Joe's Black T-Shirt

by Joe Schwartz

  “Inside that building, all the way in the back is the film library. You come in, sign a log, and go back passing by all these fancy offices.”

  “You want to rip off the library?”

  “No. I want to steal the office next to it blind.”

  “Sounds iffy to me.”

  “I’ve already done a practice job.”

  James choked slightly in mid-swallow. In their business of living hand-to-mouth, there was no practice. Trial and error was their teacher.

  Kenneth sat straight, grinning smugly at having stumped his pal.

  “You have got to be shitting me,” James said. Holding up two fingers again, he peeled off another five.

  “I got the idea about six months ago,” Kenneth whispered as if someone might overhear. “I was standing in the film library, checking out the cartoon DVDs. Except for the jerk behind the counter unpacking delivery, ain’t nobody else around. I heard somebody say something and at first I thought it was the library guy, but shit he’s busier than a man at the gates of hell selling bibles, so I know it wasn’t him. Then I heard some laughter and some more talking. It was coming through the wall. Tapping a little here, a little there, the wall separating the film library and the business next door can’t be more than foot thick. Wouldn’t take nothing more than a recip saw to tear open a hole a truck could drive through.”

  “Why not use the door?”

  “It’s got a motion sensor attached. Saw it when I pretended to get lost looking for the library.”

  “Ain’t the library got one too?”

  “They got shit. A push bar with a built in alarm. Goddamn thing ain’t connected to nothing ‘cept a nine-volt battery.”

  “No shit?”

  “No shit. So that got me thinking,” Kenneth said, “how do I get inside. I tried the front door. Used a crow bar on that son of a bitch for an hour. It was useless. Damn door is sealed by a magnetic lock. Couldn’t go in that way without making a real mess. Then I tried a side door where everybody is forced to go smoke, same deal. Now at this point, I’m thinking fuck it, I’m going home when I see two garage doors. I’m standing there with my jimmy tool in my hand at two in the morning when the exit door starts to go up. Shit, man, I froze up like a statue. I thought my ass was grass.”

  The bartender ignored James’ two-fingered request, as he talked as into the phone behind the bar. It didn’t take a lip reader to see he was about to waste another three bills on the Rams.

  “Then this little silver number comes whipping out. Never saw me. The garage door still hanging open, I walked in. I opened the first door I came to and, presto baby, I was in the building. I went straight to the film library, ready to haul ass if the alarm went off. When it didn’t so much as peep, I could’ve died.”

  The bartender set another two shots down and grabbed the five. He reassured himself with all the reasons the team could win this Sunday, at the very least beat the nine-point spread he locked in with his bookie, as he separated his tip from the till.

  “The room was mine. I stuffed my coat pockets with movies, then went to leave. When I turned that handle, I couldn’t believe it.”

  “What?” James asked.

  “The goddamn door was locked from the inside.”

  “Holy shit!”

  “Tell me about it. I yanked and pulled on that motherfucker, but it was tight. There wasn’t a gap big enough for my tool much less a stick of gum. Walking around the room, I started trying the doors. Gotta be a fucking door every six foot and every one locked. The last door had a panic bar with big letters ‘EMERGENCY EXIT ONLY’ above the handle. Turned out to be another white elephant.”

  “Unbelievable,” James said. The story beat the one channel TV above the bar, and Kenneth’s company was far better than drinking alone.

  “I walked down the stairwell until I was right back where I started. Walking back to the garage exit, it hadn’t occurred to me how the hell I was gonna get out of there. I figured maybe there was a pressure plate or an electric eye that popped the garage door open when I saw it.”

  A new pitcher of beer replaced the empty. The bartender, primed by James’ regular tipping, made sure to give them new frost covered mugs before leaving the bar to wipe off tables.

  “A big red button like on that game show with the whammys. All I did was push it, and ‘open sesame’, the thing went up. I was amazed it was so simple. Finally, I went to my van and got the fuck out of there before somebody got nosy.”

