Chapter 3-1
559 Words
Chapter 3
Kyle surveyed the exterior of the building housing Caleb Pence’s import-export business. It sprawled over a quarter of a city block, one story, with two large windows flanking a wide front entrance. He walked around to the back, facing an alley. There was a loading dock with a roll-up door—unsurprising considering what the business was—and a normal door beside it, but no windows.
Going around to the front, again, Kyle entered the building. A middle-aged woman sat at a desk straight ahead of him in the waiting room.
“May I help you?” she asked.
“Is Mr. Pence available?”
“He’s with a customer at the moment, and has another one due in half an hour.” She glanced at her computer screen. “He has an opening at two this afternoon, if you’d like to make an appointment.”
“I would. My name is Jonathan Roberts.” Kyle gave her a phone number connected to that name when she asked. It belonged to the real Mr. Roberts, a man who had helped Kyle catch a bogus art dealer two years ago. If Pence or his receptionist called it, Roberts would pass any message on to Kyle.
She handed him a business card, which he put into his wallet, just as the door to her right opened and two men came into the room. One was tall and slender, wearing slacks and a blue dress shirt. Kyle knew immediately that he was a shifter. The other man was dressed in a suit and tie—and was human.
They walked to the front door, the shifter saying, “I’ll be in touch with you as soon as your order arrives,” as he shook hands with the human.
“Thank you, Caleb,” the human replied. “I’ll look forward to hearing from you.”
The man, who he now knew for certain was Caleb Pence, started toward the door to his—Kyle presumed—office when he noticed Kyle. At the same time, the receptionist said, “Mr. Pence, this is Jonathan Roberts. I made an appointment for him to see you this afternoon.”
Caleb nodded, eyeing Kyle. “I have a few minutes before my next customer arrives. I can see you now, if you’d like.”
“That would be perfect,” Kyle replied, following Caleb into his office.
“How may I help you?” Caleb asked when they were seated.
“I got your name from David Styles.”
Caleb smiled. “Am I supposed to know Mr. Styles?”
“I think it’s more a question, is he supposed to know you? He’s a collector.”
“Of?”
“Fine art,” Kyle replied.
“Then I’m certain we haven’t met. I deal primarily in furniture and carpeting.”
Kyle knew this, having done his research. “I’m aware of that. However, your name came up when I was talking to him about my interest in a certain sculpture I’d like to add to my collection.”
“Mr. Roberts, I have no idea what you’re trying to pull off, although I can guess. Whatever it is, you’ve come to the wrong person,” Caleb replied angrily. “I’m a legitimate businessman. I don’t, and never have, dealt in stolen goods.”
“I’m sorry. Apparently Styles was having a joke at my expense. I won’t bother you again.”
“Thank you.”
As Kyle left the office, he smiled to himself, wondering how long it would take for Pence to get in touch with him privately. He had made note of the security the man had on his business, which he considered excessive for the kind of products Pence handled. At least for what he undoubtedly had stored in the warehouse in the back of the building. But definitely what he needs to keep anything safe that he obtains for someone like Styles, until he hands it over to the buyer. Is he my thief, or just the middleman?
- Writer
