The George III writing desk, the Hepplewhite chair, the Matthias Lock rococo console table.
" It's all here," Jack says to himself.
The mahogany armless chairs, the silent valet, the Kent mirror, the side table, the gilt chairs, the card table – Jack's looking at it but what he sees in his mind is Pamela Vale walking him through. Like she's there in the old rec hall pointing to each piece as Nicky holds the camera.
This is one of our real treasures. A rare bombe-based red-lacquered and japanned bureau-cabinet from about 1730. It has clawed and hairy paw feet. Also, serpentine-shaped corners with attenuated acanthus leaves. A very rare piece.
It's all here.
Nicky's precious furniture. Over half a million dollars' worth.
Times two. Once for the insurance settlement, twice when he sells it again.
It's more than that, though. It's his identity, his ego, his freaking shifting cloud.
What he killed his wife to hold on to.
His wife, the two Vietnamese kids, George Scollins, God only knows who else. For a pile of old wood. For a bunch of fucking things. Even though he stood to make $50 million and it would have been safer to burn this stuff, Nicky couldn't stand to do it.
And now it's going to cost him fifty mil.
And his claim.
And everything else, if Jack has his way.
125
Dawn at Mother Russia's.
Very happy place.
Nicky pours himself a cup of coffee and sits trembling on a stool at the kitchen counter.
Two million in cash.
And a big piece of Nicky's deal.
Is what Karpotsov wants to release Mother.
"Or we'll start burning her," Karpotsov said. "We'll send you some of the charred pieces. First a finger, then we'll start getting serious. Then it's a hand, then a foot. When we're fresh out of Mother, we'll grab the kids and start on them. You tried to fuck us, Nicky. You owe us money. Serious money that you stole from your country."
"My country doesn't exist anymore."
"Then from us" Karpotsov said.
"KGB doesn't exist anymore, either," Nicky said. "All there is left of my country is a dipso-buffoon and the mob."
"Nicky," Karpotsov said, shaking his head. "Don't you get it? We are the mob. The mob is us. Organizatsiya. One and the same. We've come to an understanding. And the only reason that I don't chop your mother into little pieces and feed them to you before blowing your brains out is that you're a profitable little motherfucker. A thief's thief, and you're going to start stealing for us again, Nicky. Two million dollars in good faith money. Or we start burning her. That's your old technique, isn't it, Nicky? From Afghanistan? Didn't you like to burn people?"
"I'll get the money for you!"
"You'd better." Karpotsov got off the bed. "Well, I'd like to see the end of the movie but I'm sure you have things to arrange. Like, later, dude."
He got up and left.
Nicky had a very restful night.
Closing his eyes, he saw Lev's dome bobbing up and down in the water. Opening his eyes, he saw them taking a torch and He spent most of the night pacing the house.
Now, this morning, Nicky loses it. "They came into the house where my children sleep and took my mother!"
Slams his hand on the kitchen counter.
Temper, temper, he tells himself.
Temper will do you no good.
Think it through.
Karpotsov is a reality that must be dealt with and dealt with quickly.
Or Mother is dead and the children are next.
He calls the number Karpotsov gave him.
"I have an offer to make," Nicky says.
"I hope it's a good one."
"It's a very good one."
A piece of the biggest insurance company on the West Coast.
"A good faith payment," Karpotsov says. "Today."
"You'll get it," Nicky says. "I have money coming in this morning."
So it's all right, he tells himself. It's cool. Tratchev is dead. Azmekian is dead. Gordon is dead. Two Crosses is out, KGB is in, that's all. A simple swap. Money coming in. Money to ransom Mother. Everything will be all right -
The phone rings.
Jack starts reading off the inventory. Finishes off the last item, then says, "Yup, it's all here."
Nicky says, "Where are you?! If you have my furniture, where is it?"
"I thought your furniture was burned up in the fire," Jack says. "Of course, if you'd like to withdraw that claim…"
"You don't know-"
"If you now say that your furniture's been stolen, I suggest you call the police right away."
"-who you're-"
"Or submit a claim on the theft," Jack says. "It shouldn't be too hard. I think we already have the inventory."
"You don't know who you're dealing with."
"Porfirio Guzman," Jack says.
"What?"
"That name ring a faint bell with you?"
"No."
"That's what I thought," Jack says. "You had him killed twelve years ago. I understand that's a long time to remember a little thing like that."
"What are you going to do?"
"Well, I have a million bucks' worth of stuff which is also enough evidence to connect you to the arson and your wife's murder," Jack says. "What do you think I'm going to do?"
Silence for a second. Then Nicky says, "I'm prepared to be reasonable."
"I'm not."
"One hundred thousand dollars," Nicky says. "Cash."
"That's cheap, Nicky. I'm surprised at you."
"One-fifty."
"Nickel and dime."
"Two hundred thousand," Nicky says.
"No."
"Make your offer."
"Drop your lawsuit," Jack says.
"Would that do it for you?"
"No," Jack says. "Drop your claim."
"If I had the furniture back…"
"You can get it back…"
"Good."
"After you confess that you burned the house and killed your wife."
Long sigh from Nicky.
"We can still make a deal," he says.
"I already told you," Jack says.
I don't do deals.
Nicky says, "I'll be coming for you."
Jack says, "Bring your lunch."
And hangs up.
Nicky slams his hand on the counter.
He feels someone behind him.
Little Michael is standing there.
"Is Grandma gone?" he asks.
"Yes," Nicky says. "But-"
"Is she all burned up, too?" Michael asks. "Like Mommy?"
Nicky freaks.
126
The sun starts burning off the marine layer.
So the world is coming clear and sharp as Jack steps out of the old rec hall.
He checks the load in Teddy's pistol.
Six shots left.
Should be enough.
When they come, they'll come through the old gate. He'll hear it creak open and then he'll hear their steps. Nicky won't come alone. He'll have his hitters.
Enough to take me out.
But not before I kill him.
Jack slips the pistol in his waistband and waits.
127
Letty del Rio checks the load in her weapon and slips it back into the holster.
This is a tricky operation with one hand.
Trickier still to drive, but she's going to do it.
Show up at Nicky's door like a bad-news Avon lady.
Ding-dong.
She finesses her coffee cup to the floor below her feet and starts the engine. Wondering where the hell Jack is. Why didn't he show up?
Never mind.
Time to go see Nicky.
Ding-dong.
128
The gate creaks open.
Jack hears it scrape against the ground.
One set of footsteps coming up the path.
Let it be Nicky, Jack thinks.