Week 4 - The Family Portrait

The Family Portrait

Matthew Ryan Fischer

“Lou’s” was a dive bar and the man behind the counter’s actual name was indeed Lou. Calling it a dive bar was being nice. It was old and run-down. There were chips in the paint and broken lamp shades and water stains on the ceiling.  Signs had faded paint. The carpet had stains. The television was an antique that barely worked. It had all the worst options for amenities – an expensive jukebox with seemingly random choices of music, a coin operated pool table that was uneven and came with warped pool cues and an electronic dart board that didn’t keep score half the time.

It was as if everything there was designed to keep customers away.

The clientele that “Lou’s” did have didn’t seem to mind their surroundings. They weren’t there because things looked pretty. They went to “Lou’s” because they were going to drink like they meant it.

Art sat at the bar, three beers into his afternoon. There were two other people in the room – Lou and another lone customer sitting at a table in the back corner.

Lou was a good guy. He had been friends with Art for a long time, even though they were over twenty years apart in age. Lou looked back and forth several times between the two men before finally approaching Art. Art noticed Lou’s approach and the cautious way he carried himself.

“You’re making me nervous, Lou. You gonna talk to me? Then talk.”

“You looking to freelance?” Lou whispered.

“I was trying to drink this beer.”

Lou scoffed. “You know what I mean.”

“Yeah. And I really meant what I meant. I’m going to have this beer and then another and maybe another.”

“You know it sucks to see you like this.”

“Merry Christmas. Happy I could help.”

“Don’t get like that with me. I’m the one helping you. I’m the one sticking by you. A freelance job might be just the thing you need. Get your mind off your troubles. Get your mind off of Amy--”

“She’s coming back!”

“No, she’s not. And even if she does come back, she’s not going to want to see you like this. Not like this.”

“You don’t know what she wants.”

“Apparently neither do you.”

That hurt. Art paused and felt that moment of pain. That was a low blow, even if it was the truth. He almost struck Lou, but instead said something that would hurt even worse.

“You’re not my family. You’re certainly not my father. I don’t even know if you’re my friend.”

Lou had known Art when he was a teenager and full of real venom. There wasn’t going to be much unkindness that could come out of Art’s mouth as an adult that would match that. Besides, he could tell Art wasn’t really trying. It was a sad desperate insult, an insult based in self-loathing. Lou knew too much about just how lonely and abandoned Art was feeling right now and how much that just seemed in step with all of the pain Art felt when he was younger. Lou could handle a few sour grapes now and again. He wasn’t going to lose any sleep over Art’s bad moods.

“You want to burn bridges? That’s fine. Burn all you want. But you aren’t going to burn this bridge, our bridge. I’m the one that’s here. I’m the one friend you got.”

“God dammit, Lou…” Art was silent for a moment, and then he took a deep breath and sighed a sigh of friendlier relief. “Sometimes you’re the worst.”

Lou smiled in return. “Yeah I know.”

“What about the guy in the back corner?”

“Somebody. Somebody with an interest in keeping this place safe. He’s not going to care what we talk about. So talk to me.”

“Okay. Pour me another and tell me about it.”

Lou told him about the job. And even though it was an unsanctioned, nonunion job, Art decided he could use the money.

Art was short for Artemis. It was his code name amongst criminals. It was his code name amongst co-workers. What none of them knew was that Artemis was also his real name. He had been named after the Greek Goddess Artemis. Apparently his father wasn’t concerned with naming his son after a woman. Perhaps it was a joke. Or perhaps his father didn’t actually know who or what Artemis was. Maybe he just liked the way it sounded. Artemis couldn’t ask the man himself, the man himself hadn’t been around for years. And so the torturous teasing he incurred as a child was a final parting gift from his negligent father, a man that couldn’t be bothered to be around enough to properly raise his son. Back when his father had been bouncing in and out of prisons, his friend Lou had stepped in and tried to lend a helping hand in raising young Artemis. Art never forgot everything that Lou had sacrificed to help him. It was one reason Art didn’t mind taking on a lot of odd jobs so that Lou could get a cut of the proceeds. Despite every bitterness that he felt towards the man, Art had basically followed in his father’s footsteps into a life of petty crime. Funny how things worked out like that.

Lou had warned him that there was a girl involved. Art wasn’t sure just what he was being warned against. Lou had a distrust of women. He didn’t like the way they screwed with his mind while working a job. But maybe this time Lou was afraid of something else. Maybe he was worried that seeing another woman so soon after Amy had left him would set Art off into a spiral of despair. Or maybe he was warning Art because Art had a dangerous taste in women.

The next day when Art met with her, he understood Lou’s concerns had been ‘all of the above’.

She lived in the private community of Mt. Olympus, a development high above Los Angeles in the Hollywood Hills. It was a place of palaces and wealth and excess. The rich drank and looked down at the lights as the normal people scurried about. Art hated Mt. Olympus. It was sealed off and insulated. Bad things happened when people got too insulated from one another. Bad things had happened on Mt. Olympus. He knew a thing or two and had heard a few rumors about some of the people that lived up here. There were some dark and twisted types. Art didn’t have to come here often and he didn’t stay long when he did. He was especially thankful that there wasn’t an ‘Artemis Dr.’ in the neighborhood. That would have been too much for him to take.

Priscilla Thorne was in her late forties. She was tall and confident. She spoke directly and didn’t mince words. She was clearly very intelligent. She acted prim and proper, but it seemed as if that might have been an act. She was wealthy, old wealth, spoiled wealth, long-held wealth, but Art wasn’t able to ascertain where it came from exactly. He was a little hungover and the meeting was a little too early and he wasn’t able to complete as much of a background check as he would have liked. He did know that Ms. Thorne was formerly Mrs. Maxwell, but Mr. Maxwell was no longer breathing. Mr. Maxwell had made money working for a movie studio, but it wasn’t clear which, if any, movies he had ever helped develop or produce. He seemed like the sort that was somehow skilled or lucky enough to hang around money and by being in its close proximity, some of it somehow fell to him. It was a good skill to have in L.A. Art wished he had some of that skill himself. If Mr. Maxwell hadn’t had his heart attack a few years earlier, Art would have had several questions on the subject. Unfortunately Ms. Thorne didn’t seem to care to talk about that subject or about the glitter of Hollywood.

What Ms. Thorne wanted to talk about was art.

“What is it you want me to steal?”

“I never mentioned anything about stealing. You’re not here to steal anything. Is that what you thought this was?”

Art couldn’t tell if she was suddenly nervous about hiring a criminal or if she was suddenly playing coy and wanting him to spell out the facts of the crime, just in case he was setting her up to be arrested. Art had dealt with people like this before. They were paranoid, never knew whom to trust. Probably not a bad idea when they were paying someone to break the law. Art didn’t mind taking the lead and walking them through things. It was his job after all and he did enjoy doing it.

“No offense, lady, but it was my understanding you wanted to hire a thief. I just assumed you understood what it is that I do.”

“I know who you are. I know your reputation. I’m hiring you because I want to make a point. I want them to know I hired a thief. I want them to know that if I wanted the painting I could have it back at any time. I hired you because they’ll know who you are and what it is you do.”

“Okay. I can talk tough. I can make a show if it, if that’s what you want. I can tell you right now though, not a lot of people are scared off by that.”

“That’s okay. I have complete faith in your skills. You make the point. Let them weigh their options.”

“Fine by me. It’s your dime after all.”’

“Yes, it is.”

“But once that’s done, you’re going to have to weigh your own options and figure just what exactly it is you really want me to do for you when they reject the offer.”

“You let me worry about that.”

To be continued...