Page 61 of The Picasso Heist

I FOLLOW AGENTS Bryant and Daniels out of the restaurant. They don’t say anything to me; I don’t say anything to them.

Until we’re outside.

“Seriously?” I turn to Agent Bryant. “Damn skippy?”

He laughs. “What? You don’t like that expression?”

“Who says that? Like, on what planet does anyone say that?” I ask.

“Agent Bryant of the FBI’s planet, apparently,” he says.

“I rest my case. You don’t exist.”

“I did to your boss just now. He was thoroughly convinced.”

“You’re right, he was,” I say. “Well done. What do you think, Agent Daniels?”

“Better than well done. We were awesome in there.”

“Says the guy who didn’t actually say anything,” I point out.

“I’ve always been the strong, silent type. That’s what people tell me.”

“No, what people tell you is that you look like Ray Romano on steroids.”

He shakes his head. “I still don’t see the resemblance.”

“You’re in denial.”

“I am not.”

“You just denied being in denial,” I say. We keep walking. “Where are you guys parked?”

They’re just around the next corner, which means it’s a good time to take one last look over my shoulder and make sure Smarmy didn’t decide to follow us. I can picture him bolting out of the restaurant leveling fresh threats.

But the coast is clear. No Smarmy. There’s still a half a bottle of Brunello at the table to be drunk. If he can’t have me, he can at least have that.

Then he’ll hopefully do the one thing I absolutely need him to do.

It’s what this whole charade today is about: getting him to call Bergamo and ask why the hell he’s being investigated by the FBI and how on earth it involves me.

Actually, forget the Brunello. Smarmy’s probably making the call this very moment.

We turn the corner and I immediately see the limousine.

“Thanks, guys,” I say. “My brother and I will be in touch.”

They’re not FBI agents. Their badges are as fake as their names. I stop at the limo and they keep right on walking. Their job is done.

I slide into the back seat. He’s sitting across from me, drinking another cognac.

“You look pretty good for a dead guy,” I say.

Shen Wan smiles, alive and well. “Are you ready to have some real fun now?” he asks.