A noir-inspired caper set in Milan, Italy…
By Lorenzo Petruzziello
Berlin
His steps were careful, and his comfort with darkness allowed him the
typical confidence to succeed without a trace. He made his way across the room
to the large ornate mirror hanging above an oak cabinet. Lifting the
constraining ski mask, he examined his new moustache still coming in. He had
decided a while ago that he wanted a distinguished look, and concluded that a
moustache should do the trick.
The soft moonlight was not bright enough at this end of the room. To allow
him a better examination of his facial hair, he turned on his mini flashlight
and shined it onto his face. The moustache was coming in nicely, not too thick,
and shaped just perfectly. He looked at the rest of his face, which he tended
to do when in front of a mirror – he just couldn’t help himself. He noticed
that the lighting, positioned as it was at that moment, accentuated his
handsome features. Realizing he had distracted himself again, he quickly turned
off the flashlight to get back to the matter at hand.
Did he have to put the ski mask back on? What was the point of it? He knew
no one was going to see him. And besides, if he was to get spotted on the
street or by some neighbor, he thought a black ski mask would definitely call
attention to him. He decided it wasn’t necessary and kept the ski mask up away
from his face. This way, it was easier to make his way around the room.
He was dressed in all black: a tight black shirt with long sleeves and
tight, yet flexible, black pants, allowing him agility for climbing over the
balcony. His shoes were made of flexible black canvas with black rubber sole.
He had perfected this outfit over the years. Wait, he
thought to himself. What is that? He shined the mini
flashlight on his shirt. “Is that a fuckin’ stain?” he mumbled as he rubbed the
white drop. “Where the hell–?” He remembered. “Fuckin’ bird.”
His gloves were also tight, but their leather made it more difficult to
handle objects. He hadn’t been able to find his favorite neoprene pair
with the metallic tips, which allowed him to use touch screens. Where the fuck
had he misplaced those damn gloves? Damn! He just
remembered. They were in the side pocket of his travel bag in the extra closet
in his new apartment. The travel bag! That’s where the
other lighter is too! Flashlight off. He finally turned away from the
mirror, aggressively shoving the flashlight back into his small black shoulder
sling. He made his way around the room and took note of the furniture. It was
laid out almost exactly as it had been described to him. Bam! He stubbed his
left toe on the metal leg of a marble top coffee table. “What the fuck?” he
whispered as he lifted his leg and grabbed his toe. It was instinct. That’s
what one does when one’s toe throbs with pain, right? He felt himself fall
forward. He tried regaining his balance, but it was too late. Crash! A lamp
fell to the floor. It had to have been made of metal because it fell with a
multitude of crashes. He fell along with it, but managed to land onto the plush
floral sofa. He let go of his leg, realizing he had to get the hell out of
there. The floorboards in the ceiling creaked.
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