The Homeless Millionaire - Volume 1 Chapter 28 September 4th 1972 Morning

The church bells started ringing on the stroke of midnight, a moment after we’d assembled by the tree between the museum and the church. They spooked me badly. Roch was spooked, too. Michel calmed us down: he told us that all the churches in town were ringing their bells at midnight to commemorate the people who had died in the nightclub fire. We were standing next to the Church of St Andrew and St Paul and its bell was hellishly loud, but we could hear other, faraway bells ringing too, between the beats.

Roch said that he wasn’t climbing that tree without a cigarette first. I was very glad he’d said that and I think Michel was, too. We put the rope and bags and backpacks we’d been carrying on the ground and lit cigarettes and smoked, holding them in cupped hands so that the glowing tips wouldn’t show. If anyone poked a head into the gap between the museum and the church, they’d have likely noticed us. But no one did, along the way I’d noticed that the streets were practically deserted, even though this was the summer’s last long weekend. The nightclub fire and the resulting deaths had cast a somber mood over the city.

Michel finished his cigarette first, and looked at us like a sergeant deciding which recruits are most likely to desert. Roch threw his half-smoked cigarette down and ground it out with his boot and said:

“Okay. Just don’t get drunk and rowdy while I’m away, eh?”

“You need a hand?” I asked, a little anxiously. The nearest branch was more than six feet off the ground.

“A hand? I’ve got my Captain Fantastic boots. Just watch me fly up that tree.” He turned away from us and stepped up to the tree and raised his right leg and kicked the trunk with the inside of his right foot, sticking the spikes into the bark. Then he jumped off his left foot and grabbed the branch with his right hand and he was up in a blink of an eye. When he was sitting on the branch, he turned and leaned down and hissed:

“Watch the Human Fly perform. Ten dollars each, children under the age of twelve pay half.” Michel and I grinned nervously at each other.

“I don’t have ten bucks on me, ” I said.

“You wouldn’t,” Roch told me.

He began climbing the tree. He had a long way to go: we got a final glimpse of a dark shape oozing upwards, then he was hidden by the leaves. We listened to the noises – a creak, a rustle – and I was dreading I’d hear a shout and the thud of Roch’s body on the ground.

I didn’t. After what seemed a small eternity I heard a tiny thump and a scr.a.p.e from far above. Michel raised his head and his face broke into a delighted grin.

“He’s made it,” he said.

I instantly looked up at the edge of the roof but did not see a f.u.c.k.i.n.g thing.

“I can’t see a f.u.c.k.i.n.g thing,” I said.

“He’s gone for the ladder. He’ll be back. Now listen, you go up first. You’ll haul up the rope.” Michel slipped the coil of rope off his shoulder and worked one of its ends free. He put the rope around my waist and began to tie a knot, saying:

“I’m going to tie the other end to the backpacks so you haul them up with the rope. I come up the ladder last, with the bag.”

“Fine,” I said, although it wasn’t fine at all. I pulled on the gloves Michel had issued us with. They were made of cotton, and had patches of rubber on the inside for better grip. Somehow, putting them on made me feel a little more confident.

We stood in silence for a while, throwing anxious glances at the ends of the passageway between the museum and the church and listening hard. From time to time cars passed, flashing briefly in the aperture between the walls; luckily there weren’t any pedestrians. Then we heard new, faint noises coming from above: thumps and scr.a.p.es and soft cursing.

We immediately started watching the edge of the roof; it seemed impossibly high up, in the dark sky. But as we looked Roch’s head appeared, tiny at this distance, and we heard a soft whistle. Michel whistled back. All this whistling made me nervous; I wished they’d thought of a different way to communicate. Michel said:

“Watch out, here comes the ladder. Kick those dead leaves aside. Good. Here it comes.”

It came down with what I thought was a terrific clatter. It was an aluminium extension ladder with three telescoping sections, the last of which shot out straight at our upturned faces. One of ladder legs hit my shoulder only because I’d managed to move my head out of the way. Michel grabbed the other leg and we set them firmly on flat ground.

“Okay,” said Michel. “Off you go.”

I started climbing the ladder. I was determined to go as fast as I could, but it took an eternity anyway. I didn’t dare look up or down, just kept my eyes on the rung above. Eventually I saw the roof trough, the gutter collecting rainwater from the roof, and heard Roch say:

“Mike, make sure you step on the roof and not the trough, it might break off. Give me your hand.”

