This is a slight edit of a story I did a while ago. I think I like this version a little better.

Sculptures.

As he walked around the gallery he shook his head. How exactly am I meant to get interested in sculpture if I can’t work out what it’s meant to be? Fifteen years of working as a police man had taught John Doyle to look at things in new and unexpected ways. That was how you caught people, by thinking outside the box. But this was so outside the box that it was on the other side of the room.

As he stood there he noticed a woman beside him. Long dreadlocked hair hanging over her shoulders “Having trouble with ‘Passion in the subway’?” she asked.

“Not so much trouble, as total incomprehension,“  he replied. That got a laugh out of her.

“That’s OK, most people don’t get it. I’m not too sure I do and I made it. I’m Thenny by the way” she said as John tried to get out an apology. “Come let me show you something that may be more to your taste” she said as she took his hand and lead him through the room and behind a curtain.

“Now this is something I can understand” he said as he looked at the figures. Each one almost looked alive. Frozen in action, it looked as if he could feel the texture of their clothes, the sharpness of weapons. “They all look so lifelike.”

“Thanks. I used techniques that date back thousands of years. The same ones used by the people that created the temples in Athens.” As she spoke she ran her hands over a warrior. Her face looked full of sadness.

All of them looked as if they could date from ancient times. But two, they were very much modern. One was holding a gun in his hand, pointed at a target. The other was shielding his face from something as if too terrified to see what the other was shooting at.

“These ones look kind of,” John voice trailed off as he looked at the gun man’s face.  “He looks just like Louie Santano, and this one is a dead ringer of his brother Marko” he said pointing at the other figure.

“Interesting, I try to avoid faces that can be easily recognised. It spots people getting offended.

“Well there spot on, you’ve even got Marko’s birthmark on his neck,” John said as he inspected the statues.

“Are they bad people?” She asked, sounding more than a little worried.

“Very, Marko’s a drug pusher over on ninth and Louie’s his muscle. They prey on the homeless girls down there.”

 “Thenny, you’re neglecting then guests.” The speaker was a slender man. Most likely her agent or something like that John thought.

“Of cause,” she said as she slipped a hand onto John’s arm and lead him back to the party. “Can’t be having too much fun. Not like it’s a party or anything like that,” she whispered into his ear.

Later that night after all the guests had gone Thenny walked back behind the curtain. Who would have thought that a simple act of self-defence could do so much good?  Placing a hand on Louie’s cheek she smiled. As she did the soft sound of hissing snakes could be heard. Some would have almost said that her hair started to move one its own.

For the love of it

For the love of it.

 

There are a lot of collectable cards out there.  Ones that are based on old TV shows, some that have shows made around them. Some have games attached to them and can be as simple as who’s got the biggest stat to ones that need a small library of books to understand. Yeah there are all kinds.

Something a lot of people do, if there cards based on a live action show or on real people, is get them to sign the card. In one game based on some old sci-fi show if you get the actor to sign it then it gets new abilities. But mostly it’s just to do with bragging rights.

Ninety nine per cent of the time most are more than happy to sign pretty much anything put in front of them. Including, or should that be especially, body parts. I’ve seen many a young lady coming away from meeting a star with a boob signed. But I’m digressing.

You see I’m into superhero cards. I’ve got a mint condition Rayne Cloud card, she never signs. A signed Steeldude card. But to be honest almost everyone has one of them. The guys all ways happy  to sign things, and he’s kind of in love with himself.

No, the big name supers are easy to get. There forever turning up at big events. It’s the lesser known ones, that’s where the true connoisseur finds what he’s after.   A lot of people throw them out when they open a pack and find one in it. They don’t understand that it’s because there not big names that their so hard to find.

Last week I met a guy that was selling a Star Spangled and banner (the boy wonder) card. He only wanted five bucks for it. He almost ran from the shop like he’d just ripped me off. Thing is; only a week ago one went for almost six hundred.

Get it signed and you can triple it.

But I was after something much bigger. A card that was so rare I’d only seen battered up, used, ones. Which is why, wearing latex gloves, I slipped a just out of packet Orgasma card into an acid free protector sleeve. I glanced over at the seller, a thin smile crossing my face.

I knew he would like the replica Raptorette claw. It was a good trade. The half dozen figurines he had of her in various poses on his shelf told me he liked her.

It was a shame the claw was on longer in mint condition. Being that it was covered in his blood and sticking out of his chest and all. 

Picking up a brush I dipped it in the red stuff and started to write on the wall.

Orgasma, noon next Monday the corner of nineteenth and Wayne. Come alone.

Well, I needed to get the card signed didn’t I?

