Julius Ceasar and Mannequin Bones

Alex could barely stand the hot, rancid breath in his face, the absence of the rest of his senses heightening his perception. His legs and arms ached from being in the same standing, cramped position for hours. The pocketknife pressed against his leg from his pocket with extreme pressure. He hissed, to not be overheard by anyone except his intended target,

"Carl! Move! Over!"

He heard a scuffling next to him, the coffin creaking with shifting weight, then a sharp jab in the side of his ribs. "God damn!" he heaved under his breath.

"Sorry!" Carl's voice came sheepishly from the dark, still shifting, trying to strike a balance for both of their comfort. It was high pitched, and since he was stressed, it was also scratchy. "Ok! Ok! Stop moving! They'll hear us!" Alex reached into the void to grab him, as if his skinny arm was strong enough to pin him down. His fingers jammed into the polished wood, sending ice through his nerves that ended in a yelp. He covered his mouth, and the shuffling stopped.

Suddenly, light erupted from Carl's phone screen, blinding them both. It rotated to point at his worn, frayed watch.

"It is 11:45 at night! No one is around to hear us" Carl whispered.

"You have your phone on you?! They'll track us!" Alex hissed. "Turn that shit off!" The light shut off, but not before his eyes adjusted enough to see Carl's look of disbelief. His scraggly beard was already showing a few gray hairs, as was his crew cut hair, even though he was in his mid-20s. "You made me call in the bomb threat! Did you want me to do that with my mind?"

"It was a suggestion! That I went back on!"

"Yeah, well, not fast enough."

A heavy sigh left Alex's chest. The dark fell silent, the humid, warm air offering no comfort. He began to ponder, of all the craigslist roommate ads he had to click on, it was the one posted by this buffoon. A long pause. As Alex calmed himself, he took a drawn-out breath. "I mean, you did do a good job. Way better than the ones I've called in." Carl smiled slightly, though Alex couldn't see. "Hey, thanks, man. It was a good idea."

"OK", Alex said, "It's basically midnight. I hear no guards. Let's move out." They both moved to put their foot on the door, knee ready to bust it open. "3... 2... 1!"

Both men plunged their legs forward, tearing the coffin door off its hinges and sent it sliding a few feet, its scrapes across the floor echoing through the empty exhibits. Fresh, cold air flooded their noses, and the dim moonlight streamed through the skylight, washing over them. Alex's eyes were fixed on the coffin lid before them. He wiped the beads of sweat that had collected in the heat of the accidental sauna from his wrinkled forehead onto the arm of his flannel jacket. He would just have to wait for his long, charcoal hair to dry.

"That was kind of... really loud. Follow me." Alex started to speed walk through the halls, eyes darting from wall to wall to exhibit name. Though he tried his best to step lightly, his sneakers squeaked with haste. Carl stumbled after him hurriedly, his green t-shirt waving in his wake.

"Can you tell me what we're stealing now?" Carl pleaded under his breath.

Alex holds up his finger, still looking ahead. "The less people know about the plan, the better."

Carl’s frustration was building. His hands started flying all over while he talked. "Ok, I get that, but we are IN the plan! Do you want me to be able to help?" Alex glanced at him, then kept looking through the various art pieces. "Don’t get so animated, man! You will be."

The two roommates traversed the seemingly endless halls displaying various paintings, pictures, statues, maps and models. The only noise was the buzzing of the air conditioning, the squeaking of sneakers, and the heavy breathing of two already out-of-breath men.

As the two walked into the Local History section, Carl stopped to examine the props of the hanged men in the gallows, mouth agape.

Alex, continuing on ahead, kept scanning the area, until his eyes landed on exactly what he was looking for. "There it is!" Alex exclaimed and pointed to the sign on the wall that read “Community Contributions”. He looked behind to see if Carl was close behind, only to find he was several feet away, observing the props. Confused, Alex stomped up to him.

