Yes. Robin remembered. It was before he started hanging out at the Center. That story had been all over the news. Everyone was so sad. There’d been a big public funeral. But nothing changed. A couple of weeks after the shooting, the streets were as dangerous as ever.
“That was her,” Mr. Smith said, in a voice barely louder than a whisper. “And this? This is a little bit of payback.” He slowed the Chevy and pulled to the curb.
Robin saw the sign for the U-Store.
“Boss? We still doin’ this?” Mr. Smith asked.
Robin swallowed and then bit his lower lip nervously. They could still turn back. In a few minutes, not so much. He made a decision.
“We follow the plan and do this for Lily,” Robin declared. “Everyone got their pepper spray in their pockets?”
They did. Mr. Smith had brought empty backpacks for everyone to load in the Rangers’ money. Robin had brought a pack of his own, with supplies he thought might be overlooked. The pepper spray was in his pocket.
Mr. Smith and Robin went into the visitor parking area, adjacent to the office, to scope it out. Robin put up his hoodie; Mr. Smith pulled down his dark hat. They walked in single file, avoiding the security cameras. Behind the office they found the security control box. Mr. Smith chuckled. “Look at this el-cheapo lock.” He opened the box and showed Robin which buttons to push. Ta-da! Cameras disabled.
They signaled to Kaykay and Sly to join them but to stay out of sight. Then Robin and Mr. Smith stepped to the mechanical gate through which all cars and trucks had to pass to enter the storage yard. There was a different control box for the gate. Inside that box was a mass of wires.
“I think what you do is take this blue one and this red one and reverse them,” Mr. Smith instructed. “Go on, son. Do it.”
Robin used a small screwdriver to do just that.
It was like one of Sly’s magic tricks. The gate opened.
CHAPTER NINE
The night was cool, but nervous sweat popped out on Robin’s body as they stepped into the storage yard, moving as quickly as Mr. Smith’s bum foot would let them. Robin knew the Rangers’ blockhouse was at the back of the yard. Most of the other storage units were in long warehouses, but the Rangers had a small building of their own. It took minutes to reach it. When they did, they saw it stood in near darkness, far away from any overhead lights.
Mr. Smith hissed angrily. “I’m such an idiot. Anyone bring a flashlight?”
“Not me,” Sly admitted.
“Me neither,” Kaykay whispered, slapping herself on the head. “I’m an idiot too.”
“No worries, dudes. I got one.” A small flashlight was one of the things Robin had stuck in his pack.
“Thank God!” Sly exhaled.
“That’s why Robin is in charge,” Kaykay said admiringly.
There was no time to bask in the glory of a stupid flashlight. Robin shined the light on the blockhouse metal door. They got a good look at the single lock. It was circular, with a hard metal case.
“Well, well,” Mr. Smith said softly. “What we got here is a tubular pin tumbler lock. Folks think they’re impossible to pick.”
“Can you do it? Fast?” Robin demanded. They had ten minutes if they were going to stay on schedule. Maybe even less.
Mr. Smith extracted a tool from his bag. It had a black rubber handle and a protruding metal piece with several metal bands around it. “This is a tubular pin tumbler pick. Let’s see if I still have the touch. Robin, help me.”
Mr. Smith showed Robin how the pick worked. He held the light and let Robin insert it gently into the keyhole of the lock, unscrew the tension, align the pins on the pick with the pins in the lock, and twist gently.
The lock popped open.
Sly and Kaykay did a silent happy dance. Robin could hardly believe it. The door to the Rangers’ storage room was unlocked. All they had to do was slide it up on its runners and slip inside. What would they find? If they found money, could they really get away with stealing fifty thousand dollars?
Decision time again. Do or die. Maybe do and die. Or get the hell out of here and go back to being normal kids, not some Robin-in-da-hood posse playing with fire.
“I hate the Rangers. Let’s do it,” he muttered.
He stuck the pick in his pocket, then pulled up the hard metal gate. The door swung up with a clatter. Since Robin had the flashlight, he led the way inside. Heart racing, knees weak, he shined the light around the interior.
