Outcasts

Chapter 14 - Different Strokes

The wind whipped the shopping bag around in Sykes's hand as he carried it up the museum steps. When he got inside, one of the security guards gave it a search, gave him a nod, and he headed back toward Philip Tierney's office. On the way there he passed through the public space where Mavro had been doing his mural. Workmen were dismantling the scaffold, hammering the sections apart. Sykes frowned and walked to one of the portals.

Tierney wasn't in his office, but that wasn't who he'd come to see. "They aren't wasting any time out there," he said to Helen Carty as he walked to her glassed-in cubicle.

She looked up from her desk.

"The scaffold," Sykes said.

"That wasn't my choice, Victor." She saw him glance toward Tierney's desk. "And it wouldn't have been Philip's either. I don't have to tell you what we went through to get this going in the first place."

"Right," he said, and made an effort to relax. "I appreciate it."

"Anyway, come in. Any news?"

"He's still out of it." Sykes held up the shopping bag. "I'm taking some things down to him."

"You'll let me know if there's anything I can do."

"Actually, I need a picture of him."

"That's easy, they're right here." She reached to her computer mouse. "How's Janna doing?"

"Probably not as good as she makes out."

"I spoke to her earlier. I'll call her again."

A series of thumbnail photographs flicked onto the computer screen.

Helen said, "These are the ones we took at the opening. Pick what you want."

Sykes stepped over, scanned the pictures and pointed to one. Helen clicked the mouse and the printer kicked in.

"What's it for?" she asked.

"I'll let you know."

They watched each other while the printer printed. Both seemed on the verge of saying something, but both let the moment pass.

The print slid out. Helen slipped it into an envelope and handed it to him.

"Keep me posted," she said. "People are already asking for him."

"I will," he said, and held up the envelope. "And thank you."

~~~~~~

The patient was sleeping, hooked up to a network of wires and tubes. Sykes stood by the bed watching him, not looking encouraged by what he saw. He turned to the nurse who was hanging an i.v. bag onto a stanchion. "How's he doing?"

"Just what you see." She connected the i.v. to Mavro's remaining arm, slipping the needle into a vein.

"What I see isn't good."

"He lost an arm and a lot of blood. What's to be good?" She moved the i.v. stanchion closer to the bed, checked the monitors blinking over Mavro's head.

Sykes held up the shopping bag. "I brought some of his things."

"Leave them on the chair there. I'll be back in a minute."

Sykes watched her go, set the bag on the chair. Heard a soft chirp and pulled out his cell. "Yes?"

In his library on the Upper East Side, Rizza Zekov was sitting at his desk, phone cradled under his chin. "I understand there was an accident."