“How much time do I have?” Horace asks from his hospital bed, turning to a woman sitting at his bedside and wiping the sweat from the nape of his neck with a shaking hand.

“Well,” she says, holding Horace’s other wrinkled hand and rubbing the back of it with her thumb. “Not long, if we don’t follow the doctor’s advice and hurry–”

“No, no, no,” Horace says, furrowing his brow. “I mean until the meeting.”

“Oh.” She looks at the clock on the white wall behind the bed. “It’s two o’ clock now, so she should be here any minute.”

Horace pulls at the collar of his gown, which has already formed a wet ring.
“You’ll be fine,” she says, smiling.

Horace relaxes his gray head against a mountain of pillows. Several electrode pads on his chest connect to a heart monitor which broadcasts a steady rhythm of loud beeps.

A woman with short brown hair wearing a dark gray suit walks in. She casts an uncertain smile at the couple. “You’re Horace and Lucy Campbell, I presume?” the woman asks, holding a hand out to the man.

Horace nods and shakes her hand. “You’re Miss Fogelman?”

“Yes, I’m the director of the Gardner Museum.”

A silence hangs in the air for a moment before Horace asks, “Lucy, could you give us a minute?”

“Oh, yes, certainly.” Lucy gets up and kisses Horace on the forehead. “Remember what the doctor said. Stay calm and you should be fine.” She smiles once more and leaves the room.

“It’s better if my wife knows as little as possible about this matter,” Horace says.

Miss Fogelman nods and says, “I understand you have the lost paintings. Are they here?”

“First,” Horace says, “I understand there’s a reward.”

“Yes. The $5 million reward will be transferred to an account you designate after we have confirmed the location of the paintings.”

“They’re in a safe place. Lucy will show you. Is that all?”

“Well…” Miss Fogelman says, pausing for a moment. “I was hoping I could ask you a few things. I’ve got so many questions.”

“Fine,” Horace says, crossing his arms. “Let’s get this over with.”

“So,” Miss Fogelman says, “why now? You’ve had all this time to sell them off or make a profit. Why now of all times?”

“I’m broke. And as you can tell,” Horace says, motioning to the bed and heart monitor, “I’m in need of some cash.”

“So, you’ve just been holding onto these works of art, in case the time to trade them in came?” Miss Fogelman says, her eyebrows raised.

“Well, we tried to sell them at first, but we were in way over our heads. We didn’t realize the story would get so much attention, so we decided to lay low until things cooled off. But then, we got in a fight.”

“And where is your friend now?” Miss Fogelman asks, moving to the edge of the bed.

“No idea. He took half the stuff and ran off.” Horace rubs his eyes and the heart monitor beeps faster. “As far as I know, he’s dead.”

“Well, can you tell me his name?”

“No.” Horace locks eyes with her. “That wasn’t part of the deal.”

Miss Fogelman opens her mouth and stammers to say something, but stops and shakes her head. “Alright, can you at least tell me which paintings he took?”

Horace sneers. “How the hell should I know? You’re the art expert, you can figure it out when you see what I have.”

Miss Fogelman massages her temples. “You’re not making this very easy on me. I just want these masterpieces back where they rightfully belong.”

Horace shrugs. “So? That’s not my problem.”

Miss Fogelman goes quiet for a moment and stares at Horace. “Okay,” she says, “I think that’s enough. You’re clearly tired and not interested in answering my questions. I’ll just head out and get the paintings and account information from Lucy. You should be receiving your two million, five hundred thousand dollars in the next few days.”

“Wait, what happened to the five million?” Horace says, starting to sit up.

“Well, you said it yourself. Your partner took half of the paintings, and since you refuse to tell me more, then I’m forced to cut your payment in half.”

“Hold on. You said five million, so I want five million.” Horace sits up straight, his fists clenching.

“I don’t understand the issue,” Miss Fogelman says. “Half that sum should be more than enough to pay your hospital bills and live off.”

“Look at me. I’m old, and I can’t get insurance. That robbery was the one thing I achieved in life. It was the biggest fucking art heist in American history. Without those paintings, I’m nothing, so you can be damned sure that half isn’t going to cut it.”

“I’m sorry, Mister Campbell,” Miss Fogelman says as she begins walking towards the door. “You’re unwilling to cooperate, and now, so am I.”

“Now wait a second,” Horace says, taking the electrodes off his chest and moving to the edge of the bed. He puts his feet on the floor and begins to hobble towards Miss Fogelman. “We had a deal. I’m only asking for what I deserve. You said five… said five…”

Miss Fogelman leaves the room. A moment later, a thud and grunt reach the hallway and a nurse rushes inside. Horace is prone on the floor, gripping his chest. The nurse helps him up and back on the bed.

“I just want what I deserve,” the old man says. “What I deserve. What I…” The nurse calls for more help as the monitor flatlines, but Horace is lost.

# # #

Maxwell Victor Herskowitz has dedicated himself to immersing others in the worlds he creates and invoking the childlike wonder that every person feels when exploring and learning about a new world. He’s created several flash fiction stories and entire worlds for his role-playing game campaigns. Maxwell is a student at Full Sail University following the path to earning his Creative Writing for Entertainment BFA degree. He can be contacted via email at MVHerskowitz@fullsail.edu or maxherskowitz@comcast.net, and on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/home.php.

Photo: Kae Sable