Page 1 of Her Gluttony
1
AVERY
PLAYLIST: A LITTLE LESS CONVERSATION – ELVIS PRESLEY, JUNKIE XL
Awide smirk tugs on my mouth as I walk away from the brownstone with the rolled-up painting under my arm. Not just any painting, but the Storm on the Sea of Galilee, a lost Rembrandt. I can’t fight the broadening of the smirk as sirens draw closer and I slip into Carroll Street.
I picture Hedda’s face right now, as she realizes it has been stolen. I know she will come for me because Hedda is not just a random rich lady who happened to have one of history's long-lost art pieces. No. Hedda is a thief herself, one who thought I’d never dare try and take it.
Well, I did. And I see it as a personal victory to have stolen from the untouchable ghost. I left her a little hint so she knows who to come after. Just for the fun of it. I love a good cat-and-mouse game. It’s the thrill I have been aiming for my entire life.
The life I live is not for the faint-hearted, somewhere between near death, pushed boundaries, and broken rules. Well, not all of them, because there is honor amongst thieves.
I take my phone and call the only number saved on it.
“I got it,” I say, biting my lip as pride washes through my chest.
“Damn, girl!” says Rossi on the other end. “I was certain I had to break you out of detention.”
“You might one day soon,” I say. “I left Hedda a note.”
“Are you fucking mad?” asks Rossi.
“I thought it would spice things up,” I say.
“What did you put on it?”
I chuckle before I answer, because it’s either absolutely brilliant or completely reckless, and it’s exactly what I crave.
“Told her she can have it back when she does the France job with me.”
Silence on the other end.
“You know,” says Rossi. “You’re fucking crazy. But damn, girl, I love you for your balls.”
I grin to myself.
“Wanna bet if she’s in?” I say as I walk around the corner and slip into my car. Well, not mine. But the one I stole for the very purpose of getting me away in silence.
“Dang, of course,” says Rossi. “I say she’s pretending to be in and gets you locked up for it. I’m throwing in 5k.”
“Uhhhh,” I say and chuckle. “I say she’s in, and the job will be fabulous. I know she can’t resist. It’s too tempting. And I don’t want your money, I want that egg.”
“Soray’s egg?”
“How many golden eggs are there that belonged to a mythical Egyptian woman, huh?” I ask.
Rossi laughs. “Okay, deal,” he says, “But if you lose, I’ll take the phoenix vase.”
“Fair,” I say and start the motor. “Come over for a glass of wine,” I add.
“Sure will, give me twenty.”
“Make it forty; I have a tail to ditch,” I say, because I have noticed a man following me for the third turn now, and I get suspicious.
“Have fun,” says Rossi. “Be nicer than with the last one.”
“I’m always nice,” I say, and we both burst out in laughter, because I am not a nice person. Others have described me as arrogant and entitled, not understanding that I simply honor my time more than I value their opinion.
