“You make quick decisions, don’t you? That ever come back to bite you in the ass?”

“I do okay, thanks,” Jonathan said. “You, on the other hand, seem to belabor the shit out of everything. Is there a point somewhere on its way anytime soon?”

Owen could practically see the chill of rising hackles trace up Jonathan’s spine, pulling him straighter, more ready. “Are you in a hurry?”

“Oh, enough about me,” Jonathan said, actually out of real patience now, not just the theatrical kind. “Let’s talk about you. Look, I get it. What happened that night is stuck in your throat. Nobody likes getting caught out, to have things go that far off plan. Especially not a guy like you. You were in charge and it fell apart and you had to eat shit for it and you want to try to piece together what happened. You want to know whose neck to break because you lost your bosses’ money and maybe some of their respect for not getting the job done. I get it, but I can’t help you. You lost face. That sucks. I’m sorry for your trouble.”

Owen surprised himself with the delighted sound of his own laughter. It was musical. Loud music at that. Courtney looked around, startled and still tense, from where she’d been inclined in conversation with the bartender.

“Do you have any idea how many double crosses I’ve yawned through? How many times I’ve had to go back and forth because another greedy little fuck gets cute or bold or somehow mistakes a rising burp for a bright idea?

“The Anningers have already bought my time. I get paid either way. I have to do something all day.

“What happened that night was a pain in my ass. But you’re not special. And for them? Right now they’re getting more mileage from the story of losing the painting and the money. It’s almost as good to them as having it. Maybe better. Who can tell?

“Don’t embarrass yourself. You scrabbling around like a squirrel with a golden nut doesn’t make you a high roller. You’ve seen too many movies, Jonathan. You have no idea how these things work.”

The shade of Jonathan now made Owen decide he was probably the brick-red type. Bright red would look shinier by candlelight. But either way, Jonathan surely didn’t like being laughed at.

He was quaking.

Owen pressed on. “So you say you didn’t know her well?”

Jonathan didn’t lose momentum as much as he gave it up freely. He did it so abruptly that Owen felt himself wanting to tip forward into the void of pressure loss. The fury melted out of Jonathan and he relaxed back into the seat, making Owen’s seat just a little less cozy than he’d been enjoying in these last minutes.