MAY 7TH, SHOW TIME
Somehow, Charles Bloom staggered out of the old storage area, still stunned from his near-death experience with considerable loss of blood, all courtesy of the bad coyote spirit, which turned out to have possessed both Bernard Phillips and Fredrick Marsh. Maybe Bernard’s working in such close proximity with Fredrick for 25 years had tainted him with Fredrick’s pathological streak. Maybe it was the handling of Fredrick’s art for so long that had done it.
Outside, the sun had just gone down. The weather was unusually cold. It felt as if it could freeze, which would be shocking for May.
Stumbling down the streets of a dangerous neighborhood covered in blood kept any potentially hostile combatants far away. Bloom finally reached the street corner and rested against a lamppost, trying to sort things out in his mind, which was spinning. What should his next move be? The rational approach would be to go directly to the police, but the auction would be starting shortly and he was sure Phillips would be there.
If he went to the police first they would interrogate him for hours, during which Phillips might escape. Someone would undoubtedly buy STRUGGLE, the fictitious painting by Yellowhorse, possibly his dick client who wanted all the free advice. The thought of Mr. Dick purchasing the painting did make Bloom crack a smile. He realized it was perverse for him to smile at this thought considering all that had just transpired but he couldn’t help himself. Visualizing in his mind how his client had ridiculed him for talking about karma, it seemed apropos for the client to end up with the piece.
The auction would start in less than an hour and the Yellowhorse, lot 47, would go around 7:40. To stop Phillips and the sale would require plenty of luck, and he knew it. Bloom hoped he still retained enough of Hastiin Sherman’s power to fight the chindi. As Bloom looked at his extremities, still soaked in his own blood, a large clap of thunder and a lightning bolt filled the air, a rare thunderstorm in New York. Charles jumped straight up as the bolt sounded like another gunshot.
The heavens then opened and rain poured down on Charles Bloom, cleansing his body and spirit of bloodstains and death. Charles looked up to the sky and filled his mouth with pure, cold rain water, which he swished around, spitting out the last of the powerful medicine man’s life-saving medicine. His numb mouth returned to normal immediately. Hastiin Sherman’s power pulsated through Bloom’s rejuvenated body. The soaked but now halfway presentable Bloom was able to hail a cab and make his way back to his hotel.
Back in his hotel room, he organized a plan. Figuring out how to persuasively present it to Rupert was the second-hardest thing he had to do that day, although not nearly as hazardous as surviving near-death bondage. Charles had to go to the auction and this meant he would need the less-than-accommodating head of the contemporary art department to put him on the guest list and cooperate. He knew Rupert would be trying to close any last loose ends and get the fence sitters off in time to make bids. The art market had been tough lately and Rupert’s last-minute efforts could make the difference between having a good sale or failure. What Bloom knew and Rupert did not, was that they had given a murderer an advance of over a million dollars on a fraudulent painting. This information should be enough to make Rupert stop his last-minute push for sales and deal with Bloom. Rupert wouldn’t want Phillips leaving the country unexpectedly with Sotheby’s cash, and he wouldn’t want Sotheby’s to be selling a fake.
Charles devised a way to avoid damaging Sotheby’s sale completely and to capture Bernard Phillips—thief, murderer, and forger. To accomplish this required persuading Rupert to believe his story and to go along with his plan.
First, Charles emailed Rupert the photos he had taken an hour ago of the murder scene, with the subject line reading Phillips is a murderer. He followed the email with a phone message. The information he imparted, along with the appearance he told Rupert he soon would be making at Sotheby’s with a lacerated wrist and pallid coloration secondary to losing 30% of his blood volume, couldn’t hurt in making the point that he was telling the truth. Charles hoped Rupert was still monitoring his omnipresent BlackBerry.