The day started out as a Wednesday for one Archibald Dungary whose mouth was still moist from his morning breakfast of cold eggs; this was a Wednesday no different from yesterday or perhaps even another Wednesday for Mr. Dungary. He walked out his door greeted by a cold burst of Chicago wind. The day seemed like any other, freezing, cold enoughfor snoe but no water in the air to make it. Mr. Archibald Dungary walked his normal route to work. He had been a museum man all his life. That was the great thing about Chicago lots of odd jobs floating around makes it easy to find one just to your liking, as Mr.Dungary had foud. He worked in the storerooms of the Chicago Museum of Art the past twelve years, a condsiderable mass of his thirtyfive years on this planet. The storerooms were a grown man’s playground for him. His palms tingled with the usual excitement as he approached the museum steps. What treasures would he find on today’s catologging expeditions? How could he organize today’s shipments? As his brain overloaded with the possibilities of the day a gust of wind and blew his hat straight of his head. Alarmed, Mr. Dungary jumped and turned to see the ever blowing Chicago winds carrying his favorite hat further and further and further away. He knew chasing after it would be a lost cause. Though Mr. Dungary was fit for his age running had never quite suited his tastes. He entered the museum and was greeted as usual by his love interest at the front desk Mary.
“Good morning Archibald. How are you?” Mary exclaimed in her ever-pleasant manner.
“Just fine. How are you Mary” he replied timid as ever.
“ I’m just wonderful Mr. Dungary.”
She smiled. Mary seemed quite happy today. A good mood would be ideal for Mr. Dungaray to ask her to lunch. No he could never do that, too shy, she probably had someone else anyway.
“Stay wonderful.” Mr. Dungary gave her a small smile, and turned away.
He hoped she had taken that as a mere ‘have a good day”. Why was he so not composed around her? Not that he was ever well composed but…
“You too Mr. Dungary!” Mary called interrupting his pessimistic thoughts.
Mr. Dungary turned back to face her smiled and gave a final wave. Once his face was concealed he sighed. He was all too aware that his interest was one sided and would most likely remain that way, but all sadness he had was wiped away as she opened the door to the staircase that lead to the museum’s basement storerooms. Mr. Dungary loved the smell of old things, and the smell that grreated him every morning when he opened this door washis equivalent of a rose garden. He gave the lights a flip and descended to the depths of the storerooms.
At that same moment on the other side of Chicago, a man by the name of Borris Letherly was on his way to a place that held even more secrets than the storerooms Mr.. Dungary currently occupied. A glance to his watch told him he was running late. Time was crucial in this operation. Mr. Letherly walked down the alleyway beside the Running Boar Tavern, and was slightly taken aback at the sight of a very brown, very round, rather expensive looking hat. A rare treasure to find in this part of town, he picked it up and placed the perfect fit on his head, then gave three concise knocks to the door in which the hat had laid in front of. His long time partner Jim let him in to a room just barely large enough to hold a card table four chairs and the four men crammed inside. The four men ready to get this operation running jumped into a whispered conversation of a delivery arriving at the Chicago Museum of art in just four hours, that contained a prize beyond belief.
“We have four hours. Can we really pull this off?” Jerry asked.
As with most new members of the team Borris was skeptical about Jerry. Jerry was a nervous man, hands always shaking, not an ideal man for jobs such as this one.
“Hush Jerry. This’ll be a sinch, just like the gallery in Boston” Butch commanded.
Now Butch, though a new member, Borris has taken a liking too. His slight cockiness was alluring. Borris understood how he and Jerry were thicks as thieves…literally, good balance in that duet. Borris looked to his partner Jim. Jim gave him a cocky smile. Truth was this job really was going to be a sinch. Under cover deliveries always were. Museum deliveries are simple enough to understand the small stuff just gets shipped in crates to the back door of the museum and the storeroom guy signs of. The big stuff such as this, always gets more commotion. Admministrators pay off news companies to broadcast the pice is being delivered. They make a big show of it, get five guys to carry in paintings that only weigh five pounds, close the museum for an hour, and carry itt right through the front door. But what people like Borris and Jim know that this is all a red herring. While the big show goes on in the front two men carry the real delivery to the back and the storeroom guy just signs off, just like with the small stuff. It’s clever. Distract first timers with a façade. Unfortunately Chicago is teeming with old crooks like these four. Jerry looked at this watch. God how that man fidgeted. At lest he had the right idea. Borris looked down at his watch and nodded. The men knew it was time to get going.
Mr. Dungary enjoyed his morning in the storerooms, hours spent among the great relics felt like minutes. In this wonderful morning he came across a crate in the darkest corner filled with ancient Egyptian artifacts, son naturally after being so involved in organizing the delivery buzzer came as a shock to him. The delivery went smoothly as usual. Mr. Dungary looked to his watch to find it was already time for lunch. He decided to unpack the delivery when he returned from his break, so he locked up set the alarm, and climbed the stairs up to the museum floor. As luck would have it Mary was walking out the door the same time he was. He decided this was his day. Indeed she had seemed in a pleasant mood that morning, Mr.Dungary thought to himself. Perhaps…no he couln’t ask. The clicking of her orange pumps on the checkered linoleum floor began to fade, and as Mr. Dungary watched her flowing brown hair be blown by the wind, he hot his timorous manner to hell. He ran to catch up with her and when they met at the bottom of the steps he called,
“Mary!”
“Afternoon Mr. Dungary.” She smiled.
“Mary would you perhaps consider…or uh um would you like to go to luch together? I know a great sandwich shop three blocks down.”
“Oh Mr. Dungary I’d love to I really would, but I’m meeting someone at the coffee shop,”Mr. Dungary’s shoulders fell, after a brief almost unnoticeable pause she continued, “but hey maybe next time.”
“Next time.” Mr. Dungary repeated with a smile that was all together not at all convincing.
In fact...
