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“How many pieces do you own?” Melanie asked.
“Fourteen. All are on display here.” He scanned the room. At that point, another man speaking in Arabic came over to Alkali. “If you’ll please excuse me? The artist is about to arrive, and we must close the room for a short time.”
Melanie linked her arm through his as he escorted her to the large hand-carved double doors that led to the foyer. He showed no sign of awareness when Melanie slipped the eraser-size device into his pocket. “Please enjoy the food service. We shall have the official opening in just a few minutes.”
He retreated into the room with the paintings. A man with a tray of exotic cocktails came up to her. “Would madame care for a Bekka Highball?” It was Gilmour, serving up a mixture of Calvados, Lillet Blanc, white grape juice, champagne, and tonic. “It’s rather refreshing.”
Melanie took a glass from the tray. As she sipped, she muttered, “Made the drop.”
The crew in the van parked in the alley could hear her loud and clear. Now it was time to listen to what was going on behind closed doors.
* * *
“These are not my frames!” Bayard shouted. “I frame my own work. It’s part of the artistic experience.”
“Please, Pierre. I prefer the more ornate look,” Alkali said calmly.
“This will not do. I will take all my work back!” Bayard was practically screaming.
“Pierre, please calm down. I will pay you double.”
Bayard was apoplectic. “Do you think I will compromise my work for money?”
“The fact that you have already sold your paintings to me indicates you will, and you did. A small adjustment is all I ask.” Alkali finished with, “They technically belong to me now unless you want to unwind our deal.” He paused. “It is a generous offer.”
Bayard knew he was not going to pay back the $200,000 Alkali had given him. He’d already spent most of it on a car, clothes, and a deposit on a rental in the Hamptons for the summer. Another two hundred grand would get him a villa in Ibiza.
“Fine. But I want that money deposited in my account before the night is over.”
“Of course,” Alkali said quite calmly. “I’ll arrange for it right now.” Alkali reached into his pocket to retrieve his phone. He found something that looked like a ball of lint and flicked it onto the floor. He exited the room and spoke with one of his associates, who quickly disappeared.
* * *
The agent who was listening popped out his earpiece. Gilmour heard the clatter, as well. “Houston,” he muttered to Melanie. That was code for We have a problem. Both knew she couldn’t get down on her hands and knees to look for the piece. She would have to proceed without the listening device.
She took the first opportunity to get the attention of the artist, introducing herself as a curator in search of new talent. She asked simple questions such as where his studio was, what time of day he preferred to work, what medium was his favorite. After he finished answering her inquiries, the next question was easy. “Do you frame your own work, or do you have a woodworking artist do it for you?”
Bayard’s nostrils flared a bit. “I always frame my own work. It’s part of the process. But those are not mine.” He nodded toward the room with the velvet stanchion. “He made the swap after I sold the paintings. I really had no idea he was going to do that.” Pierre tried to hide his annoyance, but was not doing a very good job of it.
“That’s a shame. People do not understand the blood, sweat, tears, and joy that go into creative work.”
“You got that right.” The artist seemed less peeved now that he’d let off some steam to someone who clearly appreciated the artistic process. “Follow me.” He led Melanie to the velvet stanchion. The guard let them pass through.
“I saw some of the pieces earlier. I particularly liked MIDNIGHT’S DARKNESS.”
“Come. I’ll show you.” The two walked over to the painting. He showed her the area where his frame should have been. “Mine are much thinner. Not as deep.”
Melanie took a closer look at the depth of the frame. “Yes, it does seem a bit cumbersome.”
“Finally! Someone who understands!” Pierre announced.
A bell rang from the front room. Alkali made an announcement. “Ladies and gentlemen, I am pleased to present my personal collection of Pierre Bayard’s work.” People clapped politely and made their way into the big room. They milled around, making comments in a foreign language. Melanie could only imagine what they were saying. She set her untouched Bekka on a side table and meandered around the room until she was near Gilmour, who was standing with a fresh tray of cocktails.
Melanie plucked a new one from the tray and checked to be sure no one was in earshot. “There’s something behind the paintings. I am sure of it.”
The agents could hear Melanie through her encrusted brooch. “Not deep enough for a substantial amount of drugs. Must be papers of some kind.” She took a sip of her drink, pretending to peruse the room while Gilmour stood at attention, pretending not to notice her.
Melanie cozied up to Alkali again. “I shall have to leave shortly, but I wanted to thank you again for a lovely evening. I was wondering if I could impose and come back for another look?”
