Time and Again(15)

The pieces of art, which Andre had purchased from legitimate gallery owners like Pierre, were nice, but they were just for show. The real treasures were locked in a secure room with perfect lighting, steady temperature, and a single velvet chair. He had three lost master works, which had disappeared during WWI, and two more which were presumed destroyed when the Germans rolled through Hungary. Knowing that people were searching for his treasures made owning them extra enjoyable.

There were others around the world, who like to admire their own ill-gotten art, in tiny rooms. This group’s members knew of one another, but never met. A competitive club (some might say ruthless), but without each other, the game would be meaningless.

Like any good sport, there needed to be rules. One of the rules was that notice would be given before visiting the “other gallery,”, as they referred to it.

It wasn’t a gallery at all, but a cathedral, with a priest who was the intermediary.

Each member of this club had established a trigger location. They would go there first and stay an hour. This would give the local eyes and ears time to “announce” the pending visit. The priest would then become available for “confessions.”

Andre Garneau had chosen Pierre Matisse’s gallery for his trigger. It was the only place he could imagine spending an hour where he would not have looked out of place. He had considered choosing one of his favorite restaurants, but then he would have had to limit his visits.

This was not acceptable.

The thought had crossed his mind that he could choose a restaurant he did not like, but then he would have needed to endure an hour of dreadful dining, also a non-starter. He chose Pierre’s gallery because it was logical.

The second rule was that the trigger location must not be “involved” in any way. Pierre was completely on the up and up, and would have objected had he known how he was being used. The semi-frequent purchases by Andre made Pierre’s the perfect place for him to be seen. Even Claude didn’t know that the gallery stop was associated with visits to the cathedral, because he had been driving Garneau there since long before it had become Andre’s trigger.

Claude had noticed, however, that Garneau only seemed to go to confession after their visits to Pierre’s place. He never understood why, but assumed that Garneau was getting the better of the young Matisse, and was feeling a need to repent.

Garneau walked up the steps. The inside was warm and comforting, but most of all, it was dark and quiet. He lit a candle, prayed, and then entered the confessional.

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned....”

A whisper answered him. “Yes, and you will again. Do be quick – I don’t have all day...my son,” the priest said in a mocking tone.

In truth, the priest was not actually ordained. He was, however, a great forger and had conned his way into the church. He was hiding from enemies. They were looking for him in Europe and even North Africa. A few people suggested he might have gone to America, but nobody suspected a Catholic church.

He was called Father Patrick Liguori…which wasn’t his name at all. He was one of the greatest fences in the world. His success was so profound that he had to go into hiding and now only dealt in works, which nobody else would touch. Before an item made it to him, it would travel to dozens of countries, be passed through many careful hands, and eventually be made available in a private auction.

“I understand that someone hired a P.I. to try to find out who the collectors are?” Garneau asked.

This was news to Patrick, but he played it cool. “So what if they did? Why do you bother me with such matters?”

“I want to know who is poking around in my business. I want to know if it was you!”

“Your fatness is equaled only by your stupidity. I already know who all of you are. Idiot.”

This stunned Andre, as he immediately realized the absurdity of his accusation. In his rage at breakfast, the first name to pop into his head was Patrick’s. He hadn't thought it through, which was not at all like him.

“I am sorry…you are right.” Apologies were also not like him, and it scratched his throat as he said it. “Do you know if it is one of the other collectors?”

“This is the first I am hearing about it.” After a brief pause, Patrick decided not to be too hard on Andre. He was, after all, one of his best clients. “I do appreciate you bringing this to my attention. It's best that I take some precautions before the upcoming auction.”

“Yes, I agree,” Andre said eagerly. He wanted to ask about the auction, but knew better. The third rule was to never speak about the art, especially in the confessional. It had happened once: the next day, the gentleman's home was raided and his collection was seized by the authorities. That was the rumor, at least. Whether it was true or not, the thought was enough to keep everyone in line.