The Double Cross
Page 12
“There were a bunch of guys at the Econo Inn in Indian Grove, weren’t there?”
“Yeah?”
“So how many guys are in that drug crew?”
“You mean how many are here in town right now?”
“Yeah. We know there’s probably no money at Jackson Street, but is there any money at the Cape Cod?”
Roy nodded. “I like the way you think. But if it’s guarded, there’s no way.”
“But what if it’s not? What if they’re all in Indian Grove? If there’s a safe, can you crack it?”
“It depends. I’ve been learning from Jacob, but I’m no expert.”
“But you took Jacob’s tools.”
“That’s not the same thing as experience.”
“So we should skip it?”
“I didn’t say that. I’m saying don’t get your hopes up.”
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They drove south through the city. The Friday night traffic was busy near the Civic Auditorium. Just south of downtown, they took a right turn onto Ninth Street. Up ahead on the right was the neighborhood park, and across the street was the small Cape Cod. Roy pulled up to the curb at the park. The night was still overcast. The house was dark. There were no cars parked in the driveway.
“Looks innocent enough,” Carol said.
“Let’s do it.”
Roy got the bag of burglary tools out of the back seat and dug around in the bag until he found two flashlights. They walked quickly across the street and up the driveway to the back of the house. The backyard was quiet. No dogs barked. Roy turned on his flashlight. The doorknob was ancient, but a new deadbolt had been installed above it.
“Well?” Carol asked.
“No problem. Keep your light on the lock.” He picked the lock and eased the door open. They were standing in the kitchen. The stairs to the basement were to their left. They moved through the living room and up the stairs to the bedrooms, their flashlights showing the way. Two of the bedrooms were empty. The largest one contained a king-size bed and a dresser. Women’s clothes hung in the closet, and shoes littered the floor. There was no money in the dresser drawers, there were no shoeboxes full of cash in the closet, and there was no safe.
They went back downstairs. They looked in the TV cabinet and under the sofa and chairs, just in case, but they found nothing. They went back into the kitchen and shined their lights on the door to the basement stairs. It was steel.
Roy studied the deadbolt. “This one’s going to be harder.”
He worked at it for a few minutes with the lock picks. Finally, the bolt slid back. He pulled the door open. It was pitch black. “Windows must be sealed,” Carol said.
Roy found the light switch and flipped it on. They went down the wooden stairs. The basement was concrete block. Plywood was nailed over the windows. Against the far wall, a small safe was bolted to the floor. Next to it, a money counting machine sat on a folding table.
“I don’t know, Carol. This might be beyond me.”
“We’re already here.”
“You’re right. Go upstairs and watch out the window.”
She disappeared up the stairs.
Roy looked over the surfaces of the safe, the money-counting machine, and the folding table, just in case someone had written down the combination. It seemed counterintuitive—stupid, really—but people often left the combination jotted down on the wall or on a piece of tape stuck to the bottom of a nearby surface. Never underestimate a mark’s laziness—that was one of Jacob’s sayings. No such luck tonight. Roy opened the burglary tool bag and pulled out a laminated card that contained a list of “try out” combinations that manufacturers supplied with new safes. He tried the four that matched this brand of safe, but Jimmy must have reset the combination. He took a deep breath. He needed to relax. There was nothing to lose and everything to gain. Jacob had shown him how to crack a safe old-school, but he hadn’t ever done one by himself.
He squatted in front of the safe and spun the dial to get a fresh start. The “try out” combination list indicated that this safe had a three-number combination, which meant three notched wheels that had to be lined up for the safe to open. He turned the dial slowly, listening for the clicks that indicated the edges of each notch in each of the wheels. He graphed the results until he had the numbers—sixteen, fifty-seven, nine—and wrote out the six possible combinations. Then he tried them all. The door wouldn’t open. One of the numbers must have been wrong.
He started over, but he got the same result. He rechecked the safe brand against the “try out” combination list. It was definitely a three-number combination. He stood up and ran his hands through his hair. The money was right here. There had to be a way to get to it. He scanned the room again. Nothing here except the folding table and the money counter. He lay down on his back and used his flashlight to look at the bottom of the folding table, but the result was no different from when he’d glanced under it to begin with. He picked up the money counter and looked at the bottom. No tape. No scratchy writing. Just a model number. 16AFG23H09.
Wait a minute. Two of the numbers were the same as the likely combination numbers. Maybe he was going to finally catch a break. He tried the model numbers—sixteen, twenty-three, nine—in various orders. On the fifth try, the door opened. He smiled to himself. Jimmy was one sneaky bastard—just not sneaky enough.
Inside the safe was a plastic bag of money and a Colt .45 automatic. Roy shut the safe and started up the stairs. Carol met him in the kitchen.
“I got lucky,” he said.
She smiled in the gloom. “How much?”
