News from the Locarno Festival

Day 9: The Egg

Day 9: The Egg


© Chiara Mirelli


While they were examining the next three thieve’s heists, The Goblin, The Vegetarian, and The Japanese, the Canadian bumped into one of his dearest friends, The Marxist, a Frenchman who had once been the mentor of  The Programmer.  Perhaps they had just been contemporaries; the Canadian didn’t fully understand the complex codes of ethics between French thieves, all of whom seemed to know each other like a vast court of warring fiefdoms with spaghetti like politics that were impossible to read.  Friends often pretended to be enemies, enemies often pretended to be friends.   The Canadian

Was much more surface than that — it was too complicated for him.

When he retrieved the Fabergé Egg from the island he was prepared for the traps.  He was always prepared for traps, but this time especially so — for a thief knows a thief’s tricks, and the Programmer wasn’t going to make it easy.  He released the trip-wires, deactivated the laser and thermal mass sensors, and he had even avoided the decoy, which to him was a fairly obvious ruse.  In the vault beneath the villa on the island, amidst frescoes of naked cherubs and plump androgens, he remembered what Crease had told him:

“We’re all about invading space, physical and mental and sometimes in miniature,”which in itself had been a clue regarding the trap within the egg itself.  What the Canadian hadn’t counted on was the most simple of countermeasures:  a dog.

It’s true that there’s nothing a person can do to stop a thief if they want to break into your home.  Alarms are worthless — one may as well leave their doors unlocked.  The best protection a homeowner can have is a simple dog.  Dogs have a sense beyond human ability — they can sense wrong-doing before it happens.  No one knows how, but they can do it.  And as the Canadian was leaving the building and crossing the garden to the boat he had stolen to come to the island, the dog attacked.  By the time he reached the small motor boat his ankle was bleeding and his white pants were stained red.  He could still hear the dog barking long after the island had vanished behind the peninsula.

Roger Avary

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