No! No, no, no, no!
There was nothing in the storage room but white document storage boxes you could buy for a buck at a dollar store. Those boxes were everywhere, stacked floor to ceiling, five or six boxes deep.
“I think we’re in the wrong place,” Sly moaned.
Robin thought so too. Instead of a gang storage room full of loot, they’d broken into one that held some company’s old files. Totally useless.
What had happened? Had the GPS messed up? Had Robin misread the map? Anything was possible.
“All right, kids,” Mr. Smith said. “It was a good try. Let’s lock ’er up and head on home ’fore someone gets hurt.”
Kaykay and Sly headed for the entrance with Mr. Smith, but Robin wasn’t ready to leave just yet. He shined the light around the room, going from box to box. There was something wrong. Something didn’t look right. But what?
Then he knew.
“Hold it, everyone! Come back!” he called out, louder than he’d planned.
“Robin, man, let’s just go home and—” Sly began.
“I can prove it!”
Once his friends were back in the storage room, Robin stepped over to the closest stack of boxes. He snatched the lid off the nearest box and fixed his flashlight beam on the contents.
Cash. Lots of it.
“Omigod, Robin, you’re right!” Kaykay exclaimed.
Robin yanked the lid off another box. More money. And another. Even more money. Then, because he saw the boxes weren’t flush against the cinder block walls, he got Sly to help him move a stack of them. In the space behind the boxes was all kinds of loot. Flat screen TVs. Jewelry. A fancy set of candlesticks in gold and silver. Silverware. Designer clothing. More jewelry.
Kaykay moved over to him. “How did you know?”
Robin shined the light on the sides of a row of boxes. “There’s no writing. If they belonged to a business? There’d be writing. Dates, contents, and whatnot. The Rangers use these boxes to fool people. They almost fooled us.”
“Good for you,” Mr. Smith said with admiration.
“Robin in da hood, Robin in da hood!” Sly sang.
“We have found the bank of badness,” Robin announced. “Now, let’s make a fifty thousand dollar withdrawal and get out of here.”
He checked his cell. They were bumping up against their time limit.
They worked together, counting money by flashlight and sticking it in their bags. It was amazing how fast they got to fifty thousand. Robin wondered how much cash was in this place. Five million? Ten million? It really was the bank of badness.
Robin smiled.
This be our ATM. We can make withdrawals whenever we want.
They had fifty grand in no time flat. It didn’t take three minutes to get the room back in order, the gate shut, and the lock replaced.
Five minutes later, they were outside the storage facility. Five more minutes, they were in the car and on their way to the hood.
There was one tense moment when an Ironwood police cruiser followed them for a block or two, but it was a false alarm.
They were fifty thousand dollars richer. And the next morning, they’d be giving it all away.
CHAPTER TEN
On Tuesday morning, Robin and Sly found themselves summoned from algebra class to an unscheduled assembly.
When Principal Kwon made the announcement on the P.A., Robin and Sly shared a fist bump as other kids shouted with joy at the news—no algebra this morning. They knew what this assembly was going t
o be about. It was going to be about them and what they did last night … even if no one else in the school would know it.
“Okay, okay!” Their math teacher was Dr. Tyler. Rumor had it that she had been a college professor before she had a nervous breakdown. She had a bit of an edge to her as she tried to calm her excited students. “Settle down. Hold your horses, everyone! Line up by the front door; we’ll walk quietly to the assembly. Quietly! Very, very, quietly!”
So much for quietly. The halls were full of excited, noisy kids. Instead of gathering in the auditorium for a school assembly, kids had to cram into the cafeteria. The auditorium was closed for repairs. Word was that it had been closed for repairs since Clinton was president.
When Robin and Sly got to the cafeteria, it was packed with students. They found a place to sit on the grimy floor. Then Robin looked for Kaykay. There she was, with Tyrone and Dodo, about twenty feet away. She flipped him off and stuck out her tongue. Tyrone and Dodo cracked up. So did Robin, after he turned away so he couldn’t be seen.
