Naked Ambition. Dan RobertsЧитать онлайн книгу.
a moment. As Chen’s eyes moved once again to the shiny, red-bodied vehicle on display, Roget said, “It’s a real beauty, no?”
“Yes, quite,” was Chen’s answer.
“It is a true American classic. A Duesenberg. Do you know of the name?”
“Oh, yes. Quite a famous line of cars. But never have I seen one as beautiful as this. Certainly not in person.”
“Monsieur Chen, this is one of the most beautiful automobiles we’ve had the privilege of offering here at Sotheby’s.
It was then that Roget, with a sense of pride, took hold of the velvet-covered rope barrier, opened up the no-touch zone, and invited Chen to step closer. Now standing just inches from the bumper, Chen watched as Roget made a grand sweeping motion with his one hand as he said, “This, Monsieur Chen, is a truly unique automobile. A 1935 SJ Duesenberg Convertible Coupe. Everything has been fully restored. Just like new.” It was then that Roget lowered his voice a bit, speaking almost as if he was revealing a secret. “Actually, there was not much need of restoration since it has been garaged since 1937. It seems the original owner had gone to France and stayed there during the war years. For whatever reason, he never returned to America. We have documented proof of it being in storage for all those years.”
Chen’s reply was a nod followed by, “Interesting.”
Roget, a man of great knowledge when it came to the items being sold at Sotheby’s, continued on. “As I’m sure you know, the Duesenbergs were all one of a kind, each one being hand built as ordered. They were like… like sculptures on wheels. But this one, Monsieur Chen, is extremely rare. There were only three of this particular style ever built.” Leaning toward his visitor, Roget softened his voice as he repeated, “A very rare item indeed.”
“Yes,” said Chen, his eyes filled with fascination. “I’m sure it is.”
Recognizing the level of Chen’s interest, Roget continued. “Did you know, Monsieur, that the Duesenbergs were known not just for their elegance in style, but also for their engines?” With his hands now visually expressing ‘bigness,’ Roget said, “They had large engines.. huge ones… designed for racing. Several of their sport models were driven by winners of the Indianapolis 500.”
Upon hearing that, Chen asked about the motor on this particular model.
“Ah, Monsieur Chen. Powerful, very powerful.” Now pointing to the hood that seemed to go on forever, Roget said, “Under here is a 320 horsepower engine. Supercharged, believe it or not. I am told that it has a top speed of almost 140 miles per hour. In it’s day that was very, very fast.”
Chen grinned at the thought of sitting behind the wheel of this beauty at any speed.
Letting a little time pass for introspective thinking, Roget then said, “This classic will be in our auction next month along with several others including a 1957 Mercedes-Benz 300Sc Coupe. That, too, is a beautiful example of design and speed.
Still concentrating on the Duesenberg, Chen asked, “And what is the value of this one, Huber?”
Seemingly pleased that Chen had asked that question, Roget replied with, “It is expected to sell for somewhere between three-and-a-half and four million dollars.” Seeing that Chen didn’t flinch at the numbers, Roget continued. “If you ask my opinion, Monsieur, I think it’s going to be a wise investment for whoever buys it. For an automobile so rare, especially in mint condition, the price can only go up as the years pass.” Roget, knowing of Chen’s history of buying—and why—added, “I would think that this would be a good investment for you, would it not?”
Chen smiled as he looked at Roget and said, “You know me well, Huber.”
Trying to add even more of a reason for Chen to think about a purchase of such magnitude, Roget said, “And, as you know, Monsieur, we can keep such an item for you in our secure, climate-controlled storage area. For as long as you would need.”
Still eyeing the red beauty, Chen added, “Tempting, Huber, very tempting. But, unfortunately, I’ll not be in New York next month.”
Not one to let absence be an excuse, Roget replied, “But, Monsieur, here’s always telephone bidding.”
Chen nodded. “Yes, of course there is.”
It was not many seconds later that Chen looked at his watch. Seeing the time, he abruptly—and reluctantly—withdrew his gaze from the car known in its day as a ‘Duesy’ in order to focus on the painting he had come to see. “So, Huber, tell me more about the Matisse.”
CHEN AND ROGET WERE JUST WALKING off the elevator, about to enter the tenth floor estate gallery, when Chen’s cell phone rang. Seeing that it was from his ‘eyes’ in Reading, Chen excused himself, asking Roget to walk ahead to the gallery. “I shouldn’t be long, Huber. I’ll meet you in there.”
Chen walked to a corner of the hallway and, in a quiet voice, answered his phone with a simple, “Yes?”
He listened for less than a minute and then quietly said, “Okay. That’s good. But I want to continue the tail on the target 24/7. Do you understand? Round the clock. 24/7.”
Obviously, there was an affirmative answer, probably something like, “yes, sir.”
After clicking off his phone, Chen walked toward the estate gallery. After passing through the double door entry, he walked into the first of a series of large gallery rooms where the collections of several persons of wealth, either deceased or ‘downsizing,’ were on display for examination before being auctioned. A quick perusal of the area made Chen aware of several paintings by Monet, a few by Renior and, at least. two Picassos, one filling the larger part of the wall on the far side.
Roget, who had been speaking with one of the security guards, saw Chen and approached him saying, “Monsieur, if you will follow me I’ll take you to the Matisse.” Noting Chen’s eyes moving slowly—appreciatively—about the room, Roget added, “There may also be a few others that you would be interested in. I think you would be especially pleased with the Chagall we have in the next room.”
Still thinking of his Reading contact, Chen answered Roget with, “Lead on, Huber. Lead on.”
THE COACH’S WATCH SAID IT WASN’T yet time to stop practicing. In fact, it was a little earlier than the usual 8:00 quitting time. But that didn’t stop Clarkson from blowing his whistle. After wrapping up his usual pep talk, which tonight was very brief, he dismissed ‘his boys.’ Then the coach asked Jack and Max Fisher to put all the equipment away. “I’ve got to take Nick to the Baker’s place and then get home myself,” he said in an obvious attempt to leave quickly. “Max, you going to be okay staying with Jack? His mother should be here any minute.” Max answered, saying he had no problem.
It was only a short time later that Clarkson slammed the Lexus’ door fast and hard. In his desperate attempt to escape the heat and humidity of the evening air, he started the engine, reached toward the dash and pushed the air conditioner button to high. As he wiped the perspiration dripping from his forehead, he looked at his face in the rearview mirror. It was red and a bit bloated. He then turned toward Nick who was sitting next to him and said, “Damn this heat. It really gets to me.”
After putting the car into ‘drive,’ the Lexus made its way out of the Scott Recreation Center parking lot, then headed north on the road that led toward the Baker home. As he drove along, Clarkson couldn’t get his mind off the heat wave that had engulfed the area over the last few days. Looking up at his rearview mirror once again—at the temperature gauge—Clarkson’s head began shaking back and forth, indicating a high level of displeasure. “God, it’s still ninety degrees at eight o’clock. I hate this weather,” he said as he momentarily diverted his eyes toward his passenger. “How about you?”
“Yup,” was the only reply from Nick.
Without moving his eyes from the road, Clarkson said,