I did, and a moment later I was standing beside Roch on the roof. When I looked down, the ground seemed to be incredibly far away. Roch was busy untying the rope from my waist. He handed me its end when he’d worked it loose, and said:

“Hey. Grab this, and hold onto it. Okay?” He began to haul up the rope, while I stood behind him coiling it up. We had a slight problem getting the backpacks onto the roof; they kept catching on the trough, making it rattle. Then we held the top of the ladder while Michel ascended with the sports bag slung across his back.

When he’d joined us, we hauled the ladder up and folded it and put it down on the roof. Then we all sat down and had a smoke, sizing up the situation.

There were several skylights scattered on the flat roof, rectangular pyramids with metal frames holding rows of glass panes. Right in the center of the roof a sheet of thick plastic covered the oblong hole left by the skylight that had been taken out for repairs. We put out our cigarettes and tied the rope to a metal bracket and rolled up the plastic sheet, stopping several times to listen for sounds of activity. But the dark abyss below remained deadly silent. I think we all experienced a moment of hesitation at this point, the point of no return.

Michel was the first to move. He took out his gun and made a show of examining it; then he took out a bunched-up necklace of rosary beads, threaded the gun onto it by the trigger guard, and hung the gun from his neck. Roch and I watched him in silence; if he was hoping to excite comment, he was disappointed. He had one of those long flashlights that take five batteries; it had a thin leather strap, and he hung it from his neck too. Then he said:

“Okay, it’s time for action, mes amis. I’m going down first. Keep hold of the rope, I’ll tug on it when I’ve reached the floor. No noise, okay? Keep your traps shut even if you hear me fall and hit the floor. A single tug on the rope means everything’s okay, two – freeze and wait until you get a single tug on the rope. Mike, you go next, and you’ll take the backpacks. Roch, you go third, wait for the signal and don’t forget the bag. Everything clear?

“Yeah,” I said, trying to sound brave.

“Sure,” Roch said.

Michel sat down in the skylight opening and grabbed the rope with his feet. Then he bent and caught it with one hand and let his feet slide down to the next knot. Roch and I had done a really good job on those knots, they were thick and evenly spaced. I don’t think either of us was afraid that Michel will slip and hit the floor with a bang. He did take a long while to get down, though; twice, we heard his metal flashlight knock against the gun. We each had a hand on the rope and felt it go slack when Michel reached the floor. After a couple of seconds there was a single strong tug.

I slung one backpack from each shoulder and sat down with my legs on either side of the rope and told myself this was going to be just like climbing down from that tree back at the lake, a couple of centuries earlier. In fact, it was easier, because I wasn’t carrying a bagful of stones on my back and there were no twigs threatening to poke out an eye. I started going down very smoothly and without a hitch, much faster than Michel. The skylight opening was located over a big viewing room, and it turned out to be much higher up than the branch we used for training. When I’d gone down twenty feet or so, I risked a look down and I couldn’t see a thing. I kept going down, but much more slowly. Michel was holding onto the rope down there, it was pretty taut between my legs. I panicked a little when my feet failed to find the next knot and I was hanging on with just my hands but then I felt a light slap on my calf and looked and Michel was grinning at me, his head level with my knees. I slid down onto the floor. It was really lucky that Roch and I had abandoned our original plan of tying a knot every two feet. Had we done so, the rope would have been too short.

My eyes had adjusted to the darkness and I looked around: I could make out the pale walls of a big room, at least fifty by fifty. At one end, a couple of windows looked out on the street. Michel held on to the rope: I heard a rustle way up above as Roch prepared to come down. It seemed to me he made a lot of noise, the rasp of his clothes on the rope got louder and louder as he descended. The museum was still as a tomb: the only noise was the subdued hum of city traffic coming from outside.

“Okay,” whispered Michel. “Time to split up. Me and Roch are going to the staff room to look for the keys to the storeroom. Mike, you stay here. If a guard comes along and spots the rope he’ll call the cops, and we don’t want that. Here, take this.”

I looked down at his outstretched hand and even though it was dark, I could see he was offering me a gun. It was a small, snub-nosed revolver. I put my hands behind my back.

“That wasn’t the plan,” I whispered. “I was to go with you, and Roch was to guard the rope. And I don’t want a gun.”

“Don’t be silly. It’s a starter gun, loaded with blanks. If a guard comes along and sees you or the rope, you need something to convince him to shut up and stay still. Fire a shot, pointing it at the ceiling as if it was the real thing, then keep him covered. We’ll hear the bang and come running and help you deal with him.”

