The Loo Sanction Read Online Free

would recognize it,” he said, pointing to the rough brazing.
    The Renaissance man nodded. “I knew the story, of course.”
    â€œThen why did you ask?”
    â€œTesting. Tell me. What do you suppose it will bring in an open sale?”
    â€œI’m a professional. I get paid for making evaluations.”
    Vanessa cleared her throat. “Ah, Jon, he gave me an envelope for you. I’m sure it will be all right.”
    Neither the voice nor the words were in character for the gruff, hard-drinking Vanessa Dyke, and Jonathan’s distaste for this whole theatrical setup grew. He answered crisply. “Impossible to say. Whatever the buyer can afford. It depends on how much he wants it, or how much he wants others to know he owns it. If my memory serves me, the Texan you got it from gave something in the neighborhood of a quarter of a million for it.”
    â€œWhat would it bring now?” Vanessa asked.
    Jonathan shrugged. “I told you. I can’t say.”
    The Renaissance man spoke without moving even a fold in the fabric of his suit. “Let me ask you an easier question. Something you
can
answer.”
    Jonathan’s slum boyhood toned his response. “Listen, art lover. Keep your fee. Or better yet, shove it up your ass.” He turned to leave, but Vanessa stood in his way.
    â€œPlease, Jon? A favor to me?”
    â€œWhat’s this yahoo to you?”
    She frowned and shook her head, not wanting to go into it now. He didn’t understand, and he was angry, but Vanessa was a friend. He turned back. “What do you want to know?”
    The Renaissance man nodded, accepting Jonathan’s capitulation. “The
Horse
will be offered for sale soon. It will bring a very high price. At what point would people in the art world find the price unbelievable? At what point would the newspapers make something of it?”
    Jonathan assumed there was a tax dodge on. “There would be talk, but no one would be unduly astonished at, say, half a million. If it came from the right sources.”
    â€œHalf a million? Dollars?”
    â€œYes, dollars.”
    â€œI paid more than that for it myself. What if the price were well beyond that?”
    â€œHow much beyond?”
    â€œSay . . . five million . . .
pounds
.”
    Jonathan laughed. “Never. The other privately held one could be loosened for a tenth of that. And that one’s never been broken.”
    â€œPerhaps the buyer wouldn’t want the other one. Perhaps he has a fondness for flawed statues.”
    â€œFive million pounds is a lot to pay for a perverted taste for things flawed.”
    â€œSuch a price, then, would cause talk.”
    â€œIt would cause talk, yes.”
    â€œI see.” The Renaissance man looked down to the floor. “Thank you for your opinion, Dr. Hemlock.”
    â€œI think we’d better get back now, Jon,” Vanessa said, touching his arm.
    Jonathan stopped in the hall and collected his coat from the porter. “Well? Are you going to tell me what that was all about?”
    â€œWhat’s to tell? A mutual friend asked me to arrange a contact between you two. I was paid for it. Oh, here.” She gave him a broad envelope, which contained a thick padding of bills.
    â€œBut who is that guy?”
    She shrugged. “Never saw him before in my life, lover. Come on. I’ll buy you a drink.”
    â€œI’m not going back in there. Anyway, I have an appointment tonight.”
    Vanessa looked over his shoulder in the direction of Mrs. Farquahar. “I think I have too.”
    As he slipped into his overcoat, he looked back toward the door to the private showroom. “You have some weird friends, lady.”
    â€œDo you really think so?” She laughed and butted her cigarette in the salver meant to receive tips, then she walked into the crowded reception room where the singer with the gold-tinsel wig and the green mascara was bobbing over the