“Damn,” she said.
“What’s going on?”
“How’d you know?”
He turned to her. “Have you been following me all day?”
“Yes. How did you know?”
“I felt it. I sensed it.”
“Sensed it? Like Spiderman?”
He shook his head. “I wish. No, just paranoia.”
She put the car in gear and merged with traffic. “Where to?”
He was about to tell her, but didn’t want to show her any more of his activities. “The apartment.”
“Already?”
He nodded, then asked “Why are you doing this?”
“I’m not doing anything.”
“You were following me all morning.”
“When did you know?”
“On my way to Pacific Gems.”
“I was running errands in the neighborhood and happened to see you walking. I decided to check what you were doing.”
“Why didn’t Eugene take the car?”
“I don’t know. He said he didn’t need it.”
“He’s at work?”
“Of course.”
“What’s happening with that?”
She shook her head, keeping her eyes on the street. There was something about her expression—defeat—that prompted Jake to ask, “Is it ending?”
She glanced at him. “Is what ending?”
“Your marriage.”
Quiet for what seemed like a full minute, she eventually said, “I think we’re giving up.”
“What about last night?”
“What about it?”
“You two got along.”
She smiled sadly. “There’s more to marriage than getting along.” Her patronizing tone bothered him. “What about a counselor?” he asked.
“I told you we tried.”
“How come you guys never had kids?” he asked, then remembered too late her books on infertility. He added, “I guess it’s a good thing. Kids would complicate it.”
“No. We wanted children. I can’t seem to have them.” He kept silent.
There seemed to be a traffic jam ahead, and she let out an annoyed breath. She said, “So what were you doing? Selling jewelry?”
“Something like that.”
“How do you choose which place to burglarize?” she asked. This startled him, and he said, “What?”
She repeated her question.
“What do you mean?”
“Do you just choose a house? Do you do some kind of lookout?” Jake said, “It depends.”
She waited, and when he didn’t continue, she asked, “On what?”
“On the situation.”
She said, “Look, it’s not a big deal. I’m just curious. It’s not brain surgery.”
He was stung by this, and knew his questions about her marriage had annoyed her. He said, “When I first started with a partner, it was systematic. We’d drive around in a nice neighborhood at night, and looked for any signs of an empty house.” He explained the checklist: No cars, no lights. Piled newspapers, mail, or restaurant leaflets. Michael had already done this at least a half dozen times, and talked Jake through it. Was it worth the job? If there was a car, was it nice? Any clues to what might be inside?
“Then what?”
“Michael knocked on the door with some magazines in his hand.” If someone was home, he would try to sell them magazine subscriptions. But since the lights were off, and there was no movement, they guessed there was no one there. Then: a visual check of the windows for alarms. Were there any alarm control boxes, switches, stickers? Just to make certain, they knocked on the back door, the windows, ready to run. They were looking for people, dogs, anything.
“It was methodical,” Jake said. “We chose an emergency escape route before anything else. If someone showed up, if the cops appeared, we’d have a way out. Then we went in.” Michael’s favorite entry had been the sliding patio doors. Most nice houses had them. And many homeowners didn’t lock them, or if they did, it was with a tiny hook in the handle. A joke. A crowbar could yank it open. Sometimes he would use a screwdriver, and pry the entire door off its track.
Rachel said, “What about alarms?”
Jake nodded. “This guy Michael got me scared of alarms. At the very first house we hit, as soon as we got in, he picked up the telephone and listened. I asked him why. He was checking for an alarm signal going out.”
“A signal?”
“A hidden alarm automatically calls the police or alarm company. But at that house there was nothing.” Michael left the phone off the hook. It was simple. They went through the closets, the drawers, looking for jewelry and cash. Maybe a few small electronic items, but nothing big. They were in and out within twenty minutes. They had jewelry, some cash, a notebook computer, and Michael had found a little coke. A small bonus.
“You don’t do drugs, do you?” Rachel asked. “No.”
Jake’s take for those twenty minutes, after fencing the jewels and the computer, was two thousand. Not bad for a night’s work. The next day, they were back at the department store, unloading and unpacking crates.
Jake told Rachel how he had soon developed his own methods. He would watch a place for a few days, and would target it only if he knew there was something worth taking. He’d carry a police scanner and try not to leave any evidence of his theft. Michael could pick locks, but didn’t have the patience on the job. Jake never understood that; he had taken the time to teach Jake, but rarely used this skill himself.
Rachel listened, and when Jake finished, she said, “I always imagined it to be more haphazard.”
“It usually is.”
“Doesn’t it bother you that you take all these things people saved for?”
“A little.”
“But it’s every man for himself, I guess.”
“Something like that.”
“Is that your outlook? You watch out for number one?”
Jake heard her biting tone, and said, “Who else would I watch out for?”
“It seems kind of selfish.”
He felt the jab, and turned to her, wondering if she was trying to start a fight. He said, “My life would suck if I didn’t try to make myself happy. You do whatever it takes, that’s my philosophy.”
“No matter what the consequences are.”
He found himself unable to get angry at her tone; she couldn’t rile him. He smiled and said, “There you go.”
