Dawn was approaching unwanted and unwelcomed and I was finally getting to bed, after failing to convince a lovely dancer to join me. It had been six hours since I’d completed the biggest triumph of my professional career, and the after-party finally ended an hour ago. I’d taken possession of a large sum of money and jewelry from a safe in some heiress’s apartment. No one could have seen me, no fingerprints, nothing left behind. I’m really good at this.
I’d spent the last four hours at Gigi’s drinking middling champagne, flirting with a girl named Dawn at the bar. She kept asking me what I was celebrating.
You and me, darling, I said. I’m celebrating you and me.
She was charmed that I put in the effort, but not enough to want to see my furniture.
I’d staggered home around 5, too keyed up to sleep. I just lay there in limbo, serenaded by a farting radiator. I had finally started drifting when I heard a knock at the door, followed by a rush of fluorescence from the hallway. Two men in suits barged in like it was happy hour, waving their guns hello.
Freeze! You’re under arrest.
I struggled to recalibrate my eyes. I could make out a tall one and a short one. The short one slapped the cuffs on and read me my Mirandas from a sandwich stained piece of paper. I recited them along with him.
Okay, tell us where you hid the money and the jewelry and maybe we’ll help you out.
What? I don’t know anything…
They started canvassing the room, just tossing shit around.
Hey, be careful. Those are my most precious possessions.
The tall one grunted. I’m not even sure he spoke English.
Within fifteen minutes they’d found the jewelry, hidden inside the first aid kit. Half an hour later they found the money in my underwear drawer.
(Studies show that people tend to keep money in their Bible. I don’t own a Bible.)
So you don’t know anything, huh?
I don’t know how any of that shit got there.
Is this all of it?
How would I know? You guys probably planted it.
The tall one walked over to the bed and smacked me in the face. They went back to searching but didn’t find anything, except for the drugs.
They still seemed horribly dissatisfied, kept asking me if there was anything more. I was starting to feel slightly insulted. This had been my masterpiece.
An hour later they brought me downstairs and shoved me into their unmarked unit. I stared out the window as the police radio softly blared. Finally I started making conversation.
Where’s O’Rourke? On vacation?
I usually insist on O’Rourke arresting me. We have a longstanding professional affiliation. He’s an asshole, but honest.
The tall one snorted, like he’d swallowed his orange drink through his nose. I just kept talking.
I haven’t seen an unmarked cop car like this before. You guys usually drive Crown Victorias, don’t you?
Silence. They peeled out onto the expressway.
Say, you missed the exit.
They started driving faster, much faster than the speed limit.
Hey, where you going?
A few miles out of town, they pushed me into an abandoned warehouse, and threw me against the wall.
Let’s kill him now, the short one said. Let’s kill him and get the fuck out of here.
I know there’s more money. Let’s beat the shit out of him and see if we can get him to tell us where it is.
It was then that I finally realized that maybe these guys weren’t real cops after all.
The two men were still arguing when I heard a knock at the door. A moment later the door tumbled off its hinges and O’Rourke stumbled in behind it, gun wobbling in his hand.
Jesus, O’Rourke. I’ve never been so happy to see a cop. Your colleagues were just debating whether or not to kill me.
Put me down as a yes vote.
O’Rourke pointed his weapon at the confused counterfeit lawmen. He patted them down, grabbed their guns and the key to the handcuffs.
So, where’s the money and the jewelry, Jeff?
I gestured toward the fake cops with my cuffs. The tall guy handed over everything.
Is that all of it? Mutt nodded.
O’Rourke unlocked my handcuffs. I finally relaxed a little.
Thanks. My arm was going numb. How’d you find this place?
I just followed them while they followed you. Is that all of it, Jeff?
Yeah.
Are you telling the truth?
Who knows?
Fuck you, asshole.
Why don’t we split it? We could pretend to be rich for awhile.
No deal, Jeff. I’m an honest cop. And besides, I’m not willing to share.
O’Rourke took a few steps toward me and shot the tall guy with his own gun. The other guy begged for his life; O’Rourke shot him too. The tall one gasped, then moaned, then died. The little one just died.
O’Rourke took a few steps backward to mark off the trajectory.
You shot them, and I shot you, he said, as he shot me through the brain with his service revolver. I was dead before my head hit the pavement. Within thirty seconds I’d ascended into heaven. Whisky and toasted sandwiches and girls who love to fuck in the morning.
By the time the lab guys arrived, the scene had been as elaborately staged as a suburban house for sale. Everything except the roaring fireplace.
O’Rourke received a citation for killing me. The swag was never recovered; insurance picked up most of the loss. O’Rourke went out on disability and opened a bar called The Hideaway. All the off-duty cops hang out there.
Nobody came to claim my body, so I was buried in a mass grave with the homeless, the drunk and deranged. I’d rather not be dead, but all in all, I can’t think of any place on earth that I’d rather be.
–Art by Denis Olivier
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