Chapter 19

He examined the hacksaw in his hand. What an ingenious piece of human engineering. The blade he had used at the gallery had been an instrument of precision. Of the tools he had used so far, this was by far the most ruthless. Soon enough he would return to the primitive blunt statement of the hammer, but for now his affection for the hacksaw was growing by the moment.

It cut through the wall with a gloriously inconsequential noise.

He wondered if he was enjoying this too much—giving himself too many plaudits. He should keep his guard up. Still, he couldn’t help compare this work with his previous outings.

There was dust just like before. Only this time the cheap MDF produced vast clouds of golden powder that drifted down onto the black leather. Wooden snowflakes marking his progress.

The shop that had sold him the gloves kept small plastic masks by the counter. Thank heavens for impulse purchases.

At this pace he would be finished much sooner than he had expected. He could feel his own giddiness rising, excitement threatening to take over. He forced himself back. He was still a long way from pulling this off.

There was also the possibility that the hacksaw might dull before he reached the third wall. Yes, the most dangerous elements of the task were behind him, and he was deep into the more strenuous second act. But this was no time for enjoyment. Celebration would come later.

The finale of this performance was laced with danger, and he would need to be focused. 

He gripped the saw again and pushed hard.

Once more the golden dust lifted into the air.