The lights shine through passing windows, where within stalkers lay waiting, praying for tasteful action. Glinting, I squint to refocus on the vast beauty that is present. The City in all its glory. There are those who walk at a galloping speed, going to their next appointment, not stopping for anyone. Then there are the lone defeated men, trudging slowly on the sidewalk, debating, stepping out in front of the speeding passing cars. There are children interpreting and spreading their gossip, after the last bell, and grabbing a greasy dollar slice to compliment their guilt. In my boredom I play out my older, child-like scams. Bumping into strangers, and gripping their wallets is as natural to me as breathing. It all began in my early days of school, withturning all the clocks in the building back (so I was never late), and forging my own bus pass for free fare. My rules are simple. Everything is free, and everything is mine.
At last I have found a home, in the stench of the twisted rodent-filled streets; and high above, where I can terrorize people like they are little ants below me. The days are lonely, but the nights are reassured with strange companions who are looking to fill the same void. I have found myself in the wasteland. I have escaped from being pinned and strangled for information on where I hid the cash. I have finally left the past behind me. Just as my thoughts lagged behind me, I was interrupted. Three respectful light taps awoke me. A cause to move my feet, and peep through the hole. A man is here. He carried himself tall, with a clenched jaw, and wore a crisp suit without a tie. He bedazzles me. I will allow this curiosity.
“Hello,” he says calmly. I mimic back firmly. “Here’s my card. Come, if you ever need anything.” That’s all he says. He turns his heel smoothly, and walks down the hallway. His sleek shoes squeak against the floor. What? I get distracted, once I finally look at the card. Written in cursive golden ink, ‘The Lesser of Two Evils’, with an address on the back in black. Before I could question this, he was gone. Taking steps back, my chest concaves. I have been made. I rush to the telephone line, and dial Philly Jilly Hardware store, punching the numbers as fast as my heartbeat.
“Ya - Hello. How can Philly Jilly help you today?” A hoarse voice sweetened, to respond to my loud breaths.
“I would like to place an order for the muffler. I need help.” I boldly ask for it.
“Oh. I see. Has your cover already been blown?”
“Yes. They found me. I don’t know- is it uh... the same price?”
“It is double, and you will have to meet where you were first dropped off.” A loud exclamation escaped me, and I nod trying to convince myself. I can not go back there. I shake my head.
“No. Let’s cancel this. I don’t need it.” I slam the receiver down, and I look over to the card that mirrors my hesitation. It is time to return.
This time it will be different. I know what I was called for, and my luck will not wear thin just yet. The address took me to a cold brick building that stood tilted to the left. Broken windows were bandaged with tape, and trash staggered up the steps with a unique purpose. The wind pushes me forward, and I open the door to the new possibilities. I am back. Stealing art, and trust from my volatile partners.
Three of them stood huddled together, obscuring me from what they were peering at. Looking like a blanket of the sea, with shades of blue suits, and fedoras that added feminine charm to their appearance. Approaching them, I could see what they were concentrating on. The MET, in a smaller scale, made from paper and small pieces of tape sat in the center. The top was missing, allowing a bird-eye view of the interior part of the building. An x marks where the looting will take place. I could feel my blood rushing with excitement.
Clearing my throat, stopping their hushed discussion, the men did not look shocked to see me. “So this is the famous ‘Barracuda’.” He rolled the r’s adding to the insult. “The she-devil who has taken her fare share, and others at a price. Are you ready?” The leader questioned me, and I smugly laughed in response.
“Don’t worry about me. What piece are we after, so I can get started?” I shuffle my feet closer to the MET.
“‘The Dance Class’, hung in the Rockefeller wing. Think you can do it?” I do not know why this man keeps questioning me. I looked over at the other slim men, and noticed the one who appeared at my door and gave him a smirk. He looked away.
“What do you think?” I snarl. “Where am I set up?” The open space is more daunting, he points at a corner where a chair and a table with my supplies lay. I head over without another question, and they continue to plan.
The painting is from a heightened perspective, with an old male teacher holding his whipping cane in the center. Degas was known for using his geometric shapes, triangles forming in most of the dancers. Amusingly, he never actually examined a ballet class - he had models pose in his studio. I took out a painting that I had refurbished earlier and began to cover it with undiluted acetone to remove the artist’s work. The colors began to bleach, the reverse appeal of water color, blending into a blank image ready for my next touch. I attached iron nails, and drenched them with salt water, rusting the truth. The white pigment I had was useful, already mixed with zinc oxide, to pass the art dealer’s inspection. The paint will match the era. I add egg to the paint (faster to dry) and begin. So delicate and precise, I almost missed one finger. This took days of perfecting. Before allowing the painting to dry, I flicked a little bit of coffee powder in the air. As the dust settled, rust spots appeared on my art work. I then took a hot rod and hung it over the piece. With a soft rubber ball, I rubbed the texture into the canvas. Creating natural aged cracks that I fill lightly with black ink to make it more prominent. For the new test with the UV light, I began swabbing out old varnish from the former painting that was restored with cleaning solvent, and then mixed with new varnish to spray all over. Now the painting will shine brightly green under inspection, passing the test. Finally, I dust the canvas with rottenstone powder, leaving it to dry in the sun. This will remove the recently painted smell.
Now I have an exact replica of ‘The Dance Class’. A beautiful forgery. Next step is to swap it out, and I know just how to take it all for myself, again. I chose the lesser of two evils by scamming these partners.
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