Page 7 of Sticky Fingers

I’m the daughter of the police commissioner, and that’s the least thrilling life ever. No adventures, no being wild, and no taking chances on anything with Daddy and 65,000 of New York City’s finest watching and guarding your every waking move.

It gets really boring really quick. Sure, having money and all that expensive crap is fine, but there’s nothing fun about a life with no challenges, wouldn’t you agree? It came to the point where I almost wanted to blow my brains out due to boredom just for the hell of it.

So, that’s why I moved into this building, away from dear ol’ Dad, looking for a more adventurous life. And in case you didn’t notice…it’s all going pretty well.

I refuse to get stuck in a mindless existence, going through the motions. You know the drill: wake up, go to work in a stuffy office, come home, go to bed, and repeat all over again the next day.

Where the hell is the fun in that?

I have one life goal that will ensure I don’t get stuck in that kind of life—become the best damn art thief I can. Go big or go home, right?

In the basement area of the building now, I make a hard turn and step inside a custodian closet. With my back against the door, I hold my breath as I hear those heavy footsteps fading in the instance.

See? I’ve never been caught.

I push a shelf to the side to reveal a small hidden hole that leads to the service elevator shaft. Going down on my knees, I crawl inside the wall; just a few feet later and I emerge in the elevator shaft, the sound of my steps echoing in the darkness.

Before jumping out, I fasten the painting to my back with a dark rope I had laced around my waist. Only then do I reach for the cables holding the elevator just one floor below me.

Making sure my grip is tight, I slide down till my feet hit the top of the elevator. I open the panel that leads inside and, before going in, I make sure to detach the cable powering the CCTV camera installed there.

Once inside, I connect a small handheld device I brought with me to the control panel and command the elevator to take me up without stopping.

“Whew, that was close,” I say with a sigh as I lean back against the wall, beads of sweat pooling on my forehead.

I take a moment to catch my breath and, once I stop at my floor, I pray for just a bit of luck. I force the doors open, disconnect my handheld device, and walk out into the corridor.

Empty.

Holding my breath, I get inside my apartment without being seen.

I sigh in relief and lean against the wall of my living room. That was closer than I would have liked, but the plan went off with only a slight hitch or two caused by Mr. Hot Stuff.

Either way, mission accomplished. Somehow, though…something tells me that this story isn’t quite over.

In fact, it feels like it’s just starting.