Chapter 6

TRASH ART – c.1890 – Chicago

by D.B. Anderson

A “Tethered Tales” Series ‘Light Mystery’ Tale

Flurrie decided to enjoy the beautifully sunlit Saturday May morning by setting his easel and oils at attention on the east side of the wraparound porch of his Queen Anne domicile, which also housed the business office of his Art Procurement Agency. Lake Michigan was relatively calm and azure blue, with a dozen or so recreational sailing craft at full sail. The tranquil scene reminded him of the side trip he took while an art student in Paris, to San Tropez on the French Riviera to paint the locals and scenery in the popular Impressionistic style of the period. Now sixty-three years old he smiled thinking back some forty years as to how the Mediterranean Sea was not unlike Chicago’s view of Lake Michigan; deceivingly beautiful.

Flurrie enjoyably sketched and painted for about a hour when, out of the corner of his eye, another deceivingly beautiful vision took light; his so called niece, Mademoiselle Primrose Surrey, and daughter of his wealthy friend and entrepreneur Adonis Surrey. At nineteen years of age she appeared as if she were sweet sixteen, and the very last person one would guess to be the leading safecracker in Chicago.

She donned a broad rimmed straw sun hat festooned with tiny colorful flowers, and wore a white linen sundress with a tight bodice and long flowing skirt. Any man that did not notice her walking down the avenue either had to be dead, or seriously impaired.

“Uncle Flurrie!” she called out, waiving to Flurrie as she flowed atop the red brick walkway to the spindle trimmed porch railing.

Flurrie waived back, moving to the front porch stairway and extended his arm to aid her up the stairs, not that she needed any aid, mind you. “You look absolutely delicious.”

Primrose kissed her honorary Uncle on the left cheek. “I see you are creating. I’ll be pleased to return another time.”

Flurrie wiped the azure oil paint from his brush, and motioned for her to be seated at the Raton table and chair set next to his easel. “I’m afraid I have no refreshments out here.”

“Not to worry. Quite frankly, I’ve come for professional advice.” She paused, her large gray-blue eyes curiously revolving in deep contemplation. “In the past, on occasion, I’ve brought you an oil painting or two to sell.” She then paused again, now shaking her head negatively. “I fear I am becoming quite weary with my safecracking. Weary of breaking into mansions and going through the tedium and time consumption of finding the location of the owner’s wall safe, then selecting the proper key from my key ring, then opening the safe, always on edge that the owner or a servant might possibly stroll in at any minute and confront me.”

Flurrie nodded his head in understanding. “The same feelings happened to your father and I before we actually quit the cracksman trade. We just instinctively knew it was time to find new employment.”

Primrose’s beautiful young face now stiffened with worry. “Do not misunderstand, I still wish to continue my theft line of work, but now only to heist valuable paintings from mansion walls.” She then lowered her head, and spoke almost shyly. “Would you be willing to be partners with me? I will heist the art, and you sell it for me for a fifty-fifty split?”

Flurrie took Primrose’s right hand with his left hand and gently patted it with his azure paint smeared right hand. “Of course I’ll work with you. After all, I am your Uncle, albeit honorary Uncle. Have you mentioned this to Adonis?”

Primrose glanced away, and then released a deep sigh. “No. He takes so much pride in my safecracking acumen. I hate to disappoint him.”

“Believe me,” Flurrie consoled, “he will be pleased at your decision. If you no longer feel comfortable breaking into safes, it is definitely time to quit. As you well know; to be a successful cracksperson you must be on full alert during the entire process of the heist; from conception to completion. Any variances and you lose your fine edge, and possible incarceration.”

Primrose released a desperate sigh. “I know I am at that state now. I know I have lost the fine edge for safecracking, however,” Primrose paused to release her hand from Flurrie’s comforting grasp. “I also know of many possible oils to steal right off. As you know, I date several of the sons of the richest families in Chicago. I’ve been in quite a few mansions for lunch and visits.”

