“We don’t want this fellow doing something stupid while we loot the place now do we?” “Don’t muck this up! Get over here and tie up this chap, eh?” Wearing a sly grin on his face, the Brit pointed a gun at Joey, a glare of light glinting across his glasses as he turned to face him. “I-I wanted to see if he had any change his pockets.” “And what do you think you’re bloody doing, you wanker?” He taped his captive’s wrists behind his back and rifled through his pockets.
The mustached officer clubbed Rick over the head with a blow that knocked him to the floor and retrieved a roll of duct tape from his jacket pocket the adhesive’s distinct peeling rang throughout the room. “Rick, is it? Joey?” he inquired in a British accent. The taller, clean shaven officer looked at the guard’s nametag over the rounded rim of his glasses. “I don’t know what to tell you guys, we never –” he turned to see a gun pointed at his waist. Joey shook his head as he remained seated with his feet crossed and propped on the counter of the security desk. H-hey, Joey! You call the cops fer somethin’?” The door creaked open and two policemen entered the art museum, looking around as the security guard scratched his scalp. “Yeah, hold on.” A loud buzzer rang and the wooden door’s automated lock clicked. Ya gonna let us in or what?” The mustached officer’s gruff voice crackled over the PA system.
We got a call saying there was a disturbance at the Gardner Museum and we’re just here to check it out. “Boston Police! We’re responding to a disturbance!
“Yeah, yeah! One sec! I’m coming, mac!” The night watchman hustled to the rapid knocks coming from the employee entrance.
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