"Tell me about this job you mentioned," Andrew's friend Tinny said, after letting his bottle hit the table. "You seemed excited."
"I was at the bar last night," Andrew said, leaning back. "Drinking my cares away. A man kinda comes out of nowhere and drops down across from me, carrying a cocktail. He places it in front of me and takes a sip of his own. Of course I ain't drinking anything unless I know what's in it, and he tells me it's an Old Pal. He takes a sip from my glass as well to prove it's on the level."
"I've had an Old Pal before."
"Not bad, I say." Andrew shifted. "He introduces himself as Chauncey. French guy. A little older, maybe in his forties or fifties. Anyway, he says he heard about me from Hambone as someone who can absolutely without a doubt get items away from where they normally lay."
"Can't argue," Tinny said.
"He tells me a rival of his stays in town during the summer, and has a special item he'd like me to lift." Andrew produced a slip from his jacket. "It's a little statuette. Of course I intend to take a few choice pieces for myself."
"Of course."
"I'm going tomorrow night. Chauncey says the guy practically leaves the door wide open at night. Should be an easy job."
Tinny nodded and lifted his bottle. "Here's to you then." Andrew clinked it with his own.
After a few hours of watching the large house near the river, he decided it was probably empty, save for the sleeping owner. The housekeeper had left hours ago, and no motion, sound, or light had been seen since. He strutted across the street.
True to Chauncey's word, the side door was unlocked. Andrew heard no guard dog, there was no security system, and he heard nothing but heavy ticks of a clock. He took a cautious step, and the floor didn't even creak under his shoe. Easiest job I've ever had, he thought.
The item in question was easy to find, since it was in the middle of the first room he came upon. When he saw it, his stomach tightened. In fact, it's too easy. He spun his head, checking for camera hiding places, anywhere a man with a gun might occupy a shadow. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.
Yet, for his wariness, there was no way this could be anything more than a horribly-defended house of treasures. The statuette stood on a waist-high pillar in the middle of the room. An uncurtained window provided light into every corner, and other than a few pictures, there was nothing a camera could possibly hide behind. Taking slow, careful steps, he went up next to the statuette. It looked made of dark rock, with small gems in the eyes. It made an ugly grimace at him as he picked it--the pillar it sat on seemed to be made of the same material. He noted it was light and perfectly balanced as he slipped it into a pocket.
He toured around the rest of the house, looking for items to add to his personal stash. His every sense was looking for the catch, the trap. He still expected something to come rushing around the corner at him, but nothing did. More depressingly, every other room seemed clean of anything worth stealing unless he wanted to fence kitchen utensils. Like the place has been picked clean before I got here, but if that were the case somebody would have taken the statuette.
He found himself standing in the middle of a hallway, trying to figure out why he was so unnerved. An unlocked door. No security. The perfect place to steal something from, but the only thing worth stealing is presented immediately and there's nothing else at all. His heart pounded. I just need to get out of here. I have the statuette, so- he patted his pocket and found it empty.
He rummaged in the pocket frantically, hunting for the statuette or a hole it could have fallen out. He found nothing, as if the item had turned to dust. He started retracing his steps. Maybe I just didn't get it into the pocket in the first place. He wound his way through the large house until making it back to the room in which he'd found the statuette. It stood on its pillar and leered at him with its gem eyes.
He rolled his shoulders. I must have just put it back without thinking. This place is giving me the willies. He picked it up and placed it in his pocket, taking measures to ensure it was secure. He got all the way to the room's door when he took a look back and found it on its pedestal again, with his pocket empty.
He bent down in front of it, eyeing it. Its eternal grimace never wavered. He picked it up and gazed at the empty pillar. He looked at the statuette in his hand. He looked at the empty pillar. He looked at his empty hand. He looked at the statuette on the pillar.
He pinched the bridge of his nose and stared at the lush carpet under his feet.
He lifted it up and took slow steps away from the pillar, trying to keep his eyes on both. He blinked, and even though his eyes had been closed for only a third of a second, the statuette was able to appear across the room by the time he opened his eyes.
He almost yelled at it, but clamped a gloved hand over his mouth just in time. HOW? he thought, vision rattling.
He checked all angles of the item, looking for electronic devices or wires it might use to dash back to its home. He waved his hands around it, wondering if it was just a very real holograph and he was being fooled.
He picked it up and put it back down. He fetched a salt shaker from the kitchen he thought was about the same weight, quickly replacing the statuette with it. When he looked to see if he'd been successful, the statuette had pushed the shaker out of the center of the pillar, leaving his hand empty.
Next he tried scooping it off the pillar with a sauce pan and clapping the lid over it as quickly as he could, looking around with wide eyes as the loud sound filled the room. Nothing appeared, and he bounced the saucepan, listening to the statuette clatter inside. He continued rattling it until the sound vanished, prompting him to glance at the pillar.
He checked inside the saucepan just to be certain, and, finding it empty, he returned it and the shaker to the kitchen.
I am a good thief because I don't give up, he told himself, standing in the kitchen. Chrome covered counter tops, walls, and appliances. Clearly I am dealing with something a little bit out of my comfort zone, but that just gives me a better opportunity to expand it.
Back in the statuette's bare room, he crouched in front of it. The dark piece's grin mocked him, and its small jeweled eyes reflected the light coming in the window. He lifted the statuette off its pillar, then replaced it. He removed it and held it close, then put it back. He hefted it, feeling its negligible weight, then centered it in its pillar, turning it this way and that so it faced the different walls of the room. He turned it on its head, and found it could balance easily even though the top wasn't flat. He spent a few minutes staring at the inverted item. Upside down, the face looked more comical than before.
He grabbed it and ran, reaching the side door he had entered from in a manner of seconds. He was nearly to the street when he checked his hand. He thought he felt his fingers still wrapped around it, but when he looked he found them pressing against his palm with nothing inside.
Standing outside the large house, he began spitting curses under his breath, punching the air with his fists and stomping in the grass. He spun and swung his arms, cursing for an obvious reason but unable to figure out at what, exactly, he was cursing.
He re-entered the house and began examining the statuette again. He rolled his neck on his shoulders and smacked the statuette off its pillar, landing it on the carpet. He watched it for a minute, then closed his eyes. It was back on the pillar.
Rubbing his forehead, he removed his small flashlight and switched it on. He wondered about somebody seeing him in the window, but the room pointed at the river. He looked over the statuette and pillar as close as he could, and he discovered something: the top of the pillar was a separate piece, flat and wide like a chessboard. After a bit of working with his fingernails, he was able to separate it. He lifted the flat piece, with the statuette on top, and felt his heartbeat speed. Maybe?
He carried it carefully, balancing the statuette on top, and stood in the doorway he had originally entered. He took another step, and then he stood in the grass with his fingers wide and empty, as if carrying an invisible pizza box. His arms dropped to his sides.
A final, cursory check to make sure it was just where it had been before, and then he left the house. He had a meeting with Chauncey during the evening, and needed to get his rest. He also needed to spend a little bit of time figuring out what he was going to say at the meeting. He went home in a huff, having just spent the last hour unsuccessfully trying to steal a single item from a house, the owner of which couldn't even be bothered to lock the doors.
"I can't help but notice the statuette remains," Chauncey, a man somewhere between the ages of forty-five and fifty-five, said as he sat at the table across from Andrew. He was dressed in a white button-down shirt and dark pants, and he didn't look unhappy. "Care to explain why?"
