Page 96 of The Picasso Heist

THE TRUNK IS pitch-black; there’s no light for my eyes to adjust to. The seals are seamless, no illumination getting in from anywhere. I’m blind.

But I’m not deaf. One of the guys says something nearby, but I can’t make it out. His voice is muffled. Another guy responds—same deal. They’re talking, but I can’t understand the words. Where are they taking me?

Nowhere in a hurry. As fast as they moved me into the trunk, there’s now nothing happening. The car’s still just idling. Even the talking has stopped.

Then I hear exactly what I’ve been waiting for—Skip to the rescue. There’s nothing muffled about his voice. I can tell he’s calling out from a distance but every word is booming, crystal clear.

“Hey! Open the trunk. Now!” he demands.

That’s my brother, quick and to the point. I can picture him taking cover somewhere in the alley, his Glock drawn. Okay, guys. Do what he says. Open the trunk.

I’m lying here waiting, in the dark in every sense of the word. I don’t hear anything. Nothing’s happening.

Then everything happens.

All at once I hear two shots. And all I can tell is that they’re from two different guns.

My mouth is taped but still I try to scream. Skip! Skip! I’m pounding on the lid of the trunk. No one’s saying anything, no one’s moving.

Wait.

I stop pounding when I hear the sound of tires peeling out, the sickly roar of the engine… I know those sounds well. It’s my Jeep. It’s leaving, fast, and I’m back to hearing nothing. What the hell’s happening?

My lungs are burning, the duct tape sending all my screams back down my throat. Skip! Skip!

The trunk suddenly opens, the light and everything else hitting me all at once.

“Hey, metalhead.”

I’m looking up at my brother. He’s smiling. I’m speechless. Even after he pulls off the duct tape, I’m still at a loss. I manage three words. “What the hell?”

“You okay?” he asks.

“Am I okay? Am I okay? You scared me to death.”

“Yeah, sorry about that.” He helps me out of the trunk. “Had to be done, though.”

Skip cuts my hands free of the tape and I immediately punch him in the shoulder as hard as I can, which is never hard enough with him.

“I’ll tell you what has to be done,” I say. “I’m going to kill you, that’s what has to be done.”

“You can’t,” he says. “I’m already dead. We both are.”