Page 8 of Maximus

Max chuckled. “You can bet on it.”

“Which? That you will or won’t be a stranger?” Val called from the living room.

“Yes.” Maximus laughed and walked out the door.

Malice followed him out. “Yo, Max.” Max turned and looked at the assassin. “I’ve got your back.” He held up his hand, stopping Max’s comeback. “Don’t. I know somewhere out there, you have people who care about you, or maybe you care about someone. I know you’ll do your job here and send a message. You’re just as good at this as we are, but you don’t work as often as we do. That, I know, is a fact. Yeah, you have skills we don’t know about, and that’s cool, but … everyone, even the lone wolf, still needs the pack occasionally. We’re here. Understand?”

Maximus smiled. “Momma Mal. I get why they call you that now.”

Malice rolled his eyes. “So, fucking sue me. My people matter; even though we don’t interact much, you’re still my people.”

Maximus turned and extended his hand. Malice grabbed it. “Whatever it takes, brother.”

Malice smiled. “As long as it takes.”

Maximus turned and walked away. Yeah, he was a lone wolf. He preferred the quiet to any effort at peopling. But Malice was right. He had a family he cared for and people who cared for him. He wasn’t a fool; he’d call in backup if needed. But the takedown was his. The message that needed to be sent was his to send. Abrasha had had his time. Well, he’d fucked around, and now, it was time for him to find out.

CHAPTER 5

Maximus strolled through the impressive private art gallery on the banks of the Black Sea. There were a few artists displayed who showed potential. He stood staring at an abstract on black canvas. The dark reds and oranges mixed with whites and yellows showed depth and consideration. The blocking or positioning of the center of the work was off, making it less pleasing to the eye’s natural tendency to put the painting into proportion.

“Fancy meeting you here.” Elena’s voice behind him didn’t surprise him. He knew she was going to be there. Turning to look at her, he pretended to be confused. “I’m sorry, you’re …?”

She smiled tightly. “Elena Ivanova, we met at dinner a few nights ago.”

Max blinked and then smiled. “Of course, excuse my lack of memory. I’ve been extremely busy. Today has been the first day I’ve been able to get away from paperwork.”

Elena nodded. “I left a message that I’d submitted the information you requested about the artwork we discussed.”

Max nodded. “Oh, yes, well, the people I represent are still debating the timing of that sale.” He turned to look at the abstract on the wall. He needed to establish a connection withthis woman, and he could do it through the art in the gallery. “This one shows promise, but …”

“They need to refine the placement. The colors are resplendent and calming even though they’re so vibrant.”

“Calming?” He turned and stared at the painting. He stood beside her as they gazed at the picture, and he realized it wasn’t thepaintingthat was calming; it was her presence that seemed to give off that vibe. Again, a detail he needed to follow and find out why it was happening. The woman’s presence was a mental computation with several of the factors missing. That made him smile. He loved a challenge. Focusing on the painting again, he cocked his head to try to find the sense of calm she saw. If he were honest, the painting looked like someone in a rage had splattered the paint against the canvas and then let it dry. Abstract would never be his thing, but he understood it now that he’d studied the mediums and styles.

She made a sound of agreement. “To me, it’s a sunset or perhaps a sunrise, illuminating and warming.” She stood beside him and stared at the painting.

Max turned and smiled at her. “You’re an optimist.”

She chuckled. “Guilty. I take it you’re not?”

“I see anger and power in the strokes and flow. The lack of discipline in the positioning is probably a rebellion by the artist.” He walked three feet over. “And this? What do you make of it?” He pointed to a seascape. The waves crashed against a cliff face, and the howling wind was perfectly depicted.

She glanced from one painting to the other and whispered, “I would have never placed these two paintings together.”

He nodded. “It shows a lack of respect for the styles. The hyperrealism of this painting suffers beside the abstract and should be displayed against a single wall, not in conjunction with different styles.”

“A rookie mistake,” Elena agreed. She glanced around. “The owner of this gallery has recently changed. The quality of the shows has started to slip.”

“But what do you think of the painting?”

She leaned forward and examined it for about two minutes before turning to look at him. “It …” She shook her head and looked around before leaning toward him. “I believe this is a hand embellished giclée. It isn’t original.”

“I agree.” Max made a motion to the painting. “That would never have made it past my line supervisor, let alone be placed in a showing.”

She made a sound of agreement. “Unfortunately, some acquisitions are beyond a curator’s authority. I have several my client purchased that I hide and pray never see the light of day.”

Max pulled a face. “That bad?” Her eyes widened comically, and he laughed at her. “Enough said.”

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