I’ve got a ring of keys, a flashlight, and a walkie-talkie. I am a night dick. The museum is my hunting ground. The big one up on Fifth Avenue. Metropolitan One of the biggest. In the world, that is.
It was a usual night. That is grimy, dark, rainy outside, and dry inside. We liked it that way. I was on one of my regular routes through European Paintings – eyeing masterpieces by Vermeer, Rembrandt, El Greco. Damn, I thought, those artists from long-ago centuries sure knew how to push that paint around.
Next thing I know, my train of thought was rudely derailed. Somebody flashed by in a black raincoat. Hmm, I mused. Was it one of my own guys fooling around, or a careless thief who’s about to take the express elevator to hell?
I had to act quickly. In the art protecting biz, you don’t take chances. Anticipating the route he was taking, I made a beeline for Rubens to head him off. But no go, his footsteps told me he’d backtracked into Early Italian. A real art lover, this one. But I still held the cards. He was on my turf, and I had every nook and cranny of this art thief’s wet dream memorized.
I hotfooted it over to the entrance of Italian Paintings to set a trap for this fly, one that would cool his buzzing for a long while. Remembering the sliding wooden door up ahead, I slipped behind it and waited for him to appear. With the door open just a crack, I could take in the entire gallery. Didn’t have to wait too long before the purloining pigeon walked into my trap. Flummoxed doesn’t even begin to cover it. You could’ve knocked me over with a plastic spoon. The pigeon wasn’t a guy, to say the least. Underneath the black raincoat, she wore an azure blue robe, with matching hood.
I stepped out from behind the sliding wooden door. “Pardon me Mary,” I said. “Going my way?”
She softly smiled at me, like the Virgin Mary herself. Live and in person.
She said, “Oh, you startled me.”
“You’re not doing my for my high blood pressure either.”
“I can explain everything,” she said.
“I’m listening.”
She rolled her eyes sideways, as if she was letting me in on an inside joke, or a revelation known only to a few.
“One of these paintings belongs to me.”
“Sure thing. You just thought you’d sneak into the museum after hours and borrow it back. Is that about right?”
“No,” she said. “You don’t see.”
“Then, wipe the dust from my eyes.”
“What I meant to say is, I belong to one of these paintings.”
“Sure, that makes much more sense,” I said. “Looks like we’re getting somewhere, but we’ve got to get there a lot faster.”
“I get the feeling you don’t believe me,” she said.
“Aren’t you the wise one”
“That’s someone else, but I make out alright,” she said.
“In a couple of seconds, I’m going to make a call from the wall phone behind me. Trust me when I say, the guys higher up in the art protection biz are going to want some answers closely resembling the truth. Are you picking up what I’m putting down?”
She offered me the slightest shoulder shrug, and the tiniest miffed expression. “Fine, if you want to be that way about it.”
What happened next was flashy, but effective. She spun on her heel. Gave me a “so long” wave, and spun sideways with such a graceful movement it would’ve put any trained dancer to shame. Then, she whirled, and rose through the air and into a painting, leaving only a thin trail of stardust in her wake. Her masterpiece of a destination was Madonna and Child, by Giovanni Bellini, from the fourteenth century. Back inside the picture frame, she looked as pretty as you please. As pretty as a picture. As if she’d always been there. Just as if I’d somehow dreamed her up.
I blinked. I spun around in a circle. Walked right up to the painting. Peered at it closely. For an instant, there could’ve been a crooked grin on those beautiful lips. But, only for an instant.
I turned and left her there, hanging on the wall.
It had been a long night. The rain wasn’t going to let up anytime soon. There were many more long nights to come.
I lifted my walkie-talkie, and held it near my mouth.
I said, “European Paintings, all secure.”
I’m putting together an eBook of my Internet Poems, Prose Poems, and Noir Prose Poems, among others types of poems. More info as this project progresses.
Very nice!