 

Fakes

Taylor looked up from her drawing pad for the umpteenth time. She’d never really liked family gatherings‘. Having to sit and talk to all kinds of aunts and uncles, nephews, nieces and cousins that for most of the year she never spoke to her. Or for that matter noticed her. But this year was special, her Great-grandmother’s ninetieth birthday. Taylor being the artist in the family had been asked, or is that told? That she would be drawing Great-grandma Yvette.

 

Most of the family were out in the back yard, enjoying the barbeque that her Dad was cooking up. The sun was beating down and the aroma of cooking food drifted into the house. In fact, the only ones indoors were Taylor, Great-grandma Yvette and Taylor’s older brother Josh.

 

“This is so unfair.” said Josh, his chin resting in his hand as he watched the TV. “I could be out with the guys, chatting up babes.” He looked around at his now sleeping elderly relative.

 

“Look on the bright side Josh. You could be listening to Uncle Mike’s fishing stories.” Taylor said as she erased a few errant marks on her picture. Josh looked ready to shoot his sister with a barbed comment as a couple of their smaller cousins raced noisily by. Both looking at their Great-grandmother they let out a collected sigh, she was still asleep.

 

“Oh great, now we don’t have to listen to her stories about the war. We can see a show on them.” Just starting was yet another show about World War 2. The title proclaimed it to be stolen art, hidden history!

 

“It could be interesting, you never know.” Josh just looked pained.

 

“Taylor, you know as well as I do that we’ve heard all her stories at least a hundred times.”

 

“I guess” Looking up at her Great Grandmother Taylor couldn’t but help feel a little sorry for her. Putting down her pencil for a second or two she listened to the presenter.

 

“Most of you will know this as one of the most famous portraits in the world. It’s not, it’s a fake. But this fake has its own far more sinister and amazing tale to tell.” He said as he pulled a dust cover off a copy of the Mona Lisa. “It’s early 1941. The Nazis have a strangle hold on the city of Paris. But Paris is more than just a city of people. It’s a city of some of the greatest art treasures in the world. Its art is the very heart of that great city.”

 

They could now see archive footage of the Nazi’s taking all kinds of art. Taylor knew that they had taken so much that it was still turning up now.

 

“But one picture, the Mona Lisa by Da Vinci. Managed to escape their grasp. Kept hidden by the resistance it never fell into their hands. Not that is until April 23^rd 1942.”

 

The scene then shifted to a Parisian apartment. A beautiful girl was standing next to a Nazi officer.

 

“Are you sure it’s here?” he asked her.

 

“Yes, its here.” The girl said as she stepped forwards and whipping a cover off a package to reveal the Mona Lisa. “I assume that the agreed amount is still on offer?”

 

In one swift movement he took her by the throat. “I think you will find, the price has gone down. I assume that allowing you to keep life will be sufficient?” Her eyes filled with fear and shock, all she could do was nod.

 

“Excellent, the Fatherland will be very pleased with your kind donation.” As he spoke several soldiers came in. They quickly covered the painting and took it away. As they left the room the scene froze.

 

Both Taylor and Josh were now entranced.

 

The presenter now walked into the room, the scene still frozen. “We now know that the picture that was taken on that fate full day, was this one.” He said as he walked back over to the picture. “The real Mona Lisa, remained hidden until the end of the war. Kept safe by the fake that was given to the Nazis‘. But now we must ask. Did Simone Babineaux know she was giving a fake to the Nazis‘? Did she help to hide a masterpiece? Was she just an unlucky collaborator given a fake to throw the Nazis off the trail.”

 

As he spoke a picture come up onto the screen. A line of women stood. At one end a girl sat on a seat, her hair was falling down as her head was shaved. Then it started to zoom in to the girl sitting here.

 

“Oh wow Taylor. You sold a fake to the Nazis‘!” They both looked in amazement. The girl sitting on the chair was a dead ringer for her.

 

Just then the scene switched back to the room. “We had our resident expert examine the picture. He told us that the picture is of excellent quality. If it had come up today, we would be hard pressed to tell it from the original. But who painted it? Where did it come from? Where did Mademoiselle Babineaux get it from? We do know who ever kept the original hidden is not telling. All they will say is that the resistance kept the heart of Paris safe. And that alone is all the thanks they need.”

 

“Hay Taylor, Josh, foods ready. Bring Great-grandma will you.” Their Dad called. Josh moved with customary speed, darting out into the yard. Taylor stood and turned to her Great-grandmother. Her eyes were now open. Gleaming as she’d never seen them do before. Then a soft voice she spoke. Her strong Parisian accent softened by sixty five years of living in the States.

 

“It took me ages to get the smile right.”