"How do you know I don't have it?" Andrew said, keeping his composure. "You might be able to look in the window and see something's still there, but how do you know-"
Chauncey held up his hand. "I know because it was my house you 'broke into' last night. I was awake the whole time and tracking your progress. You could have been a little quieter, though I doubt if I had been asleep I would have woken up." Andrew stared with his mouth hanging open. "I'm sure this is a little confusing."
"Yeah, a little!"
"No need to raise your voice," Chauncey said. "It's true I am the actual target of last night's activities, but I would have been overjoyed if you had been able to removed the statuette from my home." He sat back and took up his drink. "As I'm sure you discovered, it doesn't like to be moved."
Andrew tried to figure out which question to ask first. "What is it?"
"An old piece of history from who knows where. The Mayans, the Persians, the Chinese. I don't care where it came from."
"So why won't-"
"I've tried to sell the thing a hundred times. I've dumped it into more oceans and landfills than I can count. I've hurled it from the tops of buildings and mountains. I threw it down from a plane into the middle of the Sahara. It comes back. It always comes back. It and the plate it sits upon. Did you discover that?" Andrew nodded. "They're two pieces of a set. Remove one and it reappears with its fellow. Remove them both and they appear in my possession again."
Andrew rubbed his head. "But-"
"It's all a mystery. I've asked everyone I can find about it. Scientists, archaeologists, theologians, crackpots with tin covering their heads. Nobody has a clue. Nobody has an answer. Well, the crackpots had an answer, but you know them. It's the lizard men or the Jews. Or both." Chauncey leaned back. "So what else am I to do besides pay people to try and steal it from me? You have a better suggestion, I expect?"
Andrew smacked his lips. "No?" he said.
"No. You are not even the first thief to lift the statuette from its home and find his hand empty." Andrew acted hurt, crossing his arms and pouting. "And yet you stayed at it longer than most. It sounded as if you were conducting experiments."
"You hired me to steal the statuette," Andrew said, shrugging. "I wasn't just going to give up after ten minutes. Hold on...so you made your home easy to break into, and easy to burgle, because you actually wanted it burgled?"
"Quite. Surely you found it strange there was nothing else worth stealing inside the house? I nearly put up a neon sign with a large arrow to shine in the night." The man sighed. "Well, you failed to successfully steal the statuette, but I can't exactly blame you, can I?" He brought out an envelope. "Your fee, as agreed."
"No, I want to try again."
Chauncey looked up, surprised. "Pardon?"
"You want that thing gone, right? Well, give me another chance! I'm not saying I don't want your money, I just want to give you your money's worth."
Chauncey inspected him, then nodded. "And they say no honor among thieves," he said, slipping the envelope away.
"My full name is Chauncey Legros," the man said as he drove Andrew back to his home. "I was born into money and found myself making more. I own a few companies, run a few charities, you know. I decided to get into collecting. Art pieces, paintings. Expensive chotchkies, really. I purchased a number of items, and found the statuette among them. I don't recall purchasing it, but it was interesting so I kept it. A few months later a friend of mine asked to purchase it and offered a handsome sum, especially since I had paid nothing for it. I had no reason to say no.
"Of course, after sealing the deal and seeing him off with it, I returned to find it looking back at me from where I had kept it. My friend discovered its disappearance it in due time, and so the mystery of the statuette became apparent to us both. We could do no more to dispense of it than you could last night."
"I must say, your English is very good."
"Thank you, I have worked hard. Soon after I began to look for any explanation for it, but found none. I have men in my employ hunting through Afghanistan bazaars, climbing South American mountains, and translating Latin texts, all to find a way to get rid of it."
"Err." Andrew cut in. "Why do you?"
Chauncey glanced at him. "I don't understand."
"Why do you want to get rid of it so badly?"
The man drove for a few seconds. "I suppose I left that part out, didn't I? Well, you may already know part of it. Did you feel eerie...watched, perhaps...when you came to steal it?"
"Well, yes, but I was just trying to figure out why it had been so easy to get inside. Usually big fancy houses like yours have a more comprehensive security system. Or any at all!"
Chauncey shook his head. "It is the statuette. It makes my skin crawl just looking at it. At first I just thought it was its strange appearance and visage, but no, it has an aura."
"A what?" Andrew asked. He knew what aura meant, but had no idea what Chauncey was talking about.
"I don't want it. It makes me feel as if it's inspecting my motions. My friend--the one who tried to purchase it--didn't want to keep it; he told me he thought he could get an even better deal from someone else. My visitors all say it unnerves them, made even worse by the fact it follows me around. Not all the time, of course, but it must reside where I spend my nights, even if that means a hotel or overnight flight." He closed his mouth. "It fills my dreams with black images. It makes any room in which it resides cold and gray Why do I want to get rid of it, you ask? Because I want to be happy. I want to dream again."
"If I had successfully stolen it from you, what would I have done with it?"
"Fed it to the pigs for all I care," Chauncey said out the side of his mouth as he pulled into his big house's big drive.
In just a few minutes Andrew was back in the room with the statuette. He wasn't one who went in with a lot of superstitious stuff, but he couldn't help feel a chill on his arms when inspecting it. Chauncey entered and handed him a glass of wine. "Only time you've been handed a glass of Pinot Noir while robbing a house I imagine!"
"By the person owning the house, at least. Thank you." He took a sip. "Have you tried destroying it?"
"Yes. I smashed it with a hammer. The pieces disappeared and the statuette, whole and unharmed, replaced it."
"Well, it's good you-"
"Then I blew it up with a grenade with the same result. I also imagine some of the falls it took when my goal was just to get rid of it could have done damage, but I didn't see it."
Andrew threw up his hands. "I don't see any angles to take. You might be stuck with this thing."
Chauncey's scowl leaped out. "No! It has taken over my waking hours ever since I came to possess it and I want it gone! Who could have thought something so small could drive a man crazy?!"
"Horton?"
Chauncey looked up at him. "You know...the Dr. Seuss book?" Andrew asked. "Horton?" He spread his hands when the Frenchman didn't respond. "Must have missed that one. Okay, so you want to get rid of it. I guess I can't blame you; it's creepy as hell."
Chauncey smacked the statuette with his hand, striking it against the wall. "In a moment it will reappear."
It did so. "Have you ever tried keeping your eyes on it for as long as possible?" Andrew asked, standing near where it had come to rest on the carpet.
"You lose focus eventually," Chauncey said. "You blink or forget what you're trying to do. you may not have even taken your eyes off of it, but you weren't seeing it and it took the chance to move back."
"Smartest statuette I've ever come across," Andrew said. "The top of the pillar, have you tried blocking it?"
"Blocking?"
"Covering it."
"In one manner or another, I'm sure. It's followed me all over the world."
"May I?" Andrew asked, gesturing at the pillar.
"Anything you want. If shooting it into the sun were the only way to get rid of it I would buy a rocket."
How much are those, usually?" Andrew asked, prying the flat piece from the pillar. He saw Chauncey shrug.
"I could afford it."
Andrew placed the flat piece the statuette was bound to face down on the carpet, then casually pushed the statuette over, turning around. He spun his finger in a circle, indicating Chauncey should do the same. When they looked, the statuette was standing upright on the bottom of the tablet, glaring at them, as if indicting them in a conspiracy. "Not too shocked by that," Andrew said. He thought for a moment. "All things considered, anyway."
