The Great Beau

by O'Neil De Noux

  “I thought ivory was contraband in the US.”

  “It is. But this is ancient art.” Fremantle nods to the three paintings they liberated from the boxes. “20th Century art. Couple are valuable – especially the George Grosz. Some fine lithographs as well.”

  They get to the end of the line, to the big boxes and open one that draws audible Ahhs. They bring the contents over to the table and fuss over it. Fukoda and Becker examining it closely. Freemantle eases over, peeks, comes back.

  “Looks like a Mary Cassatt sketch. She painted a lot of couples in row boats. If it’s genuine, it’s a rare find. Cannot wait to view the Renoir.”

  Beau realizes and calls Jessie, leaves a voice mail. She said she had meetings this morning.

  They measure the last box and it’s 9’ by 8’ feet, the wood darkly stained and heavily varnished and the screws are not standard or Phillips screws. Dr. Fukoda produces a screwdriver with an odd tip from his satchel. He cannot get the screw to budge and turns to Freemantle, who hands Beau his iPad and starts working on the first screw.

  “This is promising,” Fukoda tells Claire whose next to Beau who asks why.

  “These screws are Medieval. From the Middle Ages.”

  “They had iron back then?” Beau winks at Claire.

  “Why yes. Knights wore armor.” Fukoda sees the smirk on Beau’s face and pats the big man’s arm. “Thank you for relieving the tension. This is incredible.”

  Beau takes turns with Freemantle, working the screws out, stands back as the Englishman works the final screw out. Claire D’Loup grabs Beau’s arm as Freemantle, Fukoda and Becker open the box, gently pulling out brown packing material until the painting inside is exposed.

  Silence.

  The faces awestruck. Eyes blinking as they stare at the painting.

  Beau spots a brown envelope in the packing material they’d tossed on the last table. He picks it up, tries to hand it to Claire who cannot stop staring at the painting. Fukoda and Becker go down on their knees over the painting now.

  Freemantle hands them a tape measure and the painting is 63” x 70” and depicts a well-proportioned, nude woman with long blond hair standing on a small pedestal and posing for an elderly artist with two small boys peeking at her from behind a curtain. Her skin glows pink and flesh color and her face radiant in light streaming through a window.

  They step back and keep looking at the painting.

  Claire pulls up a folding chair and sits. Emilie Deslonde steps in, sees what’s going on and steps next to Beau.

  She whispers in his ear. “What did I miss?”

  “All right,” Beau calls out. “We give up. Who’s the woman in the painting?”

  Becker turns to Fukoda who takes off his glasses, rubs them with a white cloth.

  “Aphrodite. I believe.”

  Becker nods, looks at the painting again.

  Becker’s voice sounds raspy. “August 1576, the great master Titian dies in Venice. Of the plague. Along with his son and assistant. His mansion and studio are ransacked. The looters do not bother with Titian’s master list of his last works, which included Aphrodite and the Painter.”

  Fukoda points his glasses at the painting. “It is described as we see it here. We cannot be sure yet, but this appears to be 16th Century Venetian art.”

  “Could be an assistant’s copy,” Becker says.

  Fukoda nods. “Titian’s works were widely copied and fakes made during his lifetime and after. However, this painting was never copied. It was one of his last works and not well known.”

  Beau holds up the envelope. “This was in the packing paper y’all put aside.”

  Fukoda comes with is gloved hands to take the envelope to a table with Becker and they examine it.

  “I believe I have a razor knife.”

  Fukoda cannot find his razor knife and Beau reaches down, pulls up his trouser leg to extract a knife from its sheath attached to his left leg, holds it up.

  “Razor-sharpened blade made of Iconel 625, strongest metal on the planet.”

  LaStanza gave Beau this knife. He hands it to Fukoda who gingerly slices open the envelope, pulls two sheets of paper out, hands the knife back to Beau.

  One sheet is as brown as the envelope, the other white. Fukoda examines both, holds up the brown sheet.

  “A receipt from the US Embassy in Berlin in the amount of $5,000 for the import duty on the painting by Tiziano Vecelli.” He looks up. “It describes the painting in detail.”

  He turns to the white sheet and tells them it is linen paper, asks if anyone reads German.

