Nothing’S for Real

Copyright © 2017 Alan Cameron Roberts.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

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ISBN: 978-1-5320-2810-6 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5320-2809-0 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2017912709

iUniverse rev. date: 08/31/2017

A

special thanks to Peter King who was the author of eight Gourmet Detective mysteries and three Jack London novels among others. Peter was also a Cordon Bleu chef and a metallurgist whose work carried him around the world until he finally settled in Florida where he led a team that designed the rocket engines that carried the Apollo astronauts to the moon.

He sent me into orbit when he once wrote and called me The coming novelist of the millennium.

Thanks for your friendship and support of my writing.

Contents

Prologue

1     Auction Gallery, Sarasota, Florida - February 1, 1980

2     Auction Gallery – Later, Same Night

3     Taxi Leaving Auction Gallery – Same Night

4     Meeting Room, Long Key Club - 1966

5     Long Key Resort - 1 February 1980

6     Palm Avenue Auction Gallery - Afternoon - 1972

7     Long Key Resort - Day

8     Yacht Harbor - Afternoon

9     Long Key Resort - Night

10   Colby Walking The Bayfront - One Week Later

11   Patty Sander’s Home, Early Morning

12   Afternoon At The Auction Gallery

13   Long Key Country Club - Twelve Noon

14   Auction Gallery - Afternoon

15   Colby Visits Samantha

16   Flying To The Dominican Republic

17   Friday Afternoon, Third Week, February

18   The Auction Gallery - Night

19   The Bungalows At The Country Club

20   Auction Gallery - Saturday, 23 February 1980

21   Patty Sanders’ Home On The Bay

22   Flossie’s Bungalow - Monday, 25th Of February, 1980

23   The Auction Gallery During The Day

24   Goldman’s Apartment - Thursday Afternoon

25   Patty’s Home - Thursday Morning - 28 February 1980

26   Patty’s Home - Thursday Afternoon

27   Auction Gallery - Friday, 29 February, 1980 (leap year)

28   D Day - Saturday Morning, 4 a.m., 1 March 1980

29   City Island Yacht Docks - Four Hours Later

30   Auction Gallery - Saturday – 1 March 1980 -

31   Long Key Resort - 1 March 1980

32   Stock Room Of The Auction Gallery - Sunday Morning - 2 March 1980

33   Two Years Later, Summer, Somewhere South Of Ensenada, Mexico

Prologue

THE YEAR IS 1980. Jimmy Carter is an unpopular President who will give away the Panama Canal in March and ban our athletes from participating in the Moscow Olympics because Russia has invaded Afghanistan.

The gallery style auction business has been the chief form of entertainment during most of the twentieth century in small resort areas like Atlantic City; the Smokey Mountains (Highlands, Blowing Rock, Hendersonville and Waynesville); Scottsdale, Arizona; Florida (Sarasota, Ft. Lauderdale, Clearwater) and Hot Springs, Arkansas.

Legalized gambling came to Atlantic City in 1977 bringing Broadway quality shows to the big hotels who wanted to keep the people inside to gamble rather than having them wander down the boardwalk looking for an auction gallery for their entertainment.

Across the country comedy clubs and dinner theaters provided new forms of entertainment that were difficult competition for the galleries.

By the 1st of March 1980, you will understand a new language (auction speak), two people will be murdered, two will disappear and 20 million dollars in jewelry will be stolen.

What was life like in 1980?

Iranian Muslim radical students take 56 hostages from the US Embassy. The hostages will remain prisoners for 444 days as Carter ineffectively tries to free them. The release will not happen until the day Ronald Reagan becomes President.

Indira Gandhi’s Congress Party has just won elections in India.

Pierre Trudeau’s Liberal Party wins Canadian Election.

Victoria is crowned princess of Sweden,

USCGC Blackthorn collides with a tanker while leaving Tampa Bay. Twenty -three Coast Guard crew members die as the Blackthorn capsizes.

Gold hits $462 on 12 December 1979, then $634 an ounce on the third of January and continues on to a record $850 an ounce by 22 January 1980. Previously, in August 1971, gold had been $35 per ounce and by November, 2016, the price rose to $1300.

The times, they are a changing.

Price of gas on average in 1980 is $1.19 up from 36 cents in 1970.

Cost of a loaf of bread, 50 cents, up from 25 cents in 1970.

Cost of a new home, $68,700, up from $23,450 in 1970.

Cost of a new car, $7200, up from $3450 in 1970.

Average wages are $19,500, up from $9,400.

Interest rates and unemployment are in double numbers.

Snow falls on the 1st day of March, 1980 in Florida.

US and France perform nuclear tests.

Here are some of the events in the sports and entertainment world that were occurring at the beginning of 1980.

