Your Move

My dearest friend,

Have you heard about the museum heist? I’m sure you have. It was all over the news, even made the print newspaper, and I’m certain you still like to read words printed on the page. You and I are among the last, I think, who get their news the old-fashioned way.

All of the stolen pieces weren’t listed, of course, but since it’s THAT museum surely you couldn’t help but wonder. I will not keep you in suspense. Yes, your trinket is among the pilfered artifacts, although where it is at this moment I can’t say. I did hold it in my hands just a few days ago, and I believe those in possession now will treat it with the reverence it deserves. But I’m getting ahead of my own tale, and I’m nearly bursting to tell it from the beginning. Not to brag (well, perhaps a little bragging is in order), but the plot twists in my story are as intriguing and unlikely as those in the old mystery novels we used to discuss and laugh about.

Some weeks ago, I decided it was time for us to begin a new game. What has it been, six years maybe seven since we’ve had a good match? Time does fly when it doesn’t matter. I learned that your little sculpture was finally back on display and thought I might discern a way to liberate it. Security systems being what they are these days, I knew it would be quite the challenge, but nothing is impossible, just look at us. Still, I was surprised by the excessive quantity of gates and cameras installed to guard a bunch of old junk.

I must admit I was discouraged and nearly ready to scrap my endeavor when I noticed a pair of gentlemen jotting notes. They seemed very focused on whatever they were studying but that was not the exhibits, rather the display cases in which they resided. I watched discreetly as they navigated one room and then another and surmised that they were in fact doing exactly what I had come to do; case the joint. What serendipitous timing to have come to this museum at the exact moment as another set of thieves!

When they exited the museum, I continued to shadow them on the sidewalk. I trailed a dozen feet or so behind while one of the men made a call on his cellular phone. You know how sharp my hearing is. I clearly overheard both ends of the conversation. The recipient of the call was obviously the boss, and something about the security system that the museum employed disappointed him. He said he would have to get in touch with someone called Leroy and did not sound happy about the prospect. He then ordered the pair to meet him that night at the “usual place”.

The men joined a group waiting at a busy bus stop. It was another bit of luck for me. I had been pondering how I would continue to follow these fellows in broad daylight if they got into a car. Instead, I only had to pay the fare and get on the same bus. You probably find this the most surprising part of my tale thus far! Voluntarily utilizing public transportation, mingling with the unwashed masses? Because those humans that travel by public transit are often quite unwashed. There was a time when I would not have tolerated enclosure in a small capsule with so many people, bodies jostling against one another, their smells and warmth swirling around me. When I was younger it would have triggered a feeding frenzy, but I’ve matured since then. I’ve learned to repress my instincts, to blend in. I suppose you’d call that evolution, or maybe you would call it something else.

A few miles later I disembarked behind my targets, a teenage couple, and a woman juggling four bags. The pair walked another block to an apartment building. Since sunset was still hours away I suspected that this building was not the rendezvous point. Still, I needed to keep tabs on the pair and loitered on the stoop until another resident opened the entry door for me. Shuffling slowly through the halls, I listened for a voice I recognized and found it on the third floor. Through a closed door I learned that the boss was named Miller and that Leroy was some sort of computer hacker. The pair agreed Leroy was rather unpleasant but also the best at what he did. I also learned the lads had a vehicle housed in the complex’s underground garage. I identified it by scent, broke into the trunk and settled in for a nap until it was time for the meeting.

We drove for a short time, mostly at steady highway speeds. And when I was once again alone, I pulled the glowing release lever inside the truck and slithered out just in time to see my new friends going inside a business. You won’t believe it, but we had arrived at an actual mechanic’s garage, like the front used by so many television villains!

The wonderful thing about a garage is that there are many points of entry. I chose an open window around back, 15 feet above the ground, and entered a loft that overlooked the entire garage. Six men gathered around a worktable strewn with papers. The pair I’d followed all day stood beside the man who seemed to be the leader, presumably Miller. He was saying something like, “How can we get inside?” It seemed as though he posed the question to the room, so I answered from my perch.

“I can help,” I called down. Three guns swung towards me, but no one fired so I must commend their restraint.

You would have laughed if you could have seen their faces, I was barely able to contain my own laughter. At first, they seemed prepared to kill the intruder, but a few seconds later, when their brains comprehended what their eyes saw in the loft, the mood shifted to uncertainty. Because they saw what everyone sees when they look at me; a harmless old man with wrinkles, white hair (what little hair remains on my head), and a bit of a paunch around my middle. I always dress the part as well. There is no point in donning the lasted fashions when you look 80. No sir, it’s old man slacks, button down shirts and sensible shoes for me.

