A cop was approaching us. Shannon had told me beforehand all about what she did when cops questioned her.
She put her finger in the air and said, “The first rule for the effective vandal is to do it at dusk.”
“Why dusk?”
“My lies sound way better with a bit of light on me. I always carry a camera with me and I do my art next to a fairly prominent piece. If a cop approaches me, I ditch my supplies and pretend to be taking pictures of a more famous piece of vandalism than what I’ve made.”
“Sounds suspicious,” I yawned. “What if you get paint on your hands or your clothes?”
“I always carry latex gloves and yes, it would be terrible if I got fresh paint on my outfit. It’s never happened,” she said sternly.
“Don’t the cops find your stash of paint cans, gloves, and whatever?”
She smiled wickedly. “They never have.”
“Why not?”
“Because they are always so distracted by me that they don’t look. I’ll talk to them about the piece I’m taking pictures of, show them the pictures I’ve taken already, show them my blog, which is nothing but various pieces of vandalism throughout the city. Lots of the patrolling officers know me by name. They’ll talk to me for a few minutes and then they’ll get called away before they can even check to see if the paint on the wall is dry.”
I snorted. “You can’t be that charming.”
She shrugged her shoulders. “Come with me and I’ll show you how charming I can be.”
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That was how I ended up in an abandoned alleyway in the downtown core, squatting in a corner while she wrote various n words in a line, “Narcissism. Necrophilia. Nihilism. Nepotism. Narcolepsy. Nefelibata.”
I found it interesting in a weird way. She dumped her supplies before I had even realized a cop had entered the alley and was approaching us. She was on her face on the cement taking a picture of a broken heart with arrows sticking out in all directions that had been spray-painted half on the building and half on the ground.
When Shannon stood up and showed me the pictures, I was impressed. The angle she got would make the photograph a stunning addition to her blog and the quality of the shot added to her credibility with the cop.
“What’s going on here?” the cop asked firmly as he approached us.
She turned to him. “Hi, Todd. How’s it going?”
He put away the flashlight he had been shining at us. “Fine. Fine. And how’s it going with you?”
She smiled at Officer Todd and showed him the pictures she had just shown me, and it played out exactly the way she said it would.
I was gobsmacked as she entertained him until he got a call that he had to leave. She walked with him out of the alley and beckoned for me to follow them. There was more graffiti on the street outside and she attempted to get more pictures as Officer Todd went on his way. Once he was out of sight, she went back and got her supplies.
“Have you ever lost your bag?” I asked.
“Happens all the time. I’m making a bag that looks like moss on one side so I can hide my stuff and I don’t have to worry about someone taking it before I come back. One time, I had to leave three spray cans and when I came back, the spray cans had been used and some thoughtless dickbrain had mucked up my piece. I got the idea for the bag from a friend of mine who likes to hide things in disposable diapers that look like they’ve been crapped in, but have merely been smeared with chocolate.”
Before I knew it, she’d found me a wall to make a mark on. She handed me some gloves and a can of blue paint.
I stared at her. “I don’t know what to do.”
“Something to commemorate our date?” she suggested.
My brain was empty. Since I knew I couldn’t do something stylish, I opted to do something meaningful.
“We’ve got about ten minutes until sundown.”
I sprayed a triangle, like the one I’d played during the ballet.
I thought it was stupid, but she looked pleased. “For your first try, that was great. Full of meaning, it was. Let’s go.” She put everything in a backpack she strapped to my shoulders.