“You think he’ll like my stuff?” I asked Katherine.
“It doesn’t matter if he likes it,” she said. “He buys art for someone else. A hedge-fund guy. He’s got tons of money and no time to shop. Newton shops for him.”
“If this guy has so much money, why wouldn’t he want a Pablo Picasso or a Willem de Kooning? Why would he want an original Matt Bannon?”
“He has those guys already. He’s passionate about discovering young talent.”
It took Newton ten minutes to look at my entire life’s work. He handed me two empty beer cans and I brought him two more.
“How old are you?” he asked.
“Thirty.”
“And you served in the military?”
“Marines.”
“He was deployed to the Middle East three times,” Katherine added.
“I sensed that from the work,” he said.
“What do you think?”
“Bluntly,” Newton said, “I think Mr. Bannon has a ways to go, but the raw talent is there.” He turned to me. “I think my client will like your work, and I have no doubt he’d be happy to invest in you.”
“Invest?” I said.
“I’d like to buy three paintings,” he said. “If you’re as good as I think you are, not only will my client experience the joy of having them in one of his homes, but years from now an early Matthew Bannon will be worth a lot of money. Win-win.”
I couldn’t believe it. “Which three early Matthew Bannons would you like to buy?” I said.
“The four people in the subway station, the old man in the bodega, and the woman at the window,” he said, pointing at each one as he talked. “How much?”
I had no idea. I looked at Katherine.
“Give us a minute,” she said to Newton and pulled me to a corner. “What do you think?”
“I don’t know. The canvases cost around fifteen bucks each, and the frames were about thirty. Plus the paint. So my investment on each one is about fifty bucks. I’m a total unknown, so if you could get three, four hundred apiece, that would be huge.”
She winked at me and led me over to Newton.
“You’re right,” she said. “Matthew is raw, he will get better, and at this stage he’s an excellent investment. You’re smart to get in on the ground floor.”
“The fifth floor,” Newton said, polishing off his next beer and opening another. “I was so winded climbing those stairs that I wanted to buy the apartment on the third floor and move in. Now stop greasing the skids, Katherine, and tell me how much.”
“Two thousand apiece.”
“That’s a tad steep.”
“Five thousand for the three paintings,” Katherine said. “That’s a thousand for every floor you climbed. And I’d hate to see you go home empty-handed after all that work.”
Newton guzzled the last beer. “Deal,” he said. “I’ll send my crew to pick them up tomorrow.”
He shook my hand and left.
I wrapped my arms around Katherine. I could see Karns sitting on the sofa, glaring at the two of us. Bannon’s hugging the teacher. What’s up with that?
“Did you just sell my paintings for five thousand dollars?” I asked.
“Just three of them. You still have plenty left.”
I loved this woman so much. I kissed her hard.
Everything in life seemed to be going my way. All I could think was, This can’t possibly last, can it?
Chapter 20
IT WAS THREE thirty in the morning, and Katherine and I were wrapped in one of those oversize blankets with sleeves. It sounds stupid, but when you’re on the roof of your building and you’ve just made love under the stars, nothing is stupid.
“I was wrong,” I said.
She snuggled up closer to me, and I could feel the heat of her body against mine. “About what?”
“When I woke up this morning with you in my arms,” I said, “I thought I could never be any happier than I was at that moment. But it’s less than twenty-four hours later, and I’m even crazier in love than I was then.”
“It probably didn’t hurt that I sold three of your paintings,” she said.
“You think I love you for your marketing prowess?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “You’re always going on about how you love me, but I don’t recall that you’ve ever mentioned why. Why?”
“Because you’re beautiful, you’re smart, you’re funny, and you’re giving me an A in Group Critique.”
“Says who? Where’d you hear that one?” She was grinning.
“You mean you’re not giving me an A?”
“You deserved an A on your term paper, but I don’t post the final grades for another two days,” she said and looked a little pouty. “You’ll have to wait like everyone else. I don’t play favorites. Much.”
I kissed her. “Thank you for selling my paintings,” I said. “I can’t believe you got five grand. I’d have sold them for a lot less.”
“I knew that,” she said. “And so did Newton.”
“He did? Why didn’t he negotiate?”
She smiled. “It’s all part of the game.”
“Since when is art a game?”
“Not art. Commerce. The price of a painting shapes what people think of it. And no matter how sophisticated Newton’s boss is, he’s not going to be happy hanging something on his wall that costs the same as an Elvis on velvet.”
“You’re telling me Newton paid top dollar so he could look good to his boss?”
“No,” she said. “So you could look good.”
I shook my head. “I guess I’ve got a lot to learn about the art business.”
“You’re in luck,” she said, kissing me. “I’m an art teacher.”
We lay there wrapped in each other’s arms, gazing up at the stars. I never thought I could feel this good about a woman. Katherine Sanborne had changed my life, and with my medical bag full of diamonds, I was on the verge of changing hers.
“You think all that money will screw us up?” she said.
Shit! She knew about the money. I didn’t know how she knew, but she did. It was a punch to the gut. Deny, deny, deny.
“What money?” I said lamely.
“You just made your first sale for five thousand,” she said. “It’s a pretty impressive way to start your career.”
Oh, that money.
I exhaled slowly. “No,” I said, “it won’t screw us up. Besides, it’s only one sale. It could be a fluke.”
“No. You’re going to resonate with people,” she said. “You’re honest and it comes through in your work. It’s the essence of Realism.”
“Thanks,” I said.
But she was wrong. I wasn’t honest. And I had a bag of somebody else’s diamonds in my footlocker to prove it.
Chapter 21
GRAND CENTRAL TERMINAL is a majestic beaux arts building sitting on forty-eight acres smack in the middle of Manhattan. It’s been called the heart of the nation’s greatest city, and yet not one of New York City’s thirty-five thousand cops has jurisdiction in the terminal.
In a world where bureaucracy trumps geography, Grand Central has been designated the responsibility of the Metropolitan Transportation Authority Police, and MTA cops work for New York State.
“You realize we got no juice here in Grand Central,” Rice said as he parked the car in front of a hydrant on 43rd Street.
“I make my own juice,” Benzetti said. “Especially when a bunch of crazy Russians are up our asses. If we don’t find the diamonds, they’ll just decide that we took them, and they’ll ice us the same way they put away Zelvas.”