“C’mon,” I said to the others, “Let’s move. Rip up those floorboards, open up the walls.”
I knew the painting was in there somewhere, and it certainly wasn’t hanging from a nail.
I knew that we had only three hours from curtain up at the National Theatre, three hours made up of two halves and the interval, and the twenty minute drive back home.
I know my trade. I had done my research. I’m a master. The best.
What I didn’t know was that a fire had stopped the show, and that the limo was only ten minutes away.