Tommasina pulled back her shoulders and jiggled her chest a little while running her tongue over her lips. "We're willing to pay you a thousand dollars, in cash, for everything you have on Don Francisco Nasi." She nodded to the man who opened an envelope and counted out ten hundred dollar bills.
That made Sebastian even more dubious. The most he'd been paid for a photograph was the two hundred and fifty dollars for the Slap. He shook his head. "Nope."
"Our client really wants that negative and any prints. Two thousand dollars," she said.
"Nope!" Sebastian said. "If it's that important, I'll send them to Mr. Nasi myself."
There was a standoff with the two Suits looking at Sebastian, who looked straight back. Eventually the man put back the wad of hundred dollar bills and pulled out a wallet and produced a Johnnie. "Use a courier."
Sebastian stared at the twenty dollar bill in the man's hand. It seemed that maybe they were on the up and up. It wouldn't hurt to accept the money, if it was used to pay to send the negative and prints to Mr. Nasi. He reached out for the money. "I'll do that."
"Tonight!" the man said.
Sebastian checked his watch. "That might be pushing it. I'll try, but they have to dry first. Now, the sooner you leave, the sooner I can finish up here and get over to the post office to send them off."
The man stared hard at Sebastian, but he easily maintained eye contact until the man nodded his head and gestured to Tommasina that it was time to go.
Sebastian showed them out, and was happy to see a couple of the tenants were lazing in the swing seat watching the darkroom door. He waved to them, and to the two Suits, before shutting the door on them. He glanced at his watch again. He wasn't sure he'd be able to dry the prints and get them to the courier in time.
"That could have gone better," Wolfgang Klettwich muttered as they walked down the path to their waiting cab. "Your sex appeal certainly fell flat. Herr Jones didn't even bat an eye when you jiggled your tits."
"He's a Methodist. What do you expect?"
"Considering how you insisted he'd be putty in your hands, I'd have expected at least a little staring down your cleavage."
"At least we stopped the photo going public," Tommasina muttered.
"Not by anything you did." Wolfgang glanced over his shoulder at the still closed door of the darkroom. "I wonder if he really will send Don Francisco the negative."
"Of course he will. He took the twenty you offered for the courier."
"So?"
"He's a Methodist. He wouldn't have taken the money if he wasn't going to send the negative."
"You show remarkable faith in human nature for a lawyer, Tommie."
Tommasina stopped in her tracks and turned to face Wolfgang. "Sebastian Jones will mail the negative to Don Francisco."
"Would you care to wager a little money on that?"
Tommasina glanced at the darkroom door and back to Wolfgang. "A hundred dollars says Sebastian Jones at least tries to get the negatives to the courier office before they close."
Wolfgang looked at the darkroom door for a few seconds before spitting on his hand and holding it out. Tommasina did likewise and they shook hands. "How are we going to be sure what happens?" Wolfgang asked.
"We hang around and wait."
Wolfgang pulled out his watch and checked the time. "He has an hour."
"So we wait an hour."
"Then I better have words with our driver," Wolfgang muttered.
A few minutes he was back. "Did I miss anything?"
"He ran into the house for a couple of minutes before returning to the darkroom."
"Why?"
"How should I know? Maybe he had to go to the toilet."
A few minutes later a courier cyclist turned into the drive and knocked on the darkroom door. There was a short discussion, and a large envelope was handed to the courier. "What the heck's he doing?" Tommasina muttered. "You don't need an envelope that big for such a small photograph."
The courier cyclist pedaled back down the drive and onto the street. Wolfgang and Tommasina hurried to their cab. "Follow that man," Wolfgang ordered their driver as they clambered aboard.
The driver raised his brows, muttered something unintelligible, and climbed onto his seat and started pedaling.
They kept the courier in sight until he disappeared into Don Francisco's office. Wolfgang jumped out and went in to check who the package had been delivered to.
"It seems I owe you a hundred dollars," he said when he returned.
Monday
Sebastian had forgotten all about the photograph of Mr. Nasi over the weekend. He'd worried a bit about sales of Gran's book, but sales were going along at a steady pace. In a single month they'd processed orders for over five hundred copies, and received payment for two hundred and sixty-six, with payment pending clearance of the checks on another thirty. At this rate they should break even by the end of July, by which time he'd be in Jena. He sighed at the thought. He'd much rather be taking photographs, but there wasn't a lot of money in that, not yet.
"Sebastian, there's someone to see you," Mary Ellen called.
"Who is it?" he called as he hurried out to see who it was. He recognized Tommasina sitting on the sofa immediately. "I sent the photo and negatives to Mr. Nasi like I said I would."
"Yes, I know. That's why I'm here. Don Francisco was most impressed with the photograph of him riding his bike. In fact, he was so impressed he's had it framed and installed in his office." She looked at Sebastian and shook her head. "You're either very smart, Sebastian, or very lucky." She laid her briefcase on the coffee table and opened it. She extracted several papers. She laid one down on the coffee table. "One order from Don Francisco for twenty copies of A Pictorial History of Grantville to be delivered to his office as soon as possible." She added another paper. "An order from the office of the mayor of Grantville for ten copies of A Pictorial History of Grantville, to be delivered as soon as possible."
"But why does Mr. Nasi need twenty copies, or the mayor's office ten?" Sebastian asked.
"Don Francisco often has occasions when he needs to present people with small tokens of appreciation, while a gift of a book about Grantville is a perfect promotional gift for the mayor's office."
"Small token!" Sebastian muttered. If a seven hundred and fifty dollar book was a small token, he'd really like to see a large token.
"Don Francisco is a very important man, and he deals with a lot of very important people. He suggests that you might want to produce a similar book about Magdeburg."
"Do you realize how much Gran's book cost? We can't afford the risk."
"But Don Francisco can." She laid another sheet of paper on the table. "Also, the Magdeburg Arts Week organizing committee would like to retain you as a photographer. You would be responsible for all the publicity photography and recording events for a book to be published celebrating Arts Week."
Sebastian licked his suddenly dry lips. It seemed he'd just discovered what a large token looked like.
Bartley's Man, Episode One
June 30, 1631
Johan was hung over again and that was good. For Johan, going into battle with a hangover was almost as good as going into battle a little drunk. It distracted him from what he had to do. He shifted his pike just a little. He was in the second rank of pikes and happy enough to be there. It was respectable, but not as dangerous as the front rank. They were marching forward and he was busy enough just keeping his feet moving and his head from falling off that he didn't have time to worry about putting his pike through someone or having someone put theirs through him. So he barely noticed the difference in the sounds. The Germans, at least the group in front of him, fired one ragged volley and turned and ran. Just as well. He probably wasn't up to much of a fight. Then Johan was bumped. The man beside him had been hit. Karl was a punk kid and arrogant besides, but damn! They were in the second rank, near the middle, and Karl had still been hit in the side, hard enough to knock him into Johan.