He opened the bag on the kitchen table. There were two bundles wrapped with rubber bands, each marked $10,000. He handed one bundle to her. She chuckled. He put the other bundle in his jacket pocket and picked up the bag of burglary tools. “Let’s get out of here.”
They turned off the basement lights and locked the doors on their way out. The neighborhood was quiet as they scurried down the driveway and across the street to the Monte Carlo.
Just as Roy was opening the driver’s door, a man got out of the car parked behind them and started toward them. It was the fat city detective who’d stopped them yesterday. His hand was resting on the gun holstered at his hip.
“You two are the nerviest mopes I’ve seen in a long time.”
“What are you talking about?” Roy asked.
“How much was in the safe?”
“What?”
“Don’t play dumb. I’m guessing breaking and entering, possession of an illegal firearm and burglary tools, and that’s before I run your prints. I’m a reasonable guy. Give me the money and get out of here.”
Roy thought about the .44 he was carrying. Was this cop really dirty? He didn’t want to shoot him if he didn’t have to, but he wasn’t going to jail. He set the bag of burglary tools on the pavement. “I’m reaching for the money.” He took the rubber-banded bundle out of his jacket pocket. “How about if we split it fifty-fifty?”
The detective shook his head. “That’s my money.”
“Not even a finder’s fee?”
“Walking away is your finder’s fee.”
Roy handed him the bundle of bills. The detective riffled through it with his thumb before he slipped it into his sports coat pocket. “Is this all there was?”
“Yeah.”
He peered at Carol. “How about you, young lady? You carrying any money?”
“No,” she said. There was a tremor in her voice.
“How old are you?”
“Old enough.”
He sniggered. “Already a tough guy, huh? How about if I pat you down?”
She turned and put her hands on the fender of the Monte Carlo.
Roy watched the detective look from him to Carol and back. Roy shifted his hand to get closer to the .44. What was the detective thinking? If he made two steps, he was going in the trunk alive or dead.
But the detective didn’t step forward. He just snorted and turned to
Roy. “Hand me that bag.”
Roy handed him the bag of burglary tools. The detective opened it. The .45 from the safe was sitting on top. “Well, well.”
“Can I at least have the bag back?”
“No. Get out of here before I change my mind.”
Roy and Carol got into the Monte Carlo. The detective was still standing in the street holding the bag of burglary tools when they made a right turn at the first stop sign. “That cop knew way too much,” Carol said.
“But you played it well. We still have half the money, and we didn’t have to kill him.”
“Where are we going?”
“To the train station. We’re going to put this car back into the long-term parking and pick up the Bronco.”
They drove north through town. The streets were quiet except for the occasional pedestrian or dog walker. Neither one spoke for a while.
Finally, Roy said, “Well, that’s five thousand apiece, plus the eight hundred. Not as much as I hoped, but a lot more than you’ve ever seen at one time. After we switch cars, what do you want me to do? You still haven’t told me.”
She watched him drive. He was asking her what she wanted. Did he already know the answer or was he really waiting to find out? Was that how his game worked? He gained her trust by actually caring about her and catering to her needs? If so, it was the subtlest form of manipulation she’d ever seen. She shook her head. Roy had definitely worked his magic on her. Looking back now, she could see how it had happened—all the care he’d taken to win her over. He’d been wooing her from the very beginning. She wondered if she could learn to charm him as well as he’d charmed her. He would make a real challenge, not like Terry or the marks they’d hunted. “What are you going to do?”
“Find a score big enough so that I can go on a long vacation.”
“How long?”
“Two or three months.”
“Won’t be much fun by yourself.”
“Probably not.”
“Maybe I should come along.”
He smiled. “That sounds like a great idea.”
He stopped in the left turn lane at a traffic light. “I know a guy that may have a lead on a job. Couldn’t much use him before. Need a man and a woman team for a lot of jobs.”
“I can leave whenever I want?”
“You’re a free woman.” He turned onto Jensen Boulevard. The train station was up ahead on the right.
“I’m not saying that I’m your girl.”
“I know.”
“So we really are partners?”
“Yeah.”
“You know my real name. What’s yours?”
“Paul Kendal. But I won’t be using it, and you won’t be using Carol. We’re going to change names and get new IDs. It just makes everything easier.”
“So where are we going next?”
“We’re going to get out of this town, spend the night at a motel on the interstate. Tomorrow I’ll call my guy and see what kind of job we can get lined up.”
“You think we can really do this?”
He flashed a smile. “Honey, us, together, we’re going to have a really good time.”
A Note from the Author
Thanks for reading The Double Cross. Please consider telling your friends or posting a short review on a review site of your choice. Your review will help other readers choose books that they’ll enjoy.
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I’d love to hear from you. You can reach me at my website: http://michaelpking.org
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The Travelers
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The Double Cross: A Travelers Prequel
The Traveling Man: Book One
The Computer Heist: Book Two
The Blackmail Photos: Book Three
The Freeport Robbery: Book Four