"Well," I said, "Considering that it's not the 'Sunflower' painting, I'd say somewhere north of forty."
I risked a glance over. Kelly scrunched up her nose while processing this information. She came back with, "And, you didn't sell it?"
"No, what for?" I paused to get my thoughts in order. "It's true that when my father left it to me that I was still struggling to make it in the antique's business. But it's not like I was starving to death. I realize that this sounds silly, but it kind of has sentimental value. It's one of the things that my father left me."
At this point we were pass Boathouse Row, the houses outlined with lights and all lit up. Very cool.
"What else did he leave you?"
"The Morgan. Apparently he had a thing for Morgans. So does Connor. Somehow he got it in head that I would too. Guess he was right. This is my favorite car of all time."
There's a little mom and pop restaurant at the corner of 17th and Dickerson. Kato leaped from the car. At the front door I told him to wait. Once inside I told 'Mom', I never knew her actual name, "Kato's pulled guard duty". She hustled into the kitchen for something to feed the poor beast.
The owner, 'Pop', came over to the table with a bottle of wine. Then a young waiter, white shirt; black tie and white apron brought some appetizers and placed them before us. We hadn't ordered anything.
Kelly let out a small chuckle. "How long have you been coming here?"
"About twenty years, give or take."
"Sweetheart…"
Oh, no. Here it comes!
"I've been offered a job to curate an exhibition in Paris."
Dinner had arrived. I spun the Spaghetti Aglio Et Olio on my fork and popped it into my mouth. Took a sip of wine. "When?"
Kelly cut a piece of her Eggplant Parmigiana and fed it me. Melted in my mouth. "Next week, if I accept."
"And, how long will you be gone?" The garlic bread was sumptuous.
"Six months, maybe a year."
I didn't say anything. Just finished my dinner and polished off the wine.
The nice young waiter brought over a Cannoli, two Cappuccinos and a couple of forks. I had to ask, "What did you tell them."
She stuck out her lower lip. Very cute. "That I would have to think about it."
I thought about this for all of two or three minutes. Finally, I said, "Let me know what you decide."
Got up, pulled out her chair. There was no bill. Dropped two twenties on the table for the kid, thanked Mom and Pop for a wonderful dinner and held the door for Kelly.
This is what I saw when we got outside. Two bowls on the ground, one with water and the other one empty. Kato's dinner. A very large man with a pot belly wearing a powder blue running suit, sneakers, a heavy gold chain around his neck and a diamond pinky ring.
His back was against the restaurant wall, palms flat touching the bricks, practically standing on his tippy-toes. Kato's mouth was open, teeth bared and positioned right on this guy's nuts. Kato was saying "Grrr."
I reached into my coat pocket and retrieved a cigar. Bit the end off, stuck it in my mouth and lit the damn thing. After a couple of puffs I look over and ask this guy, "What can I do for you?"
His response, "Um, um, um…"
"Don't be frightened, he won't hurt you unless you do something stupid."
The big oaf stuttered, "Uncle Carmine requests that you stop in tomorrow, around lunch if it is not too inconvenient."
"Not a problem. Please tell Uncle Carmine that I will be there at noon."
"Mr. Picker, can I ask you a question?"
"Sure, pal."
"How did your dog know to stop me?"
"Simple, your gun. He hates guns."
"But, but, but," more stuttering, "my gun's under my jacket. How did he know?"
"That I don't know bub. He just does."
We got back into the car and headed over to see Doo Wop's nephew, Joey Amato.
May 1976 Paris
"Bring me up to date."
The two men were enjoying lunch on the Champ de Mars at the cultural icon; La Tour Eiffel. Named after the man who designed and built the tower, Gustave Eiffel.
"Quite simple, Monsieur Engelond. The project progresses on schedule."
They were seated fifty-seven meters above the ground.
"And how do we know this, precisely?" Engelond is large, impatient and overbearing.
An additional meter for the height of the kitchen stove and hence the name of the restaurant; 58 Tour Eiffel.
"Our people have been inside. Jones has set up a retail store. The second floor is a studio. Elaborate security including a 38 cubic foot commercial quality fireproof jewelry safe."
It was late spring. Bright, clear sky with temperatures in the high sixties.
"How far along is the painting?"
Engelond was uneasy about this project. Under normal conditions he would have arranged, at the minimum, three levels of insulation between himself and those involved. There, was however, an emotional element here. He had wanted to own this painting for years. Now it was within his reach. Nothing would interfere. Engelond would be on top of this operation every step of the way. The only acceptable outcome was success.
"Honnetement, it is impossible to tell. To my eye, perhaps three-quarters. The Italian's work is genius, maybe bordering on the supernatural. I can come up with no explanation for how well he duplicates the original."
"How does Jones plan to transport the painting?”
"Monsieur Jones has bought property in the Geneva business district. It is to be an art gallery. The interior is being completed as we speak. Dozens of painting have been ordered from all over Europe. A toutes fins pratiques, the operation will appear to be legitimate. When the time comes, your painting will be shipped to the gallery with six or more other works of art. Quite ingenieux, really."
"How do you suppose that he will switch the copy for the original?"
"Aucune idee! I can only say with certitude that no one will suspect. As far as anyone can tell, no crime will have been committed. This is Monsieur Jones' reputation. I have seen it with my own eyes."
"You're confident that he can pull this off?"
"Oui."
"Good. Very good. You have done well. One last small detail. When this over, I believe that we will no longer need the Italian or Mr. Jones."
"Si vous souhaitez, pourquoi if I may ask?"
"Let's say loose ends. Besides, as for Jones, I don't care for his kind."
"Peux j'assiste toute autre chose?"
"That's it for now."
"Dans ce cas, we shall speak soon, Monsieur Engelond."
"Good day, Monsieur LaVache."
There’s always a body
Joey Amato's apartment was on Snyder between 9th and 10th. It was a third floor walkup. Kelly and I stood outside the apartment door. Kato waited in the car.
I knocked once. The door opened a quarter of an inch.
"This can't be good." I pushed the door open with my foot and turned the light on with my elbow. The apartment had a smell that just should not have been there.
Kelly followed me in. "Don't touch anything," I told her. Our eyes scanned the room. She whispered, "Over there."
Sitting in a reclining chair placed in front of the television was the late Joey Amato with a bullet hole directly behind his right ear.
Call the police. Don't call the police. I walk over to the window and pull the drapes back. This is South Philly, home of the original town watch. Perhaps as many as twenty sets of eyes saw us enter the apartment, saw the car, already copied down the license tag.
Doesn't matter. No one will call the cops. Why? Because they also saw who murdered Joey. Time to skedaddle.
Pulling away from the curb Kelly suggests that I drop her off at home. She has an apartment on the Delaware down at Penn's Landing. Although I'm not thrilled with the idea, that's exactly what I do.