Two grey-haired men wearing dark-blue uniforms pinned themselves to the backs of two pillars that were supporting the archways on the upper mezzanine level. The floor was shrouded in darkness. A short, round man with a moustache leaned to the left to get a better view of the fight that had broken out in the main level of the museum below. He looked across at his long-time colleague and pointed towards the oak-stained doors that led to the administration office.
Greg shook his head in protest. Bob sighed, raised his left hand, made a telephoning gesture, and glared at Greg. It was the right thing to do. The dark grey-haired man shook his head and moved his lips and mouthed the word no.
‘You realise we’re next?’ Bob inched over to the nearest pillar and grabbed Greg by his collar.
Greg folded his arms across his chest.
‘No matter how this plays out, he will find us. Then we’re toast. If we call the police, at least there will be people on their way to help us.’ Bob pulled his colleague down the hall in the darkness. ‘We both saw what happened to Charlie. I will not stand around and wait for another guy to die tonight. We need a panic button, of sorts,’ Bob said as Greg resisted being dragged towards the approaching double doors.
Bob leaned on the reception desk; he was on hold. It had been only ten minutes since he dragged Greg into the offices on the upper mezzanine level, and he was already having regrets. He could sense Greg thinking, “I told you so.” But Bob didn’t want to leave his friend behind, no matter how irritating he could be and no matter how tempting the idea seemed.
‘They’ve put me on hold.’ Bob placed his hand over the receiver. He held his finger in the air as a voice came through on the line.
‘I work the night shift at the NMA, and I’d like to report a murder, fight, and potential theft. Two men are fighting among the anthropological artefacts on the main floor of the museum. A light-brown-haired guy with a thick French accent in a grey suit, and a tall, scruffy-haired man.’
Bob paused as he listened to the officer on the other end of the line.
‘I don’t know. He looks like a tall, aristocratic nerd to me.’ Bob looked up at Greg and waved his hand in frustration.
All he wanted was for the police to show up before anyone else died or destroyed millions of pounds’ worth of irreplaceable artefacts. Instead, the police seemed more concerned with physical descriptions of the suspects.
They’re not as good as they used to be.
‘He works here. I’m sure of it.’ Greg folded his arms and raised his eyebrows at Bob, interrupting the conversation.
Bob hung up the phone and looked at his colleague. ‘They’ll be here in five minutes. Fingers crossed the aristocratic nerd doesn’t find us first.’