The Embarrassment of Riches Heist

“Let me guess,” says the escaped Cirque du Soleil performer, arms crossed in a fairly good imitation of Peter, disapproving pose no. 8., “Someone told you about Gotham but you decided it was an exaggeration.”

Neal slides his shim behind the painting, and holds the pressure switch depressed. “Who’s your tailor? His grasp of colour-theory is far superior to whomever outfits the big guy in Metropolis.”

“I’ll be sure to pass that along.” Mr. Blue Pyjamas seems pretty laid back, but then, he is blocking the only exit. Neal wonders momentarily if he means he’ll pass Neal’s words along to his tailor, or to Superman, and briefly entertains a vision of the latter.

Neal slides the frame off the wall, reverses it so that it holds his shim depressed for him, and pulls out his knife to start working it off its frame. Then he chokes, because the acrobat was behind him, and had slipped something solid under his chin, and was pulling back.

“I like your focus,” says the guy, “but I am not, actually, going to let you take… whatever this is.”

“This isn’t what it looks like,” wheezes Neal.

“You’re not going to take this piece and replace it with your fake?” says Pyjamas, and he really does sound like Peter, with slightly less ‘I know you, buddy.’ It was almost uncanny.

“The piece is a fake,” wheezes Neal some more, and adds an artistic gurgle for the hell of it. “I’m replacing it with the original.”

“Novel,” says Pyjamas. “But I’m a believer in the profit motive, and your business model lacks credibility.”

“Stop choking me and I’ll give you the whole story,” Neal promises, and even means it, except for the ‘whole.’

Pyjamas loosens his stranglehold slightly. “Talk.”