He walked up to it. "How about this, then? Beat that, smart guy." He placed the tablet on its side, leaning it against the wall at an angle.
"What are you doing?" Chauncey asked. "This doesn't help us figure out how to get it away at all!"
"I'm just experimenting. If we can find some crack in its...I don't know, thinking...then maybe we can figure out a way to exploit it. Turn around again." Andrew joined Chauncey, who was staring at one of the pictures on the wall with a grimace. "You asked the person who 'sold' it to you?"
"He'd never seen it before. He had no idea what it was," Chauncey said as Andrew turned around again, and found the statuette balanced on top of the tablet, leaning against the wall. Andrew walked up to it.
He quickly went to the kitchen and got a large ladle. He propped one corner of the tablet up, and tried to balance the statuette on it. No matter what he did, the statuette rolled off onto the carpet. He nodded to himself and joined Chauncey again, whose frustration was a noticeable thing. After a final turn, they found the statuette balanced with perfect placement on the uneven corner of the tablet.
"I gotta take a picture of this," Andrew said.
"You see what I have to put up with?" Chauncey said. "I can't get rid of it, can't sell it, can't even make it look silly and reduce its ominous feeling!"
"You can't pack it in a crate and put it in a closet?" Andrew asked.
"I travel much. When I go somewhere else, it comes with me. The crate would remain where it is and I would find myself with a slate and statuette." Chauncey picked up the statuette. "What is it you want from me?" He looked it right in the eyes. "Do I have to feed you virgin blood? Pile gold at your feet?"
Andrew swallowed. He didn't like the tone of the other man's voice. "I don't suppose it came with instructions?" When Chauncey glared at him he shrugged. "Just trying to stay positive."
Chauncey let the statuette drop. He looked into one of the room's corners with a far-off expression. "A few times I have purchased something used, and it has not come with instructions, because the last person to own it lost them."
"So have I. It's a universal feeling."
"So what does one do? He goes to the last person to own it, and makes him tell you what he knows."
"But you said he didn't know anything about it." Andrew said. He wondered if he should take the chance to refill his host's wine glass.
"He must have lied." Chauncey began pacing. "He must have figured out some way to transfer the statuette's ownership to another, but couldn't risk telling me because I would just transfer it right back." He halted. "We're going to London."
"Wh-"
Two hours later, Andrew sat next to Chauncey, aboard the man's private jet. The statuette and its base were in a box in the plane's cargo. "So your pilot is just ready to go at any time?"
"It's why I pay him," Chauncey said, slouching in his seat. "Speaking of, consider yourself in my employ. If you can help me get rid of this accursed thing I'll reward you handsomely."
"You'd trust a thief that much?"
"I have a feeling you're a thief in the same way I'm an art collector."
"And how is that?"
"Because it's what expected of you," Chauncey said. Andrew looked ahead. "You happen to be good at it, but it wasn't your choice." He looked at Andrew. "I'm not prying. I don't want to pry. You did things you had to or needed to. I can't pretend to know much about your life--look at us, we're opposed at all places--but I know what it's like to be forced into something you don't like."
"I'm a good thief."
"And if you help me with this I'll make you the most famous one in the world." Chauncey pulled out a folder from his bag. "The man who sold me the statuette, or at least I think he did, is named Alister Fenwrey. He's an art dealer who works out of a warehouse."
"Can't say that seems very much on-the-level." Chauncey handed Andrew a number of sheets containing information on Fenwrey. "You know his address?!"
"I had no interest in buying stolen goods, so I had him fully vetted. He's well-respected in the community and has a spotless record, so far. I wonder if he'll be surprised to see me."
"The original purchase was for twenty items?" Andrew looked up from one of the sheets at Chauncey. "How come I didn't see anything else in your house?"
"I wanted the statuette stolen, but not anything else. I have a number of residences; the one you visited is just my stateside summer home. Most of what I own are in my London home, which is guarded." Chauncey flipped through a number of the items. "Here, look at this."
The man handed Andrew a file containing a number of pictures. One of them was of a crate full of packing material, such as one might use to transport fragile art, but nothing else. Another was of a crate containing both parts of the statuette, and the third was, Andrew suspected, a picture of all the items actually included in the bill of sale. A few paintings, a few pieces of crockery, a few sculptures. "He tried to pack it in two boxes?"
"So it seems. Yet another question to pose once we arrive." Chauncey reached up and flipped off the light over him. "Get some rest, it will help with the jet lag."
It was about noon when they disembarked, and Andrew had failed to get much sleep, leaving him yawning and gummy-eyed. Chauncey had him packed into a private car without giving him a chance to orient himself. He was hungry, but the Frenchman seemed driven enough to want to ignore any sound he or his stomach might make. The car took them away from Heathrow and then angled south, toward what Andrew understood to be London proper.
"I haven't been out of the country in a long time," Andrew said. "And I've never actually been to London."
"It's basically America," the Frenchman said. "A few words different, a few hand signals different. Don't get into any fights and accept a pint if someone buys one for you and you'll get along like une maison en fue."
"Sorry?"
"As long as nothing unexpected happens, we'll be too busy for any sightseeing."
"I'm in London, I might as well take a look around," Andrew said. "No sightseeing at all?"
"Perhaps."
Andrew looked out the window of the car and saw nothing exciting. As a New York native it was a common sight. "How long will it take to get to Fenwrey's?"
"Far too long for my taste," Chauncey answered, and the car fell into silence.
Andrew imagined Fenwrey's art warehouse far differently than it was in real life. When Chauncey said warehouse, he imagined metal racks, distant ceilings, and piles of Monet or Van Gogh at marked-down prices. In reality, the "warehouse" was a collection of rooms thronged with art in every corner. It may have been a proper warehouse once, but Alister Fenwrey made it his own. He made it his home, and a man is strongest in his home.
For this reason only Andrew saw Fenwrey open the door to his office, find Chauncey standing with his chest thrust out, and did not waver. "Well, isn't this a surprise! Mr. Legros! And..." Fenwrey peered around the Frenchman at Andrew. "I'm afraid we haven't met."
"This is my associate Andrew DePaulson. I have questions to be answered, Fenwrey, and I will not leave until they are." He lifted the statuette's box and opened it. "Do you remember this?"
The art dealer brought out a loupe and snaked his head toward the contents. "Ah. It's the piece you thought you'd purchased from me. Looking to sell? I have a number of similar pieces at the moment so I'm afraid the most I can offer is a pittance to what such items usually get."
"I know you know the item's secret, Fenwrey," Chauncey said, handing the box to Andrew and pushing Fenwrey back into his sparse office, containing only a laptop on a desk, a chair, a lamp, and a number of filing cabinets. "Or must I go into details on all the ways I have tried to rid myself of it?"
"I have no idea what you mean," Fenwrey said, adjusting his glasses.
"I believe you do. If you do not do as I ask-" Chauncey's fingers snapped toward Andrew, who jumped. "My associate may be forced to show why I employ him."
"Well, now, perhaps we can discuss a few things," Fenwrey said, glancing at Andrew. Andrew's cheeks burned as he realized what the Frenchman had just used him for. He wondered what Chauncey would have done if Fenwrey had called his bluff. "I admit it. The statuette and its base used to be in my possession...though I attempted to rid myself of it as quickly as possible. I'm sure you know why."
