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CHAPTER 9 Max glanced up a Nigel entered the parlour he watched the older man lose some of his colour and scowled. “What is it?” he asked. “I changed and came down here, isn’t that what you wanted?” Max continued to stare at him. “Yes, yes of course, it’s just…” He rose and moved over to where Nigel stood. In the dark clothes and his wet hair slicked back, Nigel looked very familiar indeed. He lifted his hand, as if to caress Nigel’s cheek. “You look like Ian.” Nigel flinched away from the older man’s touch and turned around. “Then I’ll change.” Max caught his arm. “No!” Nigel shook him off, angrily. “I’m not going to play your game, Mason. I won’t pretend to be a dead man just to satisfy your sick delusions.” “You’ve done it before.” “That was different.” “Was it?” Max shrugged, having fully recovered from his slip. “I won’t deny that those are Ian’s clothes, but he never wore them. I bought him clothes all the time, he had closets full, but he was selective.” Nigel stared at Mason, was he supposed to respond to that? Max lifted the lighter to his cigar again. “Do you mind?” “Would it matter?” Max lit the cigar. “Not really.” He waved at the chess game set up the window, the pieces appeared to be made of jade. Two matching leather armchairs sat on either side of the board. “Do you play? I thought we’d have a game. I find few people around here to play with.” He smirked. “Chess is an intellectual game that is lost on these people.” Nigel crossed his arms over his chest and tried to ignore the derogatory reference to the Mexicans. “You think, because I have half a brain, I like Chess?” “Don’t you?” “And if I choose not to play?” Nigel asked, avoiding the question. “What will you threaten to do to Sydney then?” Max settled in one of the large armchairs. “If you don’t want to play, we don’t have to. We could find something else to do.” He paused and puffed on his cigar. “Do you like pool?” “No.” “Cards?” “No.” “Darts?” “No.” “Well, what do you like then?” Max asked, more amused than frustrated by Nigel’s unwillingness to concede. “Reading,” Nigel replied. “Alone and undisturbed.” “Well, you’re in luck, I have a well stocked library that you may make full use of.” Max accepted a margarita that his butler brought in for him. “Ahh, thank you, Pedro.” He saluted Nigel with the drink. “Care for one? Margaritas always taste better in Mexico.” “No, thank you.” He needed to stay away from alcohol and keep his head clear. Max laughed, took a sip of his drink and set it on the table by his chair. “So polite.” He took a long drag of his cigar and crossed one leg over the other. “This doesn’t have to be difficult, Nigel. I’m sure you have some questions for me, so why not ask them? I will be truthful with you and you can ask me anything, anything at all.” He shrugged. “Then, perhaps once you’ve gotten your answers, you will allow me the same courtesy?” Nigel stared at him, hesitant. “Come, sit down and we’ll chat, honestly and openly.” “I’d be more inclined to trust you if you weren’t holding us hostage.” Max shrugged and smiled. “We can only make the best of what we are offered.” Nigel reluctantly sat down. “Are you hungry? You must be, since you missed a marvellous dinner.” Nigel was hungry, but he wasn’t about to admit it. “I’m fine.” “Well, I like a little desert after such a fine meal, so you won’t mind if I indulge, I hope?” Max smiled at the petite, dark-haired woman who rolled in a trolley of delicious looking pastries and cakes. Underneath was a selection of bottled water, soda and juice on ice. “Ahh, Maria. Right on time.” Max selected a tart off the tray and popped it into his mouth. “They’re very good, Nigel.” Nigel didn’t doubt it, they were making his mouth water just looking at them. Still, he declined. Max sighed and thought for a moment. “I’ll bet you’re professor Fox would like some of these tasty treats?” he suggested. “If I let you bring her a couple, will you then return and talk with me?” Nigel thought for a moment. Any chance to see Sydney was a good thing, but he wasn’t about to be bribed. Mason was a manipulative son of a bitch and Nigel wasn’t in the mood for games. “Why did you become a criminal?” he demanded suddenly. “As opposed to a renown historian and businessman like my brother?” Max shrugged. “It suited me.” “How does being a murderer and a thief suit anyone?” “I may be a thief, but I only kill when there is no other choice and only to defend my interests.” “Bullox! You’ve already threatened to kill two people in just the