Pittsburg beats the LA Rams in Super Bowl XIV. Quarterback Terry Bradshaw is the MVP.

Gordie Howe becomes first hockey player to score 800 points.

The PGA begins the Senior Golf Tour.

From February fourth to March 16th, Joanne Carner wins four Ladies PGA golf tournaments. Other prominent golfers on the LPGA are Nancy Lopez, Amy Alcott Beth Daniel, Pat Bradley and Betsy King.

Tom Watson, Player of The Year in 1980, repeats in 1982 and 1984. In 1980, Jack Nicklaus, who had become an icon during the 60s and 70s, wins the PGA Championship. Seve Ballesteros wins the Masters. Other great golfers of the period are Fuzzy Zoeller, Craig Stadler, Ben Crenshaw and Curtis Strange.

In April, Johnny Carson presides over the 52nd Academy Awards. Dustin Hoffman, best actor in Kramer vs Kramer, and Sally Field, best actress in Norma Rae. Best picture is Kramer vs Kramer. Alec Guinness receives the Academy Honorary Award. Jon Voight and Jane Fonda, best actors the year before.

Young idiots are throwing ink on fur coats and expensive jewelry makes you a target. Sterling silver tea sets are a thing of the past.

SOME OF THE COLORFUL CHARACTERS YOU WILL MEET DURING THE MONTH OF FEBRUARY, 1980, AT THE PALM AVENUE DIAMOND AND ANTIQUE AUCTION GALLERY

CHAPTER ONE

Auction Gallery, Sarasota, Florida - February 1, 1980

COLBY WINCED AS THE auctioneer’s voice rose higher. Going, or goeeng, said with a French accent, gave the word a peculiar pinging sound to Colby’s ear. To the three hundred appreciative auction goers, it was French savoir-faire. They liked it. Colby did not. If Colby could, he would put his hand to his silk, designer tie and say in auction talk, get on with it or change the subject or drop that stupid French accent. Colby knew better however. The junior auctioneer did not correct the head and regular auctioneer, unless it pertained to one of the marks, auction speak for customers, in the tip, translation, audience.

Marcel Fabres, head auctioneer, could easily have been a leading man in a French movie. He was six feet tall, trim, with a small upper lip mustache and a smooth complexion. He wore an expensive black suit with a white monogramed shirt and a black bow tie. His hair was black and was extra long down the back of his neck.

Goeeeng! ! Marcel said again.

The second goeeeng was Colby’s signal to return to the auction block. He had been showing a 4.2 carat diamond ring up and down the aisles of the Palm Avenue Auction Gallery. It was time for the knock down.

Colby handed the diamond ring to the auctioneer. No thank you was given; none was expected. The animosity one man felt for the other was not evident to the tip. Colby, no middle initial, no first name, slid into the relative obscurity of the shadow of the rug easel, which had a 9' x 12' Bokhara rug hung as though it were a painting. As Colby waited for the knock down, he snuck a look at his notes to be sure he hadn’t missed any posses, possible sales.

Colby bore a resemblance to a forty-year old Michael Caine even though he was past fifty. He had three Saville Row suits from London, one black, one charcoal and one grey. Tonight, he had chosen the charcoal suit. He owned a collection of silk ties that made every suit look different. Tonight’s choice was burgundy. As much a part of his attire as his clothes was his demeanor. He was suave, always composed and had never been heard to utter a foul word. Colby was highly respected and his flair for comedy made him a favorite with the tip.

Goeeeng!!

Bloody hell, Marcel, knock it down! Sell it, thought Colby.

Colby watched as some of the audience slid forward in anticipation, while others drowsed. The hour was late. It was a sight Colby knew well. The smell was something else. The air was filled with the odor of stale cigarettes, Chanel Number 5 and mothballs. Bloody mothballs! What was it with senior citizens and mothballs?

But it was the cigarette smoke that bothered Colby the most. He hated cigarettes. The air conditioning seemed to agree, hissing its disapproval as the smoke spiraled towards the nicotine stained vents in the ceiling. It should be illegal to smoke in a public place, thought Colby. Someday it would. After all, it was 1980. People were becoming more aware of health hazards, especially the dangers of cigarette smoking.

Is that your last and final bid?

Of course it is, Marcel! It was the first, last and only bid, thought Colby.

It had taken Colby a while to become accustomed to gallery style auctions in resort areas such as Florida, Atlantic City, Arkansas and the Smokey Mountains.

Gone!!!

Fabres slammed the wooden block with his gavel. It sounded like a rifle crack. Some of the audience awoke with a start while others applauded enthusiastically. Some were dressed in smart modern attire, others in plaid slacks and paisley sport jackets or ugly golf slacks.

The auctioneer slammed the gavel once more.

