The Lockpicker

by Leonard Chang

  “Well, live and learn. Catch you later. My son wants to see a movie.” He said goodbye and left.

  Rachel asked Eugene, “Did you know about that? What company?”

  He nodded. “He started Blue Zone, a temp agency for middle managers in the tech industry. Manpower bought it.”

  “So, he’s rich?” Jake asked. “That’s why he retired?”

  Eugene nodded.

  “That bastard was rubbing your nose in it, wasn’t he,” Rachel said. “He told you to get out?”

  “About four years ago. When the bugs began appearing.”

  “Smug little man.” Rachel stabbed a piece of beef on the grill with her chopstick. “How much did he get for his company?”

  “The papers said something like five million.”

  Jake looked up. “That guy was worth five million dollars?”

  “Well, less, after taxes, but depending on how he was paid, maybe about three million.”

  Everything became a little fuzzy. His brother spoke of this as if it were nothing. What the hell was going on here? Jake asked, “Are you rich?”

  Eugene smiled broadly, close to laughter. “Rich? I think not. We’re working in negative territory right now.”

  “Negative? You mean debt?”

  “I mean debt with a capital D.”

  “How much debt?”

  Eugene and Rachel exchanged glances. Rachel shrugged. “He just told us about his problems. What’s the big deal?”

  Eugene said to Jake, “Debt is an interesting thing. There’s big debt—the mortgage—which we don’t even count. There’s small debt—credit cards, car leases, payment plans for furniture—which hover over us. There’s also leftover school loans—”

  “Wait. You still have school loans?”

  “Ah. Right. I guess the good thing about skipping college is you don’t have to owe anyone money.”

  “You’re still paying off school?”

  “Almost done, but yes.”

  “So how much do you owe?”

  “For school?”

  “For everything.”

  “Not including the mortgage?”

  “Sure.”

  He looked at Rachel again, and she frowned. She said, “There’s also my own separate credit card debt. And yours.”

  “Right. In addition to the joint one.”

  Rachel closed her eyes for a moment, and said, “Something like sixty?”

  “No, you’re forgetting the Passat.”

  She opened her eyes wide and grinned. “Yes. That’s a whopper.”

  Eugene said, “So maybe seventy?’

  “Don’t you know?” she asked.

  “It’s on the computer. That big red line.”

  She laughed. “It’s so red it fills the room.” Eugene gave her a crooked smile.

  Jake was confused. “So, how much?”

  “Not sure,” Eugene said. “About seventy thousand.”

  “Seventy thousand dollars?” Jake asked. “You two owe seventy thousand dollars?”

  They turned to him, their faces unconcerned. “You don’t have to yell it,” Rachel said.

  “Jesus Christ. Jesus. I can’t believe it.” Jake felt something twist inside him. They owed more than he had ever seen in his life. If he owed that much to anyone he wouldn’t be able to function. He had never even applied for a credit card because he didn’t like the idea of a company having something over him. He looked at his brother, then at Rachel, but they had already moved on, Eugene asking Rachel how work had been today.

  The waitress brought another dish: marinated squid for grilling. Jake poked at the appetizers, sipped soup, but had already eaten more than usual. Eugene said, “Are you still thinking about our debt? It’s common, believe it or not.”

  “Maybe.”

  “We were almost rich once,” Rachel said to Jake. “Did he tell you about it?”

  He shook his head.

  Eugene said, “Never mind that.”

  “No, it’s a good story,” Rachel said. “Eugene’s stock options of ManageSoft were worth close to a quarter of a million once, and if they had gone public, which they were planning to, his stake would’ve been worth maybe a million, probably more.”

  “Holy shit,” Jake said. “Is she serious?”

  Eugene said, “But then there was a lawsuit with some clients, the IPO was put on hold, and some bugs began appearing. It went downhill.”

  “You never told me this.”

  “You never asked.”

  Jake said, “So what’s your share worth now?”

  Eugene waved his hands in the air. “Who knows?”

  “You know,” Rachel said. “Don’t they calculate it quarterly?”