“No responsibility.”
“None at all.”
A sports car was trying to cut in front of her on the left, and she accelerated to keep it away. The sports car then sped up as well, zipping by her but she wouldn’t let it in. “Goddamn him,” she said. She swerved around the car and kept ahead of it. The car honked. Jake gripped the door handle, surprised by her driving. “Uh,” he started to say.
Rachel had accelerated too quickly, and the cars ahead had stopped for a red light. She was approaching too fast, and Jake said, “Slow down.”
She slammed on the brakes, and the sports car thumped into the rear corner of her car, the crunch throwing them back. There was an explosion of white and dust, and his face was slapped, his body pushed back. He realized then it was the airbag, and his neck hurt. For a confusing moment he heard honks, a few screeches. A man was cursing and yelling as he came towards Rachel’s side.
Jake managed to push away the air bag, coughing out some of the white dust, and asked if Rachel was all right. She turned to him, her face streaking with tears, and she nodded slowly.
He jumped towards her. “Are you hurt? What’s wrong?”
“I’m okay,” she said, shaking her head. “Nothing hurt.”
“Why’re you crying?”
She wiped her face. “I don’t know.” She stared at him, her forehead creased, her eyes locked on his. White dust sprinkled through her hair and eyebrows, turning them grey. She said quietly, “I think… I’m sinking.”
39
J
ake drove Bobby Null and the stolen jewelry out of the cul-de-sac, away from Chun’s house, and sped down 45th. He soon turned onto Roosevelt, working their way towards the area near the University Bridge. A few marinas and boat repair shops lined the streets along Portage Bay, and Jake had chosen this spot to split their take because it was quiet during the weekends. The fact that he lived nearby was a factor too. Once they abandoned the car, Jake knew they would be exposed on foot, and wanted to be able to stash the jewels quickly.
“Why the hell did you hit him?” Jake asked. “You could’ve just said you’d wait for the son, and the guy would leave.”
“Fuck that. He was getting a good look at me and he was talking too much.”
Jake saw out of the corner of his eye that Bobby still had the gun in his hand. He thought of everything that was going wrong: the man had seen Bobby, and probably had gotten a quick look at Jake. Maybe some neighbors had seen the car out in front. Although they were both still wearing gloves, Jake knew they were leaving all kinds of forensic evidence behind—hair, clothing, dirt on their shoes—and the identification with the car would be a problem.
“Did you get it? What’s in it?” Bobby asked.
“I haven’t opened it yet.”
“What? How do you know anything’s in it?”
“I know.”
“Let me see. I’ll open it now.”
“It’s locked.”
“So, I’ll break it.”
“Not now. What if I get in an accident? What if we get pulled over?”
“Shit. Hurry up, then.”
“Why’d you bring a gun?”
“Insurance.”
Jake was fucked. He thought of ways out of this, maybe driving straight to Chih’s, but the change in plan would make Bobby suspicious. He said, “What if we go to Chih’s right now?”
“What? Fuck no. I want see what we got before telling him.”
“Whoa. He’s getting his share—”
“I didn’t say he wasn’t.”
“Then why not go straight to him?”
“Because that wasn’t the plan. We got to dump the car.”
“I’m still setting aside Chih’s share.”
“Let’s see what’s in the fucking thing first.”
Jake drove along the one-way side streets and eventually parked across the street from a parking lot on Northlake. The lot was hidden behind some trees and well off the road, and adjacent to the lot was a large building with a loading dock and a garage. There was never activity here on weekends. Jake wasn’t sure what kind of business it was, but had noticed it a few times as he passed it on his way to one of the bus stops along Boat Street. He parked the car and unhooked the wires underneath the dash—Bobby’s handiwork—then climbed out with the strongbox.
As they walked across the street and into the lot, Jake saw Bobby shoving the gun into the back of his pants. They headed behind the dumpster. They knelt down, and Jake inspected the lock. He recognized the “V” keyway immediately: a Schlage wafer-tumbler. He pulled out his picks, and Bobby said, “What the hell? Just break it.”
“No. This is faster.” Jake inserted his tension wrench, then used his lifter pick, counting to the eighth wafer, retracting it, then pressing the wrench a little more to keep the wafer in place. He went through the other wafers easily, since they require less play, and he turned the wrench smoothly, unlocking it. He opened the strongbox, and immediately saw the wad of cash held together with a rubberband.
“Oh, baby,” Bobby said.
Jake put aside the cash, and then saw the jewels—some in small plastic bags, others lying there in a black felt container. “There’s a lot,” he said. “Chih will want to buy all of this.”
“How much cash?”
“These are hundreds.”
“Fucking A.”
“All right. We can split the cash, leaving 10% for Chih, right now. If you want we can try to split most of the jewelry.”
Bobby nodded, and pulled out his gun. “All right. I’ll take it all.” Jake sighed. “You’re so goddamn predictable, it’s sad.”
“You carrying? Get away from the box.”
Jake shook his head and tried to appear calm, but his mind was racing. “I don’t think so.”
“I’m not fucking around. Get away from it.”