For several long seconds no one moved or spoke until Miller finally demanded to know who the hell I was. I thought it more theatrical to give the crew a little show rather than a verbal answer. It might have been enough to jump down, impressively landing on my feet injury-free like a cat from that height. But I wasn’t certain all the men would realize it was a feat they couldn’t walk away from themselves. The spectacle that never fails to amaze, however, is scuttling down a wall headfirst like a person sized spider.

I expect you are scoffing at my brash showmanship, but I assure you I had not abandoned caution completely. Sure, their bullets would sting but wouldn’t stopped me from escaping. And who would believe such a wild tale, should they decide to report me? Miller’s garage, by the way, has no camera surveillance at all. I discovered that during my quest to destroy any evidence of my wall crawl. It seems he doesn’t want any recordings of his tricks either.

The men now stared, wide eyed and open mouthed. Since no one else was talking, I explained that I suspected what they planned and wanted in on the heist, reminding them that I had a unique set of skills that they’d just witnessed and could use. Miller asked what I would do if he declined my generous offer.

“Then I will be on my way,” I assured the group. “Best of luck to you in prison.” Yes, I was poking the bear, and as I made to turn, the guns that had been lowered rose back up.

“What do you want?” Miller raised a hand, and his men stayed their weapons.

I informed him that I had a buyer who desired your small carving. I assured him that I could retrieve the object myself but preferred not to be caught on camera. “I might try anyway,” I said. “Although if I broke in alone tonight, it would certainly ruin your plans for a later date.” You always say to lie with the truth.

Of course, this banter was completely unnecessary. I could have mesmerized everyone in the garage, instantly charmed them into doing exactly what I wanted. But I haven’t used that skill in many decades. There is simply no sport in it. Besides I take pride in charming people through wit rather than force. But I digress...

Miller was understandably skeptical; he surely knew all the big-ticket items and none of them was your bauble. “This item is worth so much that you’re willing to trust a bunch of strangers?” he prodded.

“For what my buyer is paying, it’s worth partnering with you. But I don’t I trust you. You are all criminals after all.”

“And what are you?” you have to give Miller credit for asking the astute question that I, of course, wasn’t going to answer.

“Also someone not to be trusted,” I said. A very clever evasion, don’t you agree?

I could see his gears turning and knew he was going to agree to work with me, even if it was just to betray me later. “What should I call you, old man?”

“Old man will be fine.” And that was how I joined Miller’s crew.

We reconvened at the garage three more times after that, always at night. During the day, I sometimes stalked the lads to learn what their lives were like. They were surprisingly mundane. Some had jobs and families and drinking problems. I don’t know what I expected, but I was disappointed by this.

The night before the heist, the hacker Leroy brought out a device he’d built. It would be my task to smuggle it inside, install and activate it at a precise time. Leroy claimed it would allow him to loop the camera feeds and disable the electronic security long enough for the rest of the crew to break in, subdue the guards and make off with the artifacts on Miller’s list.

Leroy never looked me in the eye. It occurs to me now that none of them did, besides Miller. I assume they all suspected what I was the night I introduced myself. But no one even used that word they call us, and they didn’t test me with the lore. I appreciated that since I often forget all the things that Mr. Stoker and Hollywood have decided can subdue us. It really is a random list: sunlight, garlic, crosses, running water. Although, I suppose, the things that actually do affect us are just as random.

Two hours before closing on the day of the heist I entered the museum as a patron. I walked with my cane and affected a limp, wore a pair of thick framed glasses and covered my balding pate with a newsboy cap. Hidden inside my shoulder bag was Leroy’s magic device. The advantage of appearing elderly is that strangers either treat me with excessive reverence or they ignore me completely. No one looks at me with suspicion, no one thinks I’m a threat. I didn’t appreciate that aspect of my appearance when I first awoke post-transformation. I’d been too infuriated at being misled by my maker. Of course, later I realized I’d misinterpreted the terms and had received exactly what had been promised. I’d been healed and time for me had stopped. I’d just assumed my youth would be restored as well. But time doesn’t roll backwards. Had I realized that my shell would remain aged, would I have chosen differently? Probably not. I’d been rapidly approaching my deathbed and someone was throwing me a lifeline. The instinct to grab for it was strong. But we’ve had this conversation on many occasions; you want to hear about your missing knickknack!

