“But the one you’re looking for first is the guy who ran the Nigerian four-one-nine thing?”
“I think he’s going to be the easiest to find. The name on his e-mails was Grant Summers, but his real name is Serge Nikolai. If that’s his real name. I really don’t know.”
“After you called me, I contacted a Swiss friend who specializes in this type of fraud. He said that most of these guys are organized and operate out of Internet cafés overseas.”
“I don’t know how organized they are. The other one, Billy Hunter, he left my client a total wreck after he stole something out of her apartment. Used her till there was nothing left of her and then walked away with a valuable piece of art. They’re leaving behind a trail of hurt, man. That makes them sloppy.”
“What’s their motivation? Is it money?”
“In part, I would imagine.”
“So tempt them with more. The Internet scammer first.” Starr sipped from his coffee cup. “I assume the ad for the Mini Cooper has been taken down from Craigslist.”
“Yes.”
“But you still have the Grant Summers e-mail address. So reach out to him. Try to ferret him out. Tell him you want that particular car and will overpay to get it. Let him lick his chops while you dig out pieces of information that you can use to identify him. Basically, bait him. If he’s about money, he’ll surface.”
“You think?”
“He’s a lowlife,” said Starr. “Dangle some dollars in front of his face. He’ll rear his ugly head.”
Lucas pedaled back to his apartment and phoned Grace Kinkaid. He had been looking through the notes of their first meeting, and something had come to him.
“You said you had the painting assessed not long before you met Billy Hunter,” said Lucas.
“That’s right,” said Grace.
“Who appraised it?”
“Charles Lumley.”
“How did you get his name, originally?”
“I met him at a get-together here in the building. The Realtor sponsors these rooftop parties, open bar, ostensibly to let the residents mingle and get to know one another. But I think the real motive is to entice people who are thinking of buying and moving in here. There are always a few folks who show up who don’t live in the building. That’s where I met Charles.”
“He was considering buying a unit?”
“No, I don’t think so. He said he had a friend who owned a condo on one of the upper floors. Charles buys and sells art. He has a little place, a by-appointment thing, around Dupont Circle. We got to talking, and I told him about my painting, that I was curious about its value. He said he’d be happy to look at it. A couple of nights later he swung by and did the assessment. He was a nice man.”
“You have his contact information?”
“Hold on.” Lucas waited for her to find the phone number and address for Charles Lumley. He heard the rustle of a piece of paper as she got back on the line. “Ready?”
“That’s great,” said Lucas, after typing the data into his iPhone.
“Are you making any progress?”
“Yes,” said Lucas, though it didn’t feel that way to him. “I’ll get back up with you soon.”
After lunch, Lucas opened his laptop and set up a Hotmail account under an assumed name. Using this account, he then typed a message to the Grant Summers e-mail address.
Hello, my name is Rick Bell. I am very interested in the 2003 Mini Cooper S you advertised months ago on Craigslist. I know you have taken the ad off the site but I’m wondering, is the car sold? I’ve been looking for this particular car for some time. Not to get into a long story, but my wife owned one just like it when we were dating, and it had tremendous sentimental value to her. We had to sell it after we got married for financial reasons, but those concerns are behind us now. I’ve been trying to find this Mini, this model, this year, and this color, to surprise her for our anniversary. Is the car still available? Assuming it is in good shape, I’d like to make you a generous offer.
Please respond to the e-mail provided.
Thank you,
Lucas hit Send. He checked his laptop several times over the course of the afternoon but there was no reply to his query. Then he got a call from Charlotte Rivers’s disposable. She was sorry she’d been out of touch, but she’d been very busy. She had a meeting in the dining room of the hotel on 16th Street, and then she had a few hours of free time, but only a few hours, because she had an obligation that night. Was he interested in stopping by the suite around four?
“Uh...,” said Lucas.
“Don’t you want to see me?”
Lucas hesitated, but only for a moment.
“I’ll be there,” he said.
They began to make love as soon as he entered the suite. She greeted him by the door wearing slacks with a silk blouse and camisole, and he undressed her there, in the entranceway, piece by piece. Soon she was nude, standing before him, curvy and full of breast, her hair about her face, and Lucas kissed her deeply and thought, This is what I fought for, to come back to someone like her. This is what every boy dreams of.
With the clumsiness of haste he removed his clothing as well, and they found themselves naked in the middle of the plush suite. Charlotte reached down and found his engorged pole and pulled him to her, rubbed his helmet on her lips. They broke apart suddenly and both of them laughed.
“What’s wrong with us?” said Charlotte. Lucas knew what she meant. They couldn’t keep their hands off each other.
“I missed you,” said Lucas.
“I missed you,” said Charlotte. “How’s your hand?”
“It won’t affect my performance, if that’s what you mean. I’ve got a backup.”
“Do what you do.”
They moved to the bed. She had downloaded more music, Soon Forward by Gregory Isaacs, the perfect lovers’ rock, and the insistent rhythm section of Sly Dunbar and Robbie Shakespeare gave Lucas a beat, and he became a machine. As she came he felt himself chuckle, and an image flashed of a smiling Billy Hunter on top of Grace Kinkaid, and Lucas shook that out of his mind and let himself go.
“What got into you?” said Charlotte, after they had separated and lay beside each other atop the sheets.
“Why?”
“I thought I lost you there for a while. You were, I don’t know... a little focused. Workmanlike.”
“You got there, didn’t you?”
“I didn’t say I wasn’t pleased,” she said. “It was different for us, is all.”
Lucas got up, uncorked the Barolo that was on the dresser, then returned to the bed. “Next time, let me bring a good bottle of wine,” said Lucas.
“I thought you liked this.”
“I just want to contribute something,” said Lucas. “You never let me pay for anything.”
“I can afford it.”
“So can I.”
Charlotte brushed his short hair with her fingers. “Relax, honey. Enjoy this.”
“Because it might not last?”
“Because it’s good. Most people never get this, not even once in their lives.”
“I don’t want it to end.”
“Don’t be greedy.” She kissed him. “Don’t think past today.”
A little while later, she got up off the bed and dressed. She was going to a neighbor’s house with her husband for dinner, she said, and she had to get home.
“When will we see each other again?” said Lucas, watching her from the bed as she fixed a gold bracelet to her wrist.
“I’ll call you, Spero.”
Lucas thought, When?
He returned to his apartment. He should have been satiated, but instead he was lonely and a little bit empty. His mother had phoned him, and he returned the call. She asked him where he had been when she’d called, and he said, “Out,” and when she pressed him he said, “I went to a movie,” and when she asked him which one he thought of a title and said it. They talked some more and he told her he loved her, and when he hung up with her he winced, thinking, On top of everything else, I lied to Mom.