The Homeless Millionaire

The first thing I saw when I woke up the next day was a squirrel sitting on the windowsill. Its beady black eye looked right into mine. It looked disapproving to me, and I wondered what I had done to offend that squirrel's feelings. I dimly remembered raking up some stuff that could be edible for a squirrel when I was working on that vegetable patch. It could have been that I'd destroyed its secret stash of something squirrels really fancy.

The squirrel was gone in a flash when I got up and took a step towards the window. I felt a little hurt by that; I'd wanted to tell it I was sorry. So I pulled on my jeans and by boots and went out onto the driveway. I was half-n.a.k.e.d, and it was nippy outside, even with the sun shining. I raised my head and shouted:

"I'm sorry!"

My voice echoed among the trees. A few birds took off into the air, and I fancied I also heard a tiny feet scampering off into the forest. It appeared local wildlife disapproved of me, in general. I couldn't blame them. If I'd seen a half-n.a.k.e.d moron yelling apologies into thin air, I'd have disapproved, too.

All this disapproval resulted in my feeling unmotivated and lazy. Of course I remembered I was planning to visit her house again that day, but just didn't have the energy. I felt tired just thinking about it. So I went to the kitchen and drank coffee and smoked cigarettes until my ears buzzed and my eyes popped. It failed to energize me. Instead, I got a very bad taste in my mouth from all those smokes and coffees; getting up to go to the bathroom required a major sacrifice. As I was brushing my teeth I thought about the whole museum thing and yeah, I could rob it without any big moral qualms. But only on the condition that someone carried me, or preferably wheeled me there in a wheelchair, and deposited items I had selected in my l.a.p.

I forced myself to have a shower, and made myself yet another coffee. I drank it standing right behind the glass doors to the deck, looking at the house across the water. Everything was still, no movement of any kind. After I'd finished the coffee, I got the binoculars, crouched behind the sofa and cautiously peered over its back. I couldn't see her, or any signs of life at all. I watched her house until my legs got stiff, but the deck remained empty.

Making breakfast was a major operation involving threats of court martial and execution by firing squad. While I was eating, I formulated a diagnosis: I was suffering from delayed symptoms of alcohol poisoning. I regretted not having the strength of body and character to go round to her house, though. Eventually, I settled on a compromise: I'd keep her house under watch all day. If she made an appearance, I would wave, and attempt to communicate by semaphoring that I was coming over. She'd need her binoculars to read that: no problem. I'd get mine and hold them up and point a finger at them.

Eating breakfast totally exhausted me, and I thought I'd listen to some music. I turned the radio on and found a good music station, but the DJ was sickeningly energetic, he must have been on speed. I gritted my teeth and waited him out, still hoping to listen to music, but when he shut up another guy began shouting about buying, buying, buying a new car, right away, loans granted on the spot without a credit check. F.u.c.k.i.n.g asshole capitalists, I thought. It's not enough for them to make money on the stuff you buy, they've also got to make a profit on the money you borrow to buy that useless, unnecessary shit. I wasn't some f.u.c.k.i.n.g commie, but all this greed left, right, and center, sometimes it just sickened me.

I turned the radio off, and assumed a strategic position on the living room sofa, facing the deck doors with binoculars within easy reach. Those were the exact circ.u.mstances in which I saw her for the first time; I was hoping they'd work their magic once again, then I was hoping they wouldn't, because then I would have to get up and do all this waving, and subsequently hoof it all the way around the end of the lake. That's the big trouble with feelings, they change all the time, day to day, even hour by hour. You can love someone one moment and hate the next and then love them again another moment or two later, love them more than ever before. People are really f.u.c.k.i.n.g stupid, everyone expects others to have constant, unchanging feelings even though no one is capable of having those. It's f.u.c.k.i.n.g insane, it means living among other people involves lying a hundred times a day just to keep the peace.

I stayed on that sofa for most of the day, thinking random thoughts. I suspected Michel had got his handgun down in the States, then smuggled it across the border; it was easy enough to do, most of the time you just got waved through without any questions being asked. I wondered where Roch had met him, then I remembered my suspicion that Roch was hiding something from me, the premonition I had way back in Montreal. I had been right, my intuition had proved itself, and it was telling me the planned heist from the museum was going to be a success.

I could already imagine myself as the happy, if hunted, owner of Rembrandt's Landscape With Cottages. When I was making myself dinner, I started thinking how to conceal it until it was safe to display, if ever. Canvas could be rolled into a tight tube, but this was a wooden panel, not big - maybe a square foot - but fundamentally unsuited for rolling or folding. I would have to put a protective layer of something on the painting - the art conservation course I would be taking at the Ecole would prove very helpful there. Then on top of that I would glue a drawing or painting of my own, exact same dimensions, using water-soluble glue. And I'd do well to repaint, refashion, or best of all replace the frame, plus cover the back of the panel with canvas. That would do it.

And it was small enough to carry around, too. I'd have my very own Rembrandt, easily worth a million bucks, and no one would be any wiser. There was no way I was ever going to sell it. I'd have to steal some other stuff too, to get some cash.

I was totally convinced it would all work out just fine, and went to bed all smiles and happy thoughts. So I was understandably shocked when a pair of cops paid me a visit the very next morning.