“Haven’t flunked out yet. What can I do you for?”
“I’m looking for information.”
Lux’s sigh was noisy and exaggerated. “Tell me something I don’t know.”
Jason smiled to himself. He was fond of the kid. While it was true that most forgers were failed artists, unable to break into the brutally competitive market on their own creative merits, that wasn’t the case with Lux. He’d been sidetracked by the lure of quick and easy money, but his ego was healthy enough that more and more he wanted his own career.
“What have you heard about forged works making their way into Fletcher-Durrand?”
“Fletcher-Durrand?” Lux sounded slightly less breezy. “Me? Nothing.”
Until that moment, Jason had been willing to believe he was making a felony out of a bit of harmless fakery. But that infinitesimal change in Lux’s tone alerted him that he just might be onto something.
“Nothing at all?”
“No, man. Was that all you wanted?”
Jason felt a flicker of concern. Lux was naturally both curious and chatty. Yet he showed zero interest in the possibility of forgeries at one of the best-known galleries in the state. Hopefully that was not a hint as to his own involvement.
He said neutrally, “If I was looking for someone to copy a Reuven Rubin, who would I talk to?”
“Nobody, man. What you’d want is someone to do you a nice long-lost Monet. That’s what sells. That’s where the money is. Monet. Monay.”
“Monet. Really?” That at least sounded like the normal Lux, and Monet was a frequent and favorite target for forgery, so Jason didn’t want to leap to the conclusion that two and two made eight. But the sudden mention of Monet in this context made him uneasy.
“Funny you say that. I saw a really lousy forgery of Monet the other night.”
“Yeah? Well, there are a lot of them around.” Lux stopped there, again noticeably unlike his usual self.
“If I’m in the market for a Reuven Rubin, who do I talk to?” Jason tried again, and this time Lux’s tone was edged.
“I thought the feds were after F-D for selling off what don’t belong to them.”
“We are. But I noticed a copy of a Reuven Rubin last time I visited the gallery.”
“Maybe it wasn’t a copy.”
“The original is hanging in MoMA. I got an email verification this morning.”
Lux made a noncommittal noise.
Jason gave up on diplomacy. “I need to know who’s supplying forged works to Fletcher-Durrand.”
“Not me.”
“I know not you. But someone.”
Lux said seriously, “You want to stay away from them, G-man.”
“I’m not in the stay-away business,” Jason pointed out. “I’m in the bring-people-to-justice business.”
“I’m just saying…there are rumors.”
“Fill me in. What kind of rumors?”
“More like whispers.”
“Okay. What kind of whispers?”