“OH, MY word!” Wilde flapped his arms in disbelief.
“Dear heaven, he’s gone mad!” Professor Angeli charged about distractedly.
“Christine, you’re bleeding!” Amanda leaped to disentangle Marc from the older woman.
“God, whatta belt. Bleeding? Damn!”
“Ace, look after Christine! I’m going after him!” Marc bolted around the bewildered older men.
“The little twerp has always been flaky.”
He dashed out of the apartment.
“You don’t have any clothes on!”
“Damn! I think he loosened a tooth! Ace? Who the hell is…?”
“Professor! Mr. Wilde! Look after Christine, I’m going with Marc!”
“Marc?” Angeli’s voice was a confused croak.
“I’m fine, damn it! I’m coming, too,” Christine shouted after Amanda. “It’s a scratch. He must have caught me with one of his arty rings. Just get the little bastard. I knew he was going to crack!”
The hallway was empty except for the naked model looking frantically around.
“Ace, I’ve gotta get that drawing! If he destroys it we have no evidence!”
“But…”
“I don’t know whether he grabbed an elevator or made for the stairs. You take the elevator, I’ll take the stairs! Be careful,” he yelled, disappearing into the stairwell.
Christine furiously stormed after them into the hall, still trying to clear her head, followed by the two men.
“Catch the elevator,” Amanda called to the group, “I’m going down the stairs.”
She dashed into the stairwell and caught sight of a naked Marc racing down the steps two floors below her.
“Marc, Marc!” Her voice echoed down the shaft. “The others are taking the elevator. Do you think he went down to the street or do you think he’s hiding on another floor?” She was already puffing hard.
“Sounded like he just wants to get away from here.” Marc’s voice rebounded up to her.
“But it doesn’t make sense.” She raced down the stairs, gasping, clutching her long skirt out of her way. “We all know where he lives. What’s he thinking of?”
“That’s what worries me. I think he really might have flipped! I don’t want him to hurt himself or the drawing. Or us!”
Good lord, he’s not ever breathing hard, she noted in astonishment as her calves began to burn.
Marc hit the first floor flying and dashed into the lobby with Amanda not far behind.
“What the hell?” the guard behind the desk leaped up at the sight of the naked man.
“Have you seen a kid in a jerkin and tights? Probably running?” Marc quickly scanned the startled occupants of the narrow lobby.
“Uh…”
“He’s a thief!” Amanda yelled, emerging from the stairwell. “We need back-up!”Back-up? Ace, you are such a pro! Out of shape, but still a pro.
“Take the south door,” Marc called, zigzagging through startled people. “I’ll take the north!”
Amanda dashed out the door onto the sidewalk. The night was filled with people. Nathan was nowhere to be seen.
Damn, maybe he’s still in the building.
She caught sight of Marc’s muscular bare body at the other end of the block frantically searching the crowd as the flow of pedestrians parted apprehensively around him.
Amanda bellowed into the passing late-night crowd, hoping to catch the attention of the blasé New Yorkers. “Nathan’s stolen a fake Michelangelo! The game’s up, Nathan!” She quickly scanned the startled pedestrians, slowed down by the galvanizing shout which had caught the attention of even blasé New York night strollers.
Half-way down the block she caught sight of a costumed figure that broke from the crowd and suddenly began to run.
“There he is, Marc! He’s headed for the subway!”
The tanned body streaked by her with the grace of a gazelle.
His feet must be killing him.Twin thoughts shot through her head.What a magnificent body!
“Get the little bastard!” Christine and the two older artists lurched from the lobby onto the sidewalk, all in disarrayed Renaissance splendor. Amanda dashed after the disappearing Marc, her long dress hiked up to her knees.
“Stop him,” Wilde bellowed.
Christine flung her train over her arm and started running.
Professor Angeli gasped for breath as he hurried after them. “Oh dear, oh dear heaven, please!”
Suddenly ahead of her, Amanda heard a noisy commotion and screams. “He’s got a gun!”
“The kid’s got a gun!”
She pushed her way through the frantically dispersing mob of wild-eyed, terrified women and frantic men. Blood-lust spectators raced along with her.