"Because it plants eggs in your mind?! Yes, I know why!" Chauncey thundered. "Because it keeps you from having a good night's sleep whenever it's near, and follows you across oceans, even though you might dump it into the trash? How, how did you transfer its ownership to me?"
"Mr. Legros, there is no reason to become angry. I discovered the way to transfer the statuette quiet by accident. I was like you, buried under its pressure and unable to do myself away with it, even given for free."
Andrew found his voice. "Mr. Legros tried to get me to steal it." Chauncey glared at him. "It didn't work."
"Risky. But no, there's only one way for the statuette to be transferred from one person to another: the person must pay money for it without knowing of it. You paid me for it, though you had no idea, and accepted it as your own."
"So you lied to me!"
"That's one way of putting it."
"One way of putting it?!" Chauncey sputtered. "You told me you had never seen it before! You saddled me with three years of nightmares and depression!"
"Oh, three years?" Fenwrey said suddenly, eyes growing wide. "Do you know how long I had it? How long it sat in my house? Two decades! Twenty years!" Chauncey rocked backwards, his anger draining away. "The night after you took it as your own was the first good night of sleep I'd had in years. Years. And, unlike you, I didn't have the option of going to the person who had pawned it off on me, because it could have been any thousand of deliveries over a period of months. So, yes, I lied to you, because I was at my wits end. Can you not sympathize? You've had it three years and you were moments from setting a thug on me!"
"I'm not a thug!" Andrew said.
The other two men looked at him. "Now you know everything I know, and knew," Fenwrey continued to Chauncey. "Excuse yourself now. I'm not going to buy anything from you and the only way to transfer it is for the person to be unknowledgeable about the item." He waved his hand to dismiss them. "I'm a busy man and I have much to do."
"Our solution is simple," Chauncey said when they were back in his car. It sat idle on the road. "I simple sell off a number of items at the cheap and pack the statuette inside. If they ask I tell them the story. I have no other choice."
"I won't let you."
Chauncey whipped his head around at Andrew, confused. "What did you say?"
"I won't let you pawn it off on anybody. It'll just continue to spread bad dreams."
"Wh-wh-why not?" Chauncey said, affronted. "Why? Why?"
"You brought me along just so you could use me to threaten Fenwrey. Is that the only reason? You brought the big black man to London just so he could look intimidating?"
"Andrew, I'm hurt. To think I would do such a thing-"
"I thought you did such a thing. It seemed pretty obvious to me."
Chauncey took a breath. "I'm hungry." He tapped the glass, which lowered. "Find somewhere we can eat," he told the driver, who got the car rolling.
"You're right," the Frenchman said after a few minutes. "I should have at least told you what I meant to do. You are an intelligent man and you may have found an easier way to deal with the situation. Yes, I used your race as a tool. Yes, I indicated you should be feared to Fenwrey. I apologize. Please, Andrew, understand. I told you I was awake while you were trying to steal the statuette. It isn't because I wanted to see what you would do--it's because it barely lets me sleep. A few hours a night, maybe. Some nights not at all. I used to be married."
Andrew barely kept up with the sudden switch in topic, then realized there was no switch. "It drove her mad. She had nothing but nightmares. It drove her away from me when she realized she would be fine as long as she didn't live with me anymore. She left me and told me to stay away until I could get rid of it." Chauncey looked out the window. "So it's become my duty."
Andrew kept silent. He knew he had a reason to be angry but it did not seem so big anymore. "I agree; the statuette should cause no more pain to anyone. You're a smart man, Andrew, so I ask you to put your intelligence to use helping me find a way. My offer still stands: help me get rid of it, and I make you a rich man. All the money in the world isn't worth being separated from my wife." Chauncey tapped on the glass. "Stop here," he told the driver. He looked at Andrew. "Ever had a kebab?"
A few minutes later they sat on a bench next to each other, watching the cars pass and trying to keep their meals from spilling onto their clothes. When Andrew had smelled the grilling lamb of the kebab stand his hunger had announced its waiting presence, and he eagerly accepted the greasy packet.
But while he ate, he thought about Chauncey's plea. "I'll help you as long as we try and find a way to keep the statuette from harming anyone else," he said, mouth half-full of peppers.
"Agreed," Chauncey said. "I'm not ready to give my pain to someone else." He paused. "But what other options are there?"
"What if you sold it to someone but then never delivered it?"
Chauncey shook his head. "You heard Fenwrey. The person has to accept ownership of it; otherwise it will just stay with me."
The continued passing ideas back and forth; the ideas became more and more far-flung, including tricking the statuette into believing it had been sold when it actually had not.
"What if we cannot find a way." Chauncey bent forward, elbows on his knees. "What if the only way to rid me of the pain is to forward it to someone else?"
"Why would somebody make something like that?" Andrew asked. "You talked to archeologists, right? Did any of them know where it came from?"
Chauncey shrugged and shook his head. "Like I said. Persia, South America, Philippines. I asked three experts and all three said different places."
"You'd think a piece like that would fetch a nice price." Andrew leaned back against the bench, then shot upright.
"It's definitely an interesting idea," Chauncey said. There were back in the car, and Andrew had just explained his thought. "I'd certainly never tried it. What if it must be a person?"
"You'll find out soon enough. No harm done, right? Even if it doesn't work it goes back to you and we just try something else," Andrew said.
"It seems to be. But where to try? Somewhere nearby" He tapped the glass and it lowered. "The National Gallery."
The driver took the car onto the road and deeper into London. The Themes was shimmering with the afternoon sun when they finally reach the large stone building. They had worked out their plan before hand.
"You know, this is the first time I've ever been hired to sneak something into a museum," Andrew mentioned. Chauncey was inspecting a list on his cell phone.
"Okay, I have the items," the Frenchman said. "Come."
"No using me to threaten people."
"Fine. No adding information unless I ask you for it."
"Fine."
Chauncey's name was able to get them into a meeting with one of the curators of the museum, who seated them in an office after a stunning walk through part of the museum's interior. "Mr. Legros, a pleasure. I am Samuel Mayhew. And this is?"
"My associate, Andrew DePaulson. He assists me with my art purchases."
"Mr. Legros has found the art world tiresome," Andrew said. "It drains too much of his time and energy. He does not dislike the art-"
"-It simply isn't for me," Chauncey finished. "I'm interested in getting rid of a number of items for, I think you'll find, extraordinarily reasonable prices. I have no need for extra coins to line my coffers, but I am a businessman and must look to the bottom line." He smiled and handed his phone to the curator, which portrayed a list of paintings and other pieces with their asking price.
"Reasonable indeed," Mayhew said, appearing taken aback. "Excuse me a moment." He took up his own phone and made a call, speaking quickly about the items offered. "We have a few we will certainly take, and a number still I must speak to the head curator about. May we contact you tomorrow?"
"Yes. I will be staying in London. All of the pieces you see are here and I can have them to you in a day," Chauncey said.
"Superb." Mayhew saw them out, and once he was out of sight Chauncey bent double.
Andrew ran to him, thinking he would be sick, but when he got close he realized the man had a wide smile on his face. "It might work. It might work, Andrew! You might have done it! You figured out a way to transfer ownership of the statuette to something that has no feelings! Nobody owns it but the museum itself!" He looked at Andrew. "My boy, I am going to shower you in money."
"We don't even know if it will work yet," Andrew said.
