Page 101 of The Picasso Heist
“An hour and a half,” he says. “Ninety minutes.”
“That’s too long.”
“You haven’t even made the call yet.”
“Yeah, but the second I do, the clock starts ticking and there’s no turning back. He’s either with us or he’s not,” I say.
“You mean he’s either with us or he kills you.”
“Tomayto, tomahto.”
“For real,” he says. “Be careful, Halston.”
My brother doesn’t often call me by my actual name, though I have vivid memories of two times he did. One was the day our mother killed herself. The other was the day our father was sentenced to prison.
“I’ll be careful,” I say. “I promise.”
Skip laughs all too knowingly. “Now uncross your fingers and tell me that again.”
CHAPTER85
NIKOLOV LETS MYfirst call go to voicemail. Of course he does. He doesn’t recognize the number.
“It’s Halston,” I say after the beep. It’s all that’s needed.
He’s not in Macy’s and he’s not buying a new pair of Ray-Bans at the Sunglass Hut. Ever the man of the people, even in a cashmere sweater, Anton Nikolov is sipping a coffee at a table in Starbucks. Sitting with him, of course, is his ever-present shadow, Blaggy.
Does Blaggy ever get a day off? What’s the schedule for a lead henchman of a Bulgarian mob boss?
I watch as Nikolov listens to my message; he turns to Blaggy the second he hears my voice.
I immediately call again. Nikolov answers before the second ring. He sounds a lot more Bulgarian when he’s angry.
“How the hell did you get this number?” he asks.
“NoHello? NoHow are you?”
“Fuck your hello, and I don’t care how you are. How do you think I am?”
Say what you will about Anton Nikolov, but he doesn’t waste time with polite chitchat.
“So you’ve heard the news about Bergamo?” I ask.
“More like seen it,” he says. “Along with everyone damn else in the world.”
“A literal fall from grace, huh?”
“You think this is funny? ’Cause I don’t.”
“I get it,” I say.
“I don’t think you do.”
“Why do you think I’m calling? We need to talk.”
“So talk,” he says.
“In person.”
