Chapter Twenty Four

Alex stood holding the painting Victor had been trying to make off with, catching his breath, while Mr. Expedient made quick work of handcuffing Victor, who was still dazed and compliant from his whirlwind introduction to Mr. Expedient’s fist.

Alex watched for a moment, before he said, “Are you a cop?”

Mr. Expedient laughed once, and said, “What? No.”

“What’s with the handcuffs then?” Alex said.

“Well, I find that they’re very useful for keeping people put when they’d rather not stay put,” Mr. Expedient said.

“You’re not going to tie him up like Megan did?” Alex said.

“Between you and me,” Mr. Expedient said. “I think Megan just like tying people up.”

“Oh,” Alex said.

Victor came around a little more, and groggily said, “Hey! What’s going on?”

“You battered my fist with your face,” Mr. Expedient said, “which apparently tired you out, so I assisted you to the ground here so you could rest.”

“Oh, OK,” Victor said. “Thanks.”

Alex sensed an opportunity, so he said, “Hey Victor, why did you want this painting so badly?”

“Well, to trade it, of course,” Victor said. 

“What do you want to trade it for?” Alex said.  “Who are you going to trade with?”

“The blonde that runs the coffee shop.  Tamamra,” Victor said, and paused.  He didn’t seem particularly eager to keep talking.

Tamamra?  Just how hard of a hit did he just take? Alex thought. 

“What does Tamara have that you want, Victor?” Alex said.  He spoke in low tones, hoping that if Victor was dazed enough, he’d trust Alex and simply answer rather than try to keep his secret.

Victor giggled, and said, “Just an interesting little thing.  But it’s secret.  I’m not telling you.”

“OK.  Why do you think she’d be willing to trade for this painting?” Alex said.

“It used to belong to her family.  She wants it back,” Victor said.  He seemed like he was getting more alert, and was starting to look suspiciously at Alex and Mr. Expedient.

She wants it back, Alex thought.  He remembered the odd little confrontation Victor had instigated with her at the Bump and Grind.  Alex wondered if he had offered it to her then, and if that was what had set her off.

“Sleeping Beauty is coming around again,” Mr. Expedient said to Alex.  “We’d better get him into the car before he causes a ruckus and things get tricky.”

In the excitement of catching Victor, and trying to pry information out of him, Alex had entirely forgotten that Victor probably had a small entourage with him, to protect him from exactly the sort of thing that was happening to him right then.

“Right!” Alex said.  He’d be perfectly OK with it if things did not get any trickier than they already were.

He gathered up the various paintings, and struggled a bit carrying them over to the Bentley that Mr. Expedient had conveniently parked nearby.

The trunk opened itself automatically as Alex approached it.  He called “Thank you,” over his shoulder to Mr. Expedient, and set to work loading the paintings into the trunk in such a way that none of them would get banged up too badly as they drove.  Mr. Expediently had thoughtfully stashed a handful of blankets to wrap each of them in.  There were enough blankets left that Alex was even able to pad the empty space in the trunk a bit, so the art wouldn’t get jostled around too much.

Moments later, Mr. Expedient came up behind him, carrying a noticeably cranky Victor Steel.  Alex noticed he’d blindfolded Victor at some point.

“Any second here he’s going to get ugly,” Mr. Expedient said as he loaded Victor into the back of the Bentley. 

Once Victor was securely in the back seat, Mr. Expedient said to Alex, “You’re going to have to ride up front with me this time.”

“Do we need to be worried about his flunkies coming after us?  They’re going to notice he hasn’t come out of the building sooner or later.”

“I guess we’re just going to have to try to be discreet,” Mr. Expedient said.

“We’re going to try to be discreet.  In a Bentley?” Alex said.

“You saw the other cars that turned up for this event.  The Bentley fits right in, here.  Try not to worry so much, Mr. Minor,” Mr. Expedient said.

Victor started up the minute Alex and Mr. Expedient got into the car.

“What’s going on?  Let me go!  You’ve got no right to handcuff me and stuff me into your car against my will,” Victor said.