Ahead, breaking through the crowd, she saw Nathan dash into the middle of 72nd Street, clutching his backpack to his chest with one arm, the modern pack an incongruous shock against his 15th century garb. Wildly, he swung his other arm around. She caught the frightening glint of hard metal in his hand. Cars screeched to a halt to avoid the angry, threatening figure.
The tearing of metal split the air as two cars collided. She spun around as Marc leaped into the air onto the hood of a taxi and stepped lightly onto the roof. A shot rang out.
His tan body, illuminated by street lights and neon glow, contracted to avoid the bullet and then dove off the yellow roof. Amanda screamed and raced around the car. Cowering passengers inside twisted to follow her. Marc landed square on the spinning Nathan, trapped by traffic and surging crowds.
The gun went off again as Marc’s falling body hit the younger man and sent him sprawling. Amid screams and yells and screeching brakes, the arena cleared.
The two men struggled in a tangle of bare and fabric-covered limbs as the furious Nathan viciously fought against Marc’s muscular assault.
A screaming, dark-haired figure in a crimson gown emerged from the fleeing crowd and dashed for the struggling men. Amanda yelled and lurched forward. Nathan swung the gun toward Christine, his face a mask of rage.
Behind the advancing fury appeared the gasping Professor Angeli and the wildly gesticulating Mr. Wilde. A duplicate of the large artist, in contemporary clothes, loomed behind them.
My God, it’s the big guy!
The bizarre thought crackled through Amanda’s brain that since he’d never hurt any of them that maybe he could help. She grabbed Christine’s gown and yanked her out of the way as a sharp crack sounded again followed by the whiz of a bullet cutting the air near their heads. An astonished Christine spun into Amanda’s arms. Amanda whirled her around and shoved her to safety back toward the group of men.
Marc grabbed for the smoking firearm with both hands. With his free arm, Nathan punched the naked private investigator in his unprotected pelvis. Marc gasped in agony and momentarily loosened his grip as the enraged Renaissance figure savagely twisted from under him and struggled to his knees. Viciously, Nathan swung the gun toward Marc’s head. Amanda screamed and hurtled toward them.
The metal barrel cracked against “Antonio’s” dark curls and with a grunt Marc fell back. Amanda raced forward with all her might, the light-weight skirt dragging her back as though through mud.
Nathan shoved the barrel against Marc’s forehead and grabbed the tangle of curls to hold his victim’s head steady. The wig came away in his hand. With a shocked look he catapulted backward onto the asphalt. The gun snapped from his hand and bounced away, spinning in circles.
Amanda grabbed for the whirling metal. Her foot caught in the swirling fabric around her legs and with a lurch her foot knocked the gun away as she fell.
Streaking in the bright city night lights, the small firearm slid brightly across the rough darkness of the asphalt, slowly circling as it bumped over a rise in the road and clanged over a steaming manhole cover. It continued on its route toward the wild-eyed professor. Behind him loomed the large dark figure.
Marc lunged for the backpack as Nathan sprawled backward. He yanked the dark nylon bag from the falling figure, who dropped with a thud, his head hitting the pavement.
The large shadow behind the professor mirrored the crouching stance of the terrified little man as the mesmerizing metal slid to a stop at his feet.
At the duo’s side, Mr. Wilde struggled to restrain a shouting, struggling Christine.
Professor Angeli- the dark figure’s large head pressed urgently close to his ear- stooped for the gun.
He raised it in his trembling hands toward the figures in the center of the street.
A sprawled Amanda.
A stunned Marc.
A groggy Nathan.
A large hand reached from behind to steady the small shaking arms as rough lips continued to instruct him rapidly at the side of the elder artist’s face.
Professor Angeli shot Nathan. The costumed body fell back on the street, instantly still.
With an unearthly howl of horror, the elder artist whirled on his nemesis who melted into the surging crowd.
The professor put the gun to his temple and fired.
Amanda heard no sound, no ear-splitting crack, no screeching traffic, no shouting voices, no police sirens nor did she hear the horrified shout from Marc as he scrambled toward the falling body.
All she heard was the unearthly, unbelieving scream of her own voice.