Art and Murder by Don Easton Page A

he put the phone on the workbench and ripped the tape off Anton’s and Bojan’s faces, then said to Laura, “Stand back. I want to look into their eyes before deciding which one to shoot.”
    Anton and Bojan lay on the floor begging as Jack pointed his gun, first at Bojan’s face and then at Anton’s.
    Roche’s voice yelled over the phone, “Wait! Wait!”
    Jack ignored the plea as he fired a shot into the cement floor beside Anton’s head. Fragments of lead and cement peppered the side of Anton’s face and neck as he cried out in terror.
    â€œOops, I don’t usually miss,” Jack grumbled. “Damn it, Anton, hold your head still, will you?”
    Roche’s voice could be heard screaming over the phone, “Please! Don’t kill him! Don’t kill him!”
    Jack hesitated, then picked up the phone. “Why not?”
    â€œHe’s my brother!” Roche cried.
    Jack was silent for a moment, then said, “So … Anton is your brother, is he? What’s your first name?”
    â€œRoche. It’s Roche,” he stammered, trying to calm his terror at the thought he may have been responsible for his brother’s death.
    â€œNice to meet you, Mr. Roche Freulard. Has your memory come back?”
    â€œYes … it’s just … I don’t know who I’m really talking to.”
    â€œAnd if I’m reimbursed to my satisfaction, there is no need for you to know.”
    Jack’s words gave Roche a measure of relief. Perhaps everything will work out. The Ringmaster will approve things, the pimp will be paid, and the problem will be resolved. He glanced at his watch and winced when he thought of how he would explain what happened to the Ringmaster.
    â€œAre you listening to me?” Jack asked.
    â€œYes, but … please, I need more time to prepare a, uh, compensation for you. Five or six hours is all I ask.”
    Jack was pleased. At least I don’t have to come up with a reason to stall. “Five or six hours,” he said, as if contemplating the request.
    â€œPlease,” Roche begged. “If I could simply have the time I ask for. Then I will be in a better position to offer you something substantial. You must realize that what you have found is valuable, except for the painting, of course, which is simply a copy.”
    He’s hoping I’ll leave it behind. Jack glanced at the kilos of cocaine and boxes of jewellery. The coke is worth close to a million even if they sell it by the kilo, the jewellery looks like it would be a couple hundred thousand, so what’s with the painting?
    â€œI will do my utmost to make up for what happened, but I need time,” Roche went on.
    Time to shed the pimp image. “Unfortunately, I haven’t had time to examine the painting closely, but collecting art is a pastime of mine,” Jack said.
    Roche gasped. “It is?”
    â€œYes, I travel extensively for the various corporations I contract out to, and am proud to say I have managed to gather a fairly impressive collection.” Jack waited for Roche to respond. These guys have stolen paintings. Maybe I’ll be put on their list of potential buyers.
    â€œThe corporations you work for?”
    Jack ignored his question. “It is unfortunate if it is a copy, because quite frankly, as far as the rest of the stuff goes, I wouldn’t even know who to sell it to. I was going to give the pound I was promised to the young woman who was abused. Although I barely know her, she does not strike me as the type to have the connections I would need to sell the rest.”
    â€œWell, I’m sure that, uh, something could be worked out with me.”
    â€œThere is another problem. Your brother and his friend have created a mess. I don’t trust them to properly clean it up. It would have a very adverse effect on my reputation if I were to become entangled with the law due to their incompetence. I