The Art of Stealing

The car idled beneath a solitary streetlight as fresh snow blanketed the vacant parking lot. Sirens echoed in the distance and a helicopter circled over the high-rise buildings, but Ava had driven them far enough away from the scene. She was sure they wouldn’t be found. Frank fumbled through the glovebox, tossing old receipts and manuals onto the soiled floorboards. 

“Here,” Ava whispered, handing him a wad of fast-food napkins from the driver’s door compartment. 

The sound of a car passing by startled her; the tires crunched over the icy ground as Frank took the paper napkins and pressed them against his abdomen beneath his blood-stained shirt. He grimaced as the cheap paper cloth hit the exposed nerve endings, then relaxed into the seat once the pain subsided. 

“We need to get you to a hospital,” panicked Ava. 

“No hospitals. They have to report all gunshot wounds. I’m no help to you if I’m in prison.”

“You’re no help to me if you’re dead!” She started scrolling through her phone.

“What are you looking for?” 

“I don’t know. A doctor or something.” A tear fell from her eye and landed on the screen, magnifying a Google query for "discreet doctors". 

“We just need to stop the bleeding. It went all the way through, I think.” He leaned forward, motioning for her to check. There was an identical pool of blood on the back of his shirt. 

“L—looks like it.” 

Soon, the Arby’s logo was completely saturated with blood and Frank could hear Ava’s breathing quicken. It wasn’t the first time he had been on the business end of a Glock, but, even though she was a criminal by definition, Ava had never been around guns or blood. Her adrenaline was beginning to wear off and the weight of everything they had been through was finally catching up to her. As a veteran, Frank was familiar with the signs of shock and knew it would only slow them down.

“Ava, I need you to focus right now, okay?” 

She stared out the window at the streetlight, which flickered on and off every few seconds. 

“Ava!”

“This is all my fault,” she sobbed, unable to bring herself to look at him.

“I chose to get involved, Ava. I chose to stick around, even when I knew what I was getting into.”

“I never meant for anyone to get hurt. Especially,” she broke off. 

“Especially what?”

She took a long, deep breath. “Especially you.” 

The snowfall had let up for the moment, so Frank pushed open his door and stumbled out into the cold. Ava jumped out of her side and ran to him. 

“What are you doing?”

“Just open the trunk.” 

“What? No, get back in the car!”

“Pop the damn trunk.” He pushed past her, gripping the wound on his side, leaving a crimson racing stripe down the length of the Range Rover they boosted during their frantic getaway. Ava hesitated. She considered arguing or forcing him back into his seat, but even wounded, he could easily overpower her. She hit the “trunk” button on the key fob and the door lifted open. 

After a few moments of more rummaging, Frank emerged with a road flare and a crooked grin on his face. 

“This’ll do.” 

“I thought you said no police.” 

“It’s not to get help.” He held it out in front of him.

“Then what…” Ava gasped. “You can’t be serious!”

“We need to stop the bleeding.”

“You’re insane,” she huffed, starting back towards the driver’s side.

“Please.” Frank lowered his voice. “I need you.”

He had been so guarded for so long, he almost forgot what it was like to be vulnerable. Even his handler, whom he had known for decades and shared many intimate moments with, wasn’t able to break through his walls. Business and pleasure were easy. Emotions—love, that was the one thing he was truly terrified of. 

Reluctantly, Ava lowered the back seats and helped him into the makeshift bed of blankets and sweatshirts. He unhooked his belt with his free hand and pulled it smoothly out of the loops. 

“Frank,” Ava blushed.

“Relax. It’s to bite down on.” He pulled his shirt up to his chest. “You remember what to do?” 

“Light the flare, hold the blade close to the flame, push the hot blade onto the gaping hole in your gut,” she recited the list under her breath. 

“Both sides, remember. Front and back.” 

Frank bit down on the leather belt and nodded. 

“What if you pass out?” 

He spat out the belt. “I won’t.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Because I’ve had worse than this and I didn’t pass out.” 

“But what if I mess up?”

“A child couldn’t mess this up.” 

“But—“

“Ava, for the love of God. Stop stalling and just do it.” He stuffed the belt back in his mouth and tightened the muscles in his abs in anticipation of the pain. His sculpted chest rose and fell with each breath. She knew it was an inappropriate time to admire his body, but the thought crept into her mind regardless. If her brief experience as an art thief taught her anything, it was that beauty deserved to be observed. 

“Any ‘ay ‘ow”, he said through his clenched jaw. 

With a deep breath, Ava began. She held the flare out of the open trunk and watched as the blade started to glow red. The heat burned her eyes, but she was surprised at how steady her hand was as the searing metal cauterized the vessels beneath her patient’s tattooed skin. Something took over her, like she was watching it all happen from outside the car. Like someone else was in control of her hands. 

Frank didn’t even flinch, and the closer she inspected the portions of his body she had never seen before, she could see the topography of his life. Beneath the thick, black ink, his skin was beveled and scarred and his stolidness finally made sense. Ava found herself wondering how many times he was bleeding out and had no one to take care of him. Sure, he had people to tend to his wounds, but was there ever anyone to hold his hand? 

As soon as the bleeding stopped, Ava took his big, calloused hand into hers and laid down next to him. Neither of them slept, but together they rested until the sun began to pierce through the clouds and without saying a word, they both knew that in those sleepless hours, everything had changed.