  Claire gets up from her chair and moves over slowly, reads the letter, her voice scratchy now.

  “It’s a … a … letter of embarkation from the Director of the Munich Museum and dated 6 January 1909, declaring the enclosed painting by Tiziano Vecelli is legally owned by Baron Erich Wolfschlucht who paid its export duty in the sum of 9,000 Deutches Marks for transport to the United States.” She looks at Fukoda, then Becker, then Beau. “Painting listed as Aphrodite and Painter.”

  Beau breaks the silence. “I thought y’all said Titian was the painter.”

  Freemantle speaks now. “Tiziano Vecelli was Titian’s real name. Master of the 16th Century Venetian School of artists.”

  “Pretty valuable, huh?”

  “You cannot put a value on it. If it is genuine.”

  Alizée starts singing and Beau takes his iPhone out of the vault. It’s Jessie.

  “What’s up, Babe?”

  “You’re not going to believe this. Ever hear of an artist named Titian?”

  “Of course. Renaissance artist. Painted the same time as Da Vinci and Michelangelo.”

  “They brought an armored car. They’re gonna pick up the paintings from your vault on the way to the airport straight to the Smithsonian.”

  “OK. I’ll be here. Why’d you ask about Titian?”

  JUANITA ASKS FOR a glass of ice water from the waitress inside the dining room of the Creole Palm Court and takes three Tylenols before she leads the person who gave her a headache – SA Hillel Jordan – to the black SUV parked out front.

  Soon as they climb in he turns on his iPhone again. He’s listened to it all the way from the vaults to the hotel. Hell, Juanita likes Marvin Gaye and Smokey Robinson, but not 24-7.

  “Turn it off, will ya’?”

  “This is Bobby Womack. Across 110th Street. Don’t tell me you never saw Jackie Brown. Last scene. Pam Greer driving away with the money and tears in her eyes.”

  She lets the AC cool the SUV sitting against the curb and feels her cell vibrate. No way she can hear the ring tone, answers. It’s Beau.

  “How’s it going?”

  “Just finished here.”

  “Good, I’m heading back from the airport with Claire. Meet me back at the office.”

  She’s about to tell him what they’d discovered but Jordan turns up his music.

  “What’s that music?”

  “Jordy needs ear buds.”

  Jordan goes, “Tell him it’s my soundtrack.”

  She tells Beau she’ll see him and gets off the phone.

  “It’s the background music of my story,” Jordan tells her. “My life. My life’s a movie. Hell, everyone’s life’s a movie that needs a music soundtrack. I see Beau’s life as an opera. Lotta drama and blood. People swooning over one another, kissing, then stabbing each other.” He waits for Juanita to look at him. “I see your life as 60s pop music. Bubble gum pop like ‘Sugar Sugar, Dizzy, the flower girl in The Rain, The Park and … Me? I’m Motown.”

  He leans back in the seat, closes his eyes as the Temptations start up Ain’t Too Proud to Beg.

  THE SCOTTISH DEERHOUND jumps at Beau when he follows Claire in. He manages to catch the beast as its front paws crash against Beau’s shoulders and the dog shoves its snout against his neck, going, “Roff. Roof.”

  “This is what she’ll do to a burglar?”

  “You’re with me. She knows you�
��re OK.”

  The first words Claire has spoken since they opened the box with the old painting. All the way to Jessie’s vault and to the airport, she remained silent, a faraway look in her eyes.

  “You OK?”

  “I don’t know.” Claire plops into an easy chair.

  “What’s your dog’s name?” Beau still dances with the big beast, walking to the sofa now.

  “Catharina. I call her Cat.”

  A dog named Cat.

  Beau manages to get the dog down on its four paws and Cat hops over to Claire and nuzzles her. He checks the alarm box next to the front door.

  “You check this lately?”

  She blinks at him and takes in a deep breath. “Yes. It’s good. No need to worry about me there’s no art here.”

  “What makes you think I’m worried about you?”

  “If you aren’t, I’ll tell Chief Féroce.”

  Beau lifts his police radio. “I can call Jordan over for a while.”

  Her eyes go wide and Cat decides Beau needs another mauling. He grabs the dog’s paws and holds her up and she gives him another, “Roof. Roof.”