“ Would you like a Sherry, or tea?”

“No, no. I do have a few questions though about our partnership. In the past when I heisted paintings I always cut them from their frame, and rolled them into a leather tube I carried attached to a strap over my right shoulder. It makes for a quick and neat exit. I assume this, sales-wise, would not be as profitable as removing the frame and painting intact from the mansions?”

Flurrie nodded in agreement. “That is painfully true. Obviously by cutting the painting free you are removing not only a part of the painting itself, but you are also depriving the masterpiece of its heritage. A buyer also likes to see an aged wooden stretcher holding the painting. In certain sales it could mean as much as one fourth of its value, if not more.”

Primrose nodded, her long silky black hair glistening in the sunlight. “There in lies my problem; how might I conceal a framed painting as I depart the mansion?”

Flurrie smiled, gazing into Primrose’s now serious-toned expression. “Steal small size framed paintings; perhaps ten by twelve inch paintings, or the like. The size of a painting actually has very little to do with its monetary worth. Also if a painting is larger, an old trick it to place it in a soiled sack and if pursued the thief then leaves the sacked painting in a trash heap somewhere along the way, to return later and retrieve same.”

Primrose now smiled, shaking her head in admiration at her Uncle’s cleverness. “How terribly adroit.”

“Also remember, all that you purloin will end up in a European or other foreign market place. Absolutely none of it will be sold locally, or in America as far as that goes. In other words it can not return to haunt you in one way or another.”

Primrose burst into laughter, then reaching over and kissing her cherished uncle on the right cheek. “I knew you would straighten it all out for me. Now I can give up the tedium and time consuming art of cracking safes, and instead snatch a wall painting and immediately flee.”

“As far as a monetary split goes, and since we are family of sorts, I would be willing to take twenty-five per cent of the monies received to arrange the sale, and not the fifty percent you so kindly offered. After all, you will be the one taking all the chances out there.”

Primrose suddenly furrowed her brow. “I really don’t like the sound of that. That is I taking all the chances out there.”

Flurrie shrugged his slender shoulders. “Well, at sixty–three years of age I certainly wouldn’t be of much aid to you out on a heist.”

Primrose shook her head negatively; her lovely young face now awash with indecision. “I’m going to be honest with you, Uncle Flurrie.’ She then paused, gazing pensively at Lake Michigan’s now gently undulating surface. “I no longer wish to be a thief.” She lowered her head, causing a long swatch of her shoulder-length black shimmering hair to cover the right side of her face. “I’m still young; I have several thousand saved from my safecracking vocation, and I must admit that I am gaining a real fear of being apprehended and incarcerated in prison. I would come out an absolute old hag.”

Flurrie gazed sympathetically into Primrose’s enlarged eyes. “Then quit immediately! I demand it! It is your time to quit… Your father will be in full accord.”

Primrose lowered her head. “I’ve been thinking of this in earnest for a few months now. And I have fashioned a sort of Adieu to Heisting by going after a painting I was told is the most exclusive in the Chicago elite art collection circles The Pipe Smoker by Gerard Fonteau.”

Flurrie stiffened in disbelief. “Incredible! Rumor has it the painting is concealed in a special air-seasoned hiding place in the basement of the Walker mansion.” Flurrie nervously wet his dry lips with his tongue. “It could be extremely risky.”

“Uncle Flurrie, this will be my farewell flourish for now. It will provide me with enough ready cash to spend summer in Europe; London, Paris, Rome, the Riviera…”

“Hmmm, quite so,” Flurrie mused aloud. “It would also help me to pay down the huge mortgage on my beautiful Queen Anne.”

Primrose burst into a bright smile. “I see I have peeked your interest, Uncle Flurrie,” she playfully teased, kissing him on the right cheek.

Flurrie glanced away, feigning disinterest. “If, and this is a very remote if I would aid you in some remote way besides selling the art for you… Well, just what would my assignment be, keeping in mind my mildly advanced years.”