Alex said, “You’ll have to excuse my driver.  I’ve told him again and again that he doesn’t need to punch people and abduct them, but he just keeps doing it anyway.”

Victor piped down then.

Alex said to Mr. Expedient, quietly, “So, why are we bringing him with us again?”

Mr. Expedient smiled, and pulled his jacket open slightly, exposing to Alex the coupon for The Sizzler stuffed into his breast pocket.

Alex laughed despite himself, and said, “I love you crazy fuckers.”

The drove away, apparently unnoticed by Victor’s goons (to Alex’s relief).  Alex was impressed, once more, by the incredible level of opulence the interior of the Bentley provided.  He settled in and enjoyed the ride, since there wasn’t much else he could do at the moment.  Victor was still being quiet, apart from the occasional exclamation of “Let me go!” or, “Come on guys, just drop me off here.  It’s fine.”

As they approached the neighborhood Mr. Darcy’s office was in, Alex noticed Mr. Expedient checking to make sure Victor’s blindfold was still in place.

They stopped in front of Mr. Darcy’s office, and Mr. Expedient pressed a button that caused the trunk to open.

“You can make it from here on your own, can’t you?” he said to Alex.  “I’ve got a bit of a drive ahead, and time is wasting.”

“Sure, I can handle it,” Alex said. 

He got out of the Bentley, wondered briefly if he’d get to ride in it again, and unloaded the art from the trunk.  He closed the lid, and patted the car twice, then gathered up the paintings as well as he could and made his way in to Mr. Darcy’s office.

Alex was very glad to find that the elevators were working.  A few minutes later, and he was in Mr. Darcy’s front office.

“What on Earth have you got there, Mr. Minor?” Megan said. 

Alex hurried over to the coffee table, and set down the paintings, relieved that he was done carrying them.  For now, at any rate.

“Art,” Alex said.  “Is Mr. Darcy in?”

“Well, of course he is,” Megan said.  “He’ll be out in just a moment, I’m sure.”

Almost on cue, Mr. Darcy appeared in the doorway of his office.

“Mr. Minor!” he said. “Did you get the painting?  I trust everything went as planned.”

“I got the painting,” Alex said.  “Though, I don’t know if it went strictly to plan.  I kind of accidentally bought several other paintings…”

Mr. Darcy raised an eyebrow.

“Also,” Alex continued, “Victor Steel showed up, and tried to outbid me on the painting, then he tried stealing it.  Luckily, the driver and I were able to intercept him before he got away.”

Mr. Darcy thought for a moment, then said, “Excellent that you were able to recover the painting, our client will be thrilled.  Interesting that Victor Steel was so interested in it, though.  But we’ll discuss that in a moment.  How many other paintings did you buy, exactly?”

Ales said, “Four.”

“I see,” Mr. Darcy said.  “I do believe I told you to try not to win any other auctions.  How much did they cost?”

Alex wasn’t exactly sure.  He’d been so wrapped up in the thrill of the auction process that he’d barely paid attention to the numbers.  So he made a guess.

“I think it was about twenty thousand dollars,” Alex said.

“Ah.  Well, that’s not so bad.  I’m sure we’ll be able to return them to their rightful owners now, and with anything, those owners will offer a small reward for their return,” Mr. Darcy said.

Alex realized he must have looked surprised at this when Mr. Darcy said, “Well, I told you in our first meeting that we are the good guys.  Now, tell me about Victor Steel.”

Alex told Mr. Darcy what Victor had said about trading the painting for some object of interest that Tamara owned.

“Interesting.  What a small world,” Mr. Darcy said. 

Alex was wondering what that meant, when Mr. Darcy said, “I don’t think it will hurt anything to tell you that our client is Tamara Anderson, ultimately.”

To say that Alex was surprised would be an understatement.  Before he thought better of it, he said, “She paid for this?  I wouldn’t have thought she would have this kind of money.”

“She doesn’t,” Mr. Darcy said.  “She does, however, have a very generous benefactor looking after her.  You need to understand, though, that Mr. Ares would prefer that she not know about his intervention.  I know that you frequent her coffee shop, so mum’s the word.”