It didn’t seem like the thing to do in a dignified diamond and antique auction gallery, even a crooked one. Well, maybe not crooked. When Colby had first gone to work for Al Rabin, the gallery owner, Rabin had explained that the marks knew what was happening.

You never let the marks know you know they know. Then they won’t let you know they know you know. That makes everything all right.

It had taken Colby a while to understand that kind of thinking.

Rabin had said that what they did was entertainment, a cross between auction and vaudeville. That, Colby understood. The jokes and patter drew the customers. Some auctioneers had even been known to sing to the tip. The auction items, the ones that sold that is, paid the bills.

A little help, please? Fabres sounded impatient.

Colby knew that Marcel Fabres wanted him to deliver the knocked down or sold ring to the buyer. He wanted to kosher up the tip. He wanted the audience to see a customer receiving the item she had bought. Before Colby had come to work for Al Rabin, he had never heard the term, kosher up the tip. There were other similar galleries owned by Iranians and Lebanese. Did they say, Kosher up the tip? Colby had briefly worked for one of them, but never had heard the term.

Colby took the ring from Fabres and slid it into his pocket. They would sell one more item, then Colby would make a big deal out of delivering the diamond ring. But first, he needed to know if the marks in the sixth row were live. He had heard them talking about a French street scene painting. He nodded to Evan Goldman, the floor man, who moved over under the painting. Communication between Goldman and Colby required little more than a look and a nod. Fabres was aware of what his floor people were doing as well as listening to conversations in the tip. It was a talent required of people in the auction business.

Mr. Fabres, will we have time to offer this French street scene tonight? asked Goldman.

Colby and Goldman were opposites. Colby was six foot, trim and very professional. Evan Goldman, at five foot six and easily forty pounds overweight, was not so cool and bore a resemblance to no one unless it was Curly in the Three Stooges. His hair, what little he had, was light brown and wispy. He wore cheap brown suits that were rumpled by the end of the evening because he sweated a lot. But he had other attributes.

Goldman was warm and generous to a fault. He was loved in much the same way you would love a cocker spaniel. The two men worked well together and the audience assumed they were good friends. Actually, the word allies would have better described their relationship. Marcel Fabres was the enemy, but not if it hurt the gallery in any way.

I don’t think so, Mr. Goldman. Auctioneer Fabres understood what Goldman was doing. It’s late. Fabres knew Colby needed to frame the sale. Fabres was aware of everything happening in the tip. It was almost as if the three men were wired together. A nod or a gesture explained everything.

Colby had been watching the middle aged couple in row six. Earlier he had overheard the woman say to her husband, Oh, Peter, look at that French street scene. I love it.

Over the sofa? guessed Peter. What about the colors?

The colors are perfect, Peter.

I wonder if it is scheduled for tonight? I wouldn’t want to ask for it. I’d be embarrassed if we didn’t buy it.

It was now fifteen minutes later as Colby watched the couple’s body language. He saw excited anticipation when Goldman asked if the painting would be offered. Good. Then, disappointment when the auctioneer said it was too late. Even better.

Excuse me, Mr. Fabres. Colby knew the mark was hot. That painting must be sold tonight by order of the estate, he said as he palmed a small note on the block. Six words on the note, along with the information about the painting on the back would tell Fabres everything he needed to know.

The marks’ instant smiles confirmed Colby’s instinct. If Peter and his wife had appeared disinterested, Colby would have rubbed his tie, to mean no good, move on.

Monsieur Goldman, tell Daniel to bring the painting to the auction block.

Daniel, as pre-arranged, was standing behind the rug easel with a ladder. Moments later, he handed the painting down to Goldman who placed it on the auction block. Fabres moved behind the painting, ostensibly so that the audience could get a better view. In fact, he was reading the information card attached to the back of the frame and Colby’s note. A quick study and he was ready.

"Madames and Monsieurs, this important work of art was once purchased by a multi-millionaire art collector after the war, in Paris, France, I am told."

Colby smiled to himself. Great phrase, I am told. It relieved the auctioneer of any responsibility for the validity of what he was saying. After the war. What war?

The artist, Pierre Pante, is well known in Europe.

Sure, Marcel. You can find him on the steps in front of Sacre Coeur in Montmarte, Paris. A hundred francs and a cheap bottle of wine would buy anything the artist had ever painted.

It is not ofteeen that we have museum qualiteee art that is so versatile. Fabres spoke slowly as he read Colby’s note. Color perfect, living room, good investment.

"Museum quality? Oui, magnifique. But would it not be better in a private chateau, a lovely home, somebody’s living room? The colors? Magnifique! Tonight the painting will leave this gallery with the highest bidder. Looking across the audience, I have ten thousand."

Fifteen thousand, said Colby, relaying a bid from a non-existent bidder.

I have fifteen. Who’ll make it twenty? said Fabres.

