I watched the screen as the news anchors excitedly reported the news.
“In front of admiring viewers and state of the art security cameras Pablo Picasso’s famous painting “Le Reve” disappeared. It was hung at The Louvre Museum Paris, loaned from a private collection for the Picasso Exibition. Museum officials are stunned at the disappearance and nobody can explain how the painting disappeared.”
My glance moved from the excitable news anchors on the screen to the vibrant reds and yellows of “The Dream” propped up against the wall. I would have to find the perfect place to hang it. I had always dreamed of having a Picasso original.
I reached out and poured myself a glass of 1959 Dom Perignon – $42,350 a bottle, I had liberated a crate for my pleasure along cavier on toast. I could indulge whatever I liked. Whatever I thought about I could have with just a little stretch of my brain, I could reach out and take it.
My pleasurable contemplation of my little delights was brought to a sudden halt with the shock of the door to my apartment blasting open and men in black barrelling in with guns. I froze, the bore of the gun pointed at me looked enormous.
“On the floor! On the floor hands above your head!.” The one in the lead yelled at me.
I dropped to my knees, hands above my head, then face down onto the floor. After a few minutes, my arms were pulled roughly behind my back and handcuffed. Then I was jerked up to my feet. A tall man in a beautiful grey overcoat walked into the room. He stopped and gazed around the room. Moving to the table he picked up the bottle of champagne, then flicked his finger against the crystal which sang in protest.
“Expensive tastes Ms Ironsides” he murmured a small smile turning up the corners of his mouth.
“How did you know?” I asked
He walked over the “Le Reve” turned it round to show a tiny dot below the hanging brackets.
“Take her to the station.” He said to the man gripping my arm. “We’ll catalogue everything here, I think we will find a lot of recently reported missing items.
