Midnight Mischief

The crisp night air nipped at Huebert’s cheeks. Just a few more minutes of silent patience before his part of the job started. 

Leaning against the concrete wall of the Modern Museum of Art, he pivoted his head from left to right to make sure there was no one patrolling outside the building. 

“Ok Pierre,” Huebert whispered into his Bluetooth earbud. “All quiet on the western front.” 

He pulled up his black long sleeve and checked his watch - exactly 11:58pm - two minutes before a vital shift change of security guards. 

For upwards of two months, Huebert and Pierre cased the museum, confirming patrol routes and the shift changes. They knew this museum like it was their childhood home, and the corner Huebert stood at, was exactly 15 feet below the score that was going to change their lives forever. 

Pierre ran his fingers through the fake beard and wig he applied earlier that evening, the glue felt nice and tight, hopefully security didn't pull on it too hard, because if the illusion broke, he was gonna be deeper than a frog in a sinkhole. 

Pierre wore a dirty brown coat, covered in mud stains and another stain that did not smell like mud at all, but it kept the deception strong. If you’re going to make the commitment, it has to be as real as possible. That's how a distraction works best.

He snuck a glimpse out of the bush he hid in and checked the front entrance to the museum. Right on schedule. Three heavy set security guards mingled inside the door, watching as three fresh guards walked up the pathway, their footsteps clicking away on the wet pavement.

”Punctuality,” Pierre whispered to himself, “the best quality to exploit a mark.” 

Pierre heard Huebert whisper his Western Front line in an earbud of his own, Huebert did love his movie references when called for. 

“Eastern invasion set for 60 seconds,” Pierre replied. 

“Good luck, man,” Huebert said back over Bluetooth. 

Luck will take you only as far as your talents, Pierre thought. He pulled out two mini bottles of whiskey from his coat pocket and downed one in a single gulp. The fire in his throat worked two fold, it's part of the character, and provided a little bit of liquid courage. The second bottle was poured over the coat and a few drops into his hair, to overemphasize the smell. 

“Here we go…” Pierre said. 

Huebert checked his bag for the millionth time - putty knife, chewing gum, the bottle of muriatic acid, and the mini flashlight. He sifted through them all and could feel the sweat inside of his gloves. He always got like this right before the game began. Thank god this is the last job, he thought . He wouldn’t miss the knotted stomach feeling that's for sure. 

The timing had to be perfect. Once Pierre distracted the guards at the moment of the change, there would be one guard inside the museum doing his patrol, it was the best time to get in and get out with little to no interference. Huebert chuckled to himself as he remembered casing the museum a week and a half back. He couldn’t believe the on duty guard that day let that bit of information slip without much thought.

Sometimes people can be taken advantage of when they’re too nice and too honest. 

It wasn’t the best part of the job, lying to people, but it was a necessary evil. 

He turned around and placed his hands on the 20 foot ladder that laid beside him and prepared to move… just as soon as Pierre got started. 

The six security guards stood at the door of the museum, chatting and paying little attention to the surrounding area. Pierre couldn’t hear what they were saying exactly, but the mix of the crickets and the conversation up ahead provided him just enough ambience to pop up out of the bush and start making his way to the doors. 

Pierre stumbled and stammered, crossing his leg over the next, and leered towards the guards at the door. He bent his back just a bit over forward to hide a bit more of his face, even though the beard and wig should do most of the work, but it didn’t hurt to try and make it a little more difficult. He tried to think himself dizzy, and shuffled to the left to continue the drunken charade. 

“Lillith!” Pierre screamed in a gruff scratchy voice. The scream startled the guards and two of them immediately reached for their maces and flashlights. Pierre heard a few expletives coming from their mouths as well. 

“Lillith! Please don’t do this! Come on, give me one last chance! You don’t need to call your father, I promise I’ll change!” 

As he projected out, Pierre gripped one of the mini whiskey bottles, props made for better realism, and he swung his arms out as if he was ready to jump in front of a bullet. In essence, he kind of was. 

Huebert, Pierre thought, you’d better not miss this cue. 

“Hey sir!” One of the guards was approaching delicately, pointing his flashlight and one finger on his mace can on the left side of his belt. “Sir, I need you to calm down, who is Lillith?” 

“You know who she is, you son of a monkey's bottom!” Pierre slurred and tried to let the saliva in his mouth accumulate. “She’s in there right now and I want her to come talk to me so I can tell her I’m sorry. Lillith please! Just come out and we can talk about this!” 