I wandered the exhibits until I was near one of the identified camera blind spots and when no visitors were in sight, I launched myself up to the open rafters above and settled into statue stillness until the museum closed. Once the last of the staff trickled out, I hopped from one rafter to another until I was above the security control room to set up Leroy’s device. At the designated time I activated it and was rewarded with the sound of agitated rumblings from the guards within the room.

I was rather impressed by the speed at which the rest unfolded. Three of Miller’s men were suddenly inside, and they had disabled the guards in seconds. I can only speculate as to why that job had not been assigned to me. The four of us set about collecting the designated artifacts (and your curio). I’d like to tell you it was a stealthy, elegant affair, but alas it was not. We had only minutes to complete our task, so the tool of choice was primarily the crowbar, smashing through display cases and prying fixtures from the walls.

While Miller’s men towed the full dollies to the loading dock, I went back to retrieve Leroy’s device. I half expected to find myself alone when I arrived at the assembly point, abandoned by my conspirators, but I suppose they were not finished with me quite yet, for they were still there packing up the last of the goods in our two escape vans. With the plunder secured, the men and I boarded the vans. We were a few blocks away when sirens began screaming in the distance.

Back at the garage, with both vans safely inside and the doors locked, one would have expected some jubilant cheers or at the very least a collective sigh of relief, but instead a tense silence persisted. It was the silence that told me that the time for betrayal had finally arrived. I had, of course, foreseen this outcome from the start. I expected Miller to try to somehow pin the entire endeavor on me or for Leroy’s device to be nothing more than a decoy to lull me into performing some inhuman feat for the cameras to capture. But implicating me was apparently not the goal.

When the van’s back doors opened to reveal my former colleges turned firing squad, it finally dawned on me. I wasn’t a patsy but another prize to be captured. The two men who’d ridden with me, brawny lunkheads whose names I’d never bothered to learn, inched their way out and joined their companions, adding their own firearms to the line. Have I elevated myself so far above humanity that I’ve begun to underestimate it, do you think? Of course a thief would see the unique, the unusual, the rare jewel and calculate a price. Would you have made the same mistake, I wonder? Are you laughing now – at my blind spot, or maybe that I’ve just referred to myself as a “rare jewel”?

I remained seated on a crate. Outside of my introductory display, I had always maintained my guise of frailty and harmlessness around the crew, and it remained firmly in place now. Even while we pillaged the museum, I moved no faster and lifted nothing heavier than an old man could manage. I’d followed Miller’s lead, let him make assumptions about my capabilities. I suppose I wanted him to underestimate me.

“I’m sorry, old man,” Miller said almost like he meant it. I chuckled quietly. I respected his ambition – he saw an opportunity and tried to capitalize on it. But these men were petty criminals, not monster hunters. They thought guns gave them the upper hand, but keeping me locked in the van would have actually given them slightly better odds of holding me. This was another opportunity to employ my mesmeric charm; force them to let me pass or turn on each other. But, like I said, that isn’t sporting. Instead, I slowly raised a hand and tipped my cap to Miller and the rest.

Then I let them see the monster. You know that look; eyes bled black like empty voids, lips that stretch back nearly to the ears and reveal a mouth full of needle pointed teeth. I released my banshee shriek and my captors fell back and covered their ears. I bolted from the van, unleashing the speed I’d been so careful to conceal. A couple of the men recovered enough to fire a few rounds before I smashed through the nearest window. I could hear Miller scream at them to stop shooting up his garage which now contained stolen antiquities and the usual mechanical paraphernalia.

By now you’ve surely realized that I always intended to leave your souvenir behind. It’s out in the world now, but it’s not fun if the quest to find it is too easy for you. I’ve provided enough clues to start you on the right path, but who knows how long your treasure will stay where I left it. For all my praise of Miller’s cleverness, one can’t dismiss the fact that he instigated a major robbery in his backyard. Will he keep the artifacts in storage for a while, or will he try to fence them immediately? I won’t hazard to speculate.

As opening salvos go, you must agree this one was quite an exciting adventure! It’s your move now, my friend. What will it be, I wonder? Will you buy or steal or kill to get back what was once yours? Will you reveal your true nature as I did? I await your response with the greatest anticipation.

Most Sincerely,

Edgar