"It will, it will. I can tell. I can feel it. Andrew, I'll be able to dream again."
"I was at the bar last night," Andrew said, leaning back. "Drinking my cares away. A man kinda comes out of nowhere and drops down across from me, carrying a cocktail. He places it in front of me and takes a sip of his own. Of course I ain't drinking anything unless I know what's in it, and he tells me it's an Old Pal. He takes a sip from my glass as well to prove it's on the level."
"I've had an Old Pal before."
"Not bad, I say." Andrew shifted. "He introduces himself as Chauncey. French guy. A little older, maybe in his forties or fifties. Anyway, he says he heard about me from Hambone as someone who can absolutely without a doubt get items away from where they normally lay."
"Can't argue," Tinny said.
"He tells me a rival of his stays in town during the summer, and has a special item he'd like me to lift." Andrew produced a slip from his jacket. "It's a little statuette. Of course I intend to take a few choice pieces for myself."
"Of course."
"I'm going tomorrow night. Chauncey says the guy practically leaves the door wide open at night. Should be an easy job."
Tinny nodded and lifted his bottle. "Here's to you then." Andrew clinked it with his own.
After a few hours of watching the large house near the river, he decided it was probably empty, save for the sleeping owner. The housekeeper had left hours ago, and no motion, sound, or light had been seen since. He strutted across the street.
True to Chauncey's word, the side door was unlocked. Andrew heard no guard dog, there was no security system, and he heard nothing but heavy ticks of a clock. He took a cautious step, and the floor didn't even creak under his shoe. Easiest job I've ever had, he thought.
The item in question was easy to find, since it was in the middle of the first room he came upon. When he saw it, his stomach tightened. In fact, it's too easy. He spun his head, checking for camera hiding places, anywhere a man with a gun might occupy a shadow. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.
Yet, for his wariness, there was no way this could be anything more than a horribly-defended house of treasures. The statuette stood on a waist-high pillar in the middle of the room. An uncurtained window provided light into every corner, and other than a few pictures, there was nothing a camera could possibly hide behind. Taking slow, careful steps, he went up next to the statuette. It looked made of dark rock, with small gems in the eyes. It made an ugly grimace at him as he picked it--the pillar it sat on seemed to be made of the same material. He noted it was light and perfectly balanced as he slipped it into a pocket.
He toured around the rest of the house, looking for items to add to his personal stash. His every sense was looking for the catch, the trap. He still expected something to come rushing around the corner at him, but nothing did. More depressingly, every other room seemed clean of anything worth stealing unless he wanted to fence kitchen utensils. Like the place has been picked clean before I got here, but if that were the case somebody would have taken the statuette.
He found himself standing in the middle of a hallway, trying to figure out why he was so unnerved. An unlocked door. No security. The perfect place to steal something from, but the only thing worth stealing is presented immediately and there's nothing else at all. His heart pounded. I just need to get out of here. I have the statuette, so- he patted his pocket and found it empty.
He rummaged in the pocket frantically, hunting for the statuette or a hole it could have fallen out. He found nothing, as if the item had turned to dust. He started retracing his steps. Maybe I just didn't get it into the pocket in the first place. He wound his way through the large house until making it back to the room in which he'd found the statuette. It stood on its pillar and leered at him with its gem eyes.
He rolled his shoulders. I must have just put it back without thinking. This place is giving me the willies. He picked it up and placed it in his pocket, taking measures to ensure it was secure. He got all the way to the room's door when he took a look back and found it on its pedestal again, with his pocket empty.
He bent down in front of it, eyeing it. Its eternal grimace never wavered. He picked it up and gazed at the empty pillar. He looked at the statuette in his hand. He looked at the empty pillar. He looked at his empty hand. He looked at the statuette on the pillar.
He pinched the bridge of his nose and stared at the lush carpet under his feet.
He lifted it up and took slow steps away from the pillar, trying to keep his eyes on both. He blinked, and even though his eyes had been closed for only a third of a second, the statuette was able to appear across the room by the time he opened his eyes.
He almost yelled at it, but clamped a gloved hand over his mouth just in time. HOW? he thought, vision rattling.
He checked all angles of the item, looking for electronic devices or wires it might use to dash back to its home. He waved his hands around it, wondering if it was just a very real holograph and he was being fooled.
He picked it up and put it back down. He fetched a salt shaker from the kitchen he thought was about the same weight, quickly replacing the statuette with it. When he looked to see if he'd been successful, the statuette had pushed the shaker out of the center of the pillar, leaving his hand empty.
Next he tried scooping it off the pillar with a sauce pan and clapping the lid over it as quickly as he could, looking around with wide eyes as the loud sound filled the room. Nothing appeared, and he bounced the saucepan, listening to the statuette clatter inside. He continued rattling it until the sound vanished, prompting him to glance at the pillar.
He checked inside the saucepan just to be certain, and, finding it empty, he returned it and the shaker to the kitchen.
I am a good thief because I don't give up, he told himself, standing in the kitchen. Chrome covered counter tops, walls, and appliances. Clearly I am dealing with something a little bit out of my comfort zone, but that just gives me a better opportunity to expand it.
Back in the statuette's bare room, he crouched in front of it. The dark piece's grin mocked him, and its small jeweled eyes reflected the light coming in the window. He lifted the statuette off its pillar, then replaced it. He removed it and held it close, then put it back. He hefted it, feeling its negligible weight, then centered it in its pillar, turning it this way and that so it faced the different walls of the room. He turned it on its head, and found it could balance easily even though the top wasn't flat. He spent a few minutes staring at the inverted item. Upside down, the face looked more comical than before.
He grabbed it and ran, reaching the side door he had entered from in a manner of seconds. He was nearly to the street when he checked his hand. He thought he felt his fingers still wrapped around it, but when he looked he found them pressing against his palm with nothing inside.
Standing outside the large house, he began spitting curses under his breath, punching the air with his fists and stomping in the grass. He spun and swung his arms, cursing for an obvious reason but unable to figure out at what, exactly, he was cursing.
He re-entered the house and began examining the statuette again. He rolled his neck on his shoulders and smacked the statuette off its pillar, landing it on the carpet. He watched it for a minute, then closed his eyes. It was back on the pillar.
Rubbing his forehead, he removed his small flashlight and switched it on. He wondered about somebody seeing him in the window, but the room pointed at the river. He looked over the statuette and pillar as close as he could, and he discovered something: the top of the pillar was a separate piece, flat and wide like a chessboard. After a bit of working with his fingernails, he was able to separate it. He lifted the flat piece, with the statuette on top, and felt his heartbeat speed. Maybe?
He carried it carefully, balancing the statuette on top, and stood in the doorway he had originally entered. He took another step, and then he stood in the grass with his fingers wide and empty, as if carrying an invisible pizza box. His arms dropped to his sides.
A final, cursory check to make sure it was just where it had been before, and then he left the house. He had a meeting with Chauncey during the evening, and needed to get his rest. He also needed to spend a little bit of time figuring out what he was going to say at the meeting. He went home in a huff, having just spent the last hour unsuccessfully trying to steal a single item from a house, the owner of which couldn't even be bothered to lock the doors.
"I can't help but notice the statuette remains," Chauncey, a man somewhere between the ages of forty-five and fifty-five, said as he sat at the table across from Andrew. He was dressed in a white button-down shirt and dark pants, and he didn't look unhappy. "Care to explain why?"
