No Apologies and No Regrets

by Roddy Wix

Bart Zeigler was in love with a beautiful Italian and he hoped the affair would never end though he knew otherwise. After grabbing a drink and a bite to eat at the Hogsbreath Inn in Carmel he headed home enjoying the crisp evening air and clear night sky.

  Approaching Santa Clara on 101 he realized he had no plan for what to do with the car. Parking a new Ferrari at his apartment building might attract too much attention and his fake identification as Ivan Rusikov would be useless. He noticed an old garage door opener clipped onto the visor. The gadget seemed antique in contrast to the high tech sports car, but a perfect solution nonetheless. He'd drive over to the Rusikov's house and return the Ferrari to its owner, in a manner of speaking. Most days Bart rode his Buell motorcycle to work so leaving his trusty Subaru at the airport created no problems. The walk home was less than four miles and he ran 5k every other day. Excellent! He had a plan.

  Twenty minutes later he found the address on the car’s registration. The windows were dark, but automatic perimeter lights cast a glow on the corners of the restored craftsman bungalow and illuminated the dense landscaping. Neat wicker furniture decorated the front porch. The place ran contrary to any expectations Bart had of the Rusikov brothers. As he turned into the driveway a flickering light became visible in a second floor window on the side of the building. Had someone left a TV or computer monitor on?

  Rocked by a sudden surge of guilt over his car theft Bart didn't linger to see if anyone appeared in the upstairs window. He eased toward the rear of the house where he expected to find the garage. Distracted by the unexpected light and trying to think up a cover story he nearly ran into a low slung black car parked in the compact motor court. A BMW Z-4. He didn't need to check for the SBR-Z4 license number to know the slick little convertible belonged to Dr. Sally Ramsay. What the hell brought her to the Rusikov house at this hour? Alone?

  Bart pushed the button on the remote control and the second of two garage doors began to rise. He slipped the Ferrari into its bay, shut the motor off, and closed the overhead door behind him. As he sat in the dark he listened to the clicking of the hot metal of the V-12 engine beginning to cool. A metallic blue Volvo stood in the next bay. Ilya's. On the far wall Bart noticed green lights glowing on a security keypad. A jolt of jealousy accompanied Bart's realization that Sally seemed to be in possession of the Rusikov brother's alarm code. Bart got out of the car and tiptoed to the door leading out in the direction of the main house. On closer inspection the key pad appeared old and part of a mediocre off the rack system. Imagine! Two world class hackers protecting their home with low rent antique alarm equipment.

  Even though he’d used up his ration of luck for one day curiosity trumped his better judgment and he decided to take a look in the house. He stepped into a covered breezeway leasing to the kitchen door and navigated by the faint light of the decorative landscape lighting. At the French doors he froze. A tiny dot of red reflected on a glass pane and gave away a security device positioned on the wall behind him. Bart cursed himself for underestimating the equipment and wondered if it was a motion detector or camera. Either way he was busted but he preferred not to be identified as well. He pulled the hood of his sweatshirt over his head and turned his eyes up to scan for a similar device above the door. None were visible so he boldly stepped into the kitchen and stood still for a minute to let his heart rate drop. Noise came from upstairs that sounded like a TV. Bart treaded softly across the tiled floor to an arched entrance into the great room and listened again. Odd. It sounded like a porno movie unless, of course, a hell of a little party was in progress upstairs.

  Fewer than ten steps into the room something hard jabbed into his left kidney. He turned and found himself looking into Sally's blue eyes. They were cold and angry.

  “Don’t move or I’ll crack your skull with this.” She held up a cricket bat. A cricket bat?

  “Sally, don’t shoot! I mean don’t hit me!” He pulled the hood of his sweatshirt back and moved his face into the dim light.

  “Bart? What the hell?”

  “I don’t respond well to profanity.”

  “Suppose I had a gun?”

  “What if you did? You’d shoot someone for breaking into a house you’d already broken into yourself?”

  Sally began to say something but stopped herself. She stood her ground and glared at Bart. Meanwhile, the action on whatever she was watching upstairs started to reach a crescendo. The moaning became louder and clearer. Could it be?

  Without a word she turned on her heel and flew up the steps. By the time Bart caught up she'd made the last key strokes to shut the computer down. He thought she pocketed a thumb drive from one of the USB ports but couldn’t be certain.

  “Sally, before you say anything, what’s up with the security system? Is that a camera in the breezeway and is it on?”

  “Only a motion detector and it’s not armed.” She crossed her arms in front of her and scowled.

  “You know this because?”

  “I just do, Bart. Alright? Now let’s get out of here.” She stomped across the room and down the stairs then stood waiting for him to come down.

  “OK, but I’d still like to know what brought you to the Rusikov's at this hour.”

  He allowed her to drag him through the kitchen and out the French doors. In a flash she tapped something into the security keypad and pulled him out into the motor court where they stood in dim light facing one another. She still had hold of his arm and from the way she looked at him, Bart let himself believe she might kiss him. Perhaps she had the same thought, but the mood didn't last. Sally pulled away from him and marched off to her car, turned, and said, “So where’s your Subaru, Bart?”

  “At the airport, and I put the Ferrari back in the garage."

  “I suppose you need a ride home?”

  “I certainly had no idea you might be here. I’d planned to walk.”

  “Get in.” Sally climbed behind the wheel and Bart didn’t have to be asked twice. He slid into the firm leather seat and belted himself in.

  “Thanks.”

  “Not necessary. I couldn't let someone abduct you or run you down on your way home.” She gunned the BMW out of the driveway and treated Zeigler to a high speed, hair raising ride exceeding anything he’d done with the purloined Ferrari.

  Sally brought the Z-4 to a squealing halt in front of Bart’s apartment building and sat for a moment in silence. Bart expected her to speak, but she stifled whatever she may have been planning to say. When she turned towards him Bart did the unimaginable. He impetuously leaned over and kissed her on the lips before bailing out of the car. It happened quickly but he thought she might have kissed him back. Not giving Sally a chance to speak he said, “Thanks, Sarah. I had a wonderful day.”

  Expecting a rebuke he stepped back a few paces, but the pretty blond sat looking at him, a cute smile on her face. A different smile. Nice. She bobbed her head gently in the affirmative and drove away. As he walked to his apartment the faint taste of her lipstick lingered and his heart raced. He also felt the remote control to Ivan’s garage in his hip pocket. Bart Zeigler went upstairs with a grin on his face.

  Half a world away Ivan Rusikov smiled and put his iPad down. He’d watched the security feed from his house and he had to admit, Bart surprised him with his bold theft of the Ferrari. Sally proved predictable, though, or was it reliable? Whatever. Things were going his way.

  Ivan picked up the iPad again and sent a brief message before returning to bed and the marvelous Italian girl he met at the hotel bar earlier.

  Sally threaded her car into the parking garage and ran up the stairs into her apartment. With Bart still on her mind and a smile on her lips she jammed the thumb drive into her laptop and went to work. He’s a sweet boy. What have I gotten into?

  27.