“Carriage driver.”

“Carriage driver!” Flurrie belched in disbelief. “I am a renowned art broker amongst Chicago’s Elite, and you have delegated me to be your carriage driver?”

“You will be wearing a disguise. I simply can not trust anyone else with the task.” Primrose reached over and kissed Flurrie on the left cheek. “It will be great fun and excitement. A throw back to your youthful days as a safecracker with my Father.” She then batted her long black eyelashes. “I need your assistance, Uncle Flurrie. Please…” she moaned. “I am quite desperate.” Primrose then reached the backside of her right hand to Flurrie’s right cheek and gently petted him as one would a pet kitten.

Any resistance Flurrie had harbored now crumbled to dust and he agreed with a primeval grunt, “Hrrumpfff.”

Primrose merrily spun about and began to descend the porch stairway, her long skirt sweeping dust from the stair treads. “I will have a full battle plan for you by the end of the week.” She then merrily began to hum a perky dance hall tune as she half skipped and strode over the red brick front walkway of Flurrie’s Queen Anne to Lake Front Boulevard.

Two weeks of flustered planning passed between Flurrie and Primrose and they decided on the heist for Saturday night next. A world famous Italian tenor, Antonio Martinelli, was making his one and only American Midwestern appearance in Chicago, and it was bringing out the super elite of Chicago’s High Society, and the Walker Clan would most certainly be there.

The night of the theft, wondering if he had gone entirely insane at agreeing to be part and parcel of a heist at his advanced age, Flurrie now found himself attired in a hansom cab driver’s formal attire; including a black half-size silk top hat, black tailored suit, ebony soft-leather ankle boots, white gloves, and his facial features were disguised with busy gray eyebrows and an equally bushy gray moustache. He yielded a thin whip-stick to prod along his newfound friend and stallion of some note in the local stables Black Baron. Primrose was attired in a dark blue ball gown and was hatless, allowing her long black shimmering hair to dance in the light wind encircling the hansom cab.

“I’d best warn you that I will be taking off the skirt of my dress when we arrive at the mansion, and be barefoot.”

“You’ll what!” Flurrie screamed, making Black Baron bolt just a bit.

Primrose chuckled. “I actually wear a dark colored body suit when on a heist to have greater mobility. I go barefoot for greater agility and silence.”

“I never…!” Flurrie mumbled.

Flurrie then somewhat nervously edged the hansom cab up the semi circular front driveway of the Walker three-story Georgian mansion Edgeview. As hoped for, the mansion windows were black to dimly lit in hue indicating neither family nor servants were in the mansion. Flurrie slowly moved the hansom cab to the porte-cochere on the left side of the mansion’s facade. It had been several years since he had engaged in an actual heist and he self-admitted he was not without at least mild trepidation. Yet, Primrose, being the seasoned professional she was, despite her young years, had completed her homework to perfection. She stated she had gleaned the needed heist information for the Edgeview art appropriation by passionately kissing Pudgy Walker, a sixteen-year-old son of the Walker Clan, who had a mad crush for her. Pudgy also blithered that the entire family would be attending the Martinneli recital, and that the servants would be allowed to hold a birthday party for one of their ilk in the Carriage House at the rear of the property. Pudgy also revealed, whilst basking in the ecstasy of Primrose’s violet-perfumed, scorching-hot embrace, that his Dad had the 1.2 million dollar painting hanging in a shallow closet concealed in the west inner-wall paneling of his library.

The windows of the Carriage House at the rear of the property were ablaze with light, indicating the servants were indeed busy with the birthday party for one of their fellow employees.

