Artistic License

by Julie Hyzy

  With new eyes Annie looked around her house, realizing for the first time the precariousness of her situation. Gary could do so much damage if he knew she’d left with Sam. And she was afraid he would. She blew out a breath of frustration as she gathered the paintings and dug around the back of the table for one of her portfolios to transport them in.

  “This the chair?” Sam asked.

  “Isn’t it hideous?”

  “It’s . . . big.”

  “Takes up half the room, doesn’t it? This Pete character sits there all day, no shirt, no shoes, watching my television and complaining about how small the screen is. I wish you could see this guy.” Annie shook her head. “No, on second thought, be glad you don’t have to.”

  “If I did, I’d make him sorry he met me.”

  Annie smiled and laid her hand on his arm.

  Sam’s face reddened, but he beamed. “You ready to go?

  ”

  * * * * *

  He did indeed have extra rooms.

  “I bought this place years ago,” he explained as they walked through the attached garage and small hallway to the kitchen. “Thinking that maybe we’d live up here for the summer and take our winters back in Georgia. But, Nancy wouldn’t hear of it.”

  “It’s beautiful,” Annie said. Though not opulent like the DeChristopher home, this house also had room to spare. But while their home boasted knick-knacks galore, Sam’s could be considered utilitarian. A flowery sofa took up the back wall of the family room, a matching loveseat sat at an angle, opposite. The sofa was flanked by two pink wing chairs and the three seats faced a television and VCR on a shaky-looking stand.

  “I didn’t pick the fabric,” Sam said, indicating the sofa. “Nancy got tired of it in our Georgia house, so we had it shipped here. Said she was sick of all the bright colors.”

  Annie’s gaze swept over the kitchen as Sam moved toward the sink. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I haven’t done dishes in a few days . . .”

  From the look of it, he hadn’t done dishes in longer than just a few days. Filled with coffee mugs, drinking glasses, and crusted plates, the sink overflowed with proof that no maid had been hired for this house. The surrounding counter, as it rounded into a peninsula toward the eating area, was covered with stacks of old mail, some opened, some not. Sam’s ever-present white dress shirts draped the backs of all four wooden kitchen chairs. Two or three shirts each.

  “Sam . . .”

  “And I’ve been meaning to get to the cleaners,” he said, grabbing at the shirts and bunching them into his arms. “Let me clear this up for you to sit. I’m so sorry. This place is a wreck.”

  “Sam.”

  He stopped, his arms full, his face pink with embarrassment. “Yeah?”

  “You live here, right?”

  He shrugged the affirmative.

  “So, stop worrying. Homes are supposed to be comfortable. And this is . . .” Annie gave a contented sigh, taking in the mess, the lovely imperfection of it all, “very comfortable.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Gary sat on a tall stool, his elbows propped on the shiny bar top, massaging his eyes. Where the hell was Pete? The old coot to his left, Emil, made no attempt to stifle a deep belch, causing rancid alcohol-laden air to waft up between them. No matter what time Gary came into the bar, this guy was here, in the same spot, in the same position, his elbows propped on the bar, a cigarette smoldering between his age-spotted fingers. He hardly spoke, but when he did, it was so slurred and nonsensical that Gary usually ignored him. Right now he was making some sort of low humming sound, like a motor left idling, as he stared, unseeing, across the bar toward the mirrored back wall.

  The bartender and another customer stood watching an overhead television at the far end of the counter. They shouted the same expletive in unison as the Cubs blew a double play in the tenth inning. Gary toyed with his empty beer glass, rolling the base of it in circles, making patterns of wet on the countertop. He glanced to his right, seeing the easy camaraderie between the two men as they leaned inward from opposite sides of the bar. The guy couldn’t be older than thirty, wearing suit pants and a tie, and the comfortable air of a successful businessman taking an afternoon off. Al the bartender was a grizzled older fellow. At the commercial he shifted from leaning on one massive arm to folding both on the bar in front of him to talk baseball.

  “Hey,” Gary said, getting his attention by lifting his beer glass, “how about you set me up again, wouldja?”

