Chapter 6: The museum

David spent the next day in the museum itself. In the morning, he and McKenzie walked together. She was dressed like a New York socialite, starting to get up in years and refusing to admit it. David wore a thin beard, gray hair, and wide rimmed glasses.

It was just like old times.

“I think this one is just lovely,” McKenzie’s voice sounded vapid, like there wasn’t much of a brain in her head.

David looked where she was pointing. It was the Monet. “That one’s very expensive, dear,” he said.

She curled her arm around his, the way she had way back when. Those days had been interesting. The days where they’d spent almost all the money they made just fooling around. Hedonism.

“But I like it,” she said. Her voice dropped a little, moving towards him in a suggestive manner. “Those laser sensors are going to be difficult to get past,” she said.

David smiled like she’d made a sexual innuendo. “Don’t worry about those things,” he whispered. “That’s what Collins and I do.”

“And what do I do?”

“You get the info. And the cars.”

“I like cars,” she dropped her voice again, this time to a far sexier and more seductive octave. “Cars are so sexy and powerful. Want me to show you what I mean?”

He pulled away a little. “That was a long time ago, McKenzie.”

“History has a way of repeating itself, lover.”

David walked her past the Monet. Bad idea to spend too much time in front of that painting. They walked, whispering closely to one another.

“Look at the cameras,” he said. “Are they rotating?”

“Yeah, they’re just rolling around.” In that voice, everything she said sounded sexy.

David wished his body wouldn’t respond. They had ended years ago. He didn’t want to go back to that, no matter how much his body did. This was about business. “How long does it take to make a full revolution?”

“Just once, or back and forth?” Maybe, just maybe, it wouldn’t be a bad idea to spend quality time with her again. It may not have ended on the best of terms, but it had certainly been a good time. Besides, he could forget himself with her, and just let her show him hedonism again. That would be nice. What was he working for anyway?

“Back and forth.” He gritted his teeth. She was working her charms on him. And he was letting it work. He forced his thoughts back onto the job, and away from the allure of McKenzie.

They kept walking, stopping for a few seconds to look at a landscape. McKenzie looked around, like she was bored and only there because it was a cultural thing to do.

“Eight seconds,” she said.

“Not much for blind spots then.”

She shrugged. “Look at the model, sweetheart.”

David sighed. “You’re going to have to get me some pictures, okay?”

“I’m working on it.” Her voice was getting distracting.

He decided he’d have to come back that afternoon by himself.

When he returned, he wasn’t in disguise. If you spend all your time in disguise, sometimes the real thing will work as a disguise as well. He stayed away from the Monet painting. After the fact, he didn’t want anyone tying his face to the stolen painting. Instead, he spent time checking out the rooms around the entrance, the exhibits around the skylight, mentally tracking out the pathways to the actual painting in question. He took long, casual strolls through the museum, timing the distance. In his effort to look like a normal art patron, he also spent long stretches of time just staring at various paintings, all the while committing to memory every bit of security he could spot.

He couldn’t tell which cameras were heat sensitive, which ones were black and white, which ones were swivel mounted. That would require more time looking at them than he cared to spend. McKenzie’s pictures would take care of that. He saw the pressure plates, saw the screens that covered paintings when the fire alarm went off, and took note of the heavy gates that come crashing down when the alarm went off to trap people in the museum. It was a device that only caught amateurs, but it was worth considering anyway.

Occasionally he would discuss the paintings with the proctors in the museum, or even with the other patrons. He would comment on the brilliant brush stroke in this painting, or the creative blend of colors in that one. “This one is just astonishing,” he said of a particular abstract. “With all those swirls of color, it looks like one thing, but the longer you look at it, the more it seems like something else entirely.” He crossed one arm over his chest, leaned his other elbow on it, and stroked his chin. “I must say, it seems like the real meaning of the painting is escaping me, like there’s some third level, something I can’t quite get at.”

The woman standing next to him turned full on to him. She looked almost at a loss for words. “That’s exactly how I feel,” she said to him. David took a look at her, painting a grin on his own face. She was from New York, but not the city. The sound of it wasn’t in her voice. She probably grew up in a suburb. Maybe Bronxville. She had traces of an accent, but nothing too strong. By what she was wearing, and the fact that it was three o’clock on a Tuesday, he figured she was a successful businesswoman. She was probably a lawyer, judging by the briefcase at her side and the way she was standing.

She didn’t hold herself like a stockbroker or an accountant. There was a theatrical flair there. She was probably a trial lawyer. Besides, she had a ring from Harvard on her right hand. He couldn’t make it out, but it might be Harvard Law.

“—Every day for the past week.” His focus returned to the conversation with her mid-sentence, “but I can never seem to find it,” she was saying. “I just feel like it’s there, somewhere, and I’m missing it. I hate it.” David noticed that she was very, very cute when she was frustrated. “There’s just something on the tip of my mind, and I can’t get a good grasp on it.”

“I know what you mean,” he said, flashing her another smile. “I look at first and see just chaos. Then things come into focus. Then I watch a little bit more, and I see something more. When that comes into my head, I feel accomplished, as if—”

“As if you’re seeing something most people don’t see?” She smiled. She was very cute. Something about her just struck a chord in him. David didn’t have to fake his smile in return.

“Exactly.” He said. He turned back to the painting. “But then, when I keep looking, I feel like there’s something else, probably something dirty; like a joke by the painter, but I just can’t seem to get it.”

She chuckled. “And you feel kind of stupid, because there’s a joke that’s going over your head.”

His grin was getting wider, almost entirely against his will. “Correct.”

They were quiet for a few moments as they went back to staring at the painting. David watched her out of the corner of his eye, making more assumptions about her, reading her body language, registering the signals she was sending him. He had really impressed her with what he had said. She might be able to give him something else to think about, something else to do. At least for as long as he was in New York.

“My name is Michael,” he said, holding out a hand. “Michael Crane.”

She took his hand and shook it in a businesslike, but friendly manner. He became more convinced that she was a lawyer. “Jessica Scott. Pleasure to meet you.”

“Listen, Jessica,” he smiled again, looking around the museum as if checking for another person, “as much as I love this painting, and enjoy museums in general, I think it would be better if I tried hitting on you somewhere else.” She smiled at that. Her eyes flashed. David gave her his most charming look. “Would you like to go out for a drink?”

“Well, I can’t drink right now, but I’ll join you if you like.” She was clearly interested in him, but her words bothered him, setting off a minor alarm in the back of his head.

“Sounds good enough.” He smiled. He couldn’t resist asking. “Why can’t you drink right now?”

“Oh, I’m on duty.” She said it nonchalantly. David hoped she didn’t notice his reaction.