Murder Doesn't Figure. Fred Yorg

recognize any of those names?”

      Von Klamer was obviously upset with me and quite frankly his last comment didn’t set too well with me. Did I recognize those names? Yeah, I recognized them and I knew the artwork was probably stolen. It was time to stop playing around and get down to nuts and bolts.

      “Yes, Mr. Von Klamer I am extremely familiar with those names. I am also very familiar with the art world. In fact, I’ve consulted with and worked for several internationally renowned artists. Having said that, let me start by saying, with works of that nature you’re going to attract a lot of attention. If you can’t prove that these works came into your hands in a lawful manner, the major galleries wouldn’t deal with you. Even if you found a gallery that would deal with their provenance, you’re going to come under heavy scrutiny from several international organizations, that one should try to avoid at all costs. That of course assumes that you may have something to hide. Second, if you sell the artwork, the profits will be taxed as regular income. That would put you in a fifty-percent tax bracket. In short you would have to sell ten million dollars worth of artwork in order to net five million after taxes. Again, the IRS is going to ask you when did you buy it, from whom did you buy it, and for how much. If you can’t provide those answers, the IRS will probably want to look into your other financial dealings. I would strongly recommend that you think long and hard about these questions.”

      “I have thought long and hard on these questions, Mr. Dansk. Assuming I can not answer these questions, what would you recommend?”

      “You would be forced to sell the artwork on the black market at a discounted price, to private collectors.”

      “Do you know such collectors?”

      “Let me be clear Mr. Von Klamer. Whether I do know such collectors or not, is of no consequence. I have no intention of getting involved in any illegal scheme. I can assure you, whatever we discuss will be held in the strictest confidence. I wish you the very best on a personal basis, but that’s as far as it’s going. Are we clear?”

      “Perfectly Mr. Dansk, I’d like to thank you for your frankness. I would still like you to consult for me.”

      Von Klamer then handed me an envelope. I looked inside and found a check made out to me for twenty five thousand dollars signed by Albrecht Von Klamer.

      Von Klamer looked at me and asked, “Is that acceptable?”

      “The amount is more than acceptable, but the question is, what do you want me to do?”

      “I will call on you perhaps as many as four more times to discuss, let us say, hypothetical developments, over the next several weeks.”

      “As long as they’re hypothetical and non-specific, I have no problem.”

      “Good then, let us have another drink.”

      That sounded pretty good to me, I was getting a little thirsty. After all I’d been doing most of the talking. Before Von Klamer could get to the bar, the phone rang. The old man sat back in his chair and took the call. He seemed agitated and the conversation was in German. I sat there for a couple of minutes and noticed that Von Klamer seemed to be getting more upset with the caller by the second.

      Finally Von Klamer held his hand over the mouthpiece.

      “I am afraid we’ll have to have that drink at our next meeting. Please show yourself out, I must take this call.”

      I got up and thanked Von Klamer and made my way through the door of his office out to the great hallway. I took one last look at the majestic hall and made a mental note on its perfection. As I went to the door, I noticed a computer pad to the left of the front door. Probably for some security system, but strangely, it seemed out of place. But then so was I.

      CHAPTER TEN

      I was still in a state of shock as I walked through the doorway of the mansion. My mind was overwhelmed with thoughts of Von Klamer and the most surreal meeting of my life. As I walking over to the car, I noticed that the gray truck was still in the parking lot. I took a quick look around, but the gardener didn’t seem to be lurking about. In fact, he was nowhere to be seen, I assumed he was probably working in the back yard or over on the other side of the house. I turned around and stole one last look at Von Klamer’s place. After being inside, she now made more sense to me. My first impression about her being designed by a deranged architect was way off base. The old house, had won me over, she would fit in nicely, over in Rumson, with the rest of the mansions.

      As I slid behind the wheel of the Triumph, I was feeling pretty good about the meeting and the nature of the assignment. In fact the entire day was actually going pretty good. As a financial man I usually looked at my day in financial terms, debits and credits, pluses and minuses. On the minus side, the cat had rudely awakened me earlier this morning. I was harshly insulted, by the waddler. I spilled hot coffee on myself; met with Pamela and saw her in a most unflattering light, and then I had a meeting with an old Nazi war criminal. But then again, on the plus side I did have the final word with the waddler, I finally got a chance to pay back Louie Louie, and last but certainly not least, the old Nazi war criminal gave me a check for twenty five thousand dollars.

      All in all it had been a pretty good day. So good in fact that I’d actually forgotten two other pluses for the day. Dave returned the Triumph and she was back in great shape and I’d also gotten my tapes in the mail. While the tapes were foremost on my mind I thought I’d unwrap them and put one of them in. Although I was a big fan of Stevie Ray Vaughn, I didn’t want to fall into a routine like the cat. I needed a little variety in my life, so I pulled out the Warren Zevon tape and slid it in the tape player. The first song on the track was Warren’s version of “Bad Karma”.

      Another omen, first the black cat named Trouble, then Stevie Ray’s CD Double Trouble and now “Bad Karma,” it was times like this that I was glad I wasn’t superstitious.

      I pulled out of Von Klamer’s driveway and back onto Serpentine Drive. Since the Triumph and I had bested the snake-like road once today, I gave the car a little extra gas as we passed by the iron gates of the estate. It was a beautiful day and I felt like I was bullet proof, on a roll.

      I was getting into the music when I hit my first hard turn. The Triumph hugged the corner and we sped down the hill. The next corner was a little sharper and I wasn’t up for testing the car or myself for that matter. I applied the brakes to slow down. No sense pushing one’s Karma especially when you’ve got a twenty five grand check in your pocket. Much to my horror, the brake petal went to the floor and I wasn’t slowing down. My body and brain went into automatic pilot and out of pure reflex I pumped the brakes, downshifted the car from third to second, and pulled up on the emergency brake. Amazingly I did it all without ever consciously thinking about it, in little more than a blink of the eye. Unfortunately nothing was working. I was totally out of control. I had two choices at the next curve, either try to make a hard left and go back up the hill or try and make the hard right and go down the hill. Neither choice was very appealing. My subconscious with little formal debate from the conscious side of the brain, chose to go right.

      They say when you are about to meet death, your whole life flashes by you in an instant.

      Interestingly my mind was only thinking about Tuxedo. I wondered if he’d miss me. Then the car skidded off the road. Dust and gravel were flying everywhere. The Triumph, for her part, tried valiantly to navigate the turn, but at this speed she couldn’t manage it. The squeal of the tires were deafening, and then the music died and I slipped into a black hole of unconsciousness.

      SECTION TWO

      THE SECOND RUDE AWAKENING

      CHAPTER ELEVEN

      I was back in never-never land again, only this time there was no silk down comforter, and no sandy white beaches in 3D color. There was only the pitch-black darkness of the abyss. I was starting to come around now, and could feel my head pounding and the odd sensation of a warm sticky liquid streaming down the right side of my face.

      Over the