“That’s a hell of a chunk of money,” he said. “This must be some painting.”
“It has a lot of sentimental value to its owner.”
Brunetti nodded. He was waiting for me to continue. I didn’t. “I’m pretty sure this is the point in our little chat here where you tell me who the hell this guy is,” he said.
“Does it matter?” I asked.
“I’ll let you know once you give me his name.”
Good one, Frank. Don’t worry, I have every intention of telling you. “It’s Mathias von Oehson,” I said.
“That explains the fifty million. The hedge fund guy, right? You’re working for him?”
“Representing him. On this one particular matter.”
“Now repeat the part you said before.”
“Which part?” I asked.
“You know the one. I want to make sure I heard you right.”
Oh, that part. “What I said was that I don’t think you had anything to do with the painting’s disappearance. You had no involvement whatsoever.”
“Yet you somehow think I know where this missing painting is?”
“If you don’t already know, I trust you have the ability to find out.”
“I’m not sure whether that’s a compliment or an insult,” he said.
“I think the better word is candid. I’m being candid with you.”
“Good. So let me be candid with you.” Brunetti leaned forward in his chair, resting his elbows on the desk. He didn’t raise his voice but the veins in his neck were bulging. “I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about with this painting.”
“Okay,” I said.
“No. It’s not okay. I don’t appreciate what you’re suggesting. Not one bit. Do you understand?”
“Yes. I understand,” I said. “My mistake. My apologies.”
My job is done here.
I stood and extended my hand to Brunetti, thanking him for his time. He clearly didn’t expect to be done with me so fast. Even better.
“What did you buy in for?” he asked.
“Excuse me?” I’d heard him just fine.
“At my blackjack table. What did you buy in for?”
“Ten thousand,” I said.
“How much did you win on your first hand?”
“I wouldn’t call that winning.”
“What would you call it?”
“The same thing you did. Cheating in order to get your attention.”
“Yes. You switched out the black chips for yellows, I know. But what was your original bet?”
“Six hundred.”
“Then that’s your winnings.” Brunetti turned to Thug 2. “Give him that plus his ten grand back.”
“Just the buy-in would be fine,” I said. “I don’t deserve more than that.”
“You’re right, you don’t,” he said. “But that’s the real funny thing about money, Dr. Reinhart. Those who have the most are rarely the ones who deserve it.”