  Pushing himself from the bar with reluctance, Al sauntered over, a bright red dishtowel slung over one shoulder. “You ain’t paid for the first one.”

  “Yeah. Hang on.” Gary dug into his back pocket, slapped a five on the bar. “Okay?”

  The bartender nodded, grabbing the money and making change before taking Gary’s glass to the tap. “Don’t forget the other transaction we been talking about, either.”

  “Yeah, I remember,” Gary said, looking toward the bathrooms where the public phones hung. Sliding off the stool, he began making his way to them when the door opened. Turning, he squinted as the bright light shot through the open door.

  “Hey, Gare,” Pete’s voice clanged, disturbing the lonely quiet of the room, “Wow, sure is dark in here.”

  “Where have you been?”

  “Well . . .” Pete said, drawing out the word as he waved hello to Al. He licked his lips. “We got time for a brewski?”

  “Yeah, but we gotta make it quick,” Gary said, gesturing toward the booths along the far wall.

  Pete ambled over and sat down. “What happened to you?”

  “Don’t ask,” Gary said. He ran a hand through his tea-sticky hair and pushed a tall glass of beer across the table as he settled himself. “We don’t have a ton of time, and I got a plan we need to work out.”

  “You got a plan?” Pete leaned back against the dark wooden booth and laughed out loud. His teeth were straight and fake-looking and although Gary’d asked him repeatedly, he swore they weren’t dentures. But the pulled-in and drawn look of his jaw made Gary suspect otherwise. “Is it anything like the last one, Gary? Where you were gonna make us both rich because nobody at your company ever counted inventory? And you figgered nobody was gonna miss a couple of pallets of laptops?” He laughed with his mouth open and his tongue hanging out, making little sucky noises as he breathed. “I’m just glad it was you got caught and not me. Don’t think I’d get away without doin’ some time this time.”

  Gary’s foot fidgeted against the center table leg. He kept his eyes on the beer quivering in his glass until Pete stopped laughing. “Listen,” he said, raising his eyes, suddenly still, “you want in, or not?”

  Pete rolled his head from side to side, bunching up his face, as though uncomfortable answering. “Well . . .” he said. He scratched his face and sighed. “I dunno, what is it?”

  Gary wished he could handle this on his own. Not involve Pete at all. The guy was stupid, no question. Fortunately the role he would play was small. “Where are the copies?”

  “Oh. Yeah.”

  “You didn’t forget to make them, did you?”

  Pete pushed his dark-framed glasses up his nose with the point of his index finger. “No,” he said, stretching out the word and leaving his mouth hanging open, effecting an air of indignation. “Got ‘em right here.”

  When Pete pulled the original clippings from his back pocket and smoothed them out on the table, Gary rubbed his forehead in frustration. “I told you to make copies,” he said in a tight voice.

  “I did.” He looked down. “Oh.” Digging into another pocket, Pete pulled out the duplicates. Each of the four white sheets held an off-center article and the unmistakable picture of Pete’s thumb holding the corner. From being held in Pete’s pockets the pages, folded in quarters, were slightly damp from a combination of sweat and humidity. Gary glared across the table as he smoothed them out.

  “You were supposed to put the originals back on the coffee table. And now
that they’re all folded up, she’s gonna know someone was looking at them.”

  “Hey, sorry, okay? I had some problems, y’know. The machine at the gas station wasn’t working, so I had to hoof it all the way down to the library, but then, the one there . . .”

  “I don’t care.” Gary’s foot started fidgeting again as he tapped the papers. “Okay, here’s what we’ll do. Before we get going, we’ll take the originals back to the house, maybe Annie won’t notice they’re missing. We’ll take these . . .” Gary pulled a pen from his back pocket and started making notes on the copies, “and hide them somewhere safe, once we get all the details down. We don’t want to have these on us, just in case.” He looked up into Pete’s slack, uncomprehending face. “Got it?”

  Pete shrugged and nodded.

  Gary took a deep breath then looked around. He leaned forward, and in a hushed whisper, began to explain.

