Part 4 (2/2)
Von den Schenken-Hanken stared at the panda in surprise and nodded.
”I have the money,” she answered awkwardly.
”Show me.”
”Now? But I don't usually-” she started.
”We've never done business together before,” said Panda brusquely. ”And Esperanza-Santiago is not like other artists.”
”No, no, I just ...” said the zebra without finis.h.i.+ng the sentence.
She was an elderly stuffed animal with threadbare cloth around her nose. Panda didn't care about that.
”Come along into the dining room,” she said, leading the way.
On the dining room table, a piece of furniture worthy of a knight's hall, was a brand-new, black attache case, exactly as Igor Panda had instructed.
”Two and a half million,” said the zebra as she opened the case's combination lock.
”And another half million after delivery,” said Panda.
”What?”
The good-natured zebra seriously believed she had heard wrong. They had already agreed on the price. Two and a half million. Zebra von den Schenken-Hanken had never paid that much for a painting, although she had been collecting art most of her adult life.
”The price has recently gone up on Esperanza-Santiago's smaller oils,” Panda explained.
”But-but-didn't we have an agreement?”
”The market rules,” said Igor Panda indifferently. ”It's not something either of us can do anything about.”
Dismayed, the little zebra sat down on one of the dining room chairs and threw out her hooves.
”But,” she repeated, ”didn't we have an agreement?”
Panda looked coldly at the colorful zebra and shrugged his shoulders.
”Then I think we have nothing more to say to each other.”
He turned around and started to leave.
This was not the first time he had played this scene. Based on what the collector seemed able to pay, he often raised the price at the last moment. When a pa.s.sionate art lover was so close to getting something as valuable as a genuine Hummingbird Esperanza-Santiago, they seldom backed out. Judging by von den Schenken-Hanken's house, it ought to be possible to squeeze out another half million.
But when she didn't call him back, even though he was almost to the hallway, he started to doubt. Perhaps he'd overdone it?
Well, there were others to turn to.
”Mr. Panda, wait, Mr. Panda! I was just so ... surprised.”
Igor took a few more ominous steps before he stopped. Slowly he turned around, hesitantly coming back toward the dining room.
”I don't need the additional payment before ... the day after tomorrow,” he said thoughtfully.
”No. I mean, yes, that sounds ... okay,” said Zebra von den Schenken-Hanken. ”And you have the painting with you?”
”I'll get it if we're agreed on the extra half million,” he said.
Zebra nodded. In her eyes there was the desire that Panda often saw in these rich animals, a kind of veiled glow, a mixture of self-satisfaction and emptiness.
”So we're in agreement?” Igor repeated. ”Half a million, the day after tomorrow? I'll pick up the money here the same way as today, and at the same time?”
”If it has to be that way,” the zebra conceded. ”Would you be so kind as to get the painting now?”
Igor turned and with rapid steps went out to the car.
Fifteen minutes later Igor Panda left von den Schenken-Hanken's stately property in Swarwick Park. The sun was still s.h.i.+ning, and now it was easy for him to appreciate it. The attache case with the money was on the seat beside him, ten years' salary for an ordinary working animal in Mollisan Town, and when Panda reached South Avenue he pressed the gas pedal to the floor. The black car accelerated, and the panda was pushed back into the seat. Panda left von den Schenken-Hanken's stately property in Swarwick Park. The sun was still s.h.i.+ning, and now it was easy for him to appreciate it. The attache case with the money was on the seat beside him, ten years' salary for an ordinary working animal in Mollisan Town, and when Panda reached South Avenue he pressed the gas pedal to the floor. The black car accelerated, and the panda was pushed back into the seat.
He could not hold back a wry smile.
Of all the artists currently active in the city, none could compare with Hummingbird Esperanza-Santiago. It was not obvious that Esperanza-Santiago was superior to her colleagues in genius, feeling, and technique-but the price of her paintings was sky-high above everyone else. The reason was that she hardly painted anymore. While building up her reputation and gaining recognition, she had produced up to four or five canvases per year. Then self-criticism put a stop to her creative flow. Nowadays Igor Panda had to be happy if Esperanza-Santiago completed even a single painting a year. And, he a.s.serted, neither she nor he could live like that.
Igor sneaked a glance at the attache case.
He smiled again.
”I don't give a d.a.m.n how you live,” he said out loud. ”It worked out for me anyway.”
A little farther on he caught sight of a police car and reduced his speed.
Day Two
2.1.
Anna Lynx woke up with a pounding headache. She didn't open her eyes, she didn't budge. Red wine. She could feel the taste of it on her tongue, and she realized that was why it felt like a tiny chimpanzee had crawled in through her ear and was now hammering right against her temple. Cow h.e.l.lwig. Anna squinted carefully, as she slowly twisted her head. The bedroom was still blessedly dark, and there, beside her in the bed, was her friend Cow h.e.l.lwig, sleeping.
Her anger returned. Cow must not return home. Must not be allowed to return home! Then Anna felt the impotence come creeping back. She was a police officer. But she could do nothing. She had spent half the night trying to get Cow to agree to divorce her husband. The very thought that she would go back to that ... Anna didn't even want to think his name. No, it was not abuse. But it was everything but. The position of females in Mollisan Town had not changed in the last hundred years, she thought. Not really. Even if the oppression had become more sophisticated.
There was a knock at the bedroom door. Hard, angry knocks.
Anna Lynx got up out of bed.
”Coming!”
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