The Picasso

Fecha Wednesday, 4 March 2009

‘The last job and I leave it forever’. She had repeated these words every single day for months, but the offers were being more generous and it was difficult to resist the proposed challenges. Joan was born with a gift, a paintbrush between her fingers. However, necessity had turnes her into a thief of works of art.

That day was the opening day of the Picasso exhibition at The National Gallery and she had met there with the client.

-          What do you think about it?, asked Michael.

-          It is a really valuable picture.

-          Yes, that is true. But the original one is in Tom’s house.

‘How can he know that?’, thought Joan. Tom Harris was the owner of an enormous art collection and she had stolen that picture a year ago for him. What they were looking for was a fake so good that no one had realized… yet.

He seemed to read her mind.

-          Tom and I are old friends. It could say that we have an outstanding account.

The day arrived. The Picasso was there, behind that door. ‘Oh my God’, cried when she opened the door. There was nothing except a piece of paper. She picked it up and read it.

‘Sorry. T.’

The house was filled with police officers in a minute. At the last second Joan hid behind a column. They entered into the room. ‘Michael?’, she whispered. Joan was sure that he had seen her.

-          Come on, there is nobody here. Search inside other rooms. – ordered Michael.

-          Yes, captain.

Michael looked at Joan and made a signal for her to stay there.

She had no choice. The die was cast. There was nothing else she could do but wait.

By Silvia.

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