Gallery Geller was packed and buzzing the night of Mavro's opening. Trendy young crowd, tattoos and piercings mixed among the beautiful people in up-to-the-moment designer regalia. Cameras flashed, more and more guests kept streaming in, everyone seeming to know everyone else.

Sykes was talking to Mavro and Janna in their black-on-black outfits, Janna catching glances in her gothic-chic makeup, even Mavro smiling. Suddenly Helen Carty swept in and took him by the arm, weaving him away through the crowd to have his picture taken.

Sykes, who was looking stylish in a well-cut second-hand suit he'd bought from a theatrical wardrobe shop, took two champagne glasses from a passing tray and handed one to Janna, clinked her glass and raised his voice above the din. "A big night."

"Thanks to you," Janna practically having to shout back.

"Thanks to Helen."

They sipped and watched Helen pose Mavro for a camera girl who had blue hair and a ring in her nose.

"He's got the fire," Sykes said. "I hope he keeps it."

Janna smirked. "If only they knew how easy this stuff was for him."

"Sometimes that's the problem."

"Was it for you?"

Sykes paused mid-sip and gave her a look.

"I checked you out," she said. "How come you don't paint now?"

"If you checked me out, you know."

"A rap sheet's no big deal. Or is that the excuse."

"No – no excuse. How come you didn't pipe up when I did that deal with him?"

"There's nothing for us to lose now." What was left of her smirk disappeared. "But you screw us and see what happens."

They stared at each other until a man's voice cut through the crowd noise.

"Victor..."

Sykes turned to see Philip Tierney, dressed in his signature Savile Row.

"Hello, Philip."

"Congratulations." Tierney looked around proprietarily as he shook Sykes's hand. "You took my advice, I see."

"I did and I'm glad you came." Sykes turned to Janna. "Janna, this is Philip Tierney, the curator's curator."

Janna stuck out her hand and gave Tierney's a brisk shake. "Hey, Phil."

Sykes suppressed a smile and said to his friend, "Janna shares Mavro's work space."

Tierney lifted an eyebrow. "Really? Maybe you can tell us his secret, how he gets his effects."

Janna put on a faux serious face. "He works his ass off. Sweats every picture."

Sykes couldn't help smiling and set his glass on a table. "Excuse me a minute, I have to check on our star."

He left Tierney in Janna's hands and worked his way through the circulating crowd, could see that just about every woman in the place, Helen no exception in her trim bolero jacket and leg-flattering skirt, was worth a second, maybe a third look.

Mavro and gallery owner Austin Geller were showing some of Mavro's paintings to a husband and wife pair of collectors. The husband, Paul Freilinghaus, had stopped at one of the primitive abstract panels and was studying the accent figure. He turned to Mavro. "I sense some African influence here. Have you been?"

Mavro said, "No, but you don't have to go there to use it in your work."

"True, but it might give you some thoughts for new things."

"Picasso never went and it's in most everything he did."

"Picasso was Picasso."

"I try to learn from the best."

A few steps behind them, Sykes was talking to Geller. "How's he doing?"

"Fine," Geller said. "There's a rumor a large wallet came in from London."

"Tell them we accept Pounds and Euros."

Further down the line of paintings, Sykes spotted a familiar figure studying a panel that showed a naked man who had a bull's horned head and was ravishing a naked woman. Sykes went over and stood behind the browser. "Every red dot is a painting sold."

The browser, Rizza Zekov, noted the red dot on the piece he was inspecting. "Cash?"

"Half the pieces were sold before we opened," Sykes said. "The money is in the bank."

Zekov allowed him a cold smile, "I'm very happy for you." He let the coldness have its effect, then moved on to the next painting. Two of his henchmen gave Sykes a hard look and followed their boss. Sykes wondered if he should do the same, try to buy himself more time just in case. But that would lessen the impact of what he was trying to do here tonight, which was show that he was back in the game, had a hot property. What did they say? Less is more.

He turned toward the bar – and what was this?

A young man had positioned himself next to an ice tub filled with bottles of champagne. The bartenders were busy juggling drinks. When their backs were turned, the young man snatched a bottle off the ice and stuck it under his warm-up jacket.

Another pair of eyes had seen it, too.

Mavro had finished his conversation with Paul Freilinghaus and had turned toward the bar at the same time Sykes did, saw the snatch and recognized the snatcher.

Skateboard virtuoso, The Wiz.

Mavro went over. "Hey, my man..."

The Wiz kept the champagne bottle under his jacket and checked out Mavro's sharp black-on-black outfit. "Hey, the star-tist himself."

"You alone?" Mavro asked.

"There's friends outside come to see you."

"Tell them to come in."

"Tell them yourself. We got stiffed at the door."

Mavro frowned. He followed The Wiz through the crowd to the gallery entrance.

Outside on the sidewalk, among guests who had stepped out there for a smoke, a contingent from the grunge posse, each with his foot on a skateboard, watched him come toward them with The Wiz.

"It's like our invite never was," The Wiz said.

Mavro shook his head. "It wasn't my fault, man."

"You're supposed to be the man, man."

"Come in now. Get some food."

One of the posse boarders spoke up. "Too late, man."

The Wiz said, "It ain't like being remembered in the first place, is it?"

Mavro knew he'd blown it. "Wait here."

He turned and darted back inside, pushed through the crowd to the bar. He squeezed around to the ice tub, grabbed two more bottles of champagne, shook off the bartender who tried to stop him, and darted back to the door.

He rushed outside, champagne held high – and looked around.

Save for a few smokers, the sidewalk was empty.

He looked down the street. The skateboarders were rolling away en masse.

"Hey!" he yelled. "Hey!"

He stood there holding the two champagne bottles at his side and watched the last of the boarders fade into the dark.