Misplaced (30 page)

Elia
s
remaine
d
unruffled
.
“
I
did
,
bu
t
somethin
g
rather
unique has presented itself.”

“W
ell
,
now…
”
Arla
n
Miele
y
too
k
a
length
y
paus
e
t
o
puff
on his hand-car
v
ed English pipe. “Not a Mesoamerican piece, then?”

“No.”

“The last-minute airfare will be outrageous.”

“Y
o
u
won’
t
b
e
sorry.
”
Elia
s
ende
d
th
e
call
,
an
d
the
n
paid
close attention
to the exact replacement of the fake panel.

The
y
arrange
d
a
meetin
g
fo
r
thre
e
o’cloc
k
th
e
nex
t
afternoon
a
t
th
e
pri
v
at
e
tenni
s
clu
b
tucke
d
int
o
th
e
hillsid
e
o
f
th
e
Franklin
Mountains
,
wher
e
Elia
s
w
a
s
a
n
establishe
d
member
.
Th
e
nearb
y hotel
sent
an
occasional
guest
for
lessons,
and
although Arlan
Miele
y
ha
d
bee
n
visitin
g
th
e
clu
b
fo
r
almos
t
t
w
ent
y
y
ears
,
there
w
as no discernible impro
v
ement in his tennis game.

Sunglasses on, Elias
w
aited courtside, scanning the empty
surroundings
.
H
e
di
d
no
t
worr
y
the
y
woul
d
b
e
noticed
;
the sunbake
d
cla
y
o
f
th
e
cour
t
a
t
tha
t
hou
r
w
a
s
discouragement
enough. His crisp white clothing complimented his skin and, at the age when most men’s bodies turned soft, he
w
as as lean and sinewy as a matador—no easy feat gi
v
en the sublime
dinner
s
Mart
a
se
t
befor
e
him
.
H
e
spen
t
mos
t
lunc
h
hour
s
at
the gym, and could easily bench press more than he
w
eighed.
H
e
readil
y
admi
t
te
d
tha
t
o
f
al
l
hi
s
sins
,
v
anit
y
w
a
s
hi
s
mos
t constant offense.

Moments
later, Arlan
Mieley
crossed
the
court
with
a
gait
tha
t
coul
d
bes
t
b
e
describe
d
a
s
unpredictable
.
I
t
seeme
d
t
o
Elia
s that
he
neither
reflected
nor
absorbed
light.
Rarely
attracting
a first and
almost
ne
v
er
a
second
glance,
he
mo
v
ed
through
life continually trying to dodge his shameful past.

The
y
di
d
no
t
exchang
e
greetings
.
Elia
s
unzippe
d
a
white
vin
yl
tenni
s
ba
g
an
d
place
d
i
t
i
n
hi
s
partne
r
’
s
lap
.
Mieley
exhaled
heavily
in
anticipation
of
what
w
as
inside
and
reached
into the pocket of his shirt.

“Shit! I left my glasses in the room.”

“A
littl
e
nervous
?
Here
,
us
e
mine.
”
Elia
s
proffere
d
his
W
ayfarers
,
whic
h
ha
d
bee
n
modifie
d
fo
r
suc
h
occasions
.
“Come
on,
”
h
e
said
,
bouncin
g
th
e
bal
l
o
n
hi
s
racquet
,
“
w
e
shoul
d
at
least
practice
a
bit.”
He
rose,
throwing
the
ball
against
the
clay
a few times while
Arlan made clucking noises.

Miele
y
se
t
th
e
ba
g
dow
n
a
s
thoug
h
i
t
w
a
s
packe
d
full
o
f
plasti
c
explosi
v
es
.
“
I
don’
t
belie
v
e
wha
t
I’
v
e
seen!
”
he
exclaimed
,
hi
s
deep-set
,
gre
y
e
y
e
s
wide
.
“Wher
e
di
d
yo
u
get
them?”

“The
y
practicall
y
w
alke
d
int
o
m
y
office,
”
Elia
s
explained
nonchalantly
and
motioned
his
partner
to
the
other
side
of
the
net. “My suspicions are correct?”

M
i
el
e
y
mad
e
n
o
a
t
tem
p
t
t
o
jo
i
n
h
im
.
“
Y
o
u
ar
e
t
he
…t
h
e
luckiest
son
of
a
bitch
I’
v
e
e
v
er
met.”
He
shook
his
head.
“Do
you ha
v
e any idea what they could be worth?”

“No
t
a
clue
.
Ou
r
agreemen
t
ha
s
al
w
ay
s
bee
n
tha
t
yo
u
handle
the documents and negotiations, no?”

S
w
ea
t
trickle
d
fro
m
Mieley’
s
temple
s
an
d
uppe
r
lip
;
two
w
et
,
misshape
n
circle
s
marke
d
hi
s
shirt
.
“
Ar
e
ther
e
other
pieces?”
he
asked,
brushing
back
the
thin
patch
of
brown
hair
that
sat
high
on
his
forehead.
“What
if
they
w
ere
pilfered
from
a
large
r
collection?
”
A
protrudin
g
uppe
r
li
p
an
d
a
w
ea
k
chin
made
his
smile
look
more
like
a
grimace.
Only
Arlan’s
aquiline
nose sa
v
ed his face from complete disaster.