“I can find out anything you want to know about a person, but what makes you think I am qualified to authenticate art? I'm not an art historian. Surely there are men more qualified than me to determine the authenticity of some old painting?”
“The object is not a painting…but that isn't important. What is of concern to my employer is that the object actually exists. We only require that you learn a little about the seller and verify that the object is as described. If it is determined that this object does exist, and my employer wishes to participate in the sale, he will be given an opportunity to have an expert authenticate the piece.”
“Who is the seller?” Henry took out his notebook and prepared to take notes.
Hans took a long drag on the cigarette. “I am not ready to hire you, Mr. Wood. I have a few questions, if you don't mind?”
Henry closed the notebook, leaned back in his chair, “I don't mind at all. Fire away.”
“How long have you been a private detective?”
“Almost thirteen years.”
Hans had known the answer, but wanted to see if Henry would exaggerate.
“Would you be able to commit to my employer with 100% of your time?”
Henry didn't have any other clients, nor did he want to be distracted from finding Mickey's killer, but his gut told him that Hans' employer might be on Mickey's list.
“I just finished up a case. I was going to take some time off, but I could handle this job first.”
“That is excellent. My employer is prepared to pay $10,000, plus daily expenses. He would require complete discretion. Do you work alone?”
Henry was quick on his feet. He knew that if this guy was involved in the case Mickey was working on, then he would need some help. “I have a couple of people who work with me, beating the bushes as it were. They can keep a secret, if that's what you mean.”
Hans thought for a moment. He had expected that this was a one-man shop. “I would need to meet your associates before I make a decision.”
Henry hadn't counted on this request. He bluffed.
“No problem…they'll both be back in town day after tomorrow.”
Hans thought about this. He had decided that Henry was the man for the job and really didn't want to wait. “I prefer to get started, as soon as possible… but I suppose one extra day will be fine. My employer is cautious, as I said, so shall we say noon?”
Henry set his cigarette in the ash tray, stood and extended his hand. “I will see you then.”
Chapter Fourteen
The icy cold shower seemed like a necessity.
Who killed Mickey? What had caused Katarina to show up after so many years? Had Marion changed her hair?
After an hour of getting ready, which was about thirty minutes longer than usual, Henry decided enough was enough. Slowly, his focus turned to the woman who haunted his dreams.
He reminded himself that she was just a friend. He had never told her how he felt; she would be expecting to dine with her buddy, not the lovesick guy who had followed her around like a puppy so many years before. He wasn't sure if he could even remember what being “lovesick” felt like anymore. Years of hardening his heart had made him immune to such foolishness, or at least…he hoped he was immune. Luna had tested his resolve not too long ago…
He imagined how the upcoming dinner might go as he sat at the kitchen table. Henry had left plenty of time, even with his extra fussing over the tie choice. He considered rereading her letters, but thought better of it. The best course of action, he thought, was to let her do most of the talking.
He had a plan.
Henry hailed a cab. It wasn't terribly far to the restaurant, but he was running on only a couple of hours sleep, and he had already done his fair share of walking today, so it didn't seem unreasonable.
He arrived fifteen minutes early, which would be thirty minutes before Katarina showed up “fashionably late.” Henry took a seat at the bar and ordered a beer.
There were four Wall Street bankers smoking cigars at the far end of the bar. At a table nearby, two bubbly stewardesses were enjoying some drinks and batting their eyes at the bankers. About half of the tables were full. The waiters glided around the tables. It was much like Henry remembered, though he imagined it would have been busier. He considered how long it had been since his last visit. All those years ago… perhaps the steady crowd of diners had started to drop off. He decided to ask.
“Hey buddy, it seems a little slow tonight.”
The bartender, who was setting out some new martini glasses, looked up. “Yes, it is. But, it'll pick up in an hour or so.”
“I haven't been here in a few years. You still have the best steaks in town?”