Quick Thinking Saves the Day

Published: Thursday, 04 February 2016 Written by Gael Thomas

I poured myself another glass of wine.

 “…and then the entire shed exploded as I walked away like a real gangster with my shades on just like at the end of the movies.” Anton finished off his story.

I took a sip from my wine glass while the warehouse echoed with the joyful and drunken emotional outbursts from Anton and the four other guys who were sitting at the table. After they were done hooting and howling at Anton’s obviously embellished and ridiculous tale, they all quieted down and all attention was turned to me.

“It’s your turn Elle. What’s your close-call story?” Micheal asked, opening another beer. I took another sip of wine. The single light bulb above us swung to and fro as I focused on the collection of beer cans in the middle of the table, recalling that sunny morning I had broken into the house of Marina Calimero, a rich fashion designer.

After I had already evaded the security system and gotten past the ridiculously sized German Shepard in the backyard, I was lucky I had even made it into the house alive. I had to resist the urge to run around the house like a child in a candy store. There was too much at stake, including my life. I stealthily and quietly located the master bedroom at the end of a hallway upstairs. Behind two large white wooden oak doors lay a room that personified a morning in Paris. The air reeked of Chanel No. 5 and cigar smoke and clouded my lungs. My sneakers squeaked awkwardly on polished white marble floor as I slowly ventured around the room looking up at the high arched ceiling graced with a glass chandelier.

Bright morning light flooded into the room from a glass-paneled door leading to a balcony. I saw my reflection in a mirror on a vanity table across the room, my hooded face looking common and plain compared to the type of reflection that should have been in such a fancy, diamond-encrusted mirror. I strolled into the walk-in closet which seemed to be about the size of our warehouse. Shelves upon shelves of clothes, hanged and folded, bags and of course a plethora of shoes. At the end of the vast closet lay a black vault with a small combination roller. I effortlessly cracked the code and basked in the glory of the mesmerizingly beautiful pieces of jewelry before me. Necklaces dripping with sharp cut emeralds. Earrings with luscious fresh-water pearls so heavy they could tear earlobes. Rings, bracelets and watches laden with bright sparkling diamonds that could make the blind see.  I shivered, opening and emptying the dozens of drawers, delicately placing the jewelry into a backpack I had carried with me. I could almost feel the luxuriously soft black velvet lining inside the drawer through my gloves as I carefully removed the last pair of tear-drop diamond earrings from the comfort of their satin pillow.

Just as I turned to leave, I heard the sharp clicking of expensive Louboutin heels outside the closet door.
I quickly ran behind the door and muttered an unlady-like expletive under my breath. I was digging in my bag for some sort of weapon as the door slowly swung open. I watched as a head of immaculate black hair looked around the door and a look of complete horror then anger registered on a perfect face. Without thinking twice, I swiftly withdrew an unnecessarily heavy, chunky diamond necklace from the bag and popped Madame Calimero upside the head. She fell backwards, unconscious, limbs sprawled ungracefully on floor. Giggling like a school girl I tiptoed past her and took off running, out the master bedroom, down the grand staircase, past the tranquillized dog in the backyard and through the wooden board I had knocked loose from the fence.

A loud snore interrupted me and I looked around the table to see, Anton, Micheal and Donny fast asleep on the table, Lennon snoring on the floor and and Bunky drooling on the old sofa behind the table. I poured myself another glass of wine.

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