The strobes had filled my night vision with floating white globes, ruining it. I plunged my hand into the garbage pile, pulled out the case and took off in a running limp down the alley. The guards did not follow. I shortened my strides to a trot as I neared the cross street. Backing up against an unlit wall, I opened the case, pulled the slackened guitar strings to one side and inserted the rolled painting through the round hole into the body of the instrument, being careful to lay it against the edge of the cavity out of sight. The constant wail of the alarm rose above the alley and spread out over the city. I had done it. The excitement was tremendous.

I slid down against the wall for a second to take weight off of my shaking legs. The running had triggered painful messages from my foot again. Taking deep regulating breaths, I closed the case, got to my feet and walked around the corner, skirting the edge of the gathering crowd circling the elephants. I limped toward the long line of taxicabs bordering the curb and nodded to the one in the front.

"American?" the driver asked.

I nodded.

"Where to? I give you good price. I like America. You tell me where."

"The docks," I said, climbing into the back with my guitar. "Oh shit, the cane," I mumbled. "No driver, take me to the Hotel Majeet first."

"Okay," he said, steering wide of the approaching blue and white police vans.

I held the case tight as they passed and couldn't help but feel I'd set in motion the gears of a large machine that now silently worked against me. I knew the onus would be on me to keep ahead of it.

"I went to America once," he said, distracting me from new dreams of comfort and travel.

"What?"

"I said, I went to America once, 12 years ago. My brother drives a taxi in New York."

"That's nice," I said disinterestedly.

"Are you from New York?"

"No I'm not, but I am in a hurry. How long will it take to get there?"

"We are here," he said, stopping across the street. "Five dollars please."

I placed a twenty in his hand. "Wait for me, I have to get something."

"Okay," he said behind me as I crossed the street, guitar in hand.

The woman behind the counter looked up as I walked past, then turned back to her book. I fished the key out of my pocket and inserted it into the lock with an unsteady hand.