“What? I thought we were in this together. All for one and one for all. You called me your associate. Did you sell me out, Smith?”

“No. It’s just that they’re insisting on credentials, and you don’t have any.”

“And you do? Maybe not for long.” A low blow and I knew it, but I was pissed. I wanted to be there to see for myself, to be in on the discovery—whatever it was. I’d earned that much.

“That’s the deal, like it or—”

“The deal you made.”

“Look, I had enough to force their hand. I threatened to go public with what we had if they didn’t agree to let me see the painting, but that was it. You know I can’t back up my threat. I go to the Louvre tonight, after closing, a private viewing with the director. That’s the deal, and it’s final.”

So this was what it had come to, after all that had happened, after all I had risked—to be excluded. I stared at him a long minute, then sagged into a chair. “I told you I needed something, that maybe I’d write about this, and you agreed to that.”

“And perhaps you can, if that’s what you want.”

“It isn’t a question of want. My job might depend on it.” I stared out the window at the late-day sun, adrenaline and disappointment leaking out of me like air from a tire, along with all I had done, hoped for, and all I’d left behind. If I couldn’t write about the discovery, what was I supposed to do?

“Listen, I promise to tell you anything I discover. We did good work, my friend, and it’s not over yet.”

“It’s over for me.”

“Not true, and don’t whine, Perrone. It’s unattractive.”

“Oh really, you’re going to give me charm lessons? Next, you’ll be telling me to toughen up and be a man.”

“Nah,” Smith said, “I know that’s hopeless.” He smiled. I didn’t. “No matter what, we still need to investigate that list of collectors I gave you.”

“What makes you think I’m going to help you after this?”

“Because you want to know the truth as much as I do.”

75

He stands across the street, staring up at the hotel’s worn brick facade, shivering, Paris even colder than Florence. He promises himself a vacation, someplace warm, the Caribbean or, better yet, Miami Beach. He was there years ago and liked the pastel-colored hotels, the ocean waves, and the Cuban food, though he hadn’t had time to enjoy any of them, the job too fast—one day to locate the subject, second day to take him out, third day already leaving. This time, he will get a suite in one of those peach-colored hotels, order room service and a hooker. He is imagining lying in the Florida sun, his pale skin going pink, when his cell phone vibrates. He holds it away from his ear though he can still hear the middleman’s annoying nasal voice.