“Not me,” she said.
“And not your partner?”
“He’s not part of my bonus plan,” Megan said. “He’ll be very happy to settle for the twelve thousand that you promised him. He believes the paintings belong to you and he knows nothing about the Bruegers.”
“And if I am able to get a mortgage on my home and manage to scrape together one hundred thousand dollars, that bit of business will remain between you and me, correct?”
“Correct. So whatever you get when you sell the paintings will not have to be shared with Raleigh,” Megan said. “But that’s your business.”
“It will take a couple of days, I’m sure,” Nigel said.
“Okay,” Megan said. “I would like the cash in one-hundred-dollar bills, no later than forty-eight hours from now, just before you close for the day.”
“I’ll know tomorrow if I can do it,” Nigel said.
“You’d better do it, sir,” Megan said. “I’ll call you tomorrow to see about your progress.”
“All right. Always use my mobile number,” Nigel said. He wrote his number on a notepad, tore off the sheet, and handed it to her.
Megan said, “And remember, someone will deliver me here and wait for me when I come for the money. My companion will be a hired driver, and he will not know anything about our arrangement. But if I don’t walk out of here in fifteen minutes, he will make a nine-one-one call and present the arriving police with a letter that I’ve written. You will be in way more trouble than you are in now if something bad happens to me when I come to this place of business.”
Nigel emitted a bark of a laugh for the first time and said, “You are truly a very bright girl, Valerie. Believe me, nothing is going to happen to you.”
“I used to be a bright girl,” she said. “And I’m trying to be a bright girl again. That’s why I’m here.”
Nigel took a hard look again at her undernourished body, nervous hand movements, and agitated watery eyes, and he said, “Drugs?”
She nodded and said, “You’re a smart person, too, Mr. Wickland.”
“Not half as smart as you, Valerie,” Nigel said. “I should hope that I won’t see you some time in the future when your drug money runs out. It would be a big mistake on your part to come at me again.”
“Believe it or not, Mr. Wickland,” she said, “I’ll be using a big chunk of the money to get out of this state and go to a rehab and get clean. And learn how to stay clean.”
“And the rest of the money?”
“I’m giving it to my mother.”
Nigel laughed heartily and said, “Good lord! You’re so convincing that I can almost believe that, too, Valerie.”
“Good-bye for now, Mr. Wickland,” Megan said. She stood and opened the office door, walking briskly to the street door and out onto Wilshire Boulevard.
After Megan left the Wickland Gallery, Nigel dialed the cell phone of Alec Townsend, the manager of his bank, a personal friend who also frequented the gay bars of west Hollywood.
When he reached the bank manager, he said, “Alec, Nigel Wickland here. Listen carefully. I need to loot my savings account and my commercial account. I must have one hundred thousand dollars as soon as possible. I have a chance to purchase a painting of immense value, but it’s a bit dodgy because its provenance is unknown to the seller. Someone else will get it if I don’t grab it at once. This investment will produce a windfall profit.”
He listened to the bank manager’s warnings and protests and said, “Alec, I am not being scammed and I am not being extorted. This is a chance of a lifetime. I want the money in hundred-dollar bills by tomorrow.”
After a moment of listening, he said in frustration, “I don’t care about your currency transaction reports or your goddamn deposit-demand account. It’s my money. And I stand to reap a return of one thousand percent in a few months. Can your fucking bank do that for me?”
He listened again and said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get angry. But Alec, it is my money to risk as I see fit. Can you pull strings and have it for me by the day after tomorrow at the latest? In hundred-dollar bills. I’ll owe you, my friend. Please help me.”
When Megan Burke left the Wickland Gallery with the envelope in her purse, she had to walk two blocks until a very cautious and supremely nervous Jonas Claymore had the courage to pull the VW bug to the curb beside her.
She jumped in and said, “Go, Jonas.”
He almost sideswiped a gleaming Rolls-Royce parked on Wilshire Boulevard and she said, “Watch where you’re driving.”
“Did you get it?”
“Yes, I got it.”
“Let’s see it.”
“When we get home.”
“Now, bitch!” he said.
She looked at him but said nothing. Then she turned the rearview mirror and looked at herself.
“What’re you doing?”
“I’m trying to see who I am,” she said.
“What the fuck you talking about?”
“I should say that I’m trying to see who I’ve become. Sitting here with a loser like you who can’t utter a complete sentence without using words like bitch. In fact, someone who can’t utter a complete sentence period.”
“Me, a loser?” he said. “I jist got you six fucking grand. Me, a loser? Gimme that money!”
“It’s in my purse and you’ll have it when we get to the apartment,” she said firmly. “Now drive me home.”
“It ain’t your home, it’s my home,” he reminded her. “And first I’m stopping at Pablo’s Taco Shop and you’re gonna give me some of that bank and I’m gonna buy some OCs. And then I’m going home and I’m chasing the dragon, and if you don’t like it, move the fuck out. But first gimme what you got in your purse.”
Jonas was driving as fast as the rush-hour traffic allowed, and he kept glaring at her, but Megan was past anger, past all intense feelings. She had never been so tired in her life. She reached into her purse, withdrew the envelope, opened it, and handed him five hundred-dollar bills.
“Go ahead, stop at Pablo’s,” she said. “Get yourself busted. Get me arrested, too. That’d be about what I’d expect from you.”
“What you can expect from me is a bunch of good ideas, and this is only the start of it. When we get home, the first thing we do is get rid of those paintings.”
Megan looked at him and said, “What do you mean, get rid of them?”
“We got paid for our work, so why do we need to take any more chances with them? I’ll give them to Wilbur for some ox. He can unload them at a swap meet.”
“No!” Megan said. “I gave the man my word.”
Jonas looked at her and said, “Your word? What’s this, something you picked up in Sunday school? Your word?”
“It’s a bargain,” Megan said. “We made a bargain with the man and we took his money.”
“So now you’re running the show, huh? Well, news flash, girlfriend. That ain’t gonna fly. I’m the man. I’m the quarterback and I’ll call the signals. You reading me?”
She was silent. Then she sighed and said, “Yes, you’re easy to read. You’re a comic book. You’re what I deserve for riding the ox.”
Feeling gravely insulted, Jonas said, “When we get back to the apartment, maybe I’ll give you what you got coming and let you take your fucking cat and your clothes and get the fuck out.”
“And what do I have coming?”
“I’ll have to think about that.”
“Think hard,” she said. “I faced the man and got the money. I deserve a fifty-fifty split.”
She heard him cackle like a movie witch, and he said, “I been saying you’re all smoked out. Your brain’s more shriveled than your puny tits.”
“What split do you have in mind, Jonas?” she demanded. “I walked in there and got the money.”
“Okay, I’ll be big about it,” he said. “An eighty-twenty split. The eighty is for the brains.”
“I see” was all Megan said.
They spoke no more until they arrived in Hollywood at Pablo’s Taco Shop on Santa Monica Boulevard, where he drove into the parking lot at twilight.
“Please take me home, Jonas,” Megan begged. “We can’t afford to get busted now. There might be some narks watching this place. Everybody knows it’s a hangout for dealers. Please take me home first.”