A dog or a cat in the foreground is especially coveted in today’s art market. —Georges LeFleur, “How to Market Your Forgery,” unfinished manuscript, Reflections of a World-Class Art Forger I let out a little screech. The X-man rolled his eyes. Michael was standing in the doorway to the outer office, much as he had been when I first met him at Anton’s: shoulder against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest. He was wearing his brown leather bomber jacket, a bright white T-shirt, and well-worn Levi’s. He did not look surprised to see me. “If you’re going to continue in this line of work, Annie, you will have to learn to stifle your scream impulse.” He gave me a leisurely once-over. “Love the hair. But what in the hell happened to your face?” My hand darted up to soothe my wild curls. “I am not in ‘this line of work.’ I am a legitimate small-business owner who gets a little jumpy around you criminal types.” “That so? What about those stunts you and your dear grandpapa pulled off in your younger days?”