Pierre stood and wobbled in place, then he swung his arms around in front of him, acting as if he was catching his balance, and he knocked the flashlight from the guard’s hands.

This got the expected reaction, the other five guards starting moving towards him as well, away from the door and into the fiasco in front of them. 

Huebert could hear the ruckus Pierre was creating in the front, he couldn’t help but smirk at the ridiculousness of it all. Pierre was good, there was no denying that. 

Now, it was his turn to move. Huebert picked up the ladder and slowly angled it against the side of the building, he grunted as he tried to lay it against the concrete without any sound. Once he got it in place, he hopped up on the rungs and started climbing. 

He was very happy it was dark out, twenty feet off the ground with only the bushes and grass below to break his fall would be a major distraction, and he needed to focus. When he reached the third floor window, he carefully removed his bag from over his shoulder and placed it on the rung in front of him. 

He had to be quick, but he also had to be thorough. He removed the bottle of muriatic acid and poured it starting at the top of the window seal and all around the four sides. It would take a few seconds for the acid to start wearing away at the sealant. Huebert froze and listened to make sure the commotion was still happening in the front, he could hear the voices still clambering. 

Pulling the putty knife out of his bag, Huebert started slowly working the end into the sealant, turning the edge back and forth, loosening the window. It had to be done just right, too soft and he would get nowhere, but too hard and the window would crack, possibly shatter and this whole thing would be for nothing. 

Huebert could feel the window starting to give way, it was getting easier to push the putty knife around the edges of the window, when he completed the next pass, the window started to lean and suddenly it broke off the frame, scrambling on the ladder, Huebert grasped at the top of the window and with his fingertips he held the window in place, keeping it from shattering on the floor below. 

He let out an exhausted sigh, he felt the sweat dampening his forehead, and as quickly as he could, he moved the window out of the frame and jumped down onto the museum floor. 

The air smelled of fresh floor wax with a tinge of library books. Huebert could no longer hear the noises out front, and instead only the sound of his own breathing, and the pulse of his racing heart. 

The museum was a tomb this time of night. It was a treasure trove of ancient artifacts, jewelry, and paintings all from ancient European descent. The moonlight cast shadows across the hardwood floor from the glass cases displayed in the walkways, and the paintings were all dimly lit with small accented lights that gave off the tiniest bit of detail of each artwork. 

If he was accurate, the guard patrolling would be there in a matter of minutes, so he had to move fast, luckily for him, the painting hung directly in front of him, encased in a beautiful hand carved wooden frame. 

The Scourge of Constantinople was a fiery piece of art that showcased a famous battle during the Crusades. It was famous for its depiction of Christian soldiers ravaging and plundering the infamous city, despite it being a Christian nation.

Huebert didn’t know much about art, but he knew someone was paying him a good amount of money to steal this painting, and he intended on delivering. 

Pulling a piece of chewing gum out of the bag, Huebert began to frantically chew on the gum until it softened in his mouth. He caught himself chewing loudly due to breathing out of his mouth, unable to catch his breath from the near disaster of that window, but he controlled himself and focused on the task at hand. 

He snuck his hand behind the painting and felt for the sensor attached to the wall just below the nails that held the painting in place. He had to remove the frame without triggering this alarm, and his plan was to do just that. 

Pulling the gum from out of his mouth, he stuck the gum on the end of the same putty knife he used for the window. Smashing the gum down on the edge of the knife, he prepared himself for the moment of truth. 

He pulled the small flashlight out and turned it on before covering the light with his thumb, giving off just a bit of light that he could control and use just enough to accomplish his task. 

Slowly and cautiously, Huebert slid the knife edge up the back of the painting frame. 

Shrrr! The knife whittled into the back of the frame, slicing a thin piece of the wood. Huebert stopped in his tracks and let the sound dissipate, but the echo made him feel like the sound traveled miles in the air. 

With his sweat cascading down his forehead, Huebert went back to work and continued the journey up the backside of the frame until he felt the metal edge click against the sensor. 

No going back now, he thought. He pressed the knife against the sensor and pressed down with all the strength he could. If he didn’t get the gum in place, when he removed his hand from the knife handle, the alarm would sound, and he would have to make for the window as fast as he could.

Footsteps in the distance. The rhythmic pace of the guard’s movements were creeping in the distance. He was coming now, and Huebert had no time to get the painting down. 