“The other guards will come running too,” I hissed. “You’re f.u.c.k.i.n.g mad. What do you mean, deal with him?”

“Tie him up and gag him. Don’t worry, he won’t get hurt. No one gets hurt, okay? When the other two come to see what’s going on, we’ll tie them up and gag them as well. That way we don’t have to worry about walking into one of them any more. And one of them is sure to have the keys to the storeroom.”

“Great,” I whispered. “Just great.”

“Don’t you chicken out on us now, Mike. Take it.”

He pushed the gun at me and I took it. Roch was pulling out his shotgun from the sports bag; its twin barrels gleamed evilly in the darkness. He didn’t even glance at me and it made me feel betrayed. I was about to announce I wasn’t agreeing to this change of plans when Michel hissed:

“F.u.c.k! The masks. We’ve forgotten the masks. It’s time we put them on.”

He bent down to his backpack lying on the floor and got out three ski masks and passed them around. When I pulled mine on, it made me feel like a full-time crook in an instant. Then Michel punched Roch lightly on the arm, and they were gone.

I was left alone, and instantly became frightened. I looked around: I could see the walls clearly now, I could even see the dark rectangular shapes of the pictures hung out on display. I tried to see a spot where I could hide but the room was empty except for two viewing benches, long enough to accommodate a dozen people sitting back-to back. Their backrests were quite tall, and they would hide me from view if I crouched down on the seat. But there were three entrances to the room, and I could only hide from all of them behind the end of the bench that was closer to the street. But that was too far away from the rope. If a guard came along and spotted something hanging from the ceiling, he’d be sure to walk up for a closer look. That would be the moment to make my move. I couldn’t hope to achieve anything from behind a bench twenty feet away. He would blind me with his flashlight and wipe my night vision and run knowing there was no chance in hell I’d be able to hit him even if I’d had a real gun.

A thought struck me, and I spent a minute making sure that the gun in my hand was really loaded with blanks. It was, and it was really a starter gun: the short barrel was blocked by a thick metal strut. I crouched down behind the end of the viewing bench closer to the rope, maybe ten feet away. I was in view of all three entrances to the room, but I’d see a guard approaching before he could see me, and hide by sliding around the end of the bench. And then there was a chance that the guard wouldn’t see the rope. I could see it because I knew it was there, and knew where to look. But it was a big room, a guard walking across it from one entrance to another could easily miss it, particularly if he was busy watching his step.

A few minutes passed by without anything happening at all, except for a bunch of motorbikes that passed down the street outside, engines roaring. I was squatting on my haunches and my legs were getting stiff and that was bad, because I needed to be able to move fast when the need arose. So after a moment of indecision I simply sat down on the viewing bench and lay down on my side. I was hidden from one entrance, and anyone approaching the others would have a really hard time picking out my shape on the bench in the dark room.

For quite a while, nothing happened. I shifted my position slightly a few times when it got uncomfortable. There was no traffic noise any more: I checked my watch. It had hands that glowed in the dark as long as there was the tiniest ray of light falling on them, and they showed me that it was nearing half past one in the morning. Almost a full hour had passed since Roch started climbing that tree! I would have sworn it hadn’t been more than twenty minutes.

BANG! BANG!

I jerked up straight on my bench and nearly dropped my gun. The two gunshots echoed hollowly in the big dark room. They sounded too deep for a handgun, they must have been fired from Roch’s shotgun. They were followed by some shouting, too faint for me to make out any words. I got up and started moving towards the noise, taking a few steps at a time on my toes, gun in outstretched hand. The shouting stopped. I crouched and started creeping along the wall of the short hallway connecting to the next room. It was empty, but I heard voices again, very faint. Then someone laughed and I knew everything must be okay, because it was Roch’s laugh.

It was quite a while before I found the guys. I took a wrong turn once and had to retrace my steps. I thought I was getting close when I heard someone walking and froze, gluing myself to the wall. A light suddenly shone in my face and Michel’s voice said:

“There you are. Come on, we’ve been waiting for you. You took a hell of a long time.”

“I got lost,” I said shakily. It sounded as if I was lying.

“Come on, there’s nothing to worry about any more. Everything’s taken care of.”

“I heard shots.”

“Oh, we ran into a guard and Roch got nervous and let fly from both barrels into the ceiling.”

“He didn’t shoot the guard?”

“No, just scared him to death. We’ve got all three tied up and blindfolded and gagged. The other two guys came to investigate, but there was no need to fire any more shots. They almost shat themselves with fear. Come on, I need you to watch those guys, just in case.”