"How do you know I don't have it?" Andrew said, keeping his composure. "You might be able to look in the window and see something's still there, but how do you know-"
Chauncey held up his hand. "I know because it was my house you 'broke into' last night. I was awake the whole time and tracking your progress. You could have been a little quieter, though I doubt if I had been asleep I would have woken up." Andrew stared with his mouth hanging open. "I'm sure this is a little confusing."
"Yeah, a little!"
"No need to raise your voice," Chauncey said. "It's true I am the actual target of last night's activities, but I would have been overjoyed if you had been able to removed the statuette from my home." He sat back and took up his drink. "As I'm sure you discovered, it doesn't like to be moved."
Andrew tried to figure out which question to ask first. "What is it?"
"An old piece of history from who knows where. The Mayans, the Persians, the Chinese. I don't care where it came from."
"So why won't-"
"I've tried to sell the thing a hundred times. I've dumped it into more oceans and landfills than I can count. I've hurled it from the tops of buildings and mountains. I threw it down from a plane into the middle of the Sahara. It comes back. It always comes back. It and the plate it sits upon. Did you discover that?" Andrew nodded. "They're two pieces of a set. Remove one and it reappears with its fellow. Remove them both and they appear in my possession again."
Andrew rubbed his head. "But-"
"It's all a mystery. I've asked everyone I can find about it. Scientists, archaeologists, theologians, crackpots with tin covering their heads. Nobody has a clue. Nobody has an answer. Well, the crackpots had an answer, but you know them. It's the lizard men or the Jews. Or both." Chauncey leaned back. "So what else am I to do besides pay people to try and steal it from me? You have a better suggestion, I expect?"
Andrew smacked his lips. "No?" he said.
"No. You are not even the first thief to lift the statuette from its home and find his hand empty." Andrew acted hurt, crossing his arms and pouting. "And yet you stayed at it longer than most. It sounded as if you were conducting experiments."
"You hired me to steal the statuette," Andrew said, shrugging. "I wasn't just going to give up after ten minutes. Hold on...so you made your home easy to break into, and easy to burgle, because you actually wanted it burgled?"
"Quite. Surely you found it strange there was nothing else worth stealing inside the house? I nearly put up a neon sign with a large arrow to shine in the night." The man sighed. "Well, you failed to successfully steal the statuette, but I can't exactly blame you, can I?" He brought out an envelope. "Your fee, as agreed."
"No, I want to try again."
Chauncey looked up, surprised. "Pardon?"
"You want that thing gone, right? Well, give me another chance! I'm not saying I don't want your money, I just want to give you your money's worth."
Chauncey inspected him, then nodded. "And they say no honor among thieves," he said, slipping the envelope away.
"My full name is Chauncey Legros," the man said as he drove Andrew back to his home. "I was born into money and found myself making more. I own a few companies, run a few charities, you know. I decided to get into collecting. Art pieces, paintings. Expensive chotchkies, really. I purchased a number of items, and found the statuette among them. I don't recall purchasing it, but it was interesting so I kept it. A few months later a friend of mine asked to purchase it and offered a handsome sum, especially since I had paid nothing for it. I had no reason to say no.
"Of course, after sealing the deal and seeing him off with it, I returned to find it looking back at me from where I had kept it. My friend discovered its disappearance it in due time, and so the mystery of the statuette became apparent to us both. We could do no more to dispense of it than you could last night."
"I must say, your English is very good."
"Thank you, I have worked hard. Soon after I began to look for any explanation for it, but found none. I have men in my employ hunting through Afghanistan bazaars, climbing South American mountains, and translating Latin texts, all to find a way to get rid of it."
"Err." Andrew cut in. "Why do you?"
Chauncey glanced at him. "I don't understand."
"Why do you want to get rid of it so badly?"
The man drove for a few seconds. "I suppose I left that part out, didn't I? Well, you may already know part of it. Did you feel eerie...watched, perhaps...when you came to steal it?"
"Well, yes, but I was just trying to figure out why it had been so easy to get inside. Usually big fancy houses like yours have a more comprehensive security system. Or any at all!"
Chauncey shook his head. "It is the statuette. It makes my skin crawl just looking at it. At first I just thought it was its strange appearance and visage, but no, it has an aura."
"A what?" Andrew asked. He knew what aura meant, but had no idea what Chauncey was talking about.
"I don't want it. It makes me feel as if it's inspecting my motions. My friend--the one who tried to purchase it--didn't want to keep it; he told me he thought he could get an even better deal from someone else. My visitors all say it unnerves them, made even worse by the fact it follows me around. Not all the time, of course, but it must reside where I spend my nights, even if that means a hotel or overnight flight." He closed his mouth. "It fills my dreams with black images. It makes any room in which it resides cold and gray Why do I want to get rid of it, you ask? Because I want to be happy. I want to dream again."
"If I had successfully stolen it from you, what would I have done with it?"
"Fed it to the pigs for all I care," Chauncey said out the side of his mouth as he pulled into his big house's big drive.
In just a few minutes Andrew was back in the room with the statuette. He wasn't one who went in with a lot of superstitious stuff, but he couldn't help feel a chill on his arms when inspecting it. Chauncey entered and handed him a glass of wine. "Only time you've been handed a glass of Pinot Noir while robbing a house I imagine!"
"By the person owning the house, at least. Thank you." He took a sip. "Have you tried destroying it?"
"Yes. I smashed it with a hammer. The pieces disappeared and the statuette, whole and unharmed, replaced it."
"Well, it's good you-"
"Then I blew it up with a grenade with the same result. I also imagine some of the falls it took when my goal was just to get rid of it could have done damage, but I didn't see it."
Andrew threw up his hands. "I don't see any angles to take. You might be stuck with this thing."
Chauncey's scowl leaped out. "No! It has taken over my waking hours ever since I came to possess it and I want it gone! Who could have thought something so small could drive a man crazy?!"
"Horton?"
Chauncey looked up at him. "You know...the Dr. Seuss book?" Andrew asked. "Horton?" He spread his hands when the Frenchman didn't respond. "Must have missed that one. Okay, so you want to get rid of it. I guess I can't blame you; it's creepy as hell."
Chauncey smacked the statuette with his hand, striking it against the wall. "In a moment it will reappear."
It did so. "Have you ever tried keeping your eyes on it for as long as possible?" Andrew asked, standing near where it had come to rest on the carpet.
"You lose focus eventually," Chauncey said. "You blink or forget what you're trying to do. you may not have even taken your eyes off of it, but you weren't seeing it and it took the chance to move back."
"Smartest statuette I've ever come across," Andrew said. "The top of the pillar, have you tried blocking it?"
"Blocking?"
"Covering it."
"In one manner or another, I'm sure. It's followed me all over the world."
"May I?" Andrew asked, gesturing at the pillar.
"Anything you want. If shooting it into the sun were the only way to get rid of it I would buy a rocket."
How much are those, usually?" Andrew asked, prying the flat piece from the pillar. He saw Chauncey shrug.
"I could afford it."
Andrew placed the flat piece the statuette was bound to face down on the carpet, then casually pushed the statuette over, turning around. He spun his finger in a circle, indicating Chauncey should do the same. When they looked, the statuette was standing upright on the bottom of the tablet, glaring at them, as if indicting them in a conspiracy. "Not too shocked by that," Andrew said. He thought for a moment. "All things considered, anyway."
