Page 33 of Sinful Crimes for the Artistically Inclined
“He can’t have my cigarettes,” said Percy, snapping the case shut.
“Do you have your own?” Joe asked, to a bewildered nod. “Give me the lighter.” Joe furrowed his brow as Percy narrowed his eyes at them both, yet Percy passed him the lighteras requested.
Percy walked away, lecturing, as Joe lit the man’s cigarette. “Do you know who Caravaggio killed?”
“Some guy. Over a tennis match, wasn’t it?”
“Incorrect. The man he killed was the pimp of the woman depicted in the portrait that I have today, hopefully, saved from scum like that there you’re smoking with. The woman in the portrait, Fillide Melandroni, fought as hard a life as anyone, rising up from the streets as a child prostitute to become one of the most sought after courtesans in sixteenth-century Rome. No mean feat, I assure you, clawing your way out of grinding poverty like that. And the worst part,” Percy turned, aiming two fingers with the lit cigarette between them in Joe’s general direction, “was fucking Catholics like you two messing with their story, their whole narrative. Making up filthy lies about the man when the fact is, this was a friendship, plain and simple. You’ve seen her face over and over in his portraits. He brought her to life for us, so we remember her, remember her struggle, remember others like her who were less fortunate. And now people look at his work, at his passion and cast it aside as the work of a common murderer.”
“I see what you’re?—”
“And then people like this take this artwork, completely misunderstanding Caravaggio’s meaning in painting this courtesan as a goddess, and they let it get destroyed. They carelessly take these beautiful things they don’t remotely understand, these things that represent passion and love and life and beauty, and they think they have a right to even look at it.”
“Percy, that’s been happening for hundreds of years,” Joe said softly. “You don’t get to kill someone over it today just because it offends you.”
“And why not? As an aside, that’s not why I’m going to kill them all, but philosophically speaking, why shouldn’t I?”
Joe shook his head slightly at the Catholic neo-Nazi as an indication that he would probably be better off staying asinconspicuous as possible, then said, “Because what makes you the person who gets to judge?”
Percy delivered an even more withering look than he had the last time Joe asked such a ridiculous question, but said only, “They know who I am. They will track me down, they will track you down, and we’ll both end up dead. Now, I don’t know about you, but I’m happy to die for this painting. If that’s the way you want to play it, then let them live, however many of them are left, and you and I will disappear together and live on our love and our wits with one very expensive picture in tow. On the other hand, if you want your life and your church and your nice cottage back, then I need only walk over there, gut him like the pig he is, deliver a bullet or two for good measure, and we’re home free.”
Joe waved the Catholic neo-Nazi down again, keeping his eyes on Percy all the while. “First you forget to take a grenade out of its box, then you forget to use an alias?”
“I didn’t forget?—”
“I’ll be honest, I don’t know if I want to date a man who’s this disorganised.”
Percy paid no attention to the appalled look from the Nazi as he slowly put two and two together, and Joe ignored him entirely while Percy sighed out, “It would take probably a full sentence of breath for me to explain to you how they ended up with my name. It’s neither relevant nor interesting?—”
“I’d say it’s very relevant.”
“The point is, there’s a very nice cocktail bar I wanted to take you to. This evening. It’s very nice, they do good food, and it has this terrace?—”
“Mmhmm.”
“It’s got to be one of the largest terraces in Kraków?—”
“Aha.”
“And it overlooks the old town. And have you ever had aJournalist?”
“I’ve never slept with anyone but you.”
Percy’s face cracked into a lovely smile. “You’re very funny, actually.”
“I know.” Joe grinned. “That’s what you like about me.”
Percy ran his eyes freely over Joe’s arms stretched out along the back of the pew, his long legs stretched out in front, his smouldering eyes locked onto Percy. “That’s not all I like about you.”
All the while, the Nazi sat on the floor, his mouth gaping, until Joe abruptly turned to him. “My friend here wants to kill you. Now, you need to be clever about this or he will. Do you understand?”
The man nodded.
“Tell me his name,” Joe said.
He sat in stupefied silence for another moment until he said slowly, “I don’t know his name.”
Joe looked up triumphantly. “He’s smarter than you’d think.”
