I slipped quietly out of my apartment pulling the hood to my jacket up covering my face before heading swiftly over to my bike. I lifted the seat putting all of my gear into the compartment before straddling the bike and putting my keys into the ignition. I started up the engine and rode out of the parking garage into the street weaving through the traffic heading from Brooklyn into Manhattan toward the Metropolitan Museum of Art. I knew the route like the back of my hand after casing the museum several times with Chris.
I took a long look over the East River while serving through the cars on Brooklyn Bridge. Memories of sand dollars and river gods running through my head as I absent mindedly noticed that the water was no cleaner now than it had been eight years ago. I tried to drag my mind back to the present as I made my way through Manhattan and neared 5th Avenue but as i got closer to the museum more memories of Kindly Ones and Centaurs in wheelchairs were brought to the front of my mind.
I pulled the bike up in an alley two blocks from the museum deciding to walk the rest of the way so my plates wouldn`t be caught on any traffic cameras in the area. I pulled my mask on under my hood while putting on my leather gloves and pulling the gear out from under the seat. The street passed in a blur and I quickly found myself picking the lock on the security entrance to the museum. Once inside the museum I made my way to the security mainframe and disabled the cameras and security in gallery 818.
After that the heist went off without a hitch and I soon found myself back at my bike now in possession of Monet's Regatta at Saint Adresse. I made my way swiftly back to the apartment where I went to bed after I sent a quick text to Chris:
2nite went well. M is safe. Talk soon.
Next morning:
Once I had woken I took the Monet from the bag and placed it securely into my safe alongside the Degas and the Raphael that I had taken possession of last month. I then made my way to the roof for my morning swim before preparing for work. Breakfast of blue pancakes was followed by dressing in a neat suit with a light blue skinny tie before I attached my Glock to the gun holster at my hip. Just before I left I picked my badge up from the side table with the keys to the Fiat.
After half an hour of navigating New York traffic I had arrived outside the Headquarters for the New York branch of the FBI where I worked as a senior member of the Whitecollar Crimes division. Eight years ago I would never have thought that I would graduate high school let alone work for the Bureau. But here I was – Special Agent Perseus Jackson.