  “I’ll touch base with you tomorrow,” he says as he dances with the dog to the door. “Lock me out and turn on your alarm.”

  He waits for her to get up.

  “You have my cell. Call me.”

  She nods.

  “Call 911 first, if it’s urgent.”

  She arrives and tugs her dog off Beau. Claire’s eyes look bluer than green in this light turn sharp as she stares into Beau’s eyes. The look continues until she whispers, “This is … this is so unbelievable.”

  “Good word for it.” Beau leaves her with her deerhound who gives him a going away, “Roof. Roof. Roof.”

  HE SHOULD HAVE had lunch. He’s so damn hungry and as he steps into the house, tries to remember if it’s his turn or Jessie’s to get supper.

  Ah. Something in the kitchen smells wonderful.

  He hears Stella crying ‘Aowl. Aowl. Aowl. Rowl. AArowl,’ before she races into the hall and blocks him. He stops and lets her vent and she keeps rowling, moving between his feet, rubbing against his legs.

  “Rough day, huh, Baby?”

  More rowling.

  “Scamp being a bad boy?”

  Rowling.

  “Damn coyotes tried to break in?” Happened a lot on Sad Lisa. According to Stella.

  “Rowl.”

  “Hawks maybe? Bears?” He scoops her up and she’s not happy with this, stops rowling and squirms. He nuzzles her as they move through the dining room for the kitchen. He puts her on the edge of the dining room table and she jumps off, follows him, still fussing, into the kitchen where Jessie steps away from the stove. She’s barefoot, in T-shirt and cutoff jeans.

  He moves up to her and she turns her head to kiss his lips. Smiles. Kisses his lips again. She brushes hair off his shoulder.

  “How was the wolfhound?”

  “Too friendly.”

  She points to the stove. “That new place next door to our building. It’s actually and old family restaurant relocated from the Marigny. Corsitto’s Italian Café.”

  Beau’s heard of the old place but never ate there.

  Jessie pats his chest. “You looked a little frazzled when y’all came to get the loot.”

  He pulls her close to hug. “Long day. Didn’t get a chance to eat lunch.”

  “I thought cops never missed lunch.”

  “Me too.”

  Stella rubs his leg, chatters now. He looks down.

  “Did I miss something?”

  “Stefi’s upstairs with her kitten. Both are punished.”

  Beau steps to the refrigerator, pulls out the pitcher of iced tea.

  “This I gotta hear.”

  Scamp was caught dangling half way up the front room curtain. Lord knows how long he’d been there. Ex-Private Eye Jessie discovered fresh shredding at the bottom of three curtains.

  “We have two suspects.”

  “Stella ever shred anything on the boat?”

  “OK. The little guy’s guilt. What did Stefi do?”

  “Ask her.”

  “I don’t like the sound of this.”

  “You’ll like it even less when she explains it to you.”

  Stefi comes down with Scamp as Beau and Jessie take their plates of lasagna into the dining room. The kitten darts to his food dish and Stefi serves herself and joins them, sitting at the far end of the table. Jessie waits for her to get a few forkfuls. Beau’s never had green cheese lasagna before. Incredible stuff.

  “You wanna tell John, or do I?”

  “You do it better.”

  Jessie watches Stefi as she tells Beau, “It’s on your desk in the library. Card Stefi says fell out of your briefcase.”

  Card?

  “Hallmark card with a little notation, ‘I am well and think of you often. Hope you still think of me’.”

  “Briefcase?” Thought I left the card at work.

  Jessie gives Beau a long look. Stefi’s eyes are down as she takes in another mouthful of lasagna. He waits for her to glance up.

  “It fell out of my briefcase?”

  “Must have. It was on the floor.”

  More lasagna washed down by iced tea.

  Beau goes, “Going through my stuff isn’t half as bad as lying to me.”

  A flash of white draws Beau’s attention to the floor as Scamp runs flat out for the hutch behind Beau, scurries under for a second, comes out, bouncing on its paws over to Beau’s left leg and latches on. He reaches down and pets the kitten’s head who looks up at him and give him a sharp ‘Meoww’ and scoots off, out of the room into the hall.

