Page 58 of Trailer Park Billionaire
I glance at Ben. Somehow, I can’t shake the feeling that the freaking fortune-teller wasn’t entirely wrong. Wedoneed to be careful tonight.
He just shrugs. “They’ve got what we need. Plus, you made getting in real easy already. Would be a shame not to use your assist.”
“How the fuck?—”
How the fuck does he know I did this?
“You don’t remember?” he asks.
Oh, no.
“Please tell me you taking me home was in fact a dream.”
Ben nods and lightly knocks his fist against my arm. “Definitely. Lots of people dream about going home with me.”
I bury my face in my hands. The half-healed cut in the palm of my hand—the one I’d almost forgotten—suddenly throbs again, like it wants to mock me. “Did we—? No, never mind. I’d remember. Did I do or say anything inappropriate?”
20
BEN
“You said,‘Thanks, and now fuck off, please,’after I helped you up to your apartment. You wouldn’t even let me help with your injuries, kept clinging onto the glass shards.”
Helena exhales, apparently feeling a little more at ease. “Good. So I didn’t do or say anything stupid.”
I can’t help but laugh at her rudeness. Usually, people don’t treat me this way. It’s annoyingly endearing.
She relaxes visibly, and we sit in silence, observing the gallery. The sun has long since dipped below the horizon, and so far, no one has entered or left. The heating hums quietly in the background. The RV is like a cocoon of terrible gas mileage and questionable life choices, but at least it’ll keep Helena out of danger.
“Alright, here’s the plan,” I say once the neighborhood seems half-asleep, only the occasional car driving by. “You stay here, I go in, I find what we’re looking for, take it, and we leave before anyone notices. Easy-peasy.” I reach for the balaclava we picked up at the flea market earlier today.
Helena shifts her weight from side to side, scanning the empty street. “Sounds pretty straightforward,” she says, clearlytense. “It’s just… kind of quiet in there. Too quiet. Could be a bad omen. Definitely is a bad decision, the whole thing.”
“I’m pretty sure quiet is a good thing when you’re about to steal something in the middle of the night. It’ll be fine. Don’t worry. You just stay put.” The balaclava smells like stale cologne and cigarettes when I pull it over my head.
“You really think they’d just leave the paintings hanging there with a busted window?”
I shrug and put on a pair of gloves. “Would be very irresponsible to leave them just sitting there for any common thief to grab, wouldn’t it?” I open the door. “But if they’re gone, we still have Plan C.”
“What’s Plan C?” Helena asks as I step out of the RV.
“Craigslist and eBay,” I say over my shoulder and watch her close her eyes in despair.
She needs this to work. She’s afraid what will happen if it doesn’t. And I’m not gonna let that happen.
“I mean it, Panda. Stay here.”
“I’m not an idiot, Benedikt. I wouldn’t dream of stepping foot into a crime scene so soon after I caused it. That’s also how people get caught—returning to the scene of the crime.”
I adjust the hood over my head and dart across the street. The gallery is as inconspicuous as always, apart from the half-assed attempt at security—a plastic sheet over the shattered window and newspapers taped across the remaining ones.
It’s basically an open invitation,I think to myself as I rip the tarp off and slip inside.
The moment I step in, the air changes. It’s thick and heavy. There are no echoes of someone working in the back, no visible security system I’d need to disable. Just empty space and bare walls.
Bare walls.
No paintings.
