Free The Warhol Incident by G.K. Parks Page A

Martin arrived at my apartment so much as I had focused on getting him to leave.
    “Of course not. I told him if I didn’t come out in fifteen minutes to go home,” he said matter-of-factly. Looking out the window of my fire escape toward the parking lot, there weren’t any suspicious cars or anything of the sort outside. “Don’t worry, I wasn’t thinking anything sordid, I just figured I’d call when I was ready to leave.”
    The fact he felt the need to mention he didn’t have any ulterior motives made me think perhaps he originally did, but I let it go. “When you got here, did you see anyone suspicious or any suspicious vehicles?” If I had anything concrete to report to O’Connell, I’d rather do it sooner instead of later.
    He thought for a moment. “No. I noticed your car was parked outside and figured you must be home. I didn’t consider you might have walked to the store.” Which was exactly what I did.
    “Okay, just wondered.” My anxiety lessened since O’Connell’s guys were keeping an eye on things, and neither Martin nor I had seen anyone suspicious outside. But I couldn’t be too careful, especially when it involved him potentially painting a target on his back.    
    Pulling a couple of plates and some silverware out of the still open cabinets and drawers, I set the table. “So how’s everything coming along with Guillot’s transfer?” It was a safer, more civil conversation topic. Martin spoke of all the paperwork he’d been working on and estimated Guillot would be able to transfer in within a couple of months, depending on how quickly his temporary work VISA could be obtained.
    Finally, dinner was ready. Although, it probably could have been ready an hour or so earlier. We were almost finished eating when there was a knock at the door. I tensed immediately and went to the coffee table to retrieve my gun.
    “Who is it?” I called wearily.
    “Mark. I brought you some files, special delivery.” I put my gun down on the table and went to the door, unlocking the two deadbolts, sliding the security bar out of the way, and unlocking the doorknob. “What is this, Fort Knox?” Mark asked before I managed to open the door. As the door opened, surprise and concern dawned on his face.
    “Hey, come in. You’re just in time for dinner.” I stepped out of the way, so he could enter. He had a stack of folders in his hands.
    “Are y ou okay?”
    “I’m fin e. If you were hoping to jump onto the overprotective bandwagon, you’re a little late to the party,” I said pointedly for Martin’s benefit.
    “Jabber,” Martin greeted Mark. They had been friends from way back, and the only reason I even knew Martin was because Mark had gotten me hired on as his security consultant.
    “Marty.” Mark nodded, putting the files down on my coffee table. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”
    “Not at all,” I said quickly, after reloc king all of the locks. I grabbed a plate and fork from the kitchen and put them on the table for Mark.
    “No French wine?” Mar k teased, knowing full well Martin and I recently returned from France.
    “Definitely not,” I replied a little too quickly, and Martin got a devilish glint in his eyes.
    “I have a few bottles at my place, figured I’d save them for a special occasion. I’ll send one home with you the next time you stop by,” Martin promised. Going to the fridge, I pulled a beer out for Mark while glaring at Martin, who pretended not to notice.
    “ Alex, what’s going on?” Mark asked, concerned. I gave him the same rundown Martin heard. The details surrounding Paris and the chase through the streets which led to the pathetic shootout in the parking garage were excluded due to Martin’s presence. Mark nodded as he listened thoughtfully.
    “Wait,” Martin interj ected, “you told me you had ripped stitches. When did you get stitches?” Why did he always pay attention?
    “In Paris. Don’t worry about it. I cut my leg on a piece of