“Kaykay’s keeping up her act,” he told Sly.
“You don’t think she actually likes those dudes, do you?” Sly asked.
Robin shook his head. “Nah. No way.”
“How’re we gonna make it so she can hang with us again?”
“She does hang with us,” Robin said.
“I mean in public. It’s good she’s our spy, but we done found the bank of badness. We don’t need her to spy no more.”
Robin turned his palms up. “We gotta figure that out.”
A moment later, Mr. Kwon stepped to the microphone that had been set up at the east end of the cafeteria. He was well built, with a mop of hair that he wore slicked back, and a suit that Robin thought was straight from Diddy’s closet. Robin thought it was pretty funny that his school had a principal with swag. Except for Mr. Simesso, who wore his blue-on-blue with flair, adults at this school dressed like his gramma.
“Settle down, please,” Principal Kwon said as he tapped the mic. “We have just a few minutes.”
Everybody booed. Mr. Kwon cracked a smile.
“Sorry to disappoint you. But we’re gathered today to honor an esteemed member of the Ironwood community. Before I do, I’d like to ask Ms. Herald, our school librarian, to join me. Ms. Herald?”
Sly nudged Robin in the ribs. If they needed confirmation that the assembly was about the library, they just got it.
An obviously giddy Ms. Herald joined Mr. Kwon at the mic. As unhappy as she’d been when Robin had seen her in the library, today she was beaming.
Mr. Kwon kept speaking. “As you students know, we thought that the school library was going to have to close. In fact, we’ve been working to close it down. But a remarkable man—not a rich man, an ordinary man, a military vet who became a lock-smith!—has come forward with a donation of fifty thousand dollars of his own money to keep that library open for you. Ironwood Central High School—please welcome Mr. Hiram Smith!”
The cafeteria erupted in cheers and hollering. Sly, Robin, and Kaykay leaped to their feet to clap. Most of the other students did too. Even if kids didn’t care about school, they were impressed that a stranger had given fifty grand of his own money so they could have a library.
If they heard the truth, Robin thought as he applauded for Mr. Smith, they’d never believe it. I can hardly believe it myself. Robin in da hood. Oh yeah.
Robin and Sly kept cheering as Mr. Smith creaked his way to the mic. Their friend wore a jacket and tie for the occasion.
“God bless the bank of badness,” Sly said as they sat down.
“You know it, dude.” Robin clapped him on the back.
When the crowd had settled, Mr. Smith made a brief speech. He talked about the importance of books, how much he loved the library when he’d been a student at this very school, and how readers were leaders. He thanked Principal Kwon for being willing to meet with him in the first place.
Then he told a ginormous whopper of a lie.
“When I was a young man, I was in the army. After my discharge, I ran a locksmith shop right here in the hood. I saved my money my whole life—I never had a wife or kids to spend it on. I knew somehow that I would want that money for something. And now, I know why I saved it: so I could give you kids a school library. Use my gift! Use your library! Thank you, Ironwood Central High School, for giving me the chance to make this gift, and God bless you all!”
The audience stood and cheered again. Ms. Herald ran to Mr. Smith and hugged him. The crowd roared. Then Robin saw Mr. Smith peer into the crowd, looking for someone.
Him.
Mr. Smith’s eyes fixed on Robin’s face. He flashed a double thumbs up.
Robin thumbs-upped him right back, feeling on top of the world. His grandmother was on the road to health, the library was saved, and the bank of badness was there to be robbed whenever they wanted.
He didn’t know what could be better.
“Welcome, Robin Paige! Welcome back to the place I want to leave as soon as possible!”
As Robin stepped into Miz Paige’s hospital room at County General, he was thrilled to see his grandmother sitting in one of the two chairs near the window. She still had an IV drip leading into her arm, but this was the first time since she’d gotten sick that Robin had seen her out of bed.
She had a visitor too. It was Missus Collins from church, who harrumphed loudly.