time I’ve been here.” “You must understand, Nigel. Being in business on this side of the coin is far different than doing business on the legal side of things. The people I deal with only respect power and unfortunately, sometimes that power is questioned and an example has to be made.” He leaned forward. “Are you trying to tell me you’ve never broken the law? Not in any of your little hunts with the good Professor? You’ve never stepped over the line, not once?” Nigel couldn’t deny that Sydney had bent the rules a few times, breaking and entering, theft and lying, but it was for the greater good and it was against men who were already breaking the law. “It isn’t the same thing.” “Isn’t it? Professor Fox is no more than a glorified grave robber and you think that is an upstanding thing?” “We are not grave robbers!” Nigel hissed, irritated. “We are exploring history, bringing it into the present for everyone to appreciate. We are trying to teach people about different cultures, different ways of thinking. We’re trying to unite people through their own history, so they can learn from past mistakes! So we don’t all go down in a giant ball of fire because of intolerance and greed!” Max observed him quietly and puffed on his cigar. “I see.” “No, you don’t,” Nigel insisted rising from the chair and tossing his arms about at the antiques that adorned shelves and walls of the parlour. “These are just things to you, items to make you seem more important.” He stopped at an Aztec tribal carving, set up on a pedestal that he judged to be at least four hundred years old. “You crave these things, not to learn from them, not to appreciate the craftsmanship or symbolism, but because it makes you appear a great man in the eyes of others.” “Do you like that?” Max asked. “I will give it to you.” Nigel spun around, angrily. “No, I don’t want the bloody thing! It should be in a museum, where all these things should be. Where everyone can see them and learn about them.” He moved over to one of pick up a decorated clay pot. “This is a Tlatilco ceremonial bowl.” He examined it carefully. “Early 300 A.D. Given the dog like carvings, symbolizing the guide to the underworld, it was probably used during the Nayarit ‘Ceremony of the Dead’.” He gently placed it back on the shelf. “And you have it sitting on your shelf for no better reason than it looks pretty.” “You know about Mexican culture?” Max asked, impressed. “I know about hundreds of cultures,” Nigel snapped. “Enough to know that this belongs to the people of Mexico, not an English crime lord.” Maria was watching Nigel with renewed interest and she suddenly pulled two pastries off the cart, placed them on a plate offered them too him. “Please, Señor? They are quite good. You will like them.” Nigel accepted the plate and was startled at the sudden respect he found in her dark eyes. He offered her a small smile. “Gracias, Maria,” he replied. “Perdonar mi temperamento fuerte.” She smiled back. “i griega,” Max smirked. “That will be all, Maria.” The woman quickly left the room. “So, how many languages do you speak, Nigel?” Nigel returned to his chair and set the plate of pastries on the table. “A few.” “How many?” Nigel took a bite of one of the pastries to avoid answering. “Come now, I answered your questions.” “Seven,” Nigel stated, reluctantly. “Four of them ancient dialects and I read hieroglyphics and cursive writings.” Max’s eyes widened. “Remarkable.” “Not really.” Nigel took another bite of pastry and felt strawberry jam fill his mouth. God, they were good. “I like to read, as I said.” “Where did you go to school?” Nigel moved the knight on his side of the board. “Are we playing or not?” Max moved a pawn. “I thought you didn’t like Chess?” “I don’t.” Nigel’s middle pawn moved to the centre of the board. Max paused, thoughtfully and then moved his knight. “You’d rather play a game you detest than talk with me?” “Yes.” His bishop slid sideways. Max laughed at his honesty and moved a pawn. “Very well. As it is so late, I’ll allow it.” “You won’t be laughing, when I trounce you.” Max raised an eyebrow. “I never lose, Nigel.” Nigel stared at him directly, as he moved his knight again after barely a glance. “Then prepare for a change,” he challenged, deliberately, no longer speaking of the game. “Checkmate.” Max’s eyes widened as he stared at the board, stunned. Nigel rose. “Good night, Señor Mason.” Max watched him walk out, and then turned back to the board, brooding. Checkmate in four moves. “God damn,” he muttered.
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