Paul Robertson - According to Their Deeds

“It wasn’t because of you. What, you know him?”

“I don’t even know who it was,” Charles said.

“Galen Jones. What about him? I don’t think he left because you got there. I figured you might come, but I didn’t tell him to leave.”

“Who is he?”

“Galen Jones. I just said it.”

“But, Norman, who is he? How do you know him?”

“He’s a matchmaker. You’ve got to know them in this business.”

“A matchmaker.”

“Yeah, sure. You have three antique chairs and you need one more for your table? He makes you a match.”

“Oh, of course. I know what you mean. He makes replicas.”

“Replicas, replacements. Yeah, people ask me all the time. I’ve got to know a few in this business for people who ask. I don’t do furniture, but he does other work, too. And”-he narrowed his eyes-“I’ve got to know them to keep an eye on them.” He tapped his eye.

“And why is that?”

“You know, somebody like Jones, if I find out he’s had anything to do with a piece, I look at it real close.”

“I see-it might be a fake.”

“But I can tell. I know the real stuff, I can see it.”

“Was he there when you arrived?”

“Yeah, I sat next to him to be sociable. And Jones, I never heard specific, but if you ask around, there’s something back there, if you know what I mean.”

“Not really,” Charles said.

“Somewhere he got in trouble. I never heard specific, but if you ask around-”

“He tried to pass something he’d made as an antique?”

“Well, I don’t know, I never heard specific-”

“That’s very interesting, Norman.”

“Anyway, his work’s good and you’d have to look close to tell.”

“Why would he have been at Derek Bastien’s auction?”

“Oh, he did some work for him once. At least once, I don’t know how much. Bastien, he asked me once if I knew someone who was good and I told him to call Galen Jones.”

“What did he do for Derek?”

“I don’t know. Probably made him an extra chair. That’s what he does, if you have three chairs and you-”

“That’s very interesting, Norman.”

“Now if he did, it better not have been at the auction, or at least it should have said it was replica. That was all supposed to be real stuff. But I don’t do furniture, so what do I know.”

“And did you say an FBI person was asking questions?”

“That guy, what’s his name. The antiquities guy. Nice guy, whatever his name is. Yeah, he called me, back when there were all those burglaries up in Foxhall. I mean, just the usual stuff. He always calls me. I keep an eye out for stuff for him. Once in a while I see something he’s looking for. If I see it, I remember it. I remember a lot.”

“You certainly do, Norman.”

“And he called me yesterday. Checking in. I guess he was at the auction.” Norman took off his glasses to wipe the smudges more evenly over the lenses. “I told him he should find that blonde.”

“Sensible. I wonder, how would you look for her, Norman?”

“Why do I want to look for her?”

“I think I do.” Charles frowned, thinking. “Say you wanted to bid on the desk, but you didn’t want anyone to know who you were.”

“Why should I want that desk?” Norman was fuddled. “I don’t do furniture.”

“How would you find an agent to bid for you?”

“I don’t need an agent. I’d do my own bidding.”

“But if you did want to find an agent?”

“There are agents all over the place. I used to do that myself. I’m too busy now.”

Charles was lost in thought. “Maybe you don’t even know how auctions work…”

“I’ve been to a million auctions. Where do you think I get my stuff?”

“First,” Charles said, “you’d call the auction house.”

“You’re losing your mind,” Norman said. “What are you talking about?”

“I need to call the auction house.”

“So call them.” Norman had found his place in the conversation.

“What?”

“You want to call Capital Auction? Call them.”

“I will when I get back to the shop,” Charles said.

“Why wait? Here’s a phone. You should get yourself one of these.”

Charles found a little cell phone in his hand. “I don’t know the number.”

“Give me that.” Norman took the phone back, pushed numbers, and returned it to Charles.

“You have the number memorized?”

“I remember a lot. Anyway, it’s only been a couple months since I called it last time.”

“Capital Auction?” the phone said.

“Oh-yes, hello. I have a question.”

“Yes, sir?”

“I would like to participate in one of your auctions, but I won’t be in town. Is it possible to bid by telephone?”

“I’m sorry, sir, but we require bidding in person.”

“Oh. I see. What do people do if they can’t be there in person?”

“It’s common to use an agent.”

“An agent? How does that work?”

“You would have to make your own arrangement.”

“Can you recommend anyone?”

“We can’t recommend agents, sir. We do have a list for agents who have registered with us, but we can’t specifically recommend any of them. That would have to be between you and that agent.”

“I would like to get that list. Can you send it to me? Or is it on your website?”

“You would have to come here for it.”

“Very good. Thank you.”

He handed the phone back to Norman.

“Thank you.”

“What are you, losing your mind? You know all that. And where are you going out of town?”

“Nowhere, and I was just asking.”

“I could have told you any of that, anyway.”

“But you don’t like me asking you questions,” Charles said. “Perhaps, Norman, the woman is somewhere on that list. Oh, and I do have one more question for you. Did you end up getting anything back that you sold to Derek?”

“Yeah, a chess set. Wood inlay. Real nice. It’s the real thing, you know? You can tell. Austrian, 1890s. It’s out of my range here in the shop, but I got it anyway. Somebody’ll buy it.”

“How much is it?”

“Four thousand. I paid thirty-one. You want it? I’ll sell it to you for thirty-four. That’s a deal. You try to find something this good.”

“I don’t think so. But my fondest memory of Derek is playing chess on that board.”

“Thirty-four. Okay, thirty-three. Thirty-two seventy-five, and that’s between friends. You’re not going to turn around and sell it again? Because it’ll go for four, and I’ll sell it for that if somebody does.”

“No, I wouldn’t sell it. But three thousand is a little rich for my blood. I’ll pass.”

“Okay, but it’ll be here if you want it. Until somebody else grabs it.”

“Thank you, Norman. Thanks for everything.”

The walk to downtown would have been as long as the walk to Georgetown. Charles took the Metro. The first train coming in from Arlington was too crowded and he had to wait for the next. Presently, though, he was back on the pavement and then at the same building where he’d been Monday.

The lobby oozed discretion and prosperity; the thickest concentration had solidified into the receptionist. “Good afternoon,” he said. “I called a little earlier. I understand that you have a list of agents available to represent buyers in your auctions?”

“Yes, sir. I remember your call. I have one here for you.”

“Thank you so much.” The dark doors to the blue auction room were open. The rows of chairs were empty. “I wonder…”

“Yes, sir?”

“A friend of mine was at an auction here Monday, and he noticed an agent-he assumed it was an agent, anyway, a young woman about your age.”