  “They do. The losses keep rising.” He turned to Jake. “Debt with a capital D.”

  Rachel smiled. “But for a moment, it was really nice.”

  Eugene laughed. “We actually looked for a big-momma house in Marin. What a joke.”

  “Seventy grand,” Jake said quietly.

  “Stop that,” Eugene said. “It’s common.”

  “Common.”

  “Dad had tons of debt. Did you know that? He had a hell of a time getting out from under it.”

  Jake said, “I didn’t know that.”

  “You were young. He filed for bankruptcy, went on a payment plan. It was harsh.”

  “How old were you?” Rachel asked Eugene.

  “Twelve. This was right after our mother left. In a way that bankruptcy helped for college later. I was able to get a lot of financial aid. Big-ass loans.”

  Rachel turned to Jake. “You were how old when she left?”

  “About eight.”

  “What was it like?” Rachel asked.

  Jake shrugged. Eugene said, “After she left? Our father was really pissed for a while.”

  “Did he get more violent?” she asked.

  Jake was startled. He looked at Eugene, who nodded and said, “Yes, our good mother sometimes took the brunt for us, and with her gone, it was a little tough.”

  “You told?” Jake said.

  “Well, she’s my wife,” Eugene said. He hesitated, then added, “At least for now.”

  Rachel turned sharply towards him. Jake felt a headache coming on. He wondered how long he was going to stay. Probably not much longer. He just didn’t understand this kind of thing. He knew locks. He knew jewelry. He knew pasta salads. He didn’t know much else.

  10

  Three weeks ago Jake had received a note in his drop box from Chih, his fence and occasional appraiser of jewelry. Chih-seh Ing owned a jewelry shop near Westlake Center in downtown Seattle, the cash-heavy tourist trade helping him unload stolen jewelry. His store was a few blocks from Westlake Center and Pike Place Market, and Jake often stopped by the store when he went shopping. He dropped by on a Sunday afternoon, Chih selling upscale trinkets to some Chinese tourists and speaking a mix of Chinese and English. Chih was actually a Filipino American, his parents part of a Chinese contingent in Manila, and they had all emigrated to the U.S. when Chih was young. He spoke English, Tagalog, and Mandarin, and had managed somehow to get his store listed in a few foreign travel guides.

  Chih, a short, squat man shaped like a barrel, saw Jake near the entrance and waved at him to stay. Jake heard him arguing in another language with a Chinese couple, but he kept adding in English, “Only if it’s cash. You get a deal if it’s cash.” When he finished the sale, he bounced over to Jake, who was looking at the postcard racks.

  “You got my message?” Chih asked, shaking Jake’s hand. Chih’s Rolex seemed too large for his wrist.

  “Yeah. You know, I’m not really looking for a new job right now.” Jake motioned to the postcards. “What’s with these?”

  “I need more tourist stuff. I’ll probably get a few more displays like this.”

  “Do you always haggle?”

  “The Asians like to haggle, especially if I speak the language.”

  “And you get cash.”


  Chih’s moon face broke into a smile. “Of course.”

  “So what’s this about?”

  “There’s this kid, a brother of a friend, who’s setting up a jewelry thing, and needs someone good with getting into a home.”

  “A house? Private house?”

  “Yeah.”

  “No one there, though—”

  “Of course not.”

  “Who’s the kid?”

  “Remember Null? Kevin Null?”

  “The guy that got killed?”

  “Yeah, that’s him. His brother.”

  “He had a brother?”

  “From L.A. Came up to visit his mother after Kevin died.”

  “Null was an asshole.”

  “Yeah, sometimes.”

  “Didn’t he pull a gun on some cops?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I don’t know,” Jake said. “From L.A.? Is he in any gang? I don’t want to deal with any of these gang kids.”

  “Why don’t you talk to him? I can tell him to meet you here tomorrow.”

  “I gotta work tomorrow.”

  “Where are you working?”

  Jake said, “Make it two days from now. Lunch time. I’ll meet him here and see what he’s got to say. What’s your cut?”

