Page 105 of The Picasso Heist
This is what I tell Nikolov, giving him a glimpse of my playbook. Not so I can brag, not like some brash twenty-two-year-old poised to take a victory lap, but simply to explain: This is how I tricked the guy who burned my father into trusting me.
“Bergamo thought I was repaying my father’s debt to him,” I say, “and he was so focused on getting you to hang a fake Picasso on your wall—on making a fool of you—that he didn’t see what was really happening.”
“And what was really happening?” asks Nikolov.
“You’ve seen the videos. The whole world has now. Bergamo’s fashion empire, built entirely on his name, is about to crumble,” I say. “Worse, he’s about to be locked up for a long time and forced to wear nothing but blue denim on a daily basis. Unless, of course…”
“Unless he cuts a deal, like I said.”
“But not just any deal. He’s got to give the US attorney something special. I’m just a kid; I’m not a trophy,” I say, nodding at the stuffed heads on his hunting wall. “But do you know who is? You.”
“Bergamo might be desperate, but he’s not that dumb,” says Nikolov.
“Exactly. He knows he can’t rat on you. Besides, if anything, you come off as the victim in this whole scheme,” I say. “But what if instead of ratting you out, Bergamo was setting you up?”
“What do you mean?”
“Look at your phone.”
“Why?” he asks.
“Because you’re going to see a text from Bergamo asking you to call him immediately.”
“How come a text? Why wouldn’t he just call me?”
“Are you going to keep asking me questions or are you going to look at your phone?”
Nikolov takes out his cell. He sees the text, shakes his head, and says, almost as if he’s trying to reassure himself, “No. No way. He’s still not that dumb.”
“That’s why Bergamo’s convinced he’ll get away with it, because he knows that’s exactly what you’ll think—that he wouldn’t do it because he doesn’t have a death wish. That’s his leverage, his ace in the hole. That and the fact that it’s actually a really good plan.”
“How do you know?”
“Because it’s my plan,” I say.
“Hold on.Bergamo knows you’re here?”
“No. He has no clue. Just like he has no clue that he’s doing exactly what we need him to.”
“Which is what?” asks Nikolov.
“Call him and find out.”
“How do I know you’re not still working with him?”
“Because he’s in jail right now,” I say.
“So?”
“So when you call him, he’s going to tell you the big secret, that your Picasso is a fake. He doesn’t know you already know that. Meanwhile, he’s known all along but he won’t confess that. He’ll claim that I set both of you up, and he’ll try to make you so angry, so full of rage, that you’ll decide that the sole mission in your life is to end mine. Because that’s when you’ll give the US attorney the smoking gun: attempted murder.”
“That’s your plan? You want me to kill you?”
“No. Elise Joyce wants you to kill me. Or try. That way, she can stop you just before you do.”
“She’d love that, wouldn’t she? Taking me down?”
“You don’t know the half of it.” I wait for his look. “Oh, you haven’t heard?” I turn to Blaggy. He’s already frisked me but I still point at my pocket, letting him know that I’m only reaching for my phone. The picture is cued up, ready to show: Dominick Lugieri in handcuffs. I walk it over to Nikolov.