  James sipped his beer. The buzz from the alcohol mixed well with the story. Definitely, not the first incredible tale told at this shellacked counter, certain not to be the last. First, the windfall from the guilt-laden yuppie, now this. James had read his horoscope this morning before he started his work. The psychic had proclaimed this to be his lucky day. He generally didn’t lend any credence to such nonsense. He read it for laughs. This, however, was too good to be true.

  “So, what’s the plan?” James asked.

  ***

  December twenty-third and the streets were deserted. A front had moved in bringing bitter cold and single-digit temperatures. Kenneth sat on a piece of cardboard near the garage door, drawing no suspicion from the occasional police cruiser. The bored cops didn’t see anything but another bum. He was frozen to the bone, yet watched the door with the vigilance of a mother over a sick child. James sat ready in the van, waiting for Kenneth to make his move.

  They had made a connection with a fence. He promised seventy per hard drive, twenty-five per monitor, if they were flat-screens, and a willingness to take any miscellaneous items if they were electronic. The way the world was heading, every damn thing worth taking had a computer chip. This haul should be enough to put him on fat street for awhile. He could buy some gifts, even if it would be after Christmas. It would be more than enough to see him through to the spring thaw. After that, he had no solid career plans besides stealing copper from foreclosed homes. It wouldn’t pay off anything like this, but opportunities like these were practically one in a million.

  Kenneth stood up as if an electric jolt shot through him. He floated backwards into the darkness like a diver going underwater.

  James watched, as a crack of light grew larger. A Hummer, a duplicate of the one from the off-ramp, leisurely drove out. The driver, busy with his cigar, CD player, and his cell phone, never saw Kenneth walk into the garage.

  The door closed and for a moment James thought about leaving. It wasn’t too late. As he put his hand on the door handle, needing to merely decide in which direction he would go, the garage door rose open again.

  Kenneth stood, posed with his hands crossed over his chest.

  James moved his hand from the door back to the steering wheel, gently put the transmission into drive, and steered the van through the open garage door.

  ***

  They sat in the cab of the parked van, sharing a cigarette. Mainly, Kenneth needed to get warm again. He had been almost ready to give up after three hours crouching on the piss and spit stained concrete.

  James wished he had remembered to bring a pint, something to calm his nerves, but glad he hadn’t. He needed a stone cold sober mind to do this work. When this was all done, he promised himself a case of top shelf whiskey and week in a hotel. It was akin to the promise given to those raghead assholes, the one that guaranteed seventy virgins in heaven. The difference was his chances living through this experience were far better than Abdul’s.

  Kenneth took the last drag from the cigarette and rubbed his hands together. “Let’s go to work.”

  James carried a fifty-foot, orange extension cord; a reciprocating saw; a can of red spray paint; and a three-pound sledge. Kenneth, who walked with no urgency, led the way comfortable as a man in his own home, James hoped his friend was right. The last thing he needed was to go back to the joint. A felony B&E was a mandatory five years in Jeff City with guys who had nothing to do all day but beat the fuck out of guys like him.

  They used the stairs t
o get to the first floor ignoring the beautiful, all-glass elevators.

  The elevators reminded James of the extravagant hotel in Kansas City where he had honeymooned with his ex-wife. He had almost gotten into a fistfight with the manager over the bill. Seemed an unreasonable cost to him for what amounted to nothing more than a bed and a toilet. Pamela, the ex, got him to pay the bill and apologized to the queer like he had shit in the hotel swimming pool. That should have told him what life was going to be like married to her. Unfortunately for Pamela, it took another five years before she realized he couldn’t change. Last he heard she had went out to Vegas to deal Tarot cards.

  They passed the men’s room and followed the signs to the library. Kenneth pointed to the office door behind where their score laid. The slim glass pane in the door offered no insight, and they moved down to the library’s door.

  The plain brown handle looked formidable. A lock was built into it presumably to arm its hidden siren that would announce a trespasser with a shrill whistle.

