28
Threading through the boisterous crowd to reach our center-of-the-action banquette, a waiter lifted down a single-barrel bourbon, neat; a martini with three olives; and a pink cosmo in a wide-mouthed glass.
“Oh, come on, you guys,” I said to Bill and Jack. “I’m supposed to drink that?”
“Do it,” Jack said. “Don’t be a wimp.”
“Speaking of wimps”—I picked the glass up and sniffed at it—“Jack, I said it before but I’ll say it again: You were fabulous.”
“Completely convincing,” Bill agreed. “Except you said ‘smuggler’ about three dozen times.”
“I was trying to plant the seed and I wasn’t sure Jerrold was catching on. I’m sorry, Lydia, but your client does seem a bit thick.”
“He works for the government,” I reminded him. “Your client, on the other hand, has an instinctive genius for the con. As do you. Jack, you so sold it!”
We all clinked glasses. Jack said, “I’m not sure that’s a good thing.”
“What, that your acting talents are Oscar-level?”
“That I can be that convincing as a sell-out lily-livered spineless rat.”
“Bill was convincing as a Russian thug.”
“I’m talking about acting.”
“Guys?” That was a fourth voice. We looked up to see Eddie To standing at our table. “What just happened?” I slid over and Eddie slipped in next to me. He was introduced to Bill, whose hand he shook; then he looked around the table, blinked, and said, “Frank and I just had a long conversation with a gentleman, and I use the word dubiously, named Lionel Lau.”
“So he did call,” Jack said.
“Just the way you said he would. It’s a good thing we were prepared or we’d have both been on the floor in a swoon. He represented himself as the new owner of Baxter/Haig, which he’ll be liquidating as soon as he can. No, as soon as we can. He wants Red Sky to handle the sale of the current inventory, for a fee.”
“A fair one?”
“Jack. Those works, I’d have paid him to have our name associated with. But very fair, thank you. And he tells us we’re welcome after that to whatever artists are willing to sign with us, their existing contracts becoming null and void upon the dissolution of the gallery. Apparently Frank and I were highly recommended as experts in the field.”
“Is that wrong?”
“No, of course it’s not wrong. It’s merely miraculous.” A waiter appeared at his elbow. “Would it be out of line to order champagne?”
Jack said, “I don’t think so, no.”
The waiter was dispatched for some Tattinger’s and a selection of munchies.
“Furthermore,” Eddie To continued, “two also dubious gentlemen are reported to have appeared at Baxter/Haig within the hour, waving badges and wanting to discuss various things with the proprietor.”
“Who reported that?”
“Caitlin Craig, when she called to inquire whether we’d be needing administrative help.”
“Haig’s nervous assistant?” I asked. “She’s leaving the sinking ship already?”
“It seems so. Do you think we should take her on?”
“She probably knows a lot about the inventory. You’d have to nurse her through a case of PTSD, but it might be worth it. I wouldn’t touch Nick Greenbank, though.”
“Uck. Not with surgical gloves. But that’s on principle. You have something specific in mind?”
“We think he was Lau’s inside man. Probably ever since Haig first borrowed money from Lau. He’s how Woo knew about me.”
“Who’s Woo?”
“Never mind,” said Jack. “Just do this: Get things in writing with Lionel Lau and stick to the letter of the contract. In case of a tie, do it his way.”
“Jack, what are you telling me? The man’s a crook?”
“Yes.”
“In the art world? How can that be?”
“And I’d suggest that when you’re done with the liquidation, you be done with Lau, too,” I said.
“I see. Well, you people have certainly proved to be fonts of wisdom so far. I’ll tell Frank to do as you say.”
The waiter returned with a champagne flute, and plates of prosciutto-wrapped figs, tiny merguez lamb meatballs, and boiled peanuts with salt and seaweed. This hip multi-culti bar was one of Jack’s favorite haunts. Bill and I had let him pick the celebration spot because he’d had the hardest role in the con.
Eddie To lifted his glass, watched the bubbles rise, and took a swallow. “Yum. So tell me, besides being unable to pay his debt to a crook, is Haig in trouble? The men with the badges—has being a douchebag become a crime?”
“It hasn’t, but he is,” said Jack. “It won’t last, though. For what he’s accused of, there’s no proof.”
“Did he do it?”
“No. The trail’s long, but it’s mostly fresh brushstrokes to fit the picture we wanted to paint.”
“Careful,” I said. “That’s awfully close to a nature metaphor.”
“Well,” Eddie said, “lucky for Haig, then.”
“Sure,” Jack said. “He only has two problems. One’s Lau, but he expected that. His plan, if he couldn’t pay him off, was to let Lau have Baxter/Haig and walk away. Find another sucker to finance him and start again.”
“You speak of that plan in the past tense. As though it were over.”
“It is. The other problem interferes. The PRC government’s seriously irritated with him. I don’t think he’ll be getting any more visas.”
Eddie To’s eyes lit up behind the round glasses. “Doug Haig, PNG in the PRC?”
Jack nodded and stuck the silver martini sword into his mouth so he could pull the olives off.
“Can it be?” Eddie said. “Doug Haig’s edge, gone? The era of Haig Hegemony over the field of contemporary Chinese art, coming to a close?”
“The sun sets on every empire,” I said.
“Drink your cosmo,” said Jack.
I held my pink drink up to the light as Eddie had his champagne and squinted at it.
“I’m not sure I want to hear any more,” Eddie said. “It almost sounds like you people framed Doug Haig for something he didn’t do.”
“Would that bother you?”
“Are you serious? I just don’t want to know too much because I don’t want to be arrested when you are.”
“We already were arrested,” I said. “And look at us now.”
“You were?”
“Well, close.”
Eddie waited, but no more explanation was forthcoming. “All right,” he shrugged and said. “The fact that Frank and I have suddenly become Rulers of the Universe is only one of the thunderbolts Lau threw. Among the items he wants us to unload are three new Chaus.”
“He told you you can’t do that until after next week, right?” said Bill.
“‘Unload’ is the least important word in that sentence.” Eddie frowned at Bill. “Three! New! Chaus! New. Previously unknown. In fact, previously unpainted. Lau says they’re new, like really, really new. He says Chau’s alive.”
“Well,” I cautiously brought the cosmo closer, “there’ve always been those rumors. And Bernard Yang is ready to authenticate these as real, and possibly new. Of course, authentications are often disputed.”
“These won’t be,” said Jack.
“Not that they’re Chaus, no. But that they were painted in the last year or so. I just want Eddie to be prepared. He may get a different opinion from Dr. Snyder, or from the real Dr. Lin.”
“There’s a fake Dr. Lin?” Eddie asked.
Jack didn’t answer that. Instead, he said, “He won’t.”
I’d been about to taste the pink thing, but I stopped. “Jack? What are you saying? Those are the Chaus from Anna’s room. From the Tiananmen days. They’re not new.”
Jack paused before he spoke. “When I told Dr. Yang about the plan, after the first burst of Jack-that’s-insane, he started arguing details. He said those three Chaus were Anna’s, given to her before she was born so she’d never forget what’s important. He couldn’t give them away, they weren’t his. Anyone else, I’d have thought he didn’t want to part with them because they’re worth so much. But Dr. Yang would do anything for Anna. So I thought maybe he wasn’t interested in any scheme that would get Mike Liu out of prison.”