As he sank half his pint, his eyes focused on a painting on the wall. Ray knew nothing about art but this transfixed him. It was a vixen, caught as if about to take flight. She had a look of:

Danger

Sleekness

Intelligence

Sensuality.

Ray went up to the bar, asked the guy about it.

The guy was a thick fuck, said:

‘I don’t know shit, it’s been hanging there for years.’

Ray considered, then said:

‘I’ll give you twenty for it.’

The guy was instantly suspicious, but pound signs were flashing in his eyes. He asked:

‘How do I know the price? It might be pretty valuable, lots of people want to buy it.’

Ray finished his drink, ordered another, said:

‘Have something yourself.’

The fuck took a whiskey and kept the change. As he raised his glass, he said:

‘I might be tempted to let it go for?100.’

As the Americans say, Ray did the math. He’d be out the ton but he could return, in the early hours of the morning, knock the kip over, get compensated. True, he’d have to go alone as Jimmy was now a working stiff. The barman was staring intently, said:

‘I know you, I mean you look like that actor, shit, what’s his name?’

Ray decided to help him out, hinted

‘Salvador ring any bells?’

‘Yeah, I got it — James Belushi.’

Ray hated Belushi, took out his wallet, laid the hundred down. The guy finished his drink, said:

‘Don’t know about you but I could go another.’

Ray ignored him, went over, took the painting down and left without a backward glance.

Next morning, he gathered Angie and Jimmy, said:

‘I want to show you something.’

Led them to the bedroom, went: