The Homeless Millionaire

The first thing I saw when I woke up the next day was a squirrel sitting on the windowsill. Its beady black eye looked right into mine. It looked disapproving to me, and I wondered what I had done to offend that squirrel: was it a friend or relative of the squirrel that had been critical of me previous day? I dimly recalled raking up some stuff that could be edible for a squirrel when I was working on the overgrown vegetable patch. It could have been that I'd destroyed that squirrel’s secret stash of food.

It was gone in a flash when I got up from my bed, and took a step towards the window. I felt a little hurt by that; I'd wanted to tell it I was sorry. So I pulled on my jeans and by boots and went out onto the driveway. I was half–naked and it was nippy outside, even with the sun shining. I raised my head and shouted:

"I'm sorry!"

My voice echoed among the trees. A few birds took off into the air, and I fancied I also heard tiny feet scampering off into the forest. It appeared all of local wildlife disapproved of me.

All this disapproval resulted in my feeling unmotivated and lazy. I had been planning to visit her house again that day, but just didn't have the energy. I felt tired just thinking about it.

I got back into the house and put on a T-shirt. Then I drank coffee and smoked cigarettes until my ears buzzed and my eyes nearly popped out. It failed to energize me. Instead, I got a bad taste in my mouth from all those smokes and coffees, and had to to go brush my teeth.

I forced myself to have a shower, then returned to the kitchen and made myself yet another coffee. I drank it standing right behind the glass doors to the deck, looking at the house across the water. Everything was still; there was no movement of any kind. After I'd finished the coffee I got the binoculars and crouched behind the sofa before commencing to spy: she had binoculars, too.

I couldn't see any signs of life at all over there. Had I felt a little more energetic, I’d have gone over anyway because of the light I’d seen the previous evening. I thought about it while I was making and eating breakfast, and settled on a compromise: I'd keep her house under watch all day. If she made an appearance, I would pay her a visit.

Watching her house quickly became boring, and I thought I'd listen to some music. I turned the radio on and heard a song end and then a guy began shouting about buying, buying, buying a new car, right away, loans granted on the spot without a credit check. Fucking asshole capitalists! It wasn’t enough for them to make a profit on the shit they produced and sold, they also had to make a profit on the money people borrowed to buy that shit.

I spent most of that day sitting on the sofa, half-listening to the radio and thinking about that whole museum robbery thing. I suspected Michel had got his handgun down in the States, then smuggled it across the border; it was easy enough to do, most of the time people got waved through. I thought about the premonition I had way back in Montreal. I had been right—Roch had been hiding something from me— my intuition had been working well.

Currently, my intuition was telling me that the museum robbery would be a success. I could already imagine myself as the happy, if hunted, owner of Rembrandt's Landscape with Cottages.

After dinner and a couple of drinks, I became totally convinced it would all work out just fine. I went to bed all smiles and happy thoughts.. So I was really shocked when a pair of cops paid me a visit the very next morning.