Outcasts

Chapter 12 - Falling

He had an audience, a good size one, just as Sykes had predicted. They watched him up there on the scaffold in one of the museum's vaulted spaces, working away on a new mural, sweeping his brush back and forth, putting on a show.

He went to dip his brush in the paint, frowned when he spotted a familiar face below.

Looking up at him was The Wiz and most of the skateboard posse.

Mavro called down, "Hey, what's up?"

The Wiz called back, "We got the tickets."

"So I see."

"Thanks for thinking of us."

"No problem."

The Wiz gave the mural a quick once over – the primitive human figures with their beasty heads capering against splotches of paint that looked like fireworks. "Nice work," he said, and added sardonically, "I love your colors."

"Thanks," Mavro said.

"They pay you?" 

"Meals and a trans card."

"Yeah, right." The Wiz made as though he was impressed by the nicely dressed crowd and regal surroundings. "Be sure and let us know when you're coming back to the real world."

"I'm just a guest here."

"Hey, take what you can get."

"Always."

There was an awkward pause, uneasy stares.

"Anyway," said The Wiz, "we're gonna look around, see who else has their painting act together." He turned with the others and started walking across the wide floor. "Thanks again," he called over his shoulder.

"Any time," said Mavro as he watched them go.

Crossing the big room from the opposite direction was Victor Sykes. He exchanged nods with The Wiz, the two recognizing each other from when The Wiz swiped that champagne at Mavro's opening. Sykes came over to the scaffold and called up to Mavro. "You had lunch?"

~~~~~~

They sat at a small table in the museum's balcony cafeteria, chewing on sandwiches, surrounded by the hum of the midday crowd.

Sykes took a sip of soda to wash down a bite of his ham on rye. "A guy can go ten lifetimes and not have a shot like this."

"So whatta you want?" said Mavro.

"We need as many paintings as you can turn out. You cash in, you can do all the board bullshit you want."

"Hey, what I do is my business."

"Yeah, well, at some point you're going to have to make some choices for yourself."

A female voice broke in. "Excuse me?"

It was a woman who wanted Mavro to sign the flyer she was holding, one that the museum had put together that told about his work. He signed it – just Mavro, not using his last name, Deluca, which few people knew – and handed it back with what Sykes could see was a forced smile.

"So," Mavro said after the woman had left, "what choices you talking about?"

Sykes leaned in closer. "Like between farting around with that bunch who just left or putting your ass into something that'll maybe get you somewhere."

"Those are friends."

"Right. Just remember that a lot of people stuck their necks out to make this happen for you."