How To Hide A Body

The Pen Is Mightier Than The Sword

It was my first day in my undercover job at the Louvre. I was wearing dirty clothes, and I needed to clean the lobby. I did not like undercover work because it meant that I had to work. I scrubbed the floor best I could, and was told to Allez! Les touristes visitent maintenant!, I went to to the staff room, and had a nice cup of coffee.

Bart would be walking into the museum at the moment, so I decided to check the cameras.

I snuck into the dark room, while the half-asleep guard watched endless footage of the same hallways and same attractions. Once I was behind him, so close I could hear his heavy breath, I raised my gun and hit him over the head. He never knew what hit him; he immediately passed out, and I watched the cameras, trying to spot Bart.

"Oh my god!" I gasped, as I horrific sight appeared on the camera, "is that man wearing CROCS?!"

My anger was short because I spotted Bart appear on Camera 408. He was approaching the Regents Diamond exhibition gradually, making sure to look at all the masterpieces which all had at least one Wikipedia page dedicated to them, even taking selfies with the Mona Lisa. Finally, he stood before the magnificent, majestic diamond. He took out a small device, which one couldn't make out in camera, yet I knew what it was; A drill the size of a thumbnail, yet as powerful as a bulldozer. All it took was someone to push the button and something to destroy. He looked at the camera, winked, and continued watching the diamond. That was my cue; I switched the lights off. Through the night vision on the camera, I watched as Bart pressed it against the glass, the suction cups holding it in place, and quickly pressed the button on the side. The drill was silent and cracked the glass. I switched the lights back on, and everyone looked around in confusion, wondering what had just happened. I smiled.

"Eurgh," the camera guard moaned, starting to come to.

I inhaled sharply, then quickly ran out of the room, only to bump into a security guard.

"Ma'am, have you seen anything, suspicious?" He asked, in a lovely French accent, eyeing me, then the room I had just ran out of.

"Umm...no? You?" I said nervously, quickly resuming my I-am-a-stupid-young-graduate-definitely-nothing-suspicious-about-me look, twiddling a strand of hair around my finger, looking up at the big security guard. He had dark rings under his green eyes, saying he was tired. He was wearing a #1 dad bracelet, which showed that he was a father (which he looked too young to be) and showing that he was sentimental, so my chances of getting away with this were high; at least, 87%.

"No, nothing much. Except for you," he said, showing me his gun.

Okay, he did notice. As I watched him pocket the gun, I quickly felt for my skirt pocket, removing a silver ballpoint pen.

"Young lady, I'm going to have to escort you to directors office," he said, gently placing his hand on my shoulder. I glimpsed at his name tag. James Corban, it read.

I started breathing slowly, my body started shaking, a tear rolled down my cheek, and I brought my hands to my head, covering my face.

"Miss, I have to take you to the director. And you have to cooperate,"

"You- you don't think he is going to fire me? Do you?!" I sobbed, removing the hands from my face, looking at him with watery eyes.

"Well, it depends on what you were doing, miss," he said, a tinge of concern in his voice. He placed both his hands on each of my shoulders.

"It's just; it's just..." I didn't get much further. I burst out crying.

The man enveloped me in a hug, whispering words of encouragement, not letting go. I rolled my eyes, placed my ballpoint pen directly on the back of his neck where one could see his spine, and it clicked twice. A tranquillising dart whizzed out the other end of the pen, and buried itself into his skin, a drop of blood trickled down his muscular neck, staining his pale skin. He made a faint grunt then slumped against me. He was more substantial than he looked. I shook him off and quickly carried him by his leg into the camera room.

"Hey! What are you doing here?!" the cameraman asked.

I grunted out of annoyance, aimed my tranquilliser pen, clicked twice, and watched him slump to the ground after the dart had pierced his skin. Sometimes I wonder why I still use drugs; bullets were so much more efficient and final. I quickly snatched the ring of keys the guard had around his belt, removed my annoying high heels, tip toed over the bodies, then locked the door, a smile dancing on my lips.