Free The Puzzle of Piri Reis by Kent Conwell Page B

publicity. Cobb, Bernard Odom's one-time liaison with hopeful sellers of various artifacts, had sued
Odom three times, twice for breach of contract and once for slander. He'd won one and lost two, the latter a slander case four years earlier.

    According to Eddie's report, Cobb had filed for
bankruptcy only a year earlier. I frowned, noting that
while his income dropped after the last suit against
Odom, it didn't appear enough to have precipitated
bankruptcy. But even now, his mortgage company was
threatening to foreclose on his home.
    I whistled softly. That was motive in spades, plus,
as an art broker, he had connections with buyers all
over the world.
    The young waitress interrupted me with my margarita. I sipped it quickly, not waiting for it to water
down into the bland taste of the first.
    After she left, I pulled out Eddie's report on Lamia
Sue Odom. I shook my head as I scanned the report.
She was well traveled, having visited over thirty countries and spending three-quarters of her life since her
fifteenth birthday in Europe.
    True, she was beneficiary to a half-million-dollar
policy on Bernard Odom, but at a glance at her bank
account, I could tell five hundred thousand wouldn't
last her more than a couple of years. Five million, ten
million for the Piri Reis would provide her another
twelve, fifteen years on the jet-set circuit.
    A young man appeared at my side with a steaming
platter of freshly prepared chimichangas packed with
shredded pork and the oven-baked flour tortilla basted
with pineapple. I put the folder aside, determined to
push the map from my mind and enjoy my meal.

    I took a bite of the piping hot chimichanga. I looked
up at the sound of laughter. Beyond the laughing foursome at the next table, I spotted Ted Odom speaking
with two hard-looking zombies on the River Walk, his
face showing a sense of urgency.
    Easing my head to one side, I peered around the
back of an animated young woman whose bouncy energy kept blocking my view, but even a fleeting glance
at the two goombahs confronting Ted told me they
were not deacons of the local church. At that moment,
I would have given hundred-to-one odds they were
soldiers belonging to Patsy Fusco, San Antonio's resident mob boss.
    The young woman leaned back. I stared at her unseeing, wondering. Ted and those two were like oil and
water. They didn't go together, so what was the conversation all about? Why did he look so worried?
    A sharp jab on my shoulder jerked me back to the
present. I shook my head and looked up into the glowering face of an angry giant. "Huh? Oh, yeah. What's
upT"
    He hooked a thumb at the table next to us. "I don't
like nobody staring at my wife like you was"
    The three at the table next to me were glaring daggers. I blinked my eyes once or twice, then forced a
weak grin. "Sorry, pal. I wasn't staring at your wife. I
just got to thinking about my job, and was staring into
space."
    He glared at me, confused by my apology. He
glanced at his wife.

    I turned to the young woman. "I apologize if I offended you, ma'am."
    She nodded, and he grunted. "Well, okay."
    By then, Ted had disappeared.
    I leaned back and stared at the folder on my table,
my curiosity piqued.
    Back at the Grand Isle Inn, I paused before pushing
my door open, half expecting the room to be tossed
again. It was as I had left it. Not even Jack Edney was
around to greet me.
    I stepped onto the balcony and called Danny
O'Banion, Austin's local mob boss. Danny and I have
a history, all the way back to high school.
    Very few people can place a call and get through to
Danny. I'm one of the few. I don't know if that says
much for my character or not, but it does provide me a
means of information that I might not be able to find
elsewhere.
    Danny finally came on. After a couple of minutes of
idle chit-chat, I asked if he could contact Patsy Fusco
and see what he knew about a guy named Ted Odom.
    "Trouble, Tony?" The tenor of his