  “Was that Scamp?” Stefi gets up, stops, asks Beau, “Who is D.E.?”

  He looks at Jessie and she’s pretending she’s not interested.

  “Look at me,” Beau tells Stefi, who does and sits down.

  His eyes harden and he stares at her for long seconds before he goes, “Don’t lie to me, Stefi. OK?”

  Her shoulders sink. “I was snooping.”

  Stella comes over to sniff the trouser leg Scamp had attacked.

  “D.E. Donna Elena Palma. I helped her out of a jam and she helped me out of one.” He waits for Jessie to look at him. “Brown Ravens Case. That’s how I got the scar on my arm. She’s in DC now, working for the government.”

  Stefi says, “Well, she thinks of you often. You think of her often?”

  He shakes his head. “I try not to think about it all that.”

  “Why not?”

  Beau looks at his lasagna, speaks in a soft voice, “It’s isn’t hard killing people.” He looks at Stefi, then at Jessie. “It’s not hard pulling a trigger. The hard part is forgetting.”

  “Even bad guys?”

  “Yep.”

  Scamp bounces back into the room and Stella hisses and he crouches and races for her and she growls and leaves and Stefi scoops her kitten as he tries to pass.

  Beau to Jessie – “Now that we’ve straightened all that out, remember when you said it must be odd not working a murder case?”

  Jessie nods and he grins.

  “Not odd anymore. This one’s a real whodunit.”

  BEAU HAS A good dream tonight. He’s on a Sioux pony riding flat out across a wide plain of tall, dark green grass waving in a brisk breeze. A flock of Canadian geese cross overhead against a blue sky with billowy clouds. Comes a horseman as another pony catches up to his and the rider is Crazy Horse with his long black hair streaming and the white lightning bolts on his face and his torso dotted in white dots signifying hailstones. He carries a lance and Beau realizes he also carries a lance.

  Crazy Horse looks over his shoulder and Beau looks back as a rush of wind bowls over them. Charcoal gray clouds line the sky behind them. The clouds billow and roil. He sees the other pony leading now and hustles to catch up. Lightning snarks and thunder booms and when he looks back he sees a tornado towering in the sky, twisting and coming
their way.

  His pony cannot keep up with Crazy Horse who continues riding straight out. Beau’s pony slows and Crazy Horse turns and calls out to him in Beau’s secret Sioux name – “Sharp Eyes!” The great war chief smiles and howls, raises his lance as his pony races on. The ground trembles and the tornado passes to Beau’s left. There is nowhere to hide, nowhere to escape on the vast, flat plain.

  He wheels his pony as the tornado skips between him and Crazy Horse and he turns his pony around and races into a wall of hail and it stings him and he races on until the pony decides to stop and kneel on its hind legs, extend its front legs and cover his head with his feet like a horse in a fuckin’ cartoon. Beau climbs off and hunkers next to his pony’s body and the hail falls on them, along with a cold rain. And they wait.

  Jessie wakes him with a shake and Beau’s right hand is clenched and he remembers snapshots at the end of his dream. Brains floating in the air. Mike Agrippa’s eyes going wide when he sees it’s Beau. The sickening smile on Mike face just before he fires.

  “You’re making noises, Babe.”

  He gets up, goes to the bathroom to grab the towel rack again and let his muscles run its course – hardening, squeezing, going almost numb until they finally ease, leave him sore. When he gets back to the bed, he picks up his iPhone and turns on the notes application and types in ‘multivitamins’ and ‘minerals to stop muscle cramps’.

  Could he have a mineral deficiency?

  He’ll ask the pharmacist.

  AFTER THE SECOND song, something by Stevie Wonder, a song by The Supremes starts up – Baby Love.

  Beau bounces a large black binder clip off Jordan’s desk, just missing the special agent.

  “Turn it down.”

  “But it’s my soundtrack. It’s the music playing in the background of my life. Every life has a soundtrack.”

  Beau’s phone starts playing “She Loves You, Yeah, Yeah, Yeah” – just the opening strains. Jessie put it on the iPhone. Means he has an incoming email. He sees who it’s from, reads it and goes to his contacts to call the sender back, gets an immediate answer.