“Sure. So who’s coming with me?”
Cody says, “I’ll drive.”
From: Strategic Art Defense
To: All media outlets
We are your coworkers.
Your lovers. Your children. We are the people you sit next to on the bus. On the plane. The people you manage and think you know. The people behind you in line at the supermarket. The people bagging the groceries. The people ringing up your purchases.
We’re here to tell you that your life is no longer safe from art.
You push it away. You enclose it in museums. Trap it in books.
But art is alive and it is real.
And you are not safe from it.
We, the multitudinous members of the Strategic Art Defense, have operatives throughout the United States ready and waiting for the clarion call of art. Our operatives are working dead-end jobs. They are sipping coffee and writing in notebooks. They are pushing baby strollers and buying socks. They are laughing out loud in movie theatres at terrible jokes and singing along with the latest recycled pop music. They are waiting.
Waiting for the call.
And, ladies and gentlemen of the unsuspecting world, the call will come sooner than you think. When it does, your neighbors, the kid who cuts your lawn, the woman who does your nails, the man who drives the bus you ride to work on, all of us will rise up and recreate America in the name of art.
God took six days.
We’ll do it in five.
Your humble servants,
The members of Strategic Art Defense
Cody and Laser are sitting in Laser’s 1989 Chevy Caprice on Seventh in Newark eating burgers from a fast-food joint. Cody is laughing, saying, “Because that’s how I roll.”
Laser shakes his head like a parent after his son has just told him something embarrassing, something crude. Cody looks down at his burger and says, “Bet there’s cancer all over this thing.”
“There’s cancer all over life, Cody.”
“You are one morose motherfucker,” Cody scoffs. “I’m hoping we can bust out the uniforms sometime soon. Itching to try those out.”
“I’m not sure how they’d fit in exactly.”
“Liven it up a bit. I don’t know, give us some flare.”
“Flare?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Do you think we really need flare?”
“Couldn’t hurt.”
“Did Anton Nilson or Huey Newton or Benny Levy need flare?”
“Okay. Okay. It’s just that we’re also artists, that this is a revolution for art.”
“And those uniforms help make that clearer?”
Cody huffs, “At least it makes it a bit more interesting. Hell, Laser, you should just quit now and start your own militia in Bolivia or Uganda. You want it all dour and disciplined like we’re in the army. Revolutions don’t have to look boring, you know.”
“I just want us taken seriously.”
Cody shrugs. “I need coffee. I’m heading over to the shop on Sixth. Want anything?”
“Hostess fruit pie.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“No. I eat one maybe twice a year.”
“Shit, Laser, what flavor?”
“Lemon. If they don’t have that, then cherry.”
“I let you subject yourself to that and you promise me we’ll bust out the uniforms at one of these apartment jobs. I don’t need an audience like in Detroit, just let me wear the damned thing.”
“Fine.”
Cody shoots Laser a quick smile and then hops out of the car. Before he closes the door he leans in and says, “I won’t tell the other guys about this. It’ll be our little secret, okay?”
With Cody gone, Laser flips through a tattered copy of Fighting Stars Ninja before scanning the Abako Apartments building across the street. It’s maybe midcentury and in serious decline. He’s noticing the way the sodium light from a high-rise a block down reflects off the penthouse windows when he sees her. She’s naked. He can’t see her face, but he can make out the shape of her naked body and he can see her palms against the glass.
She’s there long enough for Laser to get out his night vision binoculars. Takes him twenty-six seconds to realize he’s looking at Leigh Tiller, kidnapped heiress. But it takes him thirty to breathe again. Laser stares at her face. She looks asleep. Her eyes are half closed. He notices her eyelashes, how long and dark they are. For a second he thinks back to the women he’s dated and realizes that he’s never noticed anyone’s eyelashes like this before. Until now it was like eyelashes didn’t exist.
He notices her body as well. He doesn’t linger on her breasts or the tight curls of pubic hair. He feels dirty just passing his gaze over them. It’s like she’s modeling. Like she’s on display. He wishes he had a camera. He thinks of taking a snapshot with his cell phone but knows that it wouldn’t turn out right. For the first time in a very long time he wishes he had a sketchpad. There is something ethereal about Leigh in the window. She’s as remote as ever but stripped bare and only Laser can see her. Though she’s naked for the entire city to see, this show is Laser’s alone. Her there in the window, it’s art. The finest art Laser’s seen.
She is a mirage there.
And yet her beauty only steels Laser’s nerves. Seeing the way her hair ripples over the surface of her features, he stifles the urge to sigh. To sit back, mouth agape, and ogle her. He does this because he knows that she is more than just a kidnapped heiress, more than an attractive woman. He does this because he knows she’s the ultimate commodity. If he plays his cards right he can use Leigh to bring Strategic Art Defense to the masses. She can be the winning hand.
He’s startled when Cody gets back into the car. “Only had chocolate, my friend. I’ve never had one of these tasty treats but the guy at the register informed me that most people prefer the fruit fillings. Sorry.”
Laser says nothing. He hands Cody the bulky binoculars and points to the apartment building. Cody takes a few bites of his beef jerky before raising the binoculars to his eyes. “What? You like that building?”
Laser says, “Penthouse windows.”
Cody moves the binoculars up and then chokes. “Is that…?”
“Yup.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?”
“You’re looking at her.”
Cody turns to Laser. “You called the cops?”
“No.”
“Good. You thinking what I’m thinking?”
“This is going to be very tricky. We need surveillance night and day. We can’t be seen. We need everything documented. All I’ve seen is her. No clue how many kidnappers.”
“How much you think we can get?”
“Not about money.”
“Taking it higher, huh?”
“As high as it goes.”
CHAPTER TWO
Two days out
1.
The