The Art Thief's Guide To Freedom

7: Step Seven: How To Avoid A Second Life Sentence

"The two paintings were stolen by thieves on 6 June 1970 from Kennedy's home in Regent's Park, London. 'Three men, posing as a police officer accompanying two burglar alarm engineers, last night stole two paintings together worth £155,000 from a house in Chester Terrace, NW London,' reported the Observer the following day. 'The robbers had been let in by the housekeeper,' said the news agency UPI. 'They asked her to make them a cup of tea, and when she returned the paintings had been taken from their frames and the men were gone.'"

~Lizzy Davies, The Guardian, 2 April 2014

~**~~**~

Catching her breath, Nico slouched in the passenger's seat of Agent Patterson's vehicle. She could feel her heart pounding and her lungs burning.

Each breath reminded her of what had just happened.

Agent Patterson had just committed a felon. With her as a willing accomplice.

And nothing bad had happened.

No guards parachuted out of the sky. No alarms blared. No flashing lights appeared in the rearview mirror.

Nothing.

Just complete silence followed their escape.

Based on the tune he was humming to himself, Agent Patterson didn't seem bothered at all. His hands rapped against the steering wheel, his head nodding to the song. A pair of aviators were perched on his nose, the reflective shades hiding his clear eyes.

Nico wiggled in her seat and opened her mouth.

"Aren't you worried she's going to report this?"

A chuckle escaped Agent Patterson's mouth as he merged into the next lane. "To who? The police? That girl would rather go on a double date with Elon Musk than step on foot into the police station."

"So you don't think she's going to do anything?"

"Oh no, I'm sure she has something planned. But since Rhodes and her are in a lover's spat, she'll have to sweet-talk him into doing something about it first. "

With one hand, he reached into his jacket and pulled out the file that he—no they—had stolen. Passing it to her, he said, "Why don't you have a look at that while I'm driving? Who knows how long we have before a fire breaks out."

Silently, Nico took the file from his hands, flipping it open on her lap.

It was thicker than she thought it would be. After all, hadn't the woman said she'd only briefly looked into the case?

There was a lot more information here than Nico thought there would be.

There were receipts, invoices, and plane tickets. There was even a key card from a hotel she had stayed at. Based on the barcode, she guessed it was the exact one.

There was information on items that Nico had stolen. Some of the FBI knew about. . . and some they didn't. She saw that the Nataraja was listed among them.

Her life—including the time before she had started her thieving career—was documented. That doctor had taken everything about Nico—her accomplishments, her failures—and organized it in a neat little dossier.

She had summarized Nico's entire life into two pages of size twelve font.

Mostly general facts and figures, nothing specific or of consequence.

It seemed quite silly, in fact.

Nico always thought her life was complicated and twisted.

But apparently, the woman thought it ordinary.