Little Pachèrito blew a perfect smoke ring and eyed the crumpled paper again: "da Vinci... transport..." At the top, a phone number and a name he could barely make out. His contact in Holland called that morning. The number came back to some Ter Horst What‑the‑Fuck — Pachèrito was sick of complicated names. Obviously, the owner was just a front — probably a rental. But da Vinci and transport... That got his blood up. He took another drag and let his mind wander.
If someone's shipping a da Vinci across the ocean, money's in the air — you can smell it. His bloodhound nose told him this would be a dirty job — exactly the kind he was looking for. He was tired. Carlos Gwerazzi, old and worn down, had been thinking about the one job that would buy him out for three years now. He was sick of the adrenaline, sick of the headaches from his idiot consiglieri who'd throw him under the bus to save their asses any day. Forty‑five years in this game — that's a lifetime. Fifteen in Italy, thirty here...
That's what crossed Carlos's mind three years ago, and he started getting ready. Whispering with his secret accountant — the one invisible to the consiglieri — he moved almost all his share into a Caribbean offshore. Bought three top‑tier hotels there and moved his family into the penthouse of one. Plus four bodyguards, hired through a Mossad veteran he knew.
What da Vinci? Why ship it? And what's the play of that dumb dick — the one chewing his snot under Carlos's heel and forbidding to smoke?
103Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡGXn82D5OSh
He picked up the phone and dialed Amsterdam. A couple of rings, then a hoarse voice came on:103Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ8ggRehcloO
"I'm listening, Carlos."103Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ7S2EsxzHQB
"Run the insurance companies. If someone's shipping a painting, then..."103Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡXzdRVhRSwt
"Already did."103Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡppKkrOnZo0
"And?"103Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡTC8PjcAokC
"First Security. Just picked up a contract to transport some unknown canvas. Looks like what we're after."
103Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡQ0Z84Z3lY9
A couple of weeks earlier...
The insured value climbed to a hundred and seventy million, and Van der Werf discreetly wiped his sweaty palms on the curtain. A hundred and seventy million! That meant one thing — his commission would be... his commission would be... All those zeros made his head spin. He was ready to kiss the feet of every appraiser on the committee. And not just their feet.
Little, pudgy, with perpetually greasy hair, Henk van der Werf went by "Hole" at the company. It started with a hiring mishap. When the HR officer asked if he had any siblings, he didn't miss a beat:103Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡa8mV8B2NDc
" No, sir. Alone, like a hole in the butt..." — and he was branded for life.
Eight big deals got snatched right out from under him. His loveheart ran off with his boss in two weeks, his wife walked out on him for a dentist in three. Bank repossessed the car and the apartment. Living with his mom in a studio on the top floor of an Arab quarter — turned into a dreary shithole. That's what he'd bitch about at the bar to his only friend, Siegfried — a deaf Jew from the German part of Herzogenrath. Every Friday, Siegfried would knock back grappa on his tab, wash it down with beer, and nod like he heard and gave a damn.
But yesterday, the phone rang.
"Zauber Insurance. How can I help you?" Henk mumbled, eyes half‑shut.103Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡilZNSOyKwJ
"I need agent van der Werf."103Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡryXZDBj067
A woman's voice — low, with that American, smoke‑stained snobbery.
"How can I be of service?" Henk swallowed hard.103Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡpEVLtnfhyz
"You can't," the voice said, " unless you know paintings. And I heard you do."103Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡVhUAqMXlWd
"You heard right." — He tried to steady his voice.103Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ63mnwEpfXO
"What's your proof?"103Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡqPaFYj5aOh
"Faculty of Cultural History in Drachten, Mrs..."103Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡLrcbalt3L9
"Miss. Miss Bingles. Drachten? Where’s it? Morocco?"
Overseas bitch!
"No, Miss Bingles, it's here. In Holland."103Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡHVUPlyV3AP
"Holland — is it bigger than Amsterdam? Didn't know. Thanks." — The bitch puffed noisily with a cigarette cloud — "I need a painting shipped across the ocean. An insured one. Can you handle that, kid?"
"Are we talking comics?" — Van der Werf bit his tongue. "Sorry, miss — poor joke..."103Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡIiazApk4VQ
"Very poor, Mr. Hole."103Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡU9lleM2sBU
Henk felt his shirt sticking to his skin:103Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡWec7ndGnNB
"I'm sorry — again! What painting are we talking about?"103Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡXqN3qjscFY
"How should I know! Some daub from the sixteenth century..."103Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡDIuU32vtuB
His pants started sticking too.103Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡPPK8AEMx5E
"I'll send experts tomorrow, Miss Bingles. Ready for your address..."
The experts came out of Miss Bingles' place red-faced and sweaty. Van der Werf was the same — and bent over. A security team was already on its way up to take the da Vinci to the vault and lock it down until the appraisal committee showed.
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"Not bad!" Pachèrito clicked his tongue. "Pay that deaf guy... what's his name?"103Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡXCjF8YHdBV
"Siegfried. Deaf as my grandpa's three balls..."103Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡx8whDlemb4
"Yeah... Pay him a year's worth of booze up front. What about Van der… Shit, you know who!"103Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ8zs1zbABaB
" Not sure we need him, but I'll trace."103Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ8jBtqiSZNY
"And find out who the old bitch is ‘n who’s behind’er."103Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡF5b9ZdFSNc
"That's trickier. No one's been able to pin her down yet. Give me some time."103Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡwQnnPhDB4Y
"A little..." — Pachèrito hung up.
and then Add to home screen.