“The forged Matisse didn’t come from us. It was given to us to pass along to you. Both as a gift and as a test.”
“A test from whom.”
“Someone who knew your particular taste in art and also wanted to be sure about the quality control of your operation before reaching out. A man who is very slow and methodical when it comes to forging new business partnerships. A man who’s had his eye on you for several years now.”
“Who is this man? Who the fuck are you talking about?” Shasha asked.
Wallace looked to me as if he was asking permission to tell Sasha who he was talking about, as if I had a clue. For all I knew, he was about to name Santa Claus. We were so far off the script I didn’t even know what play we were in anymore, so I did the one thing I could. I nodded along.
“The man from Brussels,” Wallace replied and I found myself wishing he’d said Santa Claus. At least I knew who Santa was. I didn’t have the foggiest idea who the man from Brussels was.
“Bullshit,” Sasha replied.
Wallace shook his head. “I know who you are, and I know who you’re backed by. We lie, we die. I know that. I’m telling you straight. Mr. B wants to do business with you, and he sent us to find out if you were his eastern European man or not. So far, you’ve passed his tests, and all that’s left is a meeting.”
“What do you mean, tests? I thought you said La Servante was the only forgery you sold me,” Sasha asked.
“It is, but this was far from his first test. The man from Brussels has had his eye on you for quite a while, but he’s had a few problems with connections attempting to pass on forgeries, and needed to make sure you’d spot a ringer.”
“I don’t believe you. You don’t work for Mr. B.”
“He could double the amount of marketplace connections for you. That would triple your earnings the first year alone. Don’t be stupid. Wait until you talk to him before you do anything.”
“Call him on the phone, right now,” Sasha ordered.
Wallace calmly shook his head. “He doesn’t do phone calls with perspective clients. It’s why we’re here in person. He’s expecting a report on how our meeting is going. If I give him the green light he’ll speak with you directly. Blow this and you’ll never hear from Mr. B again.”
“Fine, if he wants to do business and he doesn’t want to talk on the phone, have him meet me here within the next forty-eight hours. That shouldn’t be a problem for a man with his own jet. Otherwise, I’ll assume you’re lying and I’ll kill the both of you.”
“That sounds like a demand,” Wallace said.
“It’s an invitation for Mr. B to visit me at my home. An invitation, you’d better pray he accepts, because I swear on the Holy Mother, if you are lying to me, I will make your deaths as slow and painful as possible.”
“I know who I’m talking to, and I wouldn’t dream of disrespecting you.”
“Won’t disrespect me? What the hell do you call that bullshit forgery test, huh?”
“Mr. B needed to make sure you’d be able to spot forgeries. If you knew you were supposed to be looking for one, it would negate the efficacy of the test. But if a fake was smuggled into your possession. One that you already had a positive bias towards, and you were able to sniff it out anyway, that would be a definitive result.”
“So, where is the real painting?” Sasha asked.
“Your guess is as good as mine. As you know, the original was stolen and has stayed hidden ever since. But I assure you, the replica that Mr. B hasgifted to you is quite valuable in and of itself. It was painted by LaRoche.”
Sasha tried to hide his excitement, but his widening eyes gave him away. “LaRoche?”
“Why do you think it was so hard for an expert such as yourself to identify it?”
Wallace was buttering him up like a bucket of movie theater popcorn. Owning a forgery by the anonymous painter known only as LaRoche carried as much street cred as owning an original work.
“I should still kill you both just for lying to me.”
“You stand to make a lot more money with us alive, Sasha. I promise you that.”
Sasha turned to face me. “If I’m not standing face-to-face with the man from Belgum within forty-eight hours, there’s no amount of begging or pleading you could do to escape the fate I have planned for you and your silver-tongued loverboy. Do you understand? I’ll cut that tongue out and feed it to you if you’re lying to me.”
“I understand. But Noah’s telling the truth. Once you meet with Mr. B, you’ll see,” I said, praying he’d buy whatever bluff it was we were selling.
“Forty-eight hours. Not a second more,” Sasha said. “And if you try to run, I’ll break every bone in your bodies, starting with your legs first.”
