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The Preparation

Wayne Franklin

    “I’ll get over you, I know I will,” Al sang along with the radio. “Man, I love this song.”
    “Yeah, it’s a good one,” Bernard said, before wolfing down half of his Reuben. “You see the movie?”
    “What movie?”
    “Pretty Woman. The song is from Pretty Woman.”
    “I didn’t know that.”
    “Yeah, my wife dragged me to see it last week. I was surprised at how good it was!”
    Al tapped a button on the console and the fog evaporated from the windshield, revealing a clearer view of the museum across the street. He flipped the page in the art book and attempted to sound out the words.
    “Ra... Ra-nor? Is that right?”
    “Ren-wahr,” Bernard said through a cloud of corned beef and kraut. “But we ain’t looking for Renoir. We’re looking for Rembrandts. I circled the ones we’re looking for. Look on the page before that one.”
    “Your breath is jacking my stomach up,” Al said, gagging.
    Bernard rolled his eyes and wiped the mustard from his lips. “I need you to focus. Study the pictures and study the map. We gotta get in and out. Rick said we got about an hour before the cops show up.”
    “That’s what I don’t understand. How does he know when the cops are coming?”
    “They radio the police department at fifteen past the hour, every hour,” Bernard replied. “The police station is like ten minutes from here. Rick’s gonna call my beeper right after they check in, and then we go in, tie him up, tie up the other guy, and start grabbing stuff. That’ll give up just over an hour to start hauling.”
    “Hold up,” Al said with wide eyes. “It says here that some of these frames are pretty heavy! That’s gonna cut down on how much we can get out in that hour!”
    “I thought the same thing, but the boss said don’t worry about the frames – his buyer just wants the art. So I got us box cutters. We smash the glass, cut out the paintings and keep it moving!”
    “That’s smart. You’s a smart guy, you know that?”
    The pager began to chime. Al and Bernard both gasped, excited. Bernard checked the readout.
    “Is it time?”
    “No,” Bernard answered, disappointed. “My wife is lookin’ for me. I told her I had a thing to do!”
    “Aw man!” Al said, his excitement deflating. “This is gonna be a lot of dough, Bern. You got plans for any of it?”
    “Yeah,” he answered. “I’m gonna get Glenda one of those necklaces like Julia Roberts got in the movie. Maybe then she won’t nag me all the time.”
    “What movie?”
    “Pretty Woman! Oh wait – you didn’t see it yet... See the guy from An Officer and a Gentleman is in the movie too.”
    “Richard Gere?”
    “Yeah! So he’s this rich guy, and he gives Julia Roberts this necklace...”
    The pager chimed again. Bernard read the readout and a smile spread out beneath his mustache.
    “That’s Rick!” They propped their matching police hats atop their heads and exited the truck. Al slid his art book under his jacket.
    After multiple deep breaths, they casually strolled across the street and approached the delivery door. Al pressed the buzzer with his Billy club. Bernard un-holstered his .38 and cocked the hammer.
    “Security,” a voice said through thick static.
    “Boston Police. We’re responding to a disturbance.”

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