Free From Black Rooms by Stephen Woodworth Page A

sent Simon these."
    Serena took some papers from the inside pocket of her jacket and unfolded them. The accordion-creased pages bore computer-printed stil s taken from security videos of what appeared to be a high-tech prison cel . The pictures' resolution was not the greatest, but Natalie had no trouble identifying the warlock-bearded madman clamped to his restraining chair. She had just seen him pretend to smoke a cigarette outside a Ralph's grocery store, feigning disinterest, always watching yet never looking. His face had gone feral, and if Natalie had not known his mannerisms since childhood, she would
    never have guessed he was once the sixteen-year-old boy with whom she had first tasted an infatuation that she mistook for love.
    Seeing Evan so horribly changed and confirming that he was again loose in her world brought no immediate fear, only the gloomy acceptance of a pessimist who's been proven correct. What she did not expect was the familiarity of the other man shown in the photos from Evan's prison cel : a broad-shouldered stranger in a dark suit, with graying temples and the beneficent demeanor of a father-confessor. A man who, six weeks before, had introduced himself to her as Carleton Amis. 6
    The Seventh Madonna

A CLAUSTROPHOBIC APPREHENSION CLOSED
    IN AROUND NATALIE AS she sensed an as-yetunseen conspiracy coiling around her. "I know this man," she said, indicating Amis.
    Serena shot her a look of surprise that bordered on suspicion. "You're one up on me if you do. Who the hel is he?"
    "I was hoping you could tel me." Natalie recounted how Carleton Amis had represented himself as a movie producer who wanted her to paint reproductions of famous pictures for an art-heist film. "When I turned him down, though, he claimed to have some pul with the Corps. You don't recognize him?"
    "Nope."
    "Wel , he did." Natalie nodded toward Sanjay Prashad, who was parked at the curb in his black Mitsubishi. As he often did, the Corps Security agent sat in the car's front passenger seat with the window rol ed down, the better to needle her with his ferret's stare. Whenever she made the mistake of making eye contact with him, he flashed her the grin of a card player flush with hidden aces.
    A glare from Serena managed to scrub the smugness from his face, however. "Thought I'd seen every snake in the N-double-A-C-C," she muttered. "Guess they turned over some more rocks. Did this Amis give you any way to contact him?"
    "No. When I refused the offer, he said I wouldn't have another chance at it. At the time, that was fine with me." Natalie now felt stupid that she hadn't gleaned more information about the stranger that she could share. She frowned at the photos of Carleton Amis again before handing them back to Serena. "I don't get it. If he's in bed with the Corps, why didn't he have one of the Art Division's Violets paint his pictures for him?"
    "The Corps does lots of things it doesn't want its members to know about--like releasing the Violet
    Kil er, for instance. If Amis used any Corps conduits for his dirty work, they'd be sure to tel Uncle Simon, who could put a stop to it." Serena stashed the photos in her coat. "These paintings he asked you to do...how many artists are capable of that kind of work? Who could Amis go to after you turned down the job?" Natalie considered a moment but shook her head. "I have no idea. But I think I know who could tel us." As the phone at the other end of the line started to ring, Natalie plugged her free ear with a finger to shut out the karate shouts while Cal ie sparred with Serena in the living room. A brusque recording answered: "You know who you are. I don't. Leave a message."
    "I know you're there, Hector," Natalie shot back after the beep. "Pick up."
    "Only for you, Boo," the reclusive artist grumbled when he final y deigned to reply. "What d'you want?"
    "You can stop cal ing me 'Boo,' for a start."
    "Wel , excuuuuuuuuuse me, Princess Natalie. How may I serve your ladyship?"
    She