The heist went as clock-work: Flurrie was pleased to remain in the hansom cab to watch over Black Baron as Primrose, barefoot and clad in her skin tight body suit, slid a knife blade up the minute opening between the port-cochere French doors to the mansion front hallway. She hurriedly, but silently opened, peeked in, and closed the door of several rooms along the hallway until she finally found the library room. She crept in and moved to the west wall paneling where Pudgy Walker indicated the painting of the Pipe Smoker by Gerard Fonteau was sequestered. Unfortunately, there were four framed wood panels on the west wall, and she belittled herself for not having the forethought of asking Pudgy Walker which panel was the correct panel. She quickly began to slide the long fingers of both of her hands over the panels where they met their framework, and on panel three felt a slither of an opening. She pressed on the area, and then smiled in delight as the panel actually swung open revealing the shadows of a painting. She quickly gathered the painting from its resting place on a ledge mounted against the wall, and carefully made her way down the hallway, listening for any unusual noises, and thought for a moment she heard something like wine bottles clinking together, and hurried out the port-cochere door and into the hansom cab.

Flurrie quickly prodded Black Baron to attention, and as the hansom cab slowly moved down the driveway Flurrie glanced down through the sliding roof door of the cab.

“Success?”

Primrose held the painting upward so as Flurrie might catch a glimpse of the masterpiece. “This it?”

“Must be. Looks aged enough.”

Suddenly a man’s screaming voice pierced the calm night air. “THEFT! ROBBERY! POLICE!”

Flurrie gazed backwards in alarm from his perch on the tail end of the hansom cab, to see an elderly man holding a bottle of wine in each hand, and waiving them in the air. “ART THEFT.”

Flurrie then prodded Black Baron to full trot and about a half mile from the scene of the crime; he glanced back to see if they were being followed. With no pursuers in queue he guided the hansom cab into the tree covered entrance of a mansion driveway, and came to a halt. He dismounted from the cab as swiftly as his aging body could maneuver; reaching into a toolbox affixed to the backside of the cab, and removed a large, soiled trash sack. He quickly handed the sack into Primrose.

“Quickly! Place the painting into the sack.”

She obeyed, her slim lips trembling slightly.

Flurrie then swiftly made his way to the property trash bins near the foot of the driveway, and gently placed the sacked masterpiece alongside the trash. He rushed back to Primrose and then regained his perch on the rear of the hansom cab and moved Black Baron back onto the Lake Bluff Road, and in the direction of the Walker mansion.

“Are you insane!” Primrose screamed up through the sliding door hole in the rooftop of the hansom cab. “Head in the other direction! Get us out of here!”

“No, no,” Flurrie responded; now actually smiling. “Let’s return to the scene of the crime and join in the commotion. We will let the servants see us and act as concerned citizens.” Upon reaching the Walker mansion Flurrie stopped the cab at roadside and dismounted. Several servants were rushing about the mansion grounds. Flurrie approached the eldest appearing servant, who held the air of a head butler as he shouted orders to the other servants.

“Excuse me,” Flurrie asked. “May I be of assistance? What has happened here? Murder?”

The butler gazed in astonishment at Flurrie’s hansom cab. “A thief stole a valuable painting and rode off in a hansom cab just like yours.” He then boldly moved to Flurrie’s cab and glanced inside at Primrose, now once again wearing her long flowing ball gown skirt, and then to the empty floor.

“A similar cab did pass us going at a break neck speed. We wondered what the problem was.”

The Butler still viewed Flurrie’s cab with suspicion. A neighbor joined them, scrutinizing Flurrie’s cab “Is this the vehicle? The other servants said the thief made his escape in a hansom cab.”

“No. The coachman here said the cab in question passed them on the Lake Road at a swift speed. Also, a young lady is a passenger in this cab.”

Flurrie and Primrose received a very tidy sum for the The Pipe Smoker by Gerard Fonteau, upon selling it to Flurrie’s European contact “the committee” an international criminal organization. Primrose merrily departed for the French Rivera to find a man of considerable wealth to marry. Flurrie paid down a large part of his Queen Anne mortgage, and vowed then and there to spend his remainder years in continuing to sell questionable ownership art, and to leave actual theft to the young and nimble of brawn and brain.