  “Here goes nothing,” Kenneth said.

  If the damn thing sounded, it was James job to smash it to bits with the sledge.

  The clack of the door’s lock released and, as before, the alarm failed to work. It was nice to see such consistency so early into the job. It was a matter of time now before they would get paid.

  Kenneth held it open for James, then set a triangular block under the door to keep it from shutting. Fool me once, he thought as he wedged the doorstop tight between the door and the carpeted floor.

  James went directly behind the counter and plugged the saw in a nearby outlet. The isosceles-shaped nose became a blur, whirring back and forth, as he gave the trigger a test pull. It felt good in his hands. He was more than ready to use it, hungry to destroy, the rush of adrenaline causing his hands to shake with excitement.

  Kenneth took the can of spray paint from James’ coat pocket, dropped it to the floor, and pushed an enormous audio-visual cart aside side to expose the bare wall. Using the spray can, he marked a red arch tall as he stood and three times as wide.

  “That should do it,” Kenneth said.

  “I’ll say,” James agreed.

  With the nose of the rigid blade firmly against the wall at the peak of the arch, James pulled the trigger. The electric saw immediately jumped back and almost leapt from his grasp. Slightly embarrassed, he tried again. This time he was careful not to hold the trigger down. He leaned his whole body into the tool as he tapped the trigger in short, controlled bursts of energy that allowed the sharp tip to plunge slightly deeper each time. Within a minute, he was able to hold the throttle wide open. The saw efficiently divided the thick plaster rock and the hidden wood studs. In twenty minutes, the wall would be nothing more than rubble.

  The machine was loud in the undisturbed silence. Unable to hear anything over the saw’s motor, James felt a slap against his shoulder.

  “I gotta use the john,” Kenneth yelled in his ear.

  James shook his head yes, never taking his eyes from his work. The notch-toothed blade devoured the wall. When he reached the floor, he followed the red line to the left and then to the right. Finished with the dust-covered tool, he could still feel the motor still vibrating in his palms as he used the sledgehammer to expose the office on the other side.

  There was enough light from the library to see half a dozen computers in the darkened office. Every desk accented with a flat top monitor. James only hoped that they would have enough time to poke through the drawers. There was probably a dozen of those IPods and a couple hundred bucks worth of trinkets stashed. Kenneth couldn’t have been more right about this score if he worked here. It was going to take all night to carry all this stuff to the van.

  Aggravated, Kenneth still hadn’t come back, James went to hunt him down. Lazy asshole, he thought. It was one thing to tear the wall out by himself. It was another to expect him to haul all this shit alone like some kind of goddam mule.

  When he pushed the wood, bathroom door open, careful not to put his hand against the shiny brass push-plate, he found Kenneth.

  “Jesus H. Christ!” James yelled, his voice echoing off the tiled walls.

  Kenneth stood in shock. Not sure what James had said, unsure if he was cursing at him or himself. He knew what he meant though. No two ways about it, they were fucked.

  The bald headed man in the gray blazer was dead. A knife with the Swiss Army logo on the handle stuck out from his chest. His eyes were frozen in perpetual surprise unlike the smiling picture that hung from his neck by a lanyard. The insignia of an embroidered library logo over his left breast ironically read ‘Know Better.’

  “I was finishing my business, coming back to help you,” Kenneth said. “I was going to wash my hands when this guy kicks the door open, holding that knife out. Before he could say boo, I rushed him. All I wanted to do was get by, leave him flat on his ass, but he grabbed me by the throat. We fell on the floor, him on top of me. He did it to himself, man.”

  James noticed an unusual bulge inside the dead man’s coat. Opening the guard’s jacket with the toe of his shoe, a dog-eared copy of ‘Spider Man’s Amazing Powers’ fell out.

  Kenneth’s shirt was crusting in coagulated blood. The red tide had become a sticky, black puddle under the man. Easy money, my ass, James thought.

  “What do you want to do now?” James asked.

  “Man, let’s get the fuck out of here.”

