Written by John Lombard
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Tags: Theft

Monday, 5 December 2011

image for Porcelain Thief Dead Police leave the scene of a somewhat uneventful crime.

Porcelain Thief, Rudolfo Garanzo, is found dead next to a pile of shattered porcelain.

It is a dark 5:30PM as I stand with police and porcelain owner on the corner of Schiller and Broadway.

It appears the porcelain was booby-trapped; however, the owner of the porcelain claims to know nothing.

I speak with porcelain owner/possible murderer, Antonio Endanto.

"Yes, of course I've heard of Garanzo. Haven't you heard? I own the second largest collection of Porcelain in all of the world!"

(This fact has not yet been verified.)

"I am a walking target to people like Garanzo. But I would never kill him! Why kill a man simply because he wants what one has?"

Detective Haaskivi, as his badge announces, pokes at the lifeless Garanzo with his pen. He explains to me, it is currently believed that Antonio Endanto lured Garanzo to his residence, packed explosives in with a crate of porcelain cups, and waited.

The detective further explains, "Porcelain cups were Garanzo's greatest weakness. He could smell them from a mile away. All Endanto had to do was set a trap and wait."

The police cuff Endanto.

"OK! I killed Garanzo! But I'm a hero not a criminal! You should be thanking me! The world is rid of one more porcelain thief!"

Andanto is put into the back of a Ford SUV.

He calls me to the window and asks, "Do you have a Garanzo in your life? Someone always trying to take what it is you love?"

I shake my head no.

He continues, "I promise you boy, there will be more Garanzos, and I will not be able to stop them all. Perhaps you can help-"

An officer rolls up Endanto's window and explains to me,

"He's right. There will be another Garanzo. Porcelain thiefs do it not for the money, but for the porcelain. And a crime out of passion is the worst crime of them all. I don't blame Endanto for setting a trap. If I had that much porcelain...heck, even if I had half that beautiful porcelain...oh look at all this ruined porcelain!"

The officer begins to cry and walks away.

I stand on the corner of Schiller as Broadway as the Ford SUV rolls slowly away. A sheet is draped over the dead Garanzo and the soft cries of the officer echo off the brownstones.

Is Antonio Endanto to blame or was it simply the only option?

Will be there be another Garanzo? Only time, and the love of porcelain, will tell.

The story above is a satire or parody. It is entirely fictitious.

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