  “Depends on the take, but ten percent off the top.”

  “Plus shafting us on the jewelry.”

  “If there is any,” he said, smiling. “But I’ll give you a good price.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  “You’re working a regular job now? Since when?”

  “Since forever, it feels like. I gotta run. I’m still not sure about this, Chih.”

  “Just talk to him. See what you think.”

  Jake left. He had let it slip that he was working, but caught it quickly. Information about your life, any kind of information, was a crack in your shield; the more people knew about you, the easier it was to get at you somehow. When he was in high school and had broken into the principal’s office, he was caught not because he had left anything behind, or had triggered any alarms. He was caught because he had told a friend he wouldn’t have to worry about the disciplinary notices in his file. He would graduate. That was all he had said, and when he was expelled he knew what had gone wrong. A whisper here, a rumor there, and it all had led back to him. It was pride, wasn’t it? He had managed to unlock a window using a knife, and had hurried straight to the registrar’s files. He had found his flagged file, saw the five disciplinary notes with an attachment for a parental conference and a petition for suspension. He simply took the forms and two of the disciplinary notices, and unflagged his file. There was no guarantee this would work, but if his father didn’t hear from the school, he was free.

  His father did hear from the school, and it wasn’t for a suspension; it was for expulsion. Although they couldn’t prove it was he who had broken in and altered his file, and the school suspected inside help, Jake was kicked out six months before graduation. His brother wanted to appeal. Jake didn’t care. He received his G.E.D. the following fall, fulfilling a promise he had made to Eugene. He attended a few classes at a community college, and soon drifted away from school.

  But it was pride. He had circumvented the principal, and needed to tell someone. Even though he was careful not to reveal too much, the leak had exposed him. He had never let that happen again. The only people who were able to make any connections were Eugene and, by extension, Rachel. But their knowledge was sketchy at best. His brother’s prodding at dinner had been unusual.

  When they returned to the apartment, Eugene asked Rachel, “You cleaned?”

  “I cleaned.”

  “Sorry. I didn’t know you’d be back so soon. I was going to…”

  He trailed off.

  “Damn. I forgot.” She snapped her fingers. “We need toilet paper.”

  “I’ll go back out—”

  “No, it’s okay. Tomorrow I’ll do some shopping.”

  “No, I’ll go now. I was planning to, but ran late—”

  “Forget it. I’ll go tomorrow.”

  Eugene cocked his head. “It’s no big deal. I’ll just run to the—”

  “I said I’ll go tomorrow. I always end up doing the shopping anyway.”

  Eugene’s face tensed. He replied slowly, “That’s not true. I do some of the shopping.”

  Rachel folded her arms, her jaw tightening. “You shop for beer and that’s all.”

  Jake rubbed his eyes, then held his head. He sighed loudly.

  This distracted both of them, and they turned to him. “What?” Eugene said.

  “I came at a really bad time. I’m sorry. I’ll get my stuff and go.”

  “No,” Rachel said.

  “No way,” Eugene said. He grabbed his coat. “You’re staying. We have the extra room. I’m going to get the toilet paper.” He marched out of the apartment.

  The living room became still in his wake, and Jake kept rubbing his temples. When he looked up he saw that Rachel’s cheeks were red.

  “This,” Jake said. “This… You know, I should really stay somewhere else.”

  She frowned and shook it off. She said in a strong voice, “Don’t be silly.”

  “What’s been happening here?”

  Rachel stared, tilting her head.

  Jake said, “Never mind. None of my business.”

  She remained still, appraising him. Finally she cleared her throat. “Is it true,” she asked, “that your father used to lock you two in the basement naked while he beat your mother?”

  “Jesus.” He stepped back. “You can’t ask me that.”

  “Why not?”

  He hesitated. “I don’t know. You just can’t.”

  “Don’t you remember?”

  “Of course I remember.”

  “Is Eugene screwed up because of that? I’ve been trying to figure it out.”

  “He’s not screwed up. He’s completely normal.”

