“What?” said Smithy. “No, of course not. Why on earth would you guess that?”
“Well, I dunno. You seem pretty angry.”
Smithy looked up at the wall again. “He has – I shit you not – Han Solo encased in carbonite. I mean, like, the real one.”
“Yeah, that would’ve taken a while to guess. Define ‘real’ here?”
“I mean the actual prop from the film. There’s a framed certificate beside it and everything. Signed by George Lucas.”
“Cool!”
“It is not cool, Diller. It is annoying. Something like this should be in a museum somewhere, not hanging in this douchebag’s bedroom. I mean, of all the places! Who has that in a bedroom? I bet it really sets the mood with the ladies.”
Having been understandably distracted by the sight of Harrison Ford trapped in carbonite, Smithy hadn’t paid much attention to what else was on the wall.
“Holy crap.”
“Now what?”
“He’s got one of Han Solo’s blasters, too.”
“Sweet!”
“How are you not outraged by this?”
“Because I’m a dude from Hunts Point who has only ever seen one cow, and this guy’s place sounds awesome.”
“Your priorities are messed up, Dill.”
“Says the guy dressed in costume in the middle of a burglary. Speaking of which, aren’t you supposed to be hiding somewhere? What happens if he comes home?”
“Relax. It’s Tuesday. He goes to see some lady every Tuesday. I’d like to think she’s a therapist but best not to ask.”
“How long have you been following this guy?” asked Diller, incredulous.
“Not that long.” This was technically true. Ish.
Most of Smithy’s time had been spent trying to find the guy – it turned out the filthy rich weren’t in the phonebook.
“The point is, he’s not going to be home for ages. What I’m doing right now is figuring out a hiding spot. I’ve got plenty of time – I haven’t even been in the living area yet. I’m going to have to stay hidden for hours, so I want to be comfortable and— Holy shit!”
“Now what?”
“He’s got a floating bed!”
Smithy hadn’t noticed when he’d walked in because, well, Han Solo was on the wall, but now he saw that the large bed, up on a platform in the centre of the room, was actually floating in mid-air.
“Cool. Do you mean it’s hanging from wires or something?”
“No, I mean it’s actually floating in mid-air. Seriously, is this some kind of voodoo? How evil is this dude?”
“I bet it’s magnets,” said Diller.
“Magnets? How can it be magnets?”
“I’ve seen it in a magazine. In fact, I’m pretty sure it was TIME magazine’s Best Invention a while ago. Damn, I wish I was with you. This place sounds tight!”
“It’s not tight,” said Smithy. “What it is is grossly, offensively decadent. And what stops the bed from floating off?”
“Science.”
“Science,” mumbled Smithy disapprovingly. “Science wasting its time on crap like this is why we don’t have a cure for cancer.”
“Take a picture of the bed.”
“Really? I’ve broken into somebody’s apartment and you want me to take pictures so I have incriminating evidence on me?”
“Take a picture, send it to me and then delete it.”
“So, to be clear, Dill, you want me to send you incriminating pictures linking you to this crime?”
“Oh, never mind. You’ve taken all the fun out of it. What other cool stuff has he got?”
“What is this? Lifestyles of the rich and the shameless? It’s a big, gaudy, expensive-looking penthouse with a floating bed, an actual original Han Solo in carbonite on the wall, and a bona fide laser pistol. I’m getting out of this room before I throw up.”
“How big is his TV?”
Smithy looked around. “D’you know, I haven’t actually seen one.”
“Oh. I don’t trust peeps who don’t have a TV.”
“You don’t have a TV, Dill.”
“Yeah, but I can’t afford one. That’s different. I’m guessing this dude can.”
“True.”
Smithy looked at the various doors in the room. In addition to the one he had come in through, there were two others. He walked towards the one closest to him and stopped.
“These doors don’t have handles,” he told Diller.
“What?”
“They don’t have … Wait a sec.” He waved his hand in front of a dimly glowing panel on the wall and the door whooshed left, Star Trek-style, to reveal a large walk-in closet.
“What was that?” Diller asked.
“Nothing.”
“I bet it was something cool and now you won’t tell me.”
“It was nothing exciting. I’m in the dude’s walk-in closet.”
“What’s it like?”
Smithy looked around. Rows of expensive-looking suits hung beside about three dozen shop-fresh shirts, with sweaters neatly folded on shelves, followed by T-shirts, slacks, chinos, and several drawers that were no doubt full of freshly laundered underwear. There were about fifty pairs of shoes, most of which were buffed to such a high shine that you’d get a migraine if you looked at them long enough.
“Just lots of fancy clothes. He’s probably got a suit made out of Dalmatians in here somewhere.”
“So, is this where you’re going to hide?”
Smithy spun around slowly, giving it an appraising eye. There wasn’t anywhere he could actually hide himself – at least not where he wouldn’t be spotted as soon as someone walked in.
“Nah.”
“You need to find somewhere.”
“No kidding. I’m guessing under the bed is out – I ain’t lying in magnetic fields all night. That don’t sound healthy. I’ll find somewhere. This place is massive, and it’s just me and the bag.”
Smithy shifted the gym bag on his shoulder, which contained his street clothes, leprechaun hat, paintball gun and a small canister of helium.
“Is the plan still …?”
“To wait until he’s asleep? Yes.”
For reasons Diller didn’t fully understand and wasn’t entirely comfortable with, a lot of Smithy’s recent ideas seemed to have drawn inspiration from the films of Mel Gibson. Last year he’d used Lethal Weapon 2 to help their friend Bunny with a situation. He’d watched What Women Want with Big Dom in an effort to prime him for his return to the rigours of the dating game. Then there was this idea, inspired by Braveheart.
After William Wallace, played by Mel Gibson, is betrayed by the Scottish lords, he escapes and hunts them down one by one. In one particular scene, a lord is asleep in his bed, having a nightmare in which Mel is coming after him on horseback – wild-eyed, in full face paint. The full Gibson. The lord wakes up, terrified, and is relieved to realise it was only a dream. Then, his bedroom door flies open and in rides Mel on horseback – a vision of terrible vengeance made real – and proceeds to slam a kind of cannon ball on a chain into the lord’s head, smashing it like a pumpkin.