“You’d better be out of this room soon, Miz Paige. You have a birthday party to cater on Sunday afternoon,” the older lady declared, in a voice so loud that Robin was sure it could be heard at the nurse’s station.
“The party’s Sunday?” Robin asked. He slung his backpack on the bed and sat on the edge.
“Why shouldn’t it be Sunday? I’m fine, and I’ve got a restaurant to run,” Miz Paige said, with all her regular spunk. “I’m still counting on you and your friends to serve and clean up.”
“We’ll be there,” Robin told her.
“You’d better,” his grandmother fake-warned. “And if you can get your friend Kaykay to drop that crazy vegetarian thing and eat some fine shrimp? I’ll double your pay.”
“Never gonna happen, Gramma.”
“I’ll triple his pay!” Missus Collins declared. She smoothed out a wrinkle in the long gray dress she wore. Robin noticed for the first time that her fingers were gnarled by arthritis. “That is, if he can find the people who took my candlesticks and open up a can of whoopass!”
“Missus Collins! Watch your language!” Miz Paige scolded.
“I’m not taking it back,” the woman said. “The more I think about those candlesticks, the madder I get. I wanted to give them to my daughter Denise. Those candlesticks are like family!”
“Missus Collins, don’t get so upset,” Miz Paige tried to reassure her. “You’re alive, you’re kickin’, you’re talkin’ about openin’ cans of whoopass—that’s what your children really want.”
Suddenly, Missus Collins started to weep.
“I … I know,” she said through her tears. “But it’s so—it’s just so hard. I don’t have money to give my children. All I had was those candlesticks …”
Robin sat uncomfortably as his grandmother comforted Missus Collins. He knew his grandmother was right—the important thing was to be alive. He’d live in a box in the park if it meant his own parents could be alive again. Yet he could see how much Missus Collins was hurting. He felt for her. He wished there was something he could—
Whoa.
He drew in his breath so sharply that both his grandmother and Missus Collins stared.
“Robinson Paige, are you okay?” his grandmother asked. She only ever called him Robinson when something was seriously wrong.
“I’m—I’m fine,” Robin told them, even as the shock of realization he’d felt was still zinging through his body.
Missus Collins helped us by writing that check even before the party. There is something I can do to help her, Robin realized. And I’m gonna do
it.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
This is dangerous,” Kaykay muttered.
“Maybe we should go home,” Sly agreed.
“We’re in this together or we’re not in it at all,” Robin told them as he took a small screwdriver from his pocket. “Which is it gonna be?”
It was eight o’clock the next evening, Wednesday. His grandmother had come home at noon. Robin had told her that he was going to the Center to study with his friends, and that Reverend Thomas would drop him home by nine fifteen. He knew that Sly and Kaykay had told their parents variations on the same thing.
They’d all lied. Instead of heading to the Center, they’d met up and took a city bus that dropped them off three blocks from the U-Store place. That same bus made its last pickup at eight thirty.
The plan was: do what they had to do, catch that bus, and be home by nine fifteen.
If everything went according to plan, it’d be no problem.
The three kids shared a look. They were dressed in dark clothes and hoodies. Robin carried a small backpack. It was all they would need for tonight’s withdrawal from the bank of badness.
“You’re the leader, Robin,” Kaykay declared. “If you want to do this, I’m in.”
“I do,” Robin told her.
“Then I’m in too,” said Sly.
“Good. Now, let’s hope this works again.” Robin unscrewed the metal plate from the gate controller and reversed the red and blue wires just like they’d done on Monday night. He’d already disabled the security cameras.
The gate opened.
“Yes! Let’s go!” Robin exulted.
Without Mr. Smith to slow them down, the kids ran all the way to the Rangers’ blockhouse. When they got there, Robin had Sly shine a light on the circular lock while he dug the tubular pick out of his backpack. Just like on Monday night, he inserted the pick and worked it in the lock the way Mr. Smith had taught him.
The Bank of Badness Page 5