“Nah, it’s nothing, Savich, the skin’s barely split. Don’t worry about that. Thing is my wallet was taken, and I really don’t know what to make of it all.”

Savich said slowly, “You think some people know you’re after my grandmother’s paintings?”

“Could be. Thing is, when I got that phone call at your house, I wasn’t exactly truthful with Lily. It wasn’t an emergency with a client here in New York. It was from an art world weasel I do business with occasionally. I’d called him from your house earlier and he said he’d heard some things, too, and now he’s put out some feelers for me on the Sarah Elliott paintings. He was expecting some solid results soon, would have something to show me, and he needed me up here in New York. I was supposed to meet him tonight, but he called earlier and said he didn’t have everything together yet. So it’s on for tomorrow night, at the Plaza Hotel, the Oak Room Bar, one of his favorite places. The guy’s good, really knows what he’s doing, so I’m hopeful.”

“All right, sounds promising. Now, just in case you were wondering how good a liar you are, Lily didn’t believe you for a minute. Your mugging, Simon, maybe it was just a mugging or maybe it was a warning. They didn’t hurt you seriously, and they could have. I’ll bet you a big one that your wallet is in a Dumpster somewhere near the gym. So take a look.”

Simon could picture Savich pacing up and down that beautiful living room with its magnificent skylights.

“How’s Sean?”

“Asleep.”

“Is Lily asleep, too?”

“Nope. She’s here, knows it’s you on the phone, and wants to lay into you. I can’t stop her from coming up, Simon.”

Simon said, “Okay, give her my address, tell her to take a shuttle up here. I’ll meet her unless there’s a problem. I wish you could keep her with you longer, Savich.”

“No can do.”

Simon said, “I changed my mind, Savich. It may be turning dangerous, real fast. I really don’t want Lily involved in this. She’s a civilian. For God’s sake, she’s your sister. I take it all back. Tie her to a chair; don’t let her come up here.”

“Do you happen to have any suggestions about what I should do, other than tying her up?”

“Put her on the phone. I want to talk to her.”

“Sure. She’s about to rip the phone away from me in any case. Good luck, Simon.”

A moment later, Lily said, “I’m here. I don’t care what you have to say. Just be quiet, go to the hospital, get a good night’s sleep, and meet my plane tomorrow. I’ll take the two-o’clock United shuttle to JFK. Then we can handle things. Good night, Simon.”

“But Lily—”

She was gone.

Then Savich’s voice came on. “Simon?”

“Yeah, Savich. Well, I’d have to say it was a nonstarter.”

Savich laughed. “Lily’s my sister. She’s smart, and they are her paintings. Let her help with it, Simon, but keep her safe.”

Simon bowed to the inevitable. “I’ll try.”

He took two aspirins and went back to his gym. There was a Dumpster half a block away. Lying on the top was his wallet, with only the cash gone. He looked up to see two young guys staring at him.

When one of them yelled an obscenity at him, Simon started forward. They didn’t waste time and swaggered away, then turned when they figured they were far enough away from him and gave him the finger.

Simon smiled and waved.

• He was waiting for her, standing right in front of the gate, arms crossed, looking pissed.

Lily smiled, said even before she got to him, “I didn’t want to carry much because of my missing spleen. I’ve got a bag down on carousel four.”

“I’ve decided you’re going back to Washington to draw your cartoons.”

“While you find my paintings? Doesn’t look like you started out very well, Mr. Russo. You don’t look so hot. I think I did better on that bus than you did in your men’s locker room last night. And I want to find my grandmother’s paintings worse than you do.”

And she walked past him to follow the signs to Baggage Claim.

Simon didn’t own a car, had never felt the need to, so they took a taxi to East Seventy-ninth, between First and Second. He assisted her out of the cab, took her purse and suitcase, grunted because it had to weigh seventy pounds, and said, “This is it. I’ve got a nice guest room with its own bath. You should be comfortable until you wise up and go back home. How are they doing on that cult case in Texas? They got him yet? Wilbur Wright?”