  * * * * *

  “I’m hot,” Pete said for the fourth time. He ran a finger along the white collar of his shirt and loosened his tie.

  Gary pulled Annie’s Escort up and parked it half a block away from the DeChristopher home. He looked up at the darkening sky as he got out of the car, reaching back in for a stack of small papers he’d left in there. “Fix your tie,” he said, in a sharp whisper to Pete.

  “Awww,” Pete got out of the car shaking his head, but he complied. “You’re not going to make me wear the suit coat too, are you?”

  Gary lifted his own suit coat from the back of the driver’s seat and thrust his arms in with an angry look across the top of the car. “Did you ever see any of those Jehovah Witnesses walking around without a suit coat?”

  “No, but . . .” Pete lifted his chin up as though his collar was too tight.

  “But nothing, you idiot. How else are we supposed to walk around in a neighborhood like this without looking suspicious?” Gary reached into the back seat to pull out a portfolio he’d borrowed from Annie’s supply. It looked enough like a thin briefcase to go with their cover story. “Grab those Bibles, okay? And take a stack of these papers. Make it look like something you’d be passing out.”

  “But these are coupons for pizza. Shouldn’t they say something . . . holy?”

  “You’re stupid, you know that? We’re not passing anything out. We’re just looking like we will. And believe me, no one’s going to ask for one. If anybody comes near us, they’ll be relieved when we don’t talk to them.”

  “Seems kinda dumb.”

  Gary ignored him, shut the door, and walked around to Pete’s side. Reaching in, he shuffled through the glove compartment till he came up with the DeChristophers’ key. “And this, Petey, is our ticket to fortune. Here.” He tossed the car keys over to Pete. “When we go, we go. I’ll take the drawing, you drive.”

  “Wish the car had air-conditioning.”

  “When we’re done with this, buddy, we’re gonna be able to buy all three of us new cars. And they’ll all have air-conditioning.”

  Stars were beginning to peek out in the deep blue purple of the sky. Gary tried several different ways to hold the Bible and the portfolio as they walked, none of which felt right. He settled on carrying it down by his side, the portfolio on the other. Pete held his up near his chest as he took springy steps. Gary reached over and turned Pete’s Bible right side up, telling him to slow down, to stroll. “And if anyone here asks us anything, just open up the book and make it look like you’re gonna start reading aloud. That’ll chase them off.”

  Pete shrugged.

  Gary glanced at him but said nothing. He didn’t believe they’d encounter anyone. This neighborhood was quiet during the day, quiet at night. A couple of homes had lights on out front, and one car went by as they made their way to the home. Otherwise the street was silent.

  “How are you gonna sell this thing, Gare? Ain’t it gonna be hard to get rid of?”

  “Nope,” Gary said. “I got a contact. Somebody who deals with stuff this big all the time. I figure the hardest part is tonight—getting it.”

  “You got the key, and you got the alarm code?”

  “Yep.”

  “That don’t sound so hard.”

  Gary shrugged, keeping his eyes open for movement nearby. Nothing. They were just about there. The house took his breath away, again. Whoever these DeChristophers were, they deserved to get robbed. Wasn’t fair for all the money to be spread around so few people. For some people to have houses like this while other folks got evicted.

  The best part about the plan, though, was that he was stealing from a thief. That meant no cops, no reports. Once the drawing was in his hands, the money would follow.

  Walking up the steps, Gary pulled out the house key. “I’m thinking maybe the best idea is to take the drawing, then call these guys and get them to pay us to get it back. Maybe we don’t make ten million, maybe we make two or three. But,” he grinned, “that’d be enough for me.”

  * * * * *

  Getting inside had been as easy as Gary had made it sound. What a spread these people had. And such idiots, to leave so many expensive things lying around, unguarded. Pete’s mouth hung open as he watched Gary input the code for the alarm. They’d entered noiselessly, the front door swinging open without a sound.

