Week 5 - The Family Portrait – Part 2

The Family Portrait – Part 2

Matthew Ryan Fischer

Continued...

Artemis, who went by Art amongst his friends, went by Artemis when he was out on a job. He had been hired by the widow Maxwell, who called herself Thorne now, to help procure a particular painting. Normally he was hired because of his skills at thievery, but not this time. This time, he had been commissioned for a simple task – he was supposed to walk right in and announce who he was and what his intentions were. He was supposed to warn his mark that he could take the painting at any time (Never a good idea to prepare them to be robbed). He was supposed to scare and intimidate them (Artemis understood he was far from scary or intimidating). And then they were supposed to be so scared and intimidated that they just handed him the painting (This was not going to happen).

It was a terrible plan. Artemis knew that. Negotiations among thieves didn’t really work that way, but if that was what Ms. Thorne wanted to pay for, far be it from him to say no. Someone was going to take her money, so why not him? Artemis certainly didn’t mind being paid to not do his job properly and to have a simple conversation instead.

The meeting went just about how Artemis expected it to. No one was handing him anything.

Roderick Thornewill was a man of extreme and very old wealth. His home in Bel Air looked like modern art on the outside and like an antique collage of European history on the inside. Wealth did not always equal taste, and apparently Mr. Thornewill had decided that if he couldn’t have taste, he should have quantity and buy as many antique and expensive items as possible.

Thornewill was polite enough to listen to Artemis, so he was polite enough to not mention his opinions on their surroundings. Thornewill greeted Artemis as if he had expected his appearance. Perhaps Ms. Thorne had employed this tactic before. Perhaps at one point it had actually worked.

Thornewill listened to what Artemis had to offer, and instead of replying to the request, he simply began asking Artemis his own line of questioning.

“What did she tell you about the painting?”

Thornewill spoke so casually about her it was obvious that he knew Ms. Thorne.

“She told me that you have it and that you should give it back to her.”

“She made it seem as if I stole it from her. But what did she tell you about the painting itself? Probably nothing.  You don’t know what it was.”

The way he emphasized his words made it seem as if the painting was more than just some famous painting and instead it was secretly something else. What it could be besides a painting Artemis wasn’t quite sure of. He had seen enough Hollywood movies to imagine something fantastical, but he seriously doubted it had a map to a treasure printed on the back or anything like that.

“She said I didn’t need to know.”

“I’m sure she did. That sounds like her.” The way Thornewill said that made it apparent to Artemis that Thornewill wasn’t just aware of her, but that he and she were old acquaintances, possibly old old, like as in a long history here. Artemis wondered what that meant. They could have been lovers or friends or family. He then realized their names were incredibly similar. Perhaps he should have done a little more research into both of their pasts. He hadn’t been expecting complications, he had just been thinking about easy money for easy work.

It was a bad habit of his.

He was about to ask about the connection when Thornewill continued with his line of questioning.

“Would you like me to tell you about it?”

“Look pal, I don’t really care. I’m getting paid to talk to you and you seem pretty gung-ho to talk about it. How about you offer to fix me a drink and you can tell me about your latest goat rodeo for all I care.”

Thornewill agreed and made Artemis a drink. A strong one.

Artemis appreciated the effort.

It had whiskey in it with a hint of something citrus. Maybe it was an old fashioned, maybe not. Artemis knew his beers better than his cocktails, but he wasn’t going insult the man by asking or implying he wasn’t enjoying it. He was, after all, despite not knowing what was in it.

Thornewill and Artemis consumed much of their first drink before speaking again. Once Thornewill decided Artemis was loosened up enough to believe his story, he continued with his account of the painting.

“The painting she and I covet so greatly is a Xavier Thomas original, or a Thomas Xavier, depending on whom you believe. The man signed his name both ways so many times and there are very few records about him, it’s hard to tell which way is right. Either way, we both acquired it, and we both disagree about ownership rights.”

“So you co-own it? And I’m on the wrong side of a possession dispute.”

“Not entirely. People don’t own these paintings. They might possess them for a time, but no one really owns them. They float around between a certain class of people. None of us are foolish enough to assume ownership.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I don’t expect you to. But what I’m trying to illustrate is that the painting isn’t hers.”

“But it’s not yours either.”

“True. Expect right now it is, and I’m not ready to give it up yet.”

“So that’s it then? I tell her she’ll get it when it’s her turn.”

“She’ll get it if the painting wants to be taken.”

“If the painting--?”

“These are very special paintings. They choose us just as much as we choose them. This is a blood painting.”

“What’s that mean? Like a ‘Blood Diamond?’ Too many people get killed over them?

“People have paid in blood to own one. And they have sworn blood oaths. But I meant that the painting itself is made of blood. There are drops of blood, mixed in with the paint the artist used.”

“Blood blood? As in human?”

Thornewill nodded.

“So you’re a collector who collects the strange and fucked-up. What was the artist, some sort of freak?”

“Slightly macabre I confess, but nothing so terrible or sinister. Each painting is mixed with the blood from a different model. But it was willing blood. They were always willing. It wouldn’t be so grand if it hadn’t been willing. The model wasn’t murdered or anything sick and twisted like that.”

“Why do you people care so much? Because they’re rare? Because they’re weird?”

“To a degree, yes. To a degree, no. There are only twenty-seven in the collection. The concept is interesting. People like that. It helps with the notoriety. The blood itself...” He paused for a moment, to carefully consider his words. “The blood has its own particular value.” He didn’t elaborate on that point any further. “The artist has a different value. I want it because she wants it and she wants it because I want it. It’s a vicious cycle.”

“Why this painting? If there are twenty-six others, why this one?”

“I told you what I told you. You’ll have to ask her for the rest.”

“So that’s it then? No dice, no deal, no painting? I go and tell the merry widow that she can’t have what she wants to have?”

“You do seem to possess the ability to summarize correctly.”

“She won’t be happy.”

“I suppose not.”

“No, not that she’ll be unhappy. I mean, she’s not the type who is going to be satisfied with this outcome. She seems like the type who will do something else.”

“Why are you telling me this? Don’t you work for her? Or is this another part of your intimidation tactic? Scary scary indeed. But I’m not afraid.”

“I got paid to talk to you. I don’t know what she’ll do next, but I won’t be a part of any of that. Not my style. That was just some friendly advice, for a pleasant afternoon.”

“You’re a true gentleman.”

With that, there was nothing left to say. Artemis nodded and excused himself. He had to update Ms. Thorne and find out just what sort of problem she was going to turn into.

To be continued...