Queerness of the Whole Damn Thing

Too easy. It was too easy. A ladder lead us to the roof; a quick kick sent it down and hid it in the bushes. No lights on the south side. Jay used the crowbar to unclasp one of the skylights while I prepared and suited up in the harness. Alarm wasn’t armed, our luck and the museum guard’s stupidity. Saturday night. Everyone was out but nobody saw.

Down we went, rope cutting into the flesh of our soft hands. Moonlight shone on our faces. No gloves, no masks, didn’t need them. Our harnesses hit the ceramic floor with a clang. Left them and moved out of the atrium, past tall fossilized dinosaurs and down a dark narrow hallway. We signed the guestbook; a signature we had used so much.

The guard rounded the corner with his light. Jay came out of the shadows with the crowbar and hit the old man on the head and he fell back and landed on a glass display glass, smashing it. I shot him with my honestly bought pistol. Chest wound, missed the heart. Hurt more dignity than anything.

I grabbed a few paintings off the wall and threw them to the floor as the museum guard started to die. Grabbed my small can of kerosene and drenched the paintings with it and then threw a match, igniting them. Thousands of dollars burned away in minutes. We didn’t need it.

When the cop came, I was out of kerosene and preparing a blast charge to exit the building. The cop grabbed me roughly by the arm and pointed his gun at Jay, who was prepared to make a run for it.

“Hey, wait a minute!” the officer said as he let go of my arm almost instantly. “You’re the CEO for that bank. And you, you’re that millionaire that ran that Ponzi Scheme! You know what? Forget this. You gentlemen didn’t mean to do any harm. Get outta here. I never saw you.”