He walked up to it. "How about this, then? Beat that, smart guy." He placed the tablet on its side, leaning it against the wall at an angle.
"What are you doing?" Chauncey asked. "This doesn't help us figure out how to get it away at all!"
"I'm just experimenting. If we can find some crack in its...I don't know, thinking...then maybe we can figure out a way to exploit it. Turn around again." Andrew joined Chauncey, who was staring at one of the pictures on the wall with a grimace. "You asked the person who 'sold' it to you?"
"He'd never seen it before. He had no idea what it was," Chauncey said as Andrew turned around again, and found the statuette balanced on top of the tablet, leaning against the wall. Andrew walked up to it.
He quickly went to the kitchen and got a large ladle. He propped one corner of the tablet up, and tried to balance the statuette on it. No matter what he did, the statuette rolled off onto the carpet. He nodded to himself and joined Chauncey again, whose frustration was a noticeable thing. After a final turn, they found the statuette balanced with perfect placement on the uneven corner of the tablet.
"I gotta take a picture of this," Andrew said.
"You see what I have to put up with?" Chauncey said. "I can't get rid of it, can't sell it, can't even make it look silly and reduce its ominous feeling!"
"You can't pack it in a crate and put it in a closet?" Andrew asked.
"I travel much. When I go somewhere else, it comes with me. The crate would remain where it is and I would find myself with a slate and statuette." Chauncey picked up the statuette. "What is it you want from me?" He looked it right in the eyes. "Do I have to feed you virgin blood? Pile gold at your feet?"
Andrew swallowed. He didn't like the tone of the other man's voice. "I don't suppose it came with instructions?" When Chauncey glared at him he shrugged. "Just trying to stay positive."
Chauncey let the statuette drop. He looked into one of the room's corners with a far-off expression. "A few times I have purchased something used, and it has not come with instructions, because the last person to own it lost them."
"So have I. It's a universal feeling."
"So what does one do? He goes to the last person to own it, and makes him tell you what he knows."
"But you said he didn't know anything about it." Andrew said. He wondered if he should take the chance to refill his host's wine glass.
"He must have lied." Chauncey began pacing. "He must have figured out some way to transfer the statuette's ownership to another, but couldn't risk telling me because I would just transfer it right back." He halted. "We're going to London."
"Wh-"
Two hours later, Andrew sat next to Chauncey, aboard the man's private jet. The statuette and its base were in a box in the plane's cargo. "So your pilot is just ready to go at any time?"
"It's why I pay him," Chauncey said, slouching in his seat. "Speaking of, consider yourself in my employ. If you can help me get rid of this accursed thing I'll reward you handsomely."
"You'd trust a thief that much?"
"I have a feeling you're a thief in the same way I'm an art collector."
"And how is that?"
"Because it's what expected of you," Chauncey said. Andrew looked ahead. "You happen to be good at it, but it wasn't your choice." He looked at Andrew. "I'm not prying. I don't want to pry. You did things you had to or needed to. I can't pretend to know much about your life--look at us, we're opposed at all places--but I know what it's like to be forced into something you don't like."
"I'm a good thief."
"And if you help me with this I'll make you the most famous one in the world." Chauncey pulled out a folder from his bag. "The man who sold me the statuette, or at least I think he did, is named Alister Fenwrey. He's an art dealer who works out of a warehouse."
"Can't say that seems very much on-the-level." Chauncey handed Andrew a number of sheets containing information on Fenwrey. "You know his address?!"
"I had no interest in buying stolen goods, so I had him fully vetted. He's well-respected in the community and has a spotless record, so far. I wonder if he'll be surprised to see me."
"The original purchase was for twenty items?" Andrew looked up from one of the sheets at Chauncey. "How come I didn't see anything else in your house?"
"I wanted the statuette stolen, but not anything else. I have a number of residences; the one you visited is just my stateside summer home. Most of what I own are in my London home, which is guarded." Chauncey flipped through a number of the items. "Here, look at this."
The man handed Andrew a file containing a number of pictures. One of them was of a crate full of packing material, such as one might use to transport fragile art, but nothing else. Another was of a crate containing both parts of the statuette, and the third was, Andrew suspected, a picture of all the items actually included in the bill of sale. A few paintings, a few pieces of crockery, a few sculptures. "He tried to pack it in two boxes?"
"So it seems. Yet another question to pose once we arrive." Chauncey reached up and flipped off the light over him. "Get some rest, it will help with the jet lag."
It was about noon when they disembarked, and Andrew had failed to get much sleep, leaving him yawning and gummy-eyed. Chauncey had him packed into a private car without giving him a chance to orient himself. He was hungry, but the Frenchman seemed driven enough to want to ignore any sound he or his stomach might make. The car took them away from Heathrow and then angled south, toward what Andrew understood to be London proper.
"I haven't been out of the country in a long time," Andrew said. "And I've never actually been to London."
"It's basically America," the Frenchman said. "A few words different, a few hand signals different. Don't get into any fights and accept a pint if someone buys one for you and you'll get along like une maison en fue."
"Sorry?"
"As long as nothing unexpected happens, we'll be too busy for any sightseeing."
"I'm in London, I might as well take a look around," Andrew said. "No sightseeing at all?"
"Perhaps."
Andrew looked out the window of the car and saw nothing exciting. As a New York native it was a common sight. "How long will it take to get to Fenwrey's?"
"Far too long for my taste," Chauncey answered, and the car fell into silence.
Andrew imagined Fenwrey's art warehouse far differently than it was in real life. When Chauncey said warehouse, he imagined metal racks, distant ceilings, and piles of Monet or Van Gogh at marked-down prices. In reality, the "warehouse" was a collection of rooms thronged with art in every corner. It may have been a proper warehouse once, but Alister Fenwrey made it his own. He made it his home, and a man is strongest in his home.
For this reason only Andrew saw Fenwrey open the door to his office, find Chauncey standing with his chest thrust out, and did not waver. "Well, isn't this a surprise! Mr. Legros! And..." Fenwrey peered around the Frenchman at Andrew. "I'm afraid we haven't met."
"This is my associate Andrew DePaulson. I have questions to be answered, Fenwrey, and I will not leave until they are." He lifted the statuette's box and opened it. "Do you remember this?"
The art dealer brought out a loupe and snaked his head toward the contents. "Ah. It's the piece you thought you'd purchased from me. Looking to sell? I have a number of similar pieces at the moment so I'm afraid the most I can offer is a pittance to what such items usually get."
"I know you know the item's secret, Fenwrey," Chauncey said, handing the box to Andrew and pushing Fenwrey back into his sparse office, containing only a laptop on a desk, a chair, a lamp, and a number of filing cabinets. "Or must I go into details on all the ways I have tried to rid myself of it?"
"I have no idea what you mean," Fenwrey said, adjusting his glasses.
"I believe you do. If you do not do as I ask-" Chauncey's fingers snapped toward Andrew, who jumped. "My associate may be forced to show why I employ him."
"Well, now, perhaps we can discuss a few things," Fenwrey said, glancing at Andrew. Andrew's cheeks burned as he realized what the Frenchman had just used him for. He wondered what Chauncey would have done if Fenwrey had called his bluff. "I admit it. The statuette and its base used to be in my possession...though I attempted to rid myself of it as quickly as possible. I'm sure you know why."