  “Without the computers? No fucking way.”

  “I don’t know, man.”

  “You don’t know. The hell you say.” James stood eye-to-eye with his partner. “Don’t you go chicken shit on me now. This is bad, no doubt, but…shit happens. Now deal with it.”

  ***

  They worked in silence, disconnecting the computer cables with a pair of lineman’s pliers, careful not to cut the power supplies to the hard drives or the monitors. They made trip after trip to the van through the back stairwell, filling the mini-van’s ample cargo space. They had planned to use the elevators, but neither could take the idea of having to pass the corpse in the bathroom over and over again.

  ***

  After going back to Kenneth’s house for a shower and clean clothes, while his mother bitched the whole time about her having to take the bus to work, they drove to Big Pop’s place.

  Soft jazz played through a small transistor radio bought new before Kenneth or James had been born. The tortoise shell case had faded over the years, but the sound was as clean as the day Big Pop bought it.

  The little bell jingled above the barbershop door. Big Pop sat in his chair, hidden behind his newspaper page. He knew who it was without looking.

  “What’s up, Pop?” Kenneth said.

  “Morning, boys,” He said as he laid the newspaper over his lap. “You two read the paper much?”

  “No, sir,” James said. Kenneth smiled as if Big Pop had recited a favorite joke.

  “I guess your generation gets all its information from that Internet.”

  “Sure, Pop,” Kenneth said, “whatever you say. Its been a long night and all I want to do is go to sleep. Where do you want these computers?”

  “You can throw them in the Mississippi for all I care.”

  “Now wait a minute,” James said. “We’ve gone through a hell of a lot of trouble to get these here. You made us a promise.”

  “True that,” Big Pop said, “Of course our deal went dead as disco when that guard got killed.”

  “What the hell you talking about, Pop?”

  “I’m talking about that ‘brave guard’ who was killed last night, who happens to be the Chief of Police’s godson.”

  He handed the folded newspaper over to them, the smiling picture from the guard’s ID badge was in full color, three times bigger for the front page. James mind flashed to the guard lying on the floor, lifeless. The knife embedded in the middle of his chest. A quote from the Chief promised ‘quick justice.’ James believed him.

  “All that work fo
r nothing,” Kenneth said.

  ***

  James took the crumpled, dirty bills from his pocket and combined them with the change on the bar. It had been a slow morning. It was always like that after the holidays. People were broke and the suburban guilt that had made him flush had now been replaced by the hangover of credit card debt. He had collected twenty-one dollars in six hours and felt damn fortunate to have done so well.

  The bartender moved slowly with his right arm in a sling. He placed a beer next to James’ half-empty shot glass, before he leaned against the bar with his good hand.

  “How’s your pal doing?”

  “He’s making it. Got lucky. Some big shot lawyer who hates the police took his case. His odds on the needle are still fifty-fifty though.”

  James swished the hard-liquor around in his mouth letting it burn his tongue and cheeks. The taste always reminded him that life was best if you remembered to enjoy the little things. Anybody could be rich, have nice clothes, a big house, and drive fancy cars. To be truly happy though was priceless.

  “Its some kind of world we’re living in,” the bartender said.

  “How so?” James asked.

  “Your buddy, the fucking Rams, this shitty economy. This world is going to hell in a handbasket.” Without asking, maybe out of habit or kindness, he refreshed James’ shot glass. “Know what I’m saying?”

  “Brother,” James said grateful for the free drink, “It could always be worse.”

  ###

  Free Advice

  The sign on the door read ‘closed for repairs.’ From what I could see, those repairs had ceased to exist. Through the dirty panes of glass, the abandoned store looked beautiful to me.

  In my mind I could clearly see it. A rainbow-colored jukebox would sit in the corner. A mahogany bar long as a school bus would serve the house special, a shot and a beer. Bottles of hard liquor would camouflage the mirror behind them and a cash register that relied upon paper receipts, not fallible computer chips would keep accounts square.