Nightwork

I waited while he counted the bills. He did it slowly and carefully. I hadn't asked Henry where he had found the money and he hadn't told me. 'That's it,' said Vance, as he snapped a rubber band around the last bundle of bills. 'Thank you,'

'You can keep the bag,' I said.

That's kind of you.' He escorted me to the door.

* * *

I drove fast. I wanted to look in at the hospital before it was too late for visitors. I had called at noon and spoken to Lily. Fabian was resting comfortably, she had said. I wanted to tell him that the man had come, as he had predicted, and asked for a hundred thousand dollars and that I had had it to give to him,

When I got to the hospital, the nurse at the front desk stopped me. 'I'm afraid you're too late, Mr. Grimes,' she said. 'Mr. Fabian died at four o'clock this afternoon. We tried to reach you, but...'

That's all right,' I said. I was mildly surprised at how calm my voice sounded. 'Is Lady Abbott here?'

The nurse shook her head. 'I believe Mrs Abbott has left town.' Even at that moment her American distrust of titles prevented her from saying Lady Abbott. 'She said there was nothing more she could do here. She thought she could catch a night plane back to London.'

I nodded. 'Very wise,' I said. 'Good night. Nurse. I'll be here in the morning to make the necessary arrangements.'

'Good night, Mr Grimes.' she said.

I drove slowly toward East Hampton. There was no hurry now. I did not want to go home just yet. I drove to the bam, dark now, with the newly painted sign. The South Fork Gallery, in small, modest letters above the door. 'Don't neglect the shop,' Fabian had said. I took out my ring of keys and opened the door. I sat on a bench in the middle of the room, without turning on the lights, thinking of the joyous, dishonest, scarred, cunning man who had died that day, and who, by the terms of the contract we had signed that slushy day in the office of the lawyer in Zurich, now had left me free and absurdly wealthy. The tears came slowly.

I got off the bench and went over to the switch and turned on the lights. Then I stood in the middle of the room and looked at the paintings of the wanderings of Angelo Quinn's father, glowing on the walls.