Madison, Eavesdropping
The Columbia University Archeology Symposium October 29, 1981
Thursday night of October 29, 1981, Madison meets with an old friend in the lobby outside a lecture hall at Columbia University after the archeology symposium.
“I suppose you feel quite satisfied with yourself - - meeting with me again under these circumstances after this turn of fate.” Boyce’s voice was so shrill it evoked such enormous discomfort it did actually detract from the satisfaction Madison might otherwise admittedly be enjoying.
The events of last spring, while dramatic, did remarkably change their fates . . . so much so, one could defensibly muse, the two were exchanging destinies.
While still a self-righteous charlatan, Boyce’s usual pomposity appeared exchanged for what could only pass for the cringing desperation of envy. Indeed, he was a shadow of himself; he looked ill. A sharp juxtaposition against Madison’s new Italian suit.
The night of the auction last April had gone disastrously for him. Boyce organized the entire event and, he was accordingly, viewed as responsible for everything that had transpired that night. Two unique one-of-a-kind antiquities stolen while on bail to him for the event (valued together at over half a million dollars) and another discovered to be a counterfeit and, of course, the murder - - he was responsible for the guest list . . . he still had no recollection of how this “Larry Eyler” came to be included on the list, it was impossible.
While the gossips in the community focused on the brutal stabbing, it was the lost antiquities that were destroying his finances and career. The owners of both stolen items were now suing the museum, his department and him personally. Meanwhile, the counterfeit piece (the Hopi piece from Arizona) revealed him as a dupe, destroying his credibility in the profession and preventing him from making the necessary moves to settle the claims and repay for the lost items.
Meanwhile, during the same period, Madison found himself $200,000 richer. In unclaimed cash no less. And, while Madison’s reputation had been somewhat jostled by the bizarre on-court appearance at Game 5 of the NBA Finals last season . . . well, people are just more willing to be open-minded for the indiscretions of someone with money, besides, Madison has always had a charm about him and was largely able to spin the event into something of a quirky sport celebrity for himself, “The Boston Lunatic,” or something like that - - apparently it was catching on and there had already been several copy cats.
“You know, they’re getting pretty damned close to figuring out who put this Eyler on that guest list.” Boyce sneers at Madison, obviously accusing him, “and, whoever, added him to that list will be charged as an accessory to murder.”
What did Madison care? Of all the things that happened last spring, putting Larry Eyler on the auction’s guest list was maybe the only thing Madison wasn’t involved with and, honestly, knew absolutely nothing about (the stolen Kunlun Bell and Book of The Damned on the other hand . . .)
“I know you’re a fraud Madison,” Boyce now shouting in a whisper, “and I’ll see to it the flies eat your carcass before this is over.”
Upon leaving, Madison tried as he could to enjoy the satisfaction of his turn of fate against Boyce but, try as he did, Boyce’s look of utter decomposition left him with a feeling closer to dread than triumph as he made his way through the night back to his car.
Before making it to his car, something stopped Madison in the shadows, he’d recognize that stench and irritating syncopated speech pattern anywhere - - even at this quiet distance, Oscillates. Beyond two rows of cars, Boyce, talking in whispers to a group of them “I said I needed two!” Boyce raising his voice at them, “Unless you’re telling me 169 Clinton Street is an antiquities warehouse!?” Boyce screeching with supercilious sarcasm.
He could have ignored it; there was no chance they saw him and, Madison not mean spirited by nature and, what with Boyce down on his luck . . . let him have one? But what then? Even if Madison wasn’t mean spirited, Boyce surely was. Boyce may be cringing in misfortune now but, there was no doubt he would be just as insolent (and vengeful) in prosperity. Even if Madison didn’t cause Boyce’s auction disaster (well, not directly anyway – and certainly not all of it) Boyce surely thought he did and would respond in kind. Moreover, the pompous museum director didn’t deal in trifles, if he was focusing his attention there, it was something of real value - - $125,000 at least if Madison was doing the math correctly. Besides, $200,000 felt good now but, he was hardly retired and had already spent a dent in it - - no, it was decided, if nothing else, Madison would at least find out what Boyce could be chasing down in Brooklyn and then decide.
He was free tomorrow, Friday night, perfect time to do some reconnaissance. Forecast was calling for heavy rain – remnants of tropical storm Jose – he’d bring an umbrella.