“Mr. Ares?  The guy that looks like a professional wrestler?” Alex said.

Mr. Darcy seemed shocked, which was possibly the first time Alex had ever seen him that way.

“Have you met Mr. Ares too?” Mr. Darcy said.

“Well, in passing,” Alex said.

“Ah.  Well, then, a word of advice for you – stay well out of his way.  He doesn’t tolerate frustration well, and he’s quite easily frustrated,” Mr. Darcy said.  “Anyway, that brings us to the matter of your remuneration for this job.”

He pulled a thick envelope out of his desk, and slid it over to Alex.  “There’s two hundred thousand dollars in there.  Forgive me for giving you another word of advice so soon after the last: invest one hundred or so of those dollars in a fireproof box tonight.”

Alex couldn’t believe it.  He’d lost most of his money in a fire, and had just come out ahead again and it hadn’t even been a week. 

“Wow, thanks!  OK, I will,” he said.

“You don’t need to thank me,” Mr. Darcy said.  “You’ve proven you’re worth every penny, even with a few missteps here and there. “

Mr. Darcy settled back in his chair, and cleared his throat. He opened a drawer in his desk, and pulled out another manila folder.

“Now then, Mr. Minor, are you ready for the details for your next assignment?”

The End!

For those of you who might be interested, my final word count for this NaNoWriMo was 50,390, which puts my daily average word count at 2,015.

So, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go put some ice on my fingertips and relax for a bit.  ;)

Chapter Twenty Three

The bidding on most of the art, and in particular on the pieces that Alex had accidentally won, had started around one or two hundred dollars.  The auctioneer had started, of course, at a significantly higher price, generally around one thousand dollars.  When no one would bite, he’d lower the price bit by bit until somebody in the crowd made the first bid.

Then the bidding would become fast and furious up until the final few bids which, due to his love of a thrill, Alex couldn’t resist pushing a little higher.  He’d been betting the other bidders would be willing to go higher, and had been completely wrong.

On this painting, the bidding started the second the auctioneer gave the starting price of five thousand dollars.  There was a smattering of applause, as well as several shocked laughs.  However, the bids continued, and quickly. 

Alex noticed that Victor stayed close by, watching the auction with an expression of polite disinterest.  Alex wondered, very briefly, what Victor was up to, and how it was that Alex hadn’t noticed him sooner.

Alex admitted to himself then that he had not, actually, been paying attention or looking for Victor.  That probably had something to do with it.

Anyways, the auction was continuing, and showing no signs of slowing.  They passed fifteen thousand dollars in the blink of an eye.  Any time the bidding slowed slightly, a new group of bidders jumped into the fray.

Alex found the entire thing incredibly exciting.  He felt his pulse quickening, and his face was getting hot.  He realized he was probably perspiring quite a bit as well.

Twenty five thousand dollars came and went.  Then thirty thousand.

The auctioneer kept his patter going, never missing a syllable despite the constant new bids. 

Alex noticed Victor stifling a yawn, but still watching the action.  For his part, Alex wondered if people actually appreciated the painting, or if it was just valuable because it was valuable and that’s why they were bidding.  Personally, he wouldn’t want the thing hanging in his house.

At fifty thousand dollars, the bidding began to slow down, and but it continued with a new bid here and there as someone reached a point where they just had to bid.

When it reached sixty three thousand dollars, it seemed to Alex like it might be coming to a close.  The auctioneer was doing his best to coax a few more bids out of the crowd.  Alex decided it was time to bid.

He put up his bidding card, and got a whole new charge of adrenaline as the auctioneer pointed at him and exclaimed, “Sixty four thousand dollars! Do I have sixty five thousand?”

Things slowed down again, and people were craning their necks around to see who the new bidder was.   The auctioneer was slowing down, and Alex was beginning to get very excited about winning the painting he was actually there to buy.  The auctioneer tried heckling a couple of the other bidders into bidding again, and had reached “going twice!” when Alex noticed Victor’s hand shoot up.

“Sixty five thousand dollars!” the auctioneer shouted, and continued his patter.  There was a gasp from the crowd, and people looked around again to see who was bidding now.

