Page 17 of The Picasso Heist
“Now you’re talking,” I say. “Let’s go.”
To watch Enzio Bergamo sneaking through his own house is a sight to behold, but he’s awfully good at it so I’m the only one who gets to see. Bobbing and weaving, stopping and starting at the sight of servers and a stray guest or two, he leads me through the living room, out to the foyer, and up the spiral staircase to the second floor, which is perfectly quiet.
“That was the hardest part,” he says. “We’re alone now.”
Not for long.
We go down a wide hallway to a double door straight ahead. Bergamo pushes through it and stops dead in his tracks.
“Hi there, Enzi. Long time, no see.”
CHAPTER15
“SON OF Abitch,” says Bergamo.
“Funny,” says Anton Nikolov, leaning against the front of the giant four-poster bed. He points at me. “Because she happens to be young enough to be your daughter.”
Bergamo looks truly stunned. It’s perfect. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he asks.
“The very same question your lovely wife would be asking were she here,” says Nikolov. “How is Deborah, by the way? I assume she’s downstairs somewhere at the party?”
Bergamo glares at Nikolov. “So this… what? This whole thing was a setup? If you wanted to talk to me, Anton, you could’ve just picked up the damn phone.”
“Not exactly,” says Nikolov. “Nice work, by the way, Halston. Very nice. Although, not to take anything away from you, but most men will follow their dicks just about anywhere. No offense.”
“None taken,” I say.
Bergamo’s now glaring at the two of us, his head on a swivel. “You? Him? You’re… working together or something?”
“Something like that,” says Nikolov. “Now that you mention it, we’re actually looking for another partner. That’s why I’m here.”
“No. That’s why you’re leaving,” says Bergamo. “You and I have no business to discuss. We’re square. Even. I owe you absolutely nothing.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, and you know it,” says Nikolov. “You owe me everything.”
“You mean everything except the only thing that actually matters: money. Have I not thanked you enough? You gave me a loan years ago, and I paid you back, with hefty interest. What more do you want from me?”
That’s my cue. I explain the whole plan to Bergamo, tell him exactly what we need him to do for us, go through every last detail. When I’m done, he has only one question for me.
“Are you fucking crazy?” he asks. “That’s not a favor, that’s a felony.”
“Only if you get caught, which you won’t,” says Nikolov. “And I never used the wordfavor.”
“Call it whatever you want but I’m not doing it,” says Bergamo. “I won’t.”
“Yes, you will,” says Nikolov.
“Or what? Are you threatening me? Are you going to sic your goons on me now?”
Nikolov laughs. “Do people still saygoon? No, Enzi. No one’s laying a finger on you. Like with all fools, the greatest threat to you will always be you.”
Again, that’s my cue.
When Nikolov took me shopping, he had three requirements forthe dress. One, it had to be drop-dead sexy. Two, it couldn’t be one of Bergamo’s. And three, it had to go with a purse I owned that had an outside pocket.
Actually, that third one wasn’t really a requirement. “If you don’t have a purse like that, I’ll buy one for you,” he said.
No need, I told him.