  She snorted, then caught herself. “Well, I guess it’s all relative.”

  Jake said, “I think there was an insult in there somewhere.”

  “No, no. I didn’t mean anything.” She waved this off. “Sorry. It’s been a strange week.”

  Jake thought about Bobby Null dead in a dumpster. He let this image sit in his head and asked, “You going to work tomorrow?”

  “Yes. Only three days left.”

  “Then you’re out of there?”

  “Then I’m out of there.”

  “I’ll find a place by then.”

  “Why?”

  “It might get cramped in here.”

  “No. It’s okay. Wait until Euge and I figure out what we’re going to do.”

  “Do? You mean about each other?”

  “Yes.”

  Jake sat down, his stomach sour. He had eaten too much. He saw Rachel checking her face in the reflection of a framed print and noticed again the muscles along her arms. “I was just thinking about that wedding,” he said. “How it got muddy and everything. You were great.”

  She nodded. “God, if that wasn’t an omen, I don’t know what is. Actually, it was fun. I didn’t mind.”

  “Did you ruin that dress?”

  “No. It got cleaned. It’s in storage.” She turned to him. “A cousin of mine was really curious about you after that. I think she wanted me to set her up.”

  “Yeah? Where does she live?”

  “Santa Barbara. But she’s married now. What about you? What happened to that woman you were seeing down here?”

  “That ended.”

  “What was her name?”

  “I never mentioned it.”

  “Okay, what was her name?”

  “Mary. Mary Lim.”

  “Asian?”

  He said, “Half Asian.”

  “How come you didn’t bring her over?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Were you embarrassed?”

  “No.”

  “Were you embar
rassed by us?”

  He smiled. “No. Just two different parts of my life I wanted apart.”

  “Are you going to visit her? Does she still live in the area?”

  “I think she still lives in Oakland. No, I’m not going to visit her.”

  “Why not?”

  He wasn’t sure. He said, “She dumped me. No reason to see her.”

  She glanced at the door; there were voices in the hall. She said, “I’m going to get ready for bed. Sorry about the drama.”

  “You’ll take me to your gym soon?”

  “Tomorrow night.”

  “Go easy on me.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Easy? On you?”

  “You’re in really good shape. You’ll wear me out.”

  She smirked and waved him off. “Goodnight, Jake.”

  He watched her glide down the hall. Jake wanted to wait up and talk to his brother, but he was tired and vaguely disturbed by Rachel’s mention of their father. What else did she know? He went into the guest room and lay on the futon in the dark. Of course he remembered. He wondered if his brother claimed otherwise. Jake stared up at the darkened ceiling. He remembered huddling near the gas furnace to keep warm. That was one of the stronger images that had stuck with him. Naked and shivering, he had curled himself into a ball as he had squatted, hugging his knees, and had leaned against the dirty brown metal casing. His brother was usually crouched at the top of the stairs by the doorway, the thin line of light illuminating his curved back; the ridges of his spine reminded Jake of a lizard. The basement lights were controlled by a switch on the other side of the door, and their father usually kept it off. That was fine. The few times that he had left the light on, Jake and Eugene turned away from each other. Jake stared at the small pilot light buried inside the pipes and wires of the furnace. The insulation around the water heater was unravelling, held together by duct tape. He smelled dust, gas, and mildewed heat. Upstairs his father was beating the shit out of his mother. Eugene preferred to be close to the action, trying to see what he could from under the door. Jake always went down here, next to the heat.

  Sometimes they would hear the sounds of their mother running from one end of the house to the other, her steps pounding across the floor. Doors slammed shut. Their father followed slowly, methodically; his steps were lighter, the floor simply creaked. None of the doors, except for the basement entrance, had locks (and that was from the outside; Eugene and Jake weren’t going anywhere), so they usually heard a brief struggle at the doorknob. Their mother let out a high-pitched, frightened squeal that sounded inhuman. Jake and Eugene once tried joking about it. “Eeeeee,” they mimicked, laughing. “Sounds like a bird call.” But they never brought it up again.