The shocked look on Peter and his wife’s faces told Colby they had no idea the painting was so valuable. Sixteen thousand, said Colby. The quick breakdown from ten to five to one thousand dollar increases told Fabres that the mark might be tapped out. The price was too high. Colby watched the couple intently. He didn’t have to hear their conversation to know what they were saying. As he approached from behind, he heard the wife say:

Peter, I love the painting.

I’d planned to invest that money, protested Peter.

Colby had guessed about the investment angle. He looked towards Fabres and lightly touched his chin. The mark was still live. Call the bid.

I have sixteen thousand, sixteen thousand, goeeeng!

Colby leaned into the couple and said, Magnificent, yes?

Yes, said Peter, as his wife nodded enthusiastically.

The colors would go well in your home? Colby already knew the answer.

Yes! said the wife before Peter could answer.

You like the painting? Colby addressed the question to Peter’s wife.

Oh, yes, yes. It is beautiful.

Say seventeen, then, said Colby. The previous questions, all requiring a yes answer, made it difficult for Peter to say no. But, he did.

Colby could see the disappointment in the wife’s face and he knew that Peter could see it too. I am told that in a few years this painting could be worth one hundred thousand dollars, Colby whispered in Peter’s ear, then moved away to let the couple talk. Hopefully, the wife would do the rest. Colby turned to Fabres and touched his watch. Kill time, said the signal.

Sensing the moment was right, and certain that investment was the key, Colby moved back in on the couple.

One hundred thousand dollars. That painting could mean early retirement for you. The tone of Colby’s voice guaranteed a sure thing.

Yes, darling. He’s right.

It was two against one and Peter knew it.

Colby leaned closer, holding up his left hand for Fabres not to knock it down. The gesture actually meant for Marcel to call the bid with greater urgency.

Sixteen thousand! Sixteen thousand! I have sixteen thousand! Goeeeng! Goeeeng!! Goeeeng!!!

I shouldn’t tell you this, Colby whispered like a conspirator in an old movie, The other bidder is a big dealer from New York. He’ll triple his money.

Peter! Hear that?

Quickly! Say sixteen five before he knocks it down.

Peter was caught between Colby, his wife, and the immediacy of the moment. He had no choice.

Yes, said Peter. The word hissed through his teeth.

I have sixteen five, said Colby, rising to face the auctioneer, his hand on Peter’s shoulder.

"Sixteen five? Oui! I have sixteen five! Goeeng once!"

Say sold, said Colby, just loud enough for Peter and his wife to hear. The look he exchanged with Marcel did the rest.

Sold! said Marcel.

Aware that Colby had asked for a quick knock in their behalf, Peter and his wife shook Colby’s hand. Peter had forgotten he didn’t want to spend the money.

Zat ees my favorite painting. Marcel Fabres’ accent was suddenly deeper. Of course, you must understand zat I love anything French. Marcel spread his arms in a manner that he hoped reminded the audience of the French actor, Charles Boyer.

The audience laughed. The line wasn’t that funny. It was timing and delivery, thought Colby, grudgingly. Now it was time for koshering the tip.

Monsieur Colby, did you deliver the ring to the lovely lady?

The ring not being delivered was by design.

Sorry, said Colby.

The other day I asked Colby for a little help. He said he was giving me as little help as possible.

Big laugh from the audience as they focused on Colby delivering the 4.2 carat diamond ring to Lucy Mason, who said, Oh, thank you, Mr. Colby.

What did you say? Colby pretended not to hear.

Lucy, now with raised voice, said, Thank you, Mr. Colby. If it weren’t for you, I would never have this wonderful ring. Lucy Mason had spent an hour with Colby during inspection that afternoon picking out just the right ring.

Thank your husband, Mrs. Mason, not me.

Lucy Mason tended to wear bright floral dresses that made her look even larger than she was. In her mid sixties, she had a wide, happy, mid-western face that never stopped smiling. She turned and kissed her husband. Colby had gotten to know Fred Mason during afternoons sitting at the bar. He was a retired football coach who wore blue jeans and sweaters. A beard all but disguised his real appearance.

Still in love, thought Colby. He envied Lucy and her husband as he turned towards the auction block. A three hundred thousand dollar bracelet was next.

Thank you, thank you, said Lucy Mason, her hand wrapped around Colby’s wrist. I’ve waited forty years for this.

We’ll talk later, said Colby as he extracted his arm from Lucy Mason’s vise-like grip. He could feel Marcel glaring at him. Rule one: You’ve done your job, now do not distract the audience from the auctioneer. The tip had been koshered. Now move away.

Colby moved quickly to the diamond display and removed the forty-two carat diamond bracelet. Behind him, he could hear Fabres beginning another of his favorite jokes. As usual, he was the butt of the humor. The