The Lockpicker