But despite how confusing it would look to the feds, Bobby wasn’t concerned about the time, any more than he was worried about the security cameras they had passed on their way from the basement, where they’d taped up the security guards, to the second floor of the gargantuan building. The security system was nearly as dated as the gallery around him; on the way out, they’d have no trouble grabbing the tapes from the VCR in the first-floor security booth. Likewise, even if they’d spent the entire night taking frames off the walls of every room in the place, it was unlikely any real policemen were going to show up to interrupt them. There was a reason the people who had hired Bobby for the job had chosen that particular night—March 18—which also happened to be the tail end of St. Patty’s Day. Every self-respecting cop in Boston was either off duty and drunk, or on duty and dealing with drunks.

Bobby finished with the massive painting and rose to his feet, sliding the box cutter back into his pocket. Richie joined him in the center of the room a few minutes later, sizing up the scene with a resolved look in his thickset eyes.

“I guess we should get what we came for,” Richie finally said, and Bobby nodded, as he began scooping up the rolled canvases. As he started for the door, he noticed his partner had paused in front of a low shelf containing a handful of sculptures; the bigger man seemed particularly intrigued by an old-looking vase, something foreign, maybe Chinese or Arabic. The object didn’t seem that impressive to Bobby, but for whatever reason, Richie shrugged and grabbed it from the shelf.

Bobby smirked, as he led his partner out of the gallery and back into the second-floor hallway. They had a pile of paintings worth millions, and Richie had stopped for a vase that would look right at home in the back corner of their neighborhood pawnshop. At least the big mug was getting into the spirit. Hell, maybe the vase would pay for the parking tickets they were surely collecting in the alley down below.

*  *  *

Five minutes later Bobby was two steps ahead of his partner as they entered a much smaller exhibit—more of a hallway than a gallery, cluttered with period furniture and lined with drawers filled with portraits and drawings. This time, the walls sported only a handful of ornate, gilded frames. Still, Bobby counted more than a few that might make nice additions to the canvases he’d already accrued.