After hanging half a dozen paintings, getting them arranged at just the right angle, Nadine stood back and studied them. They were all done in that slanted style that Clint had commented on when they were uncrating them.
“How do they look to you?” she asked, turning to look at Clint. He was staring out the window again, standing off to one side, so he couldn’t be seen from outside.
“What’s worrying you?” she asked.
“Somebody’s been following me,” he said.
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then how do you know there’s somebody there?” she asked him.
He turned his head and looked at her.
“The doorman at my hotel told me.”
“And you trust him?”
“I do,” Clint said. “He’s a good man.”
“Who could it be?”
“Probably one of Emory Bates’ nephews.”
“Why would one of them be following you?”
“To find out who I am, is all I can think of.” He looked out the window again. “How long has that building across the street been vacant?”
“Well, I’ve been here six months. It’s been empty at least that long.”
Clint looked up at the second floor. He had a feeling somebody was at the window.
“Do you think somebody’s in there?” she asked.
“Up there,” he said, “second floor window. Watching.”
“Why?”
“Like I said,” Clint answered, “to find out who I am, so he knows who he’s dealing with.”
He turned from the window and walked over to her.
“Will Bates be at your party?”
“I’m sure he will,” she said.
“Well,” Clint said, “if he doesn’t find out who I am beforehand, he’ll find out then.”
“How?”
He smiled.
“You’ll introduce us.”
“Do you think he’ll be afraid of your reputation?” she asked.
“Maybe, maybe not,” Clint said. “But at least then he’ll know who he’s dealing with. And once I’ve met him, I’ll have some idea of who I’m dealing with, too.”
“What are you going to do?” she asked.
“I’m going to do my best to see to it that he doesn’t get your gallery.”
~*~
George walked past the same big doorman without a word, went into the hotel lobby, and approached the front desk. The desk clerk watched him the whole way.
“Can I help you, sir?”
“I’m lookin’ for a friend of mine,” George said. “He’s stayin’ here.”
“What’s his name, sir?”
“Well, that’s just it,” George said. “I’m not sure what name he’d be registered under. You see, he uses different names.”
“Why does he do that, sir?” the clerk asked.
“There are some people lookin’ for him,” George said. “I’m here to help him.”
“Can you describe him?”
“He’s tall, kinda slender, moves like a man who knows how to handle himself,” George said. “I saw him come in here earlier carrying some packages.”
The clerk, Louis, remembering what Clint had said, made a show of thinking about it.
“No,” he said, finally, “I don’t remember anybody like that.”
“Now, come on—”
“I’ve got an idea, though.”
“What’s that?”
“Why don’t you ask Matthew, the doorman,” Louis said. “He sees everybody who comes in here.”
George thought about grabbing the clerk and pulling him across the desk, but for that he’d need Griff. His cousin was the one who handled the rough stuff.
“Yeah,” George said, “yeah, maybe I’ll do that.”
George turned, walked across the lobby and out the front door.
“Still looking for your friend?”
He turned and looked at the big doorman.
“That friend whose name you don’t know?”
“Yeah,” George said, “I’m still lookin’.”
“Well,” Matthew said, “good luck.”
“Yeah,” George said, “thanks.”
He headed off down the street. Matthew went inside to talk to Louis.