Chapters (50)
- Praise
- Title Page
- Copyright Page
- Dedication
- Epigraph
- The Awful Truth
- The Life
- Make That Four
- Heaven, or: Last April at the Frick
- New Punch Line
- The J-Mart Employee of the Year Pleads His Case
- Reminder
- Auto-Nav
- Our Greatest Hit Hits Again, or: Who Is the Rat Burglar?
- I’m the Mang?
- Me vs. the Goldfish
- Size Matters
- Life of Crime
- I High-Beam the Dream
- What the Covet Girl Tells Me
- How Memory Harvesting Can Save Your Life
- The Sound of Our Future Together
- Bullet by Bullet
- The Effects of Drinking and Dosing
- A Bra Tells the Truth
- Gun Therapy
- WWPD: What Would Pinkerton Do?
- The Nakamura Job
- The Treachery of Images
- Herk to the Rescue
- The Truth About Herkimer
- The Polecat
- Do I or Don’t I?
- The World I Know Nothing About
- Kong’s Price
- Bathroom Talk
- Good Start
- Reunited
- Baconmouth
- Teamwork
- A Picture of Loveliness
- The Forty-fifth Murder
- The Unreachable
- Ambiguity
- Exit
- Sacrifice
- Otto Starks, Supernova
- Snitching
- Clean Getaway
- Acknowledgements
Charlie springs to her feet and crosses the distance between us. With a dainty Victorian gesture she gives me a view by offering her hand. As billed, the ring is perfectly restored.
Suddenly the boat stalls and the jib luffs loudly—it sounds like applause—but then it goes tight with wind and the point of sail corrects itself. We lurch as the boat yaws, and for a moment it looks like Charlie’s body is going to jostle into mine, but it doesn’t. She catches the lifeline and then holds very still as if afraid she might spill some of herself if not handled carefully.
“Jesus,” I say, “who’s sailing this thing?”
“It’s on auto-nav,” Charlie says. Then, tentatively: “Want to go belowdecks?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “I’m confused. I’m not even sure if this is real. I took a lot of hallucinogens. I feel pretty shaky.”
“You don’t believe this is real?”
“I don’t know what to believe.”
Her skin, bronze and taut, gleams with suntan lotion. She smells of coconut, cream, sweat, swimwear, the dense living scent of her hair, pomegranates. Then, hugging her elbows, she pushes her body forward, giftlike.
Charlie makes me believe.
Acknowledgements
Acknowledgments
This book was made possible by contributions from Michael Davies, E. Beth Thomas, Harry Sawyers, Katie Hofstadter, Senseis Dan Webster and Susan Easton, Leena Sidhu, Patrick McCord, Bill Augustin, Miriam Baron, Chris Springfield, Frank Crane, Gary Hall and Anthony Attardi of Wright Square Café, Kim Wang, and, naturally, the Pinnikins.
Special commendation to the Great and Inimitable Boz.
Incalculable gratitude to Paula Wallace and my colleagues at SCAD.
Some sources that have helped the researching of this book include INTERPOL’s database of stolen artworks, The Return of Cultural Treasures by Jeanette Greenfield, The Rape of Europa by Lynn H. Nicholas, The Art Forger’s Handbook by Eric Hebborn, The Expert Versus the Object by Ronald Spencer, Feminism and Art History edited by Norma Broude and Mary D. Garrard, Art Theft Forgery and Investigation: The Complete Field Manual by Robert E. Spiel, Jr., Rogues in the Gallery by Hugh McLeave, Museum of the Missing by Simon Houpt, and nearly everything by Thomas Hoving, who gave a talk in Savannah recently that I—curse my hide—had to miss; I hope he will accept my gratitude here.
I am fortunate beyond words to say that the following people at Riverhead are mine: Pam Barricklow, Sheila Moody, Ben Gibson, Tom Haushalter, Sarah Bowlin, and the redoubtable Megan Lynch. Additional special thanks to Geoff Kloske.
And Esther Newberg, Josie Freedman, Kari Stuart: thank you a googolplex.
1
It inspires that feeling of awe and moment, true enough, but I’m probably also fishing for a benediction: I feel like if I can convince a freaking K’plua that my deception isn’t so bad, then maybe Charlie will be able to forgive me, too.
2
God, I am out of practice.
3