The strangest part was that Katerina couldn’t remember being moved from the truck to the chairs. But here they were, the show was about to begin.
“My name is…not important…nor is yours to me. I have only one concern and that is to recover what is rightfully the property of our little organization and right this wrong.”
Katarina wanted to establish some credibility with their captors. She had an idea how she might pull it off, but feared it might blow up in her face. She went for it. She leaned forward and calmly poured a glass of water and then said, “You must be Thorstians.”
The man showed the slightest hint of being impressed. “We are. There are few who have ever heard of us. We like our privacy.”
His tone made her think she might have misplayed the hand, but folding wasn’t an option, so she continued, “I've been searching for the Eye of God for a long time. I didn’t have anything to do with stealing it from you, but I do admit to being interested in buying it. I should mention, my friend here didn’t steal it either. He is merely the broker.”
“Is that true?”
Patrick nodded. He was at a loss for something helpful to say.
“I see you are a man of few words. To be truthful, we know you didn’t steal it, we know exactly what you are…a fence.”
He found his voice. “Begging your pardon, but I am not ‘A Fence’, I am ‘The Fence’.” Proverbs 16:18 suddenly came to mind, ‘Pride goeth before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall’, and Patrick realized that he should be a little more modest. He wasn’t sure if he would get too many more chances, though.
The man across them seemed neither amused nor offended. “I really don’t care if you are the greatest fence to have ever lived. We have this situation today, because you are trying to sell something which is not yours, or your clients. Which brings us to my two concerns, who is your client, and where is our box?”
Patrick and Katarina had agreed to be honest about how the box was temporarily misplaced, because of the untimely death of Randy. Patrick went into great detail about his arrangement with Randy, explaining why he trusted him, and the advantages to hiding valuable works of art this way. He wanted to make sure that their captors understood that he was not making up a story and to do that, he needed to explain his reasoning. If he had simply said, “I don’t have it, it is hidden, and I don’t know where it is.” They wouldn’t have believed him, or worse, they would have tried to beat it out of him.
The old Greek man listened. When the story was done he sat quietly for a moment. “I am not a violent man. I just wish to have returned what rightfully belongs to me and my associates. But you can see where we have a problem. Though your story seems quite convincing, it doesn’t help me achieve my goals. Let us start with something you can tell me. Who is your client?”
Patrick didn’t like the idea of telling him, but the situation was looking rather bleak. “To be honest, I am not sure I could pronounce it, but if you give me a pencil, I will write it down for you.”
A large man appeared from out of the darkness with a piece of paper and a pencil. He had a machine gun looped around his neck and looked like he might enjoy getting to use it. Patrick wrote down the name and slid it across the table to their host. The man with the beard read the name. He did not look happy.
The sound of anxious footsteps was all that could be heard. Someone whispered in Greek. Katarina guessed it was Greek for, “Who is it?” The man in the chair said something back in a harsh tone. The walking around ceased and there was silence.
Katarina sensing her moment said, “I believe I have an idea, which will help you locate ‘The Eye’, but I have a condition.”
She was wrong about it being her moment. He exploded, “A condition!” He stood up and disappeared from the light, returning with a pistol. He pointed it at her, then waved the gun to his left and fired. Patrick’s hand went to the right side of his head and cupped his bleeding ear. “You are not in a position to be making demands!” He then disappeared from the lit area again, and they could hear his heavy footsteps behind them.
Katarina looked over at Patrick. His expression was a mixture of shock and horror. The blood was trickling between his fingers. She felt a hand come over top of the leather chair and pull her chin upward. All she could see was the barrel of the gun pressed between her eyes and a giant meaty hand holding the trigger.
“Where is it?” he said, in a voice of tempered rage.
“I don’t know. But I believe my idea is the only way you'll find it. I still have one condition.”