“What about Roch?”

“He’s coming with me. We know this place much better than you do. We’ll collect what we came for and leave, maybe in an hour at most. It’s almost over. Come on.”

I followed him down the dark hallway and into the staff room. There was an open door in the far wall that led to the kitchen. The guards were sitting on the floor in there, tied up and blindfolded and gagged. Roch was standing over them, wearing his mask and with the shotgun in his hands. The kitchen light was on: it was a fluorescent tube that buzzed and crackled. Michel cleared his throat and made a short speech in French to the guards. He must have told them to acknowledge what he said, because they all nodded reluctantly. They weren’t wearing their hats, and the sight of those blindfolded, gagged heads nodding finally made me realize the enormity of what I had done. Those guys on the floor were afraid they’d get shot; I was an armed robber, even though the gun I held was fake.

Michel grabbed my arm and put his mouth next to my ear and said softly:

“We’ll be back soon. You’ll be the owner of a genuine Rembrandt in just a few moments, friend. Keep cool.” He released my arm and said out loud:

“If any of those guys starts acting funny, just shoot him.” He winked at me, then nodded at Roch and they both left.

I was on my own with the guards. I tried not to think about what I’d do if one of them indeed started acting funny, because thinking about it terrified me. I needn’t have worried so much. After ten minutes or so, one of the guards started to fidget. He was the tallest and looked like the biggest threat.

I surprised myself. I stepped closer to him and bent down and touched his temple with the muzzle of the starter gun and said:

“Stay still.”

“I’m getting a cramp in my back,” he said. He sounded English. I said:

“Watch that you don’t get a permanent cramp.” I tapped his head with the muzzle of the gun, very lightly, and stepped back. He stayed still all right after that.

That incident made me feel a little more confident. That was good, because I needed all the confidence I could get. Minutes dragged by: I caught myself checking my watch twice in the space of fifty seconds. My mouth got dry and I started sweating under that f.u.c.k.i.n.g ski mask. It was made of nylon or some other synthetic shit that was at least partly waterproof and my face got slick with sweat. I was afraid to take it off and wipe my face even though the guys were blindfolded. I was sure they could see something through the tea towels that were tied over their eyes, the towels were white and pretty threadbare, almost like gauze.

I really needed a smoke, I wanted a cigarette so badly that I started convincing myself it would be okay to light one – after all, what could happen? I was just about to reach for my pack when I heard soft footsteps.

It was Michel. He came in and said:

“Any trouble?”

“Not really,” I said. He jerked his head around to look at me. He really looked threatening, wearing that mask.

“Not really?” he said sharply, making odd little motions with his hand: he pointed at the guards, placed his finger over his lips, pointed at me, pointed to the exit.

“No, everything’s okay, everything’s fine,” I said. Michel walked his fingers in the air, pointed at me, pointed at the exit, and said out loud:

“Any of those guys give you trouble, shoot. Don’t f.u.c.k around. Come with me, I have to explain something to you.”

We stepped out into the staff room, stopping a few paces away from the open doorway. Michel put his mouth next to my ear and whispered:

“We’re good to go. But we’ll put on a little show so that these guys stay put. I’ll pretend I’m leaving you behind to watch them, okay? Go now, but quietly, okay?”

He turned away from me and coughed and walked back to the kitchen with a swagger, saying:

“All right, you know what to do now if there’s any funny business. May I have your attention, gentlemen? Yes, you, gentlemen. Behave yourselves, we’re leaving soon and we’ll loosen the ties on your wrists right before we do. You’ll be able to free yourselves after a few minutes. But right now, any of you that tries to get cute will also get hurt. Is that clear?” He paused and turned his head and said to the empty staff room:

“Okay man, I’ll be back in fifteen minutes at most. Stay cool.” He turned around and walked away, leaving the door open.

By that time, I was already in the doorway to the hall. We walked down it, with me on tiptoe. After we passed through an exhibition room Michel told me I could walk normally, and added:

“Roch’s waiting for us in the rope room. We’ve been trying to work out a way to haul all the stuff up on the roof. Some pictures are too big to fit into the backpacks.”

“What the f.u.c.k are you talking about?” I hissed. “We agreed to take only the small stuff.”

“There’s a Courbet that I just must have. It’s nearly a meter wide. And a Gainsborough and a Corot roughly the same size. But relax, Roch might have worked something out. If not, I have another idea that might work.”