"Because it plants eggs in your mind?! Yes, I know why!" Chauncey thundered. "Because it keeps you from having a good night's sleep whenever it's near, and follows you across oceans, even though you might dump it into the trash? How, how did you transfer its ownership to me?"
"Mr. Legros, there is no reason to become angry. I discovered the way to transfer the statuette quiet by accident. I was like you, buried under its pressure and unable to do myself away with it, even given for free."
Andrew found his voice. "Mr. Legros tried to get me to steal it." Chauncey glared at him. "It didn't work."
"Risky. But no, there's only one way for the statuette to be transferred from one person to another: the person must pay money for it without knowing of it. You paid me for it, though you had no idea, and accepted it as your own."
"So you lied to me!"
"That's one way of putting it."
"One way of putting it?!" Chauncey sputtered. "You told me you had never seen it before! You saddled me with three years of nightmares and depression!"
"Oh, three years?" Fenwrey said suddenly, eyes growing wide. "Do you know how long I had it? How long it sat in my house? Two decades! Twenty years!" Chauncey rocked backwards, his anger draining away. "The night after you took it as your own was the first good night of sleep I'd had in years. Years. And, unlike you, I didn't have the option of going to the person who had pawned it off on me, because it could have been any thousand of deliveries over a period of months. So, yes, I lied to you, because I was at my wits end. Can you not sympathize? You've had it three years and you were moments from setting a thug on me!"
"I'm not a thug!" Andrew said.
The other two men looked at him. "Now you know everything I know, and knew," Fenwrey continued to Chauncey. "Excuse yourself now. I'm not going to buy anything from you and the only way to transfer it is for the person to be unknowledgeable about the item." He waved his hand to dismiss them. "I'm a busy man and I have much to do."
"Our solution is simple," Chauncey said when they were back in his car. It sat idle on the road. "I simple sell off a number of items at the cheap and pack the statuette inside. If they ask I tell them the story. I have no other choice."
"I won't let you."
Chauncey whipped his head around at Andrew, confused. "What did you say?"
"I won't let you pawn it off on anybody. It'll just continue to spread bad dreams."
"Wh-wh-why not?" Chauncey said, affronted. "Why? Why?"
"You brought me along just so you could use me to threaten Fenwrey. Is that the only reason? You brought the big black man to London just so he could look intimidating?"
"Andrew, I'm hurt. To think I would do such a thing-"
"I thought you did such a thing. It seemed pretty obvious to me."
Chauncey took a breath. "I'm hungry." He tapped the glass, which lowered. "Find somewhere we can eat," he told the driver, who got the car rolling.
"You're right," the Frenchman said after a few minutes. "I should have at least told you what I meant to do. You are an intelligent man and you may have found an easier way to deal with the situation. Yes, I used your race as a tool. Yes, I indicated you should be feared to Fenwrey. I apologize. Please, Andrew, understand. I told you I was awake while you were trying to steal the statuette. It isn't because I wanted to see what you would do--it's because it barely lets me sleep. A few hours a night, maybe. Some nights not at all. I used to be married."
Andrew barely kept up with the sudden switch in topic, then realized there was no switch. "It drove her mad. She had nothing but nightmares. It drove her away from me when she realized she would be fine as long as she didn't live with me anymore. She left me and told me to stay away until I could get rid of it." Chauncey looked out the window. "So it's become my duty."
Andrew kept silent. He knew he had a reason to be angry but it did not seem so big anymore. "I agree; the statuette should cause no more pain to anyone. You're a smart man, Andrew, so I ask you to put your intelligence to use helping me find a way. My offer still stands: help me get rid of it, and I make you a rich man. All the money in the world isn't worth being separated from my wife." Chauncey tapped on the glass. "Stop here," he told the driver. He looked at Andrew. "Ever had a kebab?"
A few minutes later they sat on a bench next to each other, watching the cars pass and trying to keep their meals from spilling onto their clothes. When Andrew had smelled the grilling lamb of the kebab stand his hunger had announced its waiting presence, and he eagerly accepted the greasy packet.
But while he ate, he thought about Chauncey's plea. "I'll help you as long as we try and find a way to keep the statuette from harming anyone else," he said, mouth half-full of peppers.
"Agreed," Chauncey said. "I'm not ready to give my pain to someone else." He paused. "But what other options are there?"
"What if you sold it to someone but then never delivered it?"
Chauncey shook his head. "You heard Fenwrey. The person has to accept ownership of it; otherwise it will just stay with me."
The continued passing ideas back and forth; the ideas became more and more far-flung, including tricking the statuette into believing it had been sold when it actually had not.
"What if we cannot find a way." Chauncey bent forward, elbows on his knees. "What if the only way to rid me of the pain is to forward it to someone else?"
"Why would somebody make something like that?" Andrew asked. "You talked to archeologists, right? Did any of them know where it came from?"
Chauncey shrugged and shook his head. "Like I said. Persia, South America, Philippines. I asked three experts and all three said different places."
"You'd think a piece like that would fetch a nice price." Andrew leaned back against the bench, then shot upright.
"It's definitely an interesting idea," Chauncey said. There were back in the car, and Andrew had just explained his thought. "I'd certainly never tried it. What if it must be a person?"
"You'll find out soon enough. No harm done, right? Even if it doesn't work it goes back to you and we just try something else," Andrew said.
"It seems to be. But where to try? Somewhere nearby" He tapped the glass and it lowered. "The National Gallery."
The driver took the car onto the road and deeper into London. The Themes was shimmering with the afternoon sun when they finally reach the large stone building. They had worked out their plan before hand.
"You know, this is the first time I've ever been hired to sneak something into a museum," Andrew mentioned. Chauncey was inspecting a list on his cell phone.
"Okay, I have the items," the Frenchman said. "Come."
"No using me to threaten people."
"Fine. No adding information unless I ask you for it."
"Fine."
Chauncey's name was able to get them into a meeting with one of the curators of the museum, who seated them in an office after a stunning walk through part of the museum's interior. "Mr. Legros, a pleasure. I am Samuel Mayhew. And this is?"
"My associate, Andrew DePaulson. He assists me with my art purchases."
"Mr. Legros has found the art world tiresome," Andrew said. "It drains too much of his time and energy. He does not dislike the art-"
"-It simply isn't for me," Chauncey finished. "I'm interested in getting rid of a number of items for, I think you'll find, extraordinarily reasonable prices. I have no need for extra coins to line my coffers, but I am a businessman and must look to the bottom line." He smiled and handed his phone to the curator, which portrayed a list of paintings and other pieces with their asking price.
"Reasonable indeed," Mayhew said, appearing taken aback. "Excuse me a moment." He took up his own phone and made a call, speaking quickly about the items offered. "We have a few we will certainly take, and a number still I must speak to the head curator about. May we contact you tomorrow?"
"Yes. I will be staying in London. All of the pieces you see are here and I can have them to you in a day," Chauncey said.
"Superb." Mayhew saw them out, and once he was out of sight Chauncey bent double.
Andrew ran to him, thinking he would be sick, but when he got close he realized the man had a wide smile on his face. "It might work. It might work, Andrew! You might have done it! You figured out a way to transfer ownership of the statuette to something that has no feelings! Nobody owns it but the museum itself!" He looked at Andrew. "My boy, I am going to shower you in money."
"We don't even know if it will work yet," Andrew said.
"It will, it will. I can tell. I can feel it. Andrew, I'll be able to dream again."