“Why’d you think I chose this spot?” Jake said. “You don’t think I have a partner here, waiting?”
Bobby froze. “What?”
“You stupid asshole. Put your gun down before he blows a hole in your head.”
Bobby glanced around quickly. Jake closed the box, locking it again, and said, “I’m taking this to Chih’s. Put your fucking gun away.”
“Hey! Fuck that. Where’s your guy then?”
Jake picked up the box and began walking to the car. “You coming or what?”
“Stop! What the fuck you think you’re doing!”
Jake kept walking. He heard Bobby running up to him, his steps quickening, and Jake knew Bobby was going to hit him. Jake spun, throwing the strongbox at him, then leapt forward. Bobby tried to block and catch the strongbox at the same time, and Jake grabbed the gun, aiming it away. They fell together onto the ground, and Jake grabbed Bobby’s throat with his free hand. He said, “Don’t be stupid.” He squeezed hard. “We split it like we agreed. I’ll take the gun. It’s either that or you lose it all.”
Bobby struggled, and tried to twist the gun free, but he was choking now, unable to breathe. Jake held him tightly. But then Bobby used his free hand and grabbed Jake’s groin, and Jake cried out in pain, letting go of Bobby’s neck, and they began rolling, Bobby gripping his testicles harder and yanking, which made Jake howl and as they rolled Jake began punching Bobby’s face frantically, hammering his nose and eyes, and Bobby’s grip loosened. Jake wrenched the gun away and aimed it into Bobby’s stomach and pulled the trigger. The shot lit up both their midsections, and Jake felt the burning heat from the muzzle. Bobby rolled back and let go of Jake’s groin.
Jake scrambled away, the pain so penetrating that he felt like vomiting. He was breathing hard, trying to stand, and kept saying, “Goddamn this… goddamn this…” His body had broken out in a warm sweat, but his teeth chattered. He spread his legs and tried to keep everything still. He glanced over at Bobby, who looked unconscious. Jake didn’t believe it. He aimed the gun, but then realized another shot might bring attention. One shot could be a car backfiring; another was suspicious. Jake had to get out of here. Maybe take the car somewhere else.
Slowly, he stood, keeping the gun aimed at Bobby. He limped over to him and stomped him in the stomach, which sent shooting pains through Jake’s groin. He almost whimpered. Jake kicked Bobby again right where he had shot him. Bobby’s head jerked back, but he didn’t make a sound and he didn’t open his eyes. With the gun still aimed at him, Jake grabbed Bobby’s hair with his other hand and dragged him to the dumpster. He lifted the lid. The smell of rotting food blew out. The pain in Jake’s groin and stomach pulsed. He gritted his teeth and dropped Bobby’s head to the ground. Still no response. He kicked him again. Nothing. Blood had seeped through Bobby’s shirt and pants. Jake quickly lifted Bobby and shoved him into the dumpster, closing the lid. If Bobby stayed unconscious for a little longer, he’d bleed to death. That was that.
Jake limped to the strongbox, picked it up, and stopped for a moment. The pain reached through his groin and into his chest. He walked slowly out of the lot and to the parked car. First he’d have to take the car somewhere else, maybe park at a meter and let it get ticketed and towed. Then he’d dump the gun, the clothes, the strong box. He doubted Bobby would live, which meant things would get messy. The old man would connect Bobby to Jake. Chih might not even want the jewels since it would then be linked to murder. No. Everything was too messy. Jake had to get out of town for a while. Let things settle. And that was when he thought of his brother.
40
Bobby wasn’t feeling so good. First he hung out in a small shoppi
ng center on Broadway, eating fast food and trying not to do any more walking. Something was wrong with his wound, and he needed to rest. Then he sat outside and smoked all afternoon. He needed a benny, but didn’t have any more, and wasn’t sure where to get some around here. He felt things shifting inside his stomach. He shouldn’t have had a burger.
By early evening he was dizzy, queasy. He wanted to go back to his hotel and sleep, but he needed to talk to mousy Arlene. He walked to Molino’s, and entered through the back. He passed the locker room and asked a waiter if Arlene was in yet. The waiter nodded.
Bobby walked through the kitchen, and saw a small woman with large eyes and stringy hair. Mousy. Her head seemed too large for her body. He waved to her, and she stopped, trying to recognize him.
“Arlene?”
She nodded. “Do I know you?”
“I’m a friend of Jake’s and I’m having trouble finding him.”
“Yeah, he seems to have disappeared.” She tightened the small white apron around her thin waist.
He thought she was cute, and said, “You went out with him?”
She wrinkled her nose. “Not really. Everyone thinks that. We were friends, had a short thing, and that’s it.”
“You talk to him recently?”
“Two weeks ago. I talked to him a little.”
“Does he have family in the area?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“Family anywhere?”
She looked up, thinking. “He’s got a brother somewhere. He might’ve mentioned that once.”
Bobby tried not to seem anxious and leaned against the wall. “You’re cute. You want to go out sometime?”
“Oh, jeez, another smooth one. No, I don’t want to go out sometime.”
The Lockpicker Page 13