Alex immediately put his card up, followed promptly by Victor.  The price continued climbing quickly.  Seventy thousand, seventy five thousand, eighty.

At one hundred thousand, to Alex’s astonishment and annoyance, another bidder joined in.  The bidding war continued between the three of them, Alex unwilling to give up on what he was there to buy, and Victor Steel apparently simply unwilling to let Alex win no matter the cost.

At one hundred and fifty thousand dollars, the third bidder bowed out.

Alex made a bid for one hundred ninety seven thousand dollars, and thought he was going to win again.   Perhaps he had outlasted Victor.  Once more, he thrilled at the possibility, enjoying the sensation of the adrenaline coursing through his body.  He wished the auctioneer would just hurry up and yell “Sold!” already.

He heard, “going twice” again, and held his breath.

Victor bid.

“Son of a bitch!” Alex thought he’d muttered.  The crowd around him tittered with slightly uncomfortable laughter.  They were, after all, there buying illegal art, and even criminals with a taste for fine art sometimes have a tendency towards violence.

Victor looked over at Alex and winked.

The bastard is just toying with  me, Alex thought.  He knew that Mr. Darcy had provided him with deep pockets, but he wasn’t certain exactly where his limit was.  He had no idea what Victor’s limit might be either.

The bidding continued anew, with the rest of the crowd openly watching Alex and Victor as they bid against each other.  Two hundred twenty thousand dollars, two hundred thirty, two hundred fifty.

Alex bid for every price the auctioneer called, and Victor did the same.

The thrill had already passed, and now bidding had become a matter of flat out not letting Victor win.

Alex surprised himself by shouting “Three Hundred Fifty Thousand Dollars!”

Conversation erupted around him, and Alex began getting a lot of smiles from the people in his immediate area.  Victor scowled.

“Three hundred seventy five thousand dollars!” Victor called out.

Alex immediately called “Four hundred!” and hoped like hell that he actually had that kind of money in escrow.  He wasn’t sure what happened when you couldn’t pay for stolen art you’d bought at an underground auction, but he was fairly confident that it wouldn’t be good.

He saw Victor take a breath, ready to call out another bid and Alex was fighting down a strong urge to simply punch him, when there was suddenly a commotion in the back of the room, and someone shouted, “Police, run!”

Pandemonium erupted, as the crowd attempted to flee the room through the doors they’d come in through.  Alex was momentarily bewildered before he regained his composure.  He noticed Victor was no longer standing anywhere near him.

Alex figured that he’d bought the paintings he’d won fair and square, and that he’d also won the painting he was there to get by default, since the bidding was interrupted and he’d been the last person to bid.  As such, he rushed to the front of the room, opposite the direction everyone else was running, to collect the paintings he’d bought.

He was mildly astonished that no one was around trying to protect the art.  He quickly grabbed the other paintings he’d bought, after some quick shuffling to get them out from behind the other art that had been auctioned off that night. 

Alex noticed Victor then.  He was grabbing the painting that was, by all rights, Alex’s painting, from the easel it was on.  He saw Alex looking, and hurried off, struggling somewhat with the bulky, ornate frame.

Alex hoped he wasn’t ruining anything priceless and stacked the paintings he’d bought, then hugged them to himself and chased after Victor.

It was one of the clumsier and slower high speed chases to ever take place.

Victor spun to push a side door no one was using open with his butt, and scooted through backwards, trying not to bang the frame on the way through.   Alex got to the same door as it was closing, and kicked it open again, since his hands were full of art.

He hurried through the door, and emerged in an unfamiliar hallway.  Alex saw Victor halfway down the hall already, half walking, half jogging, still grappling with the painting and occasionally bouncing a shoulder off the wall as he missed his footing.

Alex hustled, as well as he could, after him.  The paintings were starting to get heavy already, and the frames had surprisingly sharp edges that were digging into his arms.  He was, for a moment, glad he wasn’t also carrying the painting that Victor was doing his best to make off with at the moment.

