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Elwort glanced over his shoulder, and I pretended to be studying the windows of the buildings I was passing. Then he took an abrupt turn to the left that I hadn’t expected.
Kuso!
I hesitated with my silent curse and then sped up to a jog so that I could reach the corner in time to be sure of seeing which way he’d gone next. When I peeked around it, I just caught the streetlamps’ glow gleaming off his balding scalp as he veered down an alley.
It was as if he was worried about being followed and going out of his way to take a complicated route. My mouth went dry as I hurried after him, but the racing of my pulse came with a jolt of excitement as well as nerves.
If he was being careful, then that meant he was up to something important to him, didn’t it? Exactly the kind of thing we wanted to discover.
I slowed before I reached the mouth of the alley and peered down it, the back of my neck prickling with the awareness of how easy I could be ambushed. But I made out Elwort’s skinny form at the far end, swerving in a hasty right.
I loped after him, setting my feet as quietly as I could manage amid the bits of trash that lay on the uneven pavement. At the bend, I took a cautious glance around the worn brick wall.
It was a good thing I’d been cautious rather than hurrying right around it. Elwort had stopped at the far end of the alley where it met another street, his head turning as he scanned the sidewalk around him.
His shoulders hunched. I held myself perfectly still until he pushed himself forward, crossing the street.
Having seen his wariness, I let him get farther ahead before sauntering after him and stuck to the opposite side of the street. He was walking faster again, but he kept going straight for several blocks. Once, when he started to glance backward, I ducked behind a parked car before he could notice me.
Oh, Niko the spy was improving his skills for sure.
The shops we were passing, some closed for the night and others derelict, gave way to larger concrete warehouses. After we’d passed a few, Elwort stepped into a side entrance on the next looming building with a jangle of his keys.
I leapt behind a bus shelter poster just as he started to check his surroundings. There was a rasp and a click as he unlocked the door. When I peered around the shelter, he’d disappeared inside, the door swinging shut in his wake.
What the hell was he keeping inside there that he was so concerned about? Was it part of the gang’s criminal activities, or something more personal?
I needed to find out.
Trying to sneak after him right inside the building didn’t seem like a wise idea. Instead, I crept around the outer walls, peeking into each window I passed.
Around the back, I noticed a glow in one of the windows farther down. I stole over to it and found it mostly covered by a dingy curtain—but there was a gap that allowed me to see into the room.
Perfect. Between the narrow opening and the darkness cloaking me, it’d be nearly impossible for Elwort to notice me out here. The glass would be reflecting the light from inside.
I squinted into the starkly lit room, bracing myself for a scene of violence or drugged indulgence.
What I actually saw was… paintings.
Lots and lots of paintings.
Canvases stood against the walls in stacks, a few of them framed, but many not. A couple of them stood on easels—one a landscape lit with neon shades, another a portrait of a face with abstract styling.
As I watched, knitting my brow in confusion, Elwort walked into view with a palette. He dabbed his brush into a blob of paint and added a few small streaks to the landscape.
Wait. Hadhepainted all these pictures?
That possibility didn’t fit with the principal imageorthe gangster image, which had already clashed in my head. Could these be part of his criminal activities after all? Forgeries he was passing off as originals?
None of the pictures I could see looked like any famous paintings or even styles I was familiar with, though. And the delicate care with which Elwort applied a few highlights to the sky of his landscape contrasted sharply with his harshly threatening words to his bartender.
What was this man up to?
He started talking, just loud enough that I could make out his crooning tone through the glass. “That’s right. Just a little blaze of yellow here, and you’ll be perfect.”
Watching a man I knew to be a hardened killer cajole his artwork like it was a young child was one of the most bizarre sights of my life.
His head lifted. I understood why a moment later when a woman appeared in the doorway to the room, trim and professional-looking in low pumps and a dress suit. Her hair was coiled in a loose bun, but her spiky bangs showed a little edge.
