The Almost Heist of the Gremerald
Giorgio Catelli wasn’t a real curator. He was just pretending to be. Not to steal anything— God forbid, no! He just wanted the salary. He made up a fake resume when he was giddy on cheap Roman wine, and it worked. He’d been working at the Metropolitan for seven years since, hell; he was even promoted to the Head Curator of his unit. For doing what? For successfully stopping the would-be thieves of the Gremerald, the museum’s most prized artifact, found off the coast of Northern Poland, a little into the Baltic Sea. To be fair, he did have a little help…
… At the early age of 36, Catelli had secured a job with an income of $40,000 US. Good enough for him. Plus, he got an extra $100 a night every time he stayed behind to clean the display cases. It was the janitor’s job, but he didn’t care. He had no wife at home, no kids—and he profited off of it. What more could an almost forty-year-old guy ask for? So there he was, one Thursday night, four years earlier at about 10:30 PM. He was wiping the glass case of the Gremerald with some all-purpose cleaner, trying to get rid of the sticky remnants of some sort of artificial sugary strawberry flavored substance when he saw two figures emerge in the distance. If he knew any better, he would have called the NYPD on the spot. The figures were recognizable to practically anyone who read the newspaper. One was short and stocky with the yellowest hair imaginable (meet Saffron) and other, a tall wisp of a man with an abdomen that jut out most outrageously (meet Pelvilski). As you can tell, Catelli most likely didn’t read the news. So then Saffron ran up and clonked him on the head with his club. Catelli blacked out instantly. Saffron made for the Gremerald*, snatching away the keys of the unconscious Catelli.
“Kill him, Pelv,” muttered Saffron as he tried out each key on the case. Pelvilsky grunted in agreement and slid out his dagger from its sheath. He poised it above Catelli’s throat, ready to plunge the metal into his skin.
“Stop, in the name of the Lord!” came a cry from the opposite side of the large room, the echoes bouncing off the walls. Saffron squinted into the darkness. Seeing nothing, he turned to Pelvilsky.
“Kill him, damnit,” Pelvilsky grunted again in agreement. He positioned the dagger above Catelli’s throat once more and… dropped it in pain. The pain rippled most agitating from his lower stomach.
“You… shot… Pelv,” Pelvis croaked. “In the… the pelvis!” And then he fell forward and died.
By then the sniper appeared in the dim light of the overhead museum lights, that created a halo around the Gremerald’s case.
“YOU SHOT PELVILSKY!” Saffron roared.
“Is that his name?” asked the sniper, scratching his head. “And, er… yes. Evidently,”
“WHO ARE YOU?”
“Sollozzo. Here on behalf of the Tattaglia family, to protect Giorgio Catelli.”
Saffron, in tears, shot Sollozzo in the thigh (originally aiming for the pelvis). Sollozzo, never one for action, fell to the ground clutching his leg.
While all this was occurring, Giorgio woke up in a groggy state. Instinctively, he glanced at his watch… it was eleven. Oh no. He felt it before he saw it. His fingers became webbed and he felt his whole body painfully shrink. Before anyone knew it, he was a bat. He flew up to the vaulted ceiling, and after a few swoops for practice, he dove down to the head of Saffron, whose head shone below like fake gold. He dug his claws (do bats even have claws?) into Saffron’s scalp. Saffron shrieked in pain and died in vain. Giorgio flew to Sollozzo, obviously in deep pain.
Catelli decided to relieve him, and sunk his fangs into Sollozzo’s neck (he died). By then it was 11:05, and Catelli morphed back into a human. He picked up the pistol on the ground just as the police arrived. He was praised as the hero of New York City, and got promoted.
The end.