The Art Thief's Guide To Freedom

8: Step Eight: How To Renounce Your Pilfering Ways

"A man wearing a black V-neck sweater walked up to a moody painting of a mountain range on display at the renowned Tretyakov Gallery in Moscow. He leaned forward as if to admire the artist's brushwork. Then he reached up, lifted the painting off the wall, and sauntered out of the exhibition, swinging the painting from his right hand. The work, titled "Ai Petri, Crimea" and painted by Arkhip Kuindzhi in 1908, had been insured for $182,000, according to a spokeswoman for the museum. The painting, which was on loan from the Russian Museum in St. Petersburg, was not lost for long. On Monday, a day after it was taken, police recovered it undamaged in a construction site outside Moscow and arrested a 31-year-old man"

~Neil MacFarquhar and Alex Marshall, The New York Times, 28 January 2019

~**~~**~

It had been a long time since she'd stepped foot in a museum.

Even longer since she had been there to case one.

It was an odd feeling: instead of avoiding the police and mapping exits, Nico gravitated towards the man who had captured her in the first place.

While walking on the marble floor, she heard the way her footfalls echoed around the room. She slowed to readjusted her footing but then paused.

There was no need.

She wasn't here to steal a painting. There was no need to remain inconspicuous. She'd have to keep reminding herself that.

It was all too easy to slip up.

Nico examined the room fully as she entered. There were two entrance points to the room, each guarded by alabaster stone pillars. They stood stationary, supporting the cathedral ceilings while cast-iron chandeliers hung above.

The lights were dimmed on purpose, in an effort to preserve the artwork in its original form.

Renaissance art was mounted on all walls, nearly obscuring the rich scarlet wallpaper.

Bypassing a section of wooden benches placed in the middle of the room, Nico stopped in front of the only blank space on the wall.

A grumble threatened to escape her mouth as she noticed the row of stanchions standing a few feet from the wall, blocking access to every piece of art.

Art was meant to be seen.

Admired.

Not tucked away from real lovers of the arts.

Wrinkling her nose, Nico quickly ducked under the rope. She crept closer to the empty spot on the wall. The wallpaper was discolored, a noticeable square of bright scarlet outlining where the frame had been.

She lifted a finger and touched the edge.

"What do you think you're doing?!" a loud, angry voice rang out from behind her. A series of footsteps hurried towards her and Nico turned just in time to see a weasely man outfitted with a scowl rush at her. He raised a finger in the air to shake it at her.

In response, Nico just lifted an eyebrow, examining the man.

She took in the perfectly folded cotton handkerchief in his breast pocket and the straight name tag clinging to the lapel of his jacket. The suit itself was a cheap fabrication of an Armani, probably something made in a sweatshop and shipped overseas.

But Nico knew there was no way that suit had ever seen the shores of Italy.

Even though the suit cost less than two hundred dollars, he still wore it with pride, as if the very thread of it was inlaid with gold.