Page 224 of The Wicked
“Hold on a second,” Gemma said. “I think I’ve seen that painting before. I don’t know, but… I have seen this same painting and heard that name…”
My gaze snapped to her. “What do you mean.”
She quickly fished for her phone by her side, her hand tapping and scrolling as she got to her feet and made her way over to me, settling on the armchair as she brought her phone into my view,scrolling through pictures of dogs in an album called “dogs.” “I dog-sit from time to time, and I love dogs so I always take pictures of them, and here…” She stopped on the painting. “There it is,” she said.
I took the phone from her hand, zooming in on the painting.
I couldn’t find the tell. The little stroke that had been in every fake was missing, and I was genuinely impressed when the realization dawned on me that I was staring at the original painting of the chihuahua.
“Where did you take this?” I asked, understanding why my gut feeling had pushed me towards her.
“Mexico,” she said, getting to her feet again as she paced the living room.
“Where in Mexico?”
“It was a year ago. Uncle Rod had sent for me, and Giacomo and I took a road trip to the manor in Mexico where Uncle Rod and Luigi worked in maintenance… shit.” She stopped. “That’s the name! Garza! Arturo Garza, the dead guy who owns the manor. Luigi was being a prick, and I was mad, but then, Giacomo told me that I should take a tour of the manor to cool off while he talked to Luigi, and I was just roaming around when I saw the painting, just sitting there, peeking out from behind a shelf in some abandoned storeroom. It was covered in dust. I cleaned it and took a picture because it was very peculiar, but I never got to post it.”
Arturo, you mad mastermind.
The original painting never left the manor.
“Where did you leave the painting afterward?”
“I covered it and slipped it back behind the shelf. I don’t think anyone goes in there.”
“Hm.”
“Do you think we should contact the authorities? Maybe it would help in some way?”
“No. Don’t get involved. Send this picture to me. I’ll handle it.”
She frowned. “What would you do?”
“Problem-solving.”
My phone vibrated in my pocket, and I brought it out. Angelo’s name was plastered on the screen. I handed Gemma her phone, getting to my feet. “Excuse me; I’ll take this.”
She nodded, eyeing me suspiciously but choosing to trust me, as she returned to her seat and watched the news.
I answered the call. “Significant emergencies, Angelo; when will you learn?”
“This is significant. The mayor has reached out; he needs your help. I don’t know where the fuck you are, but everybody’s looking for you.” His voice was frantic.
“That so?”
“Marino, there’s a school bus—”
“I am aware of the school bus and the chaos and the quest going live—”
“Are you also aware that the so-called military mercenaries are Devil, Dog, and Zahra?”
I stopped. My breathing halted for about a second or two, slow panic ensuing gradually. “Elia…” I whispered.
“We are doing damage control over that, but the mayor is seeking your help smoothing things out with the president. We don’t have fucking time on our hands, okay? Zahra, Devil, and Dog’s lives are on the line, and the bomb is not fucking stopping.” He breathed. “I didn’t want to say anything, but I know who Devil is to you, and I know you probably don’t give a fuck about the kids, or Dog, or Zahra, but your brother might die today, Elio. That should be a significant emergency.”
A wave of blinding anger overtook my mind to the point that I couldn’t get a breath out properly.
“Who led the operation.”
