He looked inside the barrel, but couldn’t remember where it was.
His eyes were watery, squinty, lying…
I asked him to relax; his nervousness made me nervous.
His hands grasped his scalp indelicately as his lips worked, wordless and exhaling.
Eyes like dotted billiards flicked, but an instant, at a portrait on a string.
A gasp, a bang, a barrel, smoking…
To my accomplice, “the safe’s behind the painting. We’re rich.”