Commotion- Ch. 3

On the day of we arrived at the museum dressed and pressed. In my stilettos and pant suit I jumped the line and stated “I’m the curator from the Museum of Modern Art in New York,” flashing my forged ID quickly to the guards. “I believe I’m expected.” They conversed with each other, checked their books, looked me up and down, then made a call on their walkie talkie. The real curator had of course been knocked out in the cab ride from the Rome airport to our house. Finally we were ushered in with a wave of the guard’s hand, Charles on my left acting as a translator. With the boys in line as eager tourist to see the artist latest highly anticipated piece the plan was in full swing.

As Charles and I sat in the office waiting for the head of the Museum and their curator to arrive the boys were making their way to the exhibit. As the curator and Museum director arrived we got the vibrating signal. They were in sight of the exhibit which gave us 45 seconds to distract the men in front of us. In his perfect Italian Charles laid on the pre-scripted bullshit we had worked up. “This piece should be in our museum. What gives you the right to show it before us, blah blah blah.”

On cue a guard burst in the office mid sentence of the Italian curator yelling right back at Charles. We all stopped and looked at the man panting heavily as he said something in Italian to the museum director. Without another word the two men from the museum rushed past us and the guard. We immediately followed curious to see what had interrupted our meeting.

As we got to the main floor of the museum we could hear loud shouting. A crowd had gathered blocking the way from the main entrance of the big hall to the prized piece of art. After a lot of yelling and pushing we managed to get to the center of the commotion to see Sam and Ted had started a brawl with a bunch of Irishmen. The size of the Irishmen and the fight itself seemed to have deterred any staff intervention. However being the biggest exhibit of the season the museum director and curator immediately tried to break it up. We joined in, pretending to be the Americans trying to save the art they know belongs to them and that is when we took our moment. Slipping the copy from under his pant leg Charles handed it to me as I edged over to the painting. In one swift movement I unrolled the forgery, slipped it into the casing and felt it catch under the clip. I pulled the real one out and rolled it tossing it to Charles who quickly slipped it under his pant leg, then slipped out of the crowd. I pushed back through the crowd. By this time the police had been called and were making their way through out the museum, the crowd quietly parting for them. The Irishmen and our boys, however, were unaware of the impending hand of the law and so continued beating each other mercilessly, dragging me in and causing me to start throwing punches.

When the police got in they managed to pull everyone apart with their shields and sticks putting me in with the others as an inciter. Sam had made his escape to Charles in the get away car during the police intervention (seeing that I had been captured and was supposed to drive the car) leaving only me, Ted and the Irishmen cuffed and tagged for questioning. Not part of the plan but I went with it.