scheme. But it explained the Zen-like silk painting hanging outside of the Puzzle Room.
Tsukamoto’s sculptures and mobiles were different from any art I had ever seen before. General Elliot, on one of my first days at Iniquus, had personally showed me around Headquarters. He said he had started the collection, and even had a few pieces commissioned specifically for Iniquus while the building plans were still with the architect. The pieces were fascinating to watch, as they changed with the air current. Mesmerizing.
General Elliot told me that Tsukamoto had been a Buddhist monk and tried to replicate the path to Nirvana in his artwork. When I looked at one of his pieces, I felt myself pulled away from my chattering monkey mind into a place of tranquility where my thoughts could rest. Very Nirvana-like. General Elliot lead me to believe that the art was highly desirable, a financial investment. That they were so widely cast and numerous here at Iniquus Headquarters had confused me a little; I always thought that they were an odd choice for Iniquus with its hive-like workings. Everyone was hard at task; there was nothing meditative or introspective about our jobs.
As Celia’s friend moved away, I slipped my phone back in my purse.
“Sorry about that,” Celia said with a smile. “Okay, I was telling you about the hobbit and the artwork.”
“Do you know why this would be a coup for Martha?”
“Yup. She’s trying to crawl her way up the arts scene’s ladder. She’s the gopher on this project. Japan contracted with her gallery to collect Tsukamoto work from DC. Why DC?” Celia bumped me with her hip. “I know that was going to be your next question.”
I gave her a smile and let her speak.
“DC is the only place in the United States that has any of his work. The main body was housed at Iniquus and those have already been collected. One is with Babbitt, I mean Babcock. Ha. I mixed hobbit into his name. But you know whom I meant. Babcock has a single piece in his home office and will not let it go, no matter how hard Martha flirted. And there are four in a private collection, but Martha’s company hasn’t been able to trace down the owner.”
“Wow, Celia, you sure are good at this. You know, if you ever need a job. . .”
“Pshaw. Both of them are three sheets to the wind. She’d tell me her bank account and password if I asked. So on to more interesting things. Striker and the leech are posing as Bryce and Claire Mason, married for five years. Met in grad school at Penn State. They own an import export company.”
So they’re interested in Maxx, not Martha. “ This event seems to be outside of the normal social network circles for a customs agent and an aspiring art dealer,” I said.
“Her dress and jewelry seemed outside the normal attire for someone in their positions, too. I would assume they make, what, maybe a hundred-and-sixty to a hundred-and-seventy thousand between them? So she’s definitely overdressed for that kind of income bracket. I assume her gallery bought her tickets, and she’s here as their representative. Though she’s kind of low down the totem pole for her to be acting in that capacity. Maybe she and Maxx have family money. Anyway, I was calculating, and I’d say her outfit was a month’s wages before taxes.”
“Maybe she borrowed her ensemble, like I did.” I said.
“Nope. The jewelry was her Christmas gift last year from hubby, and the dress she found at the same boutique where I bought the dress you’re wearing now.”
“You are thorough. Did you get her shoe size, too?”
“Doing my part for national security.” She smiled.
The maître-d announced dinner, and we made our way to our assigned tables. I was happy they scheduled speakers; I had some major thinking to do. I pulled out my phone and sent a quick text to Striker . Won’t be home tonight. Catch up with you in the a.m. Love you . Watch your six. I’d stay with Celia. I didn’t want to know what
Tsukamoto’s sculptures and mobiles were different from any art I had ever seen before. General Elliot, on one of my first days at Iniquus, had personally showed me around Headquarters. He said he had started the collection, and even had a few pieces commissioned specifically for Iniquus while the building plans were still with the architect. The pieces were fascinating to watch, as they changed with the air current. Mesmerizing.
General Elliot told me that Tsukamoto had been a Buddhist monk and tried to replicate the path to Nirvana in his artwork. When I looked at one of his pieces, I felt myself pulled away from my chattering monkey mind into a place of tranquility where my thoughts could rest. Very Nirvana-like. General Elliot lead me to believe that the art was highly desirable, a financial investment. That they were so widely cast and numerous here at Iniquus Headquarters had confused me a little; I always thought that they were an odd choice for Iniquus with its hive-like workings. Everyone was hard at task; there was nothing meditative or introspective about our jobs.
As Celia’s friend moved away, I slipped my phone back in my purse.
“Sorry about that,” Celia said with a smile. “Okay, I was telling you about the hobbit and the artwork.”
“Do you know why this would be a coup for Martha?”
“Yup. She’s trying to crawl her way up the arts scene’s ladder. She’s the gopher on this project. Japan contracted with her gallery to collect Tsukamoto work from DC. Why DC?” Celia bumped me with her hip. “I know that was going to be your next question.”
I gave her a smile and let her speak.
“DC is the only place in the United States that has any of his work. The main body was housed at Iniquus and those have already been collected. One is with Babbitt, I mean Babcock. Ha. I mixed hobbit into his name. But you know whom I meant. Babcock has a single piece in his home office and will not let it go, no matter how hard Martha flirted. And there are four in a private collection, but Martha’s company hasn’t been able to trace down the owner.”
“Wow, Celia, you sure are good at this. You know, if you ever need a job. . .”
“Pshaw. Both of them are three sheets to the wind. She’d tell me her bank account and password if I asked. So on to more interesting things. Striker and the leech are posing as Bryce and Claire Mason, married for five years. Met in grad school at Penn State. They own an import export company.”
So they’re interested in Maxx, not Martha. “ This event seems to be outside of the normal social network circles for a customs agent and an aspiring art dealer,” I said.
“Her dress and jewelry seemed outside the normal attire for someone in their positions, too. I would assume they make, what, maybe a hundred-and-sixty to a hundred-and-seventy thousand between them? So she’s definitely overdressed for that kind of income bracket. I assume her gallery bought her tickets, and she’s here as their representative. Though she’s kind of low down the totem pole for her to be acting in that capacity. Maybe she and Maxx have family money. Anyway, I was calculating, and I’d say her outfit was a month’s wages before taxes.”
“Maybe she borrowed her ensemble, like I did.” I said.
“Nope. The jewelry was her Christmas gift last year from hubby, and the dress she found at the same boutique where I bought the dress you’re wearing now.”
“You are thorough. Did you get her shoe size, too?”
“Doing my part for national security.” She smiled.
The maître-d announced dinner, and we made our way to our assigned tables. I was happy they scheduled speakers; I had some major thinking to do. I pulled out my phone and sent a quick text to Striker . Won’t be home tonight. Catch up with you in the a.m. Love you . Watch your six. I’d stay with Celia. I didn’t want to know what
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