"What are you doing?" Alex demanded. "You know what I bet this is?" Carl’s mind began to run miles off track. "This is like that funhouse prop from that 6-million-dollar man episode. I bet that prop," Carl pointed with strong resolve, his eyes meeting Alex’s, "is a real body!"

"CARL!" Alex shouted, making Carl jump. Alex covered his mouth in shock. He had always tried his best not to raise his voice at Carl. He means well, but occasionally, he’d do something that just irritated his core. He sighed again. "Sorry. But Carl. What the fuck are you talking about? Follow me, please, dude. Jesus". Alex began to talk into the Community Contributions section. "…I’m talking about 6 million-dollar-man, dude." Carl said under his breath with a palpable sadness, looking down. He shuffled after Alex.

Alex led Carl to a specific painting hung on the wall. "There it is! We’re stealing this." Carl observed a painting, about as big as a laptop screen, depicting Julius Ceasar’s stabbing. The brush strokes were obvious, but purposeful, creating an energy that leapt off the canvas. The colors were vibrant, and the anatomy was perfect.

"What is this, I’ve never seen this in my whole life." Carl muttered, unimpressed.

"What? No- Look who made it!" Alex pointed to the plate below it. It read “Julius - Dedicated by Lisa Worble”.

"This was made by my art teacher!" Alex lectured.

"From 8^th grade?"

Alex brought his hand up to Carl, pointing in confirmation. "Exactly. The one who failed me."

"Is it worth money or something?"

Alex’s brow furrowed. "No, why would it be? She’s a shit artist and a shit teacher. I just don’t want her getting a big head, being displayed and all".

As this dawned upon Carl, his eyes widened, boring into Alex. "Are you serious? I thought this was to pay our rent, dude!" His voice began to raise, and his hands began to fling around. "I thought we were going to be set!"

Alex looked around, worried someone might hear him. "Calm down!"

"Calm down?! Fuck this, they’ll give me money for the body in the mannequins, right? I’m going for the body!"

Alex held up his finger again. "Hey, they have alarms in that exhibit. Don’t do that”.

They stared into each other’s eyes, daring each other to make a move. Seconds passed, feeling like minutes. Carl’s knees were bent, ready to spring. Alex stood stoically, attempting to convey some sense of authority.

Within what seemed like a millisecond, Carl went from a statue, looking into Alex’s soul, to sprinting the opposite direction, toward the gallows exhibit.

"Shit!" Alex began to panic. No time to execute what they had planned, which was to use the pocketknife to cut the wall, taking the alarm with the painting. Surely it would have worked, but no. Alex’s fingers ripped the painting from the drywall anchor it was hung on, causing the sensor to start blaring an ear-bleeding screech. He turned about face and ran in Carl’s direction. His legs could never carry him fast enough.

He entered the Local History exhibit just in time to see Carl launch himself at the hanging mannequin, grabbing firmly onto its torso. As his momentum continued his arc in the air, the rope tugged on the side of the hole of the flimsy fake gallows it was hung from. The entire structure began to lean. As Carl ran, it all collapsed, introducing another shrieking alarm to the symphony.

He turned behind him to glance at the damage, and his gaze was met with broken plywood, cracked mannequins, and… bones. Carl froze, astounded that he was evidently correct. Then his scream joined the atmosphere of alarms.

"Come on, we need to leave!" Alex darted past him. With the speed of a frightened gazelle, he bounded through halls, rounding a corner that led directly into the stinging pain of the clenched fist of a night guard. The alarms and moonlight faded.

~~~

Alex and Carl sat side by side, warming the cold concrete under them. Harsh white light illuminated the rest of the concrete cell. The only noise, besides their breathing, was the crunch of chips as the county jail warden reclined in his office chair. Alex’s newly black eye seared with pain, but he tried to distract himself mentally.

Alex looks at Carl. "Can I ask you something? When we were in that coffin, did you use your phone light to look at your watch?

"Yeah. Why?"

"Your phone has the time on it."

Carl thinks on this for a moment.

"Oh."

Alex shakes his head. "You are one goofy ass goober, dude."