  Gary indicated with his eyes that Pete shouldn’t move, and so he stood in the foyer, and thought about how some people pronounce it foy-ay and how this is one of the places that could get away with fancy sounding words like that. Even in the dark he could see that the tables in the living room were covered with neat little doohickeys. Pete knew he could sell any one of them on the street for more than just a couple of bucks. He began to edge toward them when Gary’s whisper stopped him cold.

  “Hey,” he said, “upstairs.”

  “Why we whispering if nobody’s home?”

  “I just feel better being quiet, okay?”

  “Didnya say they were gonna be out all night at some fancy shmancy dinner?”

  “Just shut up.”

  They crept up the stairs, holding the handrail and keeping both eyes and ears open for the sound of the family coming home. Other than house noises, a gentle hum from the kitchen refrigerator, the solid ticking of the grandfather clock in the hall, the house was silent. And dark. Once their eyes had become accustomed to the dimness, they moved a bit faster. Moonlight shone in from the windows that faced the front of the house and the blue light was enough for them to navigate.

  Pete followed Gary reluctantly, wanting to stop and look around. Pick up a few things, if truth be told. But Gary seemed focused, more than Pete had ever seen him before. Slowing in front of the master bedroom, Pete looked in, open-mouthed. Beyond the king-size bed was a tall chest that no doubt held the wife’s jewelry. Probably a lot. Probably real stuff, too. From this distance, the chest didn’t look to be locked. Too bad, it would have been a fun one to pop.

  Pete felt the fire in Gary’s eyes, urging him forward.

  All thoughts of lifting trinkets from the bedrooms rushed out of Pete’s mind when he saw the stash inside the den. Not only were there several cases with antique-y, expensive-looking jewelry, but also small, easily transportable works of art that appeared to be made out of solid gold. On the table next to him was an array of jewel-encrusted egg-shaped goodies. He slipped one into his pocket when Gary wasn’t looking, then reached back for more. He grinned. It was almost too easy. With the sharp edges of the gems poking through the light fabric of his pockets every time he shifted, Pete moved with ginger eagerness. As long he kept his suit coat on, Gary probably wouldn’t notice the bulges. He sidled up to his friend, trying to look innocent.

  “It’s over here,” Gary said, moving further into the room.

  Pete watched as Gary felt his way, his hesitating fingertips touching the furniture only where necessary. They should have picked up latex gloves on the way, but Gary had refused to take the time, saying he was determined to get this job finished fast, and just told Pete to be careful not to touch anything
.

  Gary stopped at an easel set on an angle in the corner. On the shelves above it were about a dozen old gold coins in frames. Pete glanced at the picture and squinted his eyes. It didn’t look like much, but the room was dark. He bent at the waist to bring his face closer and saw that it was the same drawing of a bunch of naked women washing themselves that they’d seen in those newspaper clippings.

  Gary’s bright white teeth shone in the moonlight as he grinned. “This is it, buddy! We are home free!”

  Pete pointed to the woman depicted on the far left of the drawing. “That one looks like she’s scratching her ass!” He let out a bark of laughter, then tried to suck it in, but snorted instead.

  Gary’s eyes widened in alarm. He put down his Bible and picked up the drawing, muttering about Pete’s idiocy, stooping to unzip Annie’s portfolio. Pete saw that his friend’s hands were shaking and he felt kind of bad. “C’mon Gare. Nobody’s here . . .”

  But Gary looked old all of a sudden. Kneeling on the floor, taking care to place the drawing safely in the side pocket, he looked up at Pete. His face had lines Pete hadn’t seen on his friend before. “You ain’t worried, are you, Gare?”

  “What do you think? Of course I’m worried. There’s still something else I need to do. This is where you come in. Over there, see that filing cabinet?”

  Pete nodded.

  “This art collector jerk is representing Annie in the divorce. I have no idea what kind of dirt they have on me, but I want to make things difficult for them. I want what’s in there. How bad does that lock look to you?”

  Pete licked his lips, tossing his Bible on the desk. “Piece a cake.”

  “Then go, boy. Get that sucker open.”

  Pulling a few key tools from his back pocket, Pete walked over to the filing cabinet and assessed the lock again. Now he understood why Gary wanted him to come along.