Wild Fiction

‘Good,’ Corp replied. ‘Hog, put it in the boot and Colin, let’s go and get the money shall we?’
‘Wait,’ Colin said. ‘I must wrap it up again. We can’t damage it.’
‘Hurry up; be quick about it.’
Colin busied himself putting the bubble wrap around the painting and pressing the tape down ensuring that every inch was protected. Once he had finished, Corp wrapped a black cloth over his eyes and, pushing his head down, bundled him into the back of the car. The engine roared to life and the BMW left the clearing spinning its wheels on the wet leaves as it did.
‘F76 BON, F76 BON,’ Genevieve repeated. ‘We must remember the number plate.’
Rebecca put her hand on Genevieve’s arm. ‘I have a photographic memory,’ Rebecca told her. ‘It’s all up here,’ she said tapping the side of her head.’
‘I know that man,’ Genevieve said. The others looked at her. ‘It’s been bothering me but I remember now when I last saw him. His name is Sergeant Grovi or Sergeant John or something like that. He’s from the police force. He’s the one who came around to the house when Corp and Hog escaped. He was going around the neighbourhood warning everyone. He’s the policeman in charge of tracking them down. He’s obviously working undercover and is now posing as an art buyer to find them and find the loot.’
‘Damn,’ Conrad said.
They others looked at him. Rebecca raised her eyebrows.
‘Don’t you see, we won’t get our finders reward if the police find the loot. That means no pictures in the paper and no fame.’
There was a short silence as they absorbed the implications of this. Then Rebecca spoke. ‘The police haven’t found it yet. Sergeant Grovi or whatever he’s called was brought here blindfolded. He doesn’t know where the loot is. If we go down to the station right now then we are the finders and not the police. So we can still collect the reward and take the glory,’ Rebecca said with a triumphant smile on her face.
‘You’re a genius,’ Conrad said.
‘Grovijohn,’ Genevieve said excitedly. ‘That’s his name. Sergeant Grovijohn.’