He chased after Victor, kind of half-galloping as he struggled with the paintings he was carrying.  It seemed he was, at least, gaining on Victor, who had reached the end of the hall and turned right.   Alex redoubled his efforts, got a better grip on the art he was carrying, and was able to manage an actual jog down the hall.

Someone came out of an adjoining doorway, and Alex shouted “Art coming through!”

The person who had stepped into his path stumbled back out of it just in time, avoiding an uncomfortable and probably expensive collision.

Alex reached the corner and turned right to continue chasing after Victor.  He got there just in time to see another door at the end of the hallway shutting.

“Shit,” Alex hissed, and hurried down the hall to catch up.

He had to contort himself and struggle a bit against the heavy door in order to get through it, and Alex found himself in a stairwell.  Victor wasn’t in sight, but Alex could hear him hurrying either up or down the stairs.   Alex looked up between the railings, and didn’t see anything.  He looked down then, and was beginning to worry that Victor was going to be out of the stairwell before he knew which way to go when he saw a bit of gaudy, gilt frame poke over the railing below him.

Alex started to hurry down the stairs after him.  As he was doing so, he realized that he really wasn’t sure how far down this staircase might go.  He knew he’d gone up some stairs to get in to the building, but he didn’t have to go up any others on the way into the room where the auction had been.  So he had to be fairly close to the ground already. 

He also knew that a lot of these old warehouses had two, even three sub-basements.

Alex had no idea what he was going to do if he found he’d trapped Victor in a sub-basement.  He also had no idea if Victor was armed, but he did know that he himself was not.

He heard a door bang open beneath him, and Victor muttering curses.

Alex jumped the last few stairs to the next landing, and immediately regretted that decision as the paintings he was carrying tried to escape his grip. 

He wondered if maybe he should just set them down and come back for them, but then worried about what might happen to them while he was gone.

He reached the bottom of the stairwell, and breathed a sigh of relief that there weren’t multiple sub-basements to chase Victor through.  He struggled with the door as well, and got through just in time to see Victor ducking through a door on the far side of the building.

Alex was getting winded, and his feet were screaming at him for trying to run in patent leather ballet flats.  His arms were on fire from grappling with the art as he ran.

He got through the doorway, and discovered he was in a stairwell again. He heard Victor stomping up the stairs ahead of him.

“You know what? Fuck you, Victor,” Alex said. 

Luckily for Alex, Victor was getting worn out as well.  Alex came around the corner for the last flight of stairs, no more than twelve feet behind Victor, and saw him struggled with the door and just barely get through it as Alex reached the top of the stairs. 

Alex caught the closing door with his foot and shoved it open again, twisting through the doorway, and then began gaining on Victor in the hallway they were in.

Victor reached the end of the hallway first.  There was a door to one side with a lighted “Exit” sign over it, and he pushed through it, back-first again. 

What happened next occurred so quickly that Alex wouldn’t have believed it if he hadn’t seen it himself.  And he wouldn’t have seen if he hadn’t been intensely focused on Victor.

Victor backed his way through the door, which appeared to open into an alleyway, and had just turned and taken the first step to run when, as quick as lighting, a fist, followed by an arm wrapped in a black chauffeur's jacket, appeared from somewhere just ahead of him.  The fist connected abruptly with Victor’s face, knocking him back against the door again.  He slumped down to the ground, dazed.

Alex reached the doorway, and was amazed and relieved to see that the fist he’d just seen was connected to none other than Mr. Expedient.

The driver reached down and plucked the painting from Victor’s hands easily.

“I assume that you were here for this?” the driver said to Alex.

“Um, yes. Um. Wow.  How did you…” Alex started to say, when the driver interrupted him.

“I did tell you I would be here when you were ready, I believe,“ the driver said.

It took Alex a second to come up with a response, but he finally said, “Well, yeah, you did, but how did you know I’d be ready?  And coming through this door?”

The driver half-smiled, and said, “Who do you think shouted Police into a room full of wealthy petty criminals?  And there are only so many ways out of this building, it wasn’t hard to figure out where you’d be exiting.  It did take you a little longer than I expected, though.  I got a little worried I’d picked the wrong door.  Why didn’t you put down the art you’re carrying?”