When we entered the room with the rope, my jaw nearly hit the floor. Roch and Michel had gone crazy. Several big paintings stood on the floor, leaning against the viewing bench which was piled high with loot. There was no way we could carry all that while climbing the rope, and Roch confirmed it the moment we stopped next to him. He said:

“It can’t be done, Michel. We have to cut the big paintings out of the frames.”

“We’re not doing that. We’re not barbarians.”

“Well, those frames are pretty solid. Taking them apart will take hours.”

“So, we don’t take them apart. We take them as they are.”

“That’s impossible.”

They started bickering in French. I walked over to the bench and had a look at the stuff they’d taken. They had gone completely crazy – there were at least thirty pictures, some of them really large, and a big mound of jewelry and various precious trinkets. There was just no way we could take all that stuff.

I was looking at it, trying to find my Rembrandt in the dark when Michel said:

“Hey, Mike.”

“Yes?” I said, without turning my head.

“You looking for your picture? I already put it in your backpack.”

“You did? Wow.” I checked my backpack and yes, there it was, the one thing I’d wanted more than anything else. I had visualized this particular picture so often in my mind that I recognized it immediately in spite of the darkness.

“Oh my God,” I said. I was addressing Rembrandt, of course. I didn’t believe in God.

“Mike.”

“What?”

“Put it away and listen. We’ve got a new plan.” I turned round to face them, still holding the picture.

“We’re going to take the museum van.”

“Take what?”

“The museum van. One of the guards had the keys. It’s parked right outside.”

“You’re f.u.c.k.i.n.g crazy.”

They were both grinning at me. They were mad, all right.

“It makes perfect sense,” Roch told me. “That van has special fixtures for transporting paintings and stuff.” Michel giggled stupidly.

“You’re f.u.c.k.i.n.g mad,” I said.

“Listen for a moment,” Michel said. “It’s parked next to the delivery entrance. We back it up a little, load it, and drive away.” Roch said:

“We just have to move this stuff to the museum’s shipping department. Let’s get going.”

I turned to face Roch and said:

“I’m not going with you. This is just insane.”

“You’re not going with us? Then how are you going to leave?”

“The way I came.”

“Come on, Mike.”

“No, no f.u.c.k.i.n.g way.”

“You serious?”

“Of course I’m serious.”

They looked at each other. Michel shrugged, and said:

“Will you at least help us carry that stuff to the entrance? That way, it will just take a couple of trips.”

“Listen to yourself,” I said. “A couple of trips? Why don’t you just take every single picture in here? You’ve got a van, right?”

“Mike.”

“F.u.c.k you.”

“Mike!”

“F.u.c.k you!”

“Jesus Christ, Mike.”

“Oh f.u.c.k off,” I said wearily. “One load. I’ll make a single trip and then I’m up that f.u.c.k.i.n.g rope. That’s it, end of discussion.”

Michel sighed.

“Okay,” he said. He bent down to the bench and picked up something and handed it to me. It was a metal medal of some sort, heavy enough to be gold.

“Here’s your medal for bravery,” he said. “You don’t need to help us, we’ll manage.”

“I can take a few small things in my backpack,” I said.

“It’s fine. We can manage.”

There was a short silence.

“I’ll see you back home,” I said to Roch. I turned and bent to lift my backpack off the floor and they turned away as well began to load up, grabbing the biggest pictures to begin with. I walked up to the rope and started climbing. I could hear them picking stuff up and taking it down the hall. It took them a while, I was almost at the skylight when they returned for more. I gritted my teeth and grabbed the edge of the skylight opening with one hand, and a moment later I was outside on the roof. It was one of those times when being a skinny guy helped a lot.

I was tempted to stick my head in and call goodbye, but I didn’t do it. I found the ladder but it was so unwieldy and heavy that I left it where it was. I’d noticed that the branch Roch had used wasn’t more than a yard up off the roof. So I went up to it and grabbed it with both hands and swung my legs up and after that everything went easily.

I jumped down onto the ground not more than a couple of minutes later. Then I started walking home. I knew it would take me over an hour, but there was no way I would be taking a cab. So I slung the backpack from one shoulder, holding the straps with one hand, and used the other to get out my cigarettes. I lit one and started walking, I didn’t mind at all, walking and smoking was pure bliss. There was absolutely no one around except for a cat that skittered away to some secret hiding place when I came to the corner of the street. I turned east and began hoofing it. I’d had plenty of practice a short time earlier, and I made good speed.

I hadn’t walked more than a hundred steps when a horrible wail split the night air.

The museum’s alarm had gone off.