Serpent of Moses

4



When Esperanza entered the store, the violence with which she thrust open the door displayed the anger she’d carried with her from her office and through the streets of Caracas. Even as she let the door swing shut behind her, she reminded herself that none of this was Romero’s fault.

Romero, on the other side of the store and with his back to her, did not turn away from his customer to see who had entered. From Esperanza’s position, she could just make out the Campeche stele artifact Romero was showing the man, and she guessed the price of the piece hovered in the level most people would call obscene. Romero, though, seldom dealt with anyone unprepared to drop that sort of money. And despite the anger that had brought Esperanza there, she kept close to the door until he completed the transaction.

Her brother—the proprietor of the high-end antiquities shop situated off Bolivar Avenue in the Caracas business district—did just that, with Esperanza picking up only bits and pieces of the conversation but getting the impression the customer was thrilled with the stele and would likely have paid more than what Romero had asked for it. Not long after the handshake and necessary delivery arrangements, the well-dressed gray-haired man was gone, aiming a conspirator’s smile at Esperanza as he left. The smile was mirrored by Romero as he turned to watch the man exit through the metal door that would take him down to street level. Only when the door swung shut behind him did Romero turn his attention to his sister, giving her a once-over before crossing the room.

“It’s none of my business,” he told her.

“He’s late,” Esperanza said.

“He’s always late, Espy.”

“Which is exactly my point,” she said, her voice rising. She saw her brother frown and offered him an apologetic shrug, to which he responded with a smile.

“When you are in one of these moods I’m used to my customers suddenly remembering other places they need to be, so this is an improvement.”

For some reason, she found Romero’s remark irritating, and with a flash of her eyes she ignored it and walked over to a display of Saxon pottery, which like everything else in his store was arranged with taste and simplicity, the items charged with selling themselves.

“When was he expected back?” Romero asked.

“Two days ago.” Espy’s small hand reached for a dish that she knew her brother would only sell with the complete set.

“For Jack, getting back anywhere within three days of when he told you counts as being on time.”

Espy looked up from studying the pottery and fixed her brother with a look she suspected he knew well. It was a look that would have caused others to walk gingerly around the rest of the conversation. But Romero simply sighed. He looked as if he would speak, and Esperanza waited for whatever sage advice he would render, but before a single word left his lips his mouth snapped shut and he shook his head.

“I’m not getting involved,” he said after several seconds. “The two of you are adults and should be able to work this out on your own.”

Esperanza nodded. “I’m finally doing what I should have done three years ago.” At Romero’s raised eyebrow, she explained, “I’m done with him strolling in weeks after he says he’ll be back, and then disappearing again on a whim. I mean, when you think about it, our relationship right now is just like it was before he left to teach. Nothing’s changed.”

Even as she said it, she knew her accusation was not entirely true. After all, they’d both returned from Australia markedly different. With all that had happened during the hunt for the bones—an odyssey in which Jack had made her a participant—how could they not have been changed in some profound ways?

She had lapsed into silence, her eyes on the ancient text that covered much of the pottery, a language that, unlike most of Romero’s customers, she could read. She’d almost forgotten her brother was in the room until he spoke.

“I can’t pretend to understand everything that happened between the two of you when he was working for Reese,” he said. “But what I do know is that Jack returned from that job a different person.” He paused and added, “And so did you.”

Espy turned to face Romero, his words pulling a small smile from her. “I thought you weren’t going to get involved,” she reminded him.

“I’m taking a calculated risk that my involvement will get you out of my store sooner than would my silence.”

“Touching,” she said, turning her back on him and making a pretense of studying the pottery again.

“Where is he?” Romero asked. “I remember something about Europe?”

“His itinerary had him in Milan and then London. He was supposed to be back on Tuesday.”

“And when he finally does return?”

“I’m not waiting for that,” Espy said.

Romero raised his eyebrow again, except that this time Esperanza could detect a hint of worry in the expression.

“He’s out of chances,” she said. “And I’m going to make sure he knows that—on my terms.”

“Which means?”

“Which means I’m catching a plane this afternoon. I’ll be in London by tomorrow morning.”

It was one of the few times Esperanza could remember her brother rendered speechless, and she enjoyed watching the progression of thought visible on his face.

“Aside from calling him to find out where he is, which would undoubtedly ruin the effect you’re trying to achieve, how will you orchestrate this unhappy rendezvous?”

“Sturdivant,” Espy said.

She saw Romero frown and then follow that up with a thoughtful nod. “He’s selling to the museum, then?”

“Technically he was supposed to have already done that, but he’s three days late for that meeting.”

At that, Romero offered a sly smile. “At least you have the comfort of knowing you’re not the only one who suffers from Jack’s fluid relationship with time.”

She responded with a smirk. “I can’t wait to see his face when he shows up at the museum.”

“If he shows up,” Romero said. “It’s not uncommon for Jack to miss appointments.”

Esperanza’s head was shaking before Romero finished. “Not when there’s money involved,” she reminded him. “He might be late but he’ll always show.”

She knew Romero had to grant her that, and he did with a resigned sigh. She suspected there was a good deal more he wanted to say, but he knew her well enough to realize that none of it would matter.