“Yes. He seems to get caught up in other styles, and then butchers them when he paints. Absolutely atrocious, and he doesn’t take criticism well at all. But then, that also adds to his mystique. He’s a rough man, and has been in a number of serious brawls with people who don’t see things his way.”
“You mean like fistfights?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t normally associate artists with that type behavior.”
“There are a few bad ones; egotists, boors, womanizers, drunkards, hedonists. But you’re right; artists are not normally people who beat others to a bloody mess.”
“Have you met him while he’s been in California?”
“I was at the same party once. It was a showing given for Deco Martinez, the ex-gang member turned artist. But Valdar brought some people with him that I didn’t care to associate with.”
“Because...?”
“They were Russian, like Valdar. He was very friendly to Martinez, but Valdar’s little group discouraged any intruders into their clic, except for Robert Landman, the actor, and Frank Meadows and his wife. They were well received. Everyone else was given cold stares and silence.”
“No other artists got close?”
“Only Deco.”
We talked another ten minutes without anything making me jump up and shout “Eureka!”, so I thanked Harold and left. By the time I reached our office, the sun was backlighting low clouds on the horizon like a halo. Hondo sat at his desk eating half a Subway’s sandwich. The other half was on my desk, along with a canned Coca-Cola Classic.
“It was good of you to cook,” I said.
“I figured you’ll need your strength. Bond called a couple minutes ago, said she was at your house and had a surprise waiting for you.”
I looked at the sandwich, “Maybe I shouldn’t eat, then. Maybe she cooked.”
“I don’t think you want to wait.”
Something was making the hairs on my arms stand up. “What is it?”
“There was a message left on the answering machine when I got here about a minute before Bond called. I didn’t listen to it until after she hung up. The message was from Hunter. She got an earlier flight out and called on her cell phone to say she was on her way to your house, since she didn’t know where my new house or our new office was. She also said she had a surprise for you.”
I wondered if I could disappear across the border, maybe live in a fishing village in Baja under an assumed name.
Hondo said, “You need to get over there in case they get testy.”
“Come on with me.”
“All right.” He stood up and pointed at my sandwich, “You going to eat that?”
“I’ve lost my appetite.”
**
We went in Hondo’s Mercedes and I was torn between wanting him to hurry and wanting us never to get there. I was not looking forward to this one. We reached the house and saw the front door standing wide open. Bond’s Jaguar was the only car in the driveway.
I went to the door and looked at the living room. Nothing was broken, and there were no bullet holes in anything I could see. I stepped in and Bond came out of the bedroom wearing shorts and a tee shirt. She saw us, walked over and kissed me. Her mouth tasted of ice and orange slices and bourbon. She pulled back and looked at me when I didn’t respond.
Bond said, “I had a visitor a bit ago. Gave me quite a start. She evidently has a key because I’d locked the door before I went into the bedroom to prepare a special surprise for you.”
I felt my shoulders sag and a deep heaviness sink into the center of me.
Bond continued, “We had an intense discussion for a while, then she left.”
“Did she say anything?”