“Please god, please, don’t let it go off,” Hubert whispered. Clamping his eyes shut and praying to whatever god would listen to a thief in this moment, Huebert let go of the putty knife, and nothing… no alarm, no blaring siren in the air, no flashing security lights… but the sound of the guards footprints were getting louder, he could see a reflection of a flight light bouncing off the floor at the corner not ten feet from him. 

The guard turned the corner and shone his light down the hall, nothing was there. Huebert, crouched behind the display case of antique hand tools, was fighting the urge to breathe. He watched the floor as the light swiveled from left to right multiple times. How the hell was he going to get out of this? 

“Hey Dave,” a voice followed by another pair of footsteps. Huebert wouldn’t dare turn to look, but he could hear another guard join the one on patrol. 

“You hear all that noise outside? Some crazy homeless guy was making a racket about some woman who wouldn’t take him back. The psycho wouldn’t stop barking into the moonlight. Then, you’ll never believe this, he took off his coat, shirt, and shoes and started going on about how Orion’s Belt was on fire in the sky.” 

“Are you serious?” The other guard said. “I swear they have to do something about this homeless problem in this city. It’s ruining everything.” 

“No kidding. Come on, Steve can tell you the whole thing, he was the one who got in the guys face and slugged him. He's icing his hand right now in the bathroom.” 

The footsteps traveled off into the distance. Huebert let out a gigantic breath and collected himself. That was too close. Hopefully Pierre didn’t get hurt too bad, but wow, was he really a good actor. 

Sliding across the floor, as to not make noise with his boots, Huebert got back to the painting and pulled it from the wall, he took a second to press the knife one more time to make sure it held and laid the frame down on the ground. 

Drops of his sweat plopped against the painting, a few small dabs wouldn't hurt but he didn't want to damage the art too much, so he hurriedly removed the painting and rolled it into his hands. 

Making his way back to the window, he turned back to look down the hallway one last time, but he could only see darkness, nothing at all in the distance. When he turned back to the window a hand reached out towards him. 

“Good god!” Huebert exclaimed. The sight of Pierre on the ladder reaching out put a scare into him that gave him a heart attack. Pushing the fear back down his throat, Huebert handed the painting to Pierre. “What the hell man!” 

“Sorry,” Pierre said. “I’m just trying to speed this along, do you mind?” 

Pierre disappeared down the ladder and Huebert grabbed the edge of the window and pulled himself up. 

“Hey! You, stop!” Emerging from the darkness, one of the guards started rushing towards the window, his flashlight aimed directly at Huebert. 

Wasting no time, Huebert climbed out the window and slid down the ladder like an action hero. He tossed the ladder off to the side once he reached the ground and took off across the grass field. 

Turning to look over his shoulder, Huebert could see the lights of the museum flicker on and off and the alarm started to whale in the silent night. He ran full speed across the grass and felt a hand grab him, pulling him into a large collection of bushes. Pierre was crouched down with the painting in hand. 

“What the hell do we do now?” Pierre asked. 

“We split up, give me the painting.” 

Pierre held the painting close to his chest. “No, you go, I’ve got the painting.” 

Hubert looked back confused. “Pierre, seriously, give me the painting. I have to give it to the buyer.” 

“Yeah, see, about that,” Pierre started. “I have another guy who’s willing to pay double. So I need it.” 

The guards came rushing out of the door of the museum and started fanning out in all directions, flashlights out. In the distance, Huebert could hear sirens approaching. 

“Pierre, seriously, you know I need this painting. I owe this guy and if we don't deliver to him we are dead.” 

Pierre looked dead straight into Huebert’s eyes, a look Huebert had never witnessed from him before. “Then you’re dead.” 

He was a good actor, Huebert thought. He had me fooled from the jump.

”Over here!” Huebert heard a guard shout. Police cruisers screech into the parking lot of the museum and officers jump out of the cars and start racing into the grass behind the guards. 

“Damn!” Pierre swore. “We wasted this time arguing when we should have gotten out of here. Look what your squabbering did!” 

The distraction was just long enough for Huebert to remove the bottle of acid from his bag and loosen the cap. He threw the bottle into Pierre’s face, causing him to scream and drop the painting. His hands swung to his face and he writhed in pain. 

Huebert saw his chance, he grabbed the painting and took off. He heard the guards and officers shouting at him to stop. The voices got quieter as his breathing and racing footsteps drowned it all out. 

With one quick look behind, he saw the officers checking on Pierre, he afforded himself a small smirk. Sometimes people can be taken advantage of when they’re too honest. 

Huebert continued dashing into the darkness of the trees and disappeared into the night.