithely. “You know my flair for the dramatic.”
    He dragged so deeply on his cigarette that I imagined the alveoli of his lungs blackening and shriveling. That image gave me a burst of pleasure.
    “Nice to see you,” I said, with a smile that was genuine because it commented on his impending lung cancer.
    Guy said, “I was surprised to get your message.
    It was only the fourth time I was surprised in my life. The number four is a key resolving number.
    Four are the cardinal points; the principal winds; the seasons; four is the constituent number of the tetrahedron of fire in the Timaeus; and four letters make up the name of Adam.”
    “Yes, um. I was surprised myself.”
    “Meet again?” Brian demanded. “Tessa, how often have you done this? Have you stolen before?”
    “Cliff Bucknell, excellent commodity, always a market for it. Such is the dramatic struggle between the beauty of provocation and the beauty of consumption,” Guy said.
    “It’s not beautiful,” I said sternly.
    Guy shrugged. “Show me.”
    “The thing is,” I started nervously.
    “The thing is, she’s got to give it back!” Brian exclaimed.
    Jeez Louise, did he not understand what was going down? I grabbed Brian by his upper arm and dragged him a few yards away, motioning for Guy to excuse us.
    “Tessa, have you lost your friggin’ mind?” Brian asked. “What history do you have with this goon?”
    “Shh!” I hushed him. “Keep your voice down. It’s just, um, stuff with my old teacher. Brian, listen. For real, for once. Guy is dangerous. He cut the thumbs off someone who blew a deal.”
    “My God, Tessa—”
    “This meeting isn’t a girl scout reunion, okay?
    The art market has an ugly side to it. There are plenty of people who don’t care about the provenance of a piece, if they want it. They’ll pay a lot, wow, a whole lot, to get what they want. Because of that, there’s a whole thriving underbelly to the art business.”
    “You’d never be involved in something like this in my world.” Brian was visibly distressed, and he wiped his face with both hands.
    “There’s art theft, of course, on spec, for resale, or for ransom. There’s fraud and forgeries and trafficking. Looting. A hideously ugly side to the business of masterful beauty.” I willed him to understand: he could not treat Guy in a cavalier fashion.
    “This isn’t you, you’re not like this.”
    “In your world, I must be some kind of sanctimonious nun, who won’t do what it takes.”
    He stiffened and glared. “You’re my wife, the most amazing woman and friend and musician ever.
    You’re strong and wonderful.”
    But I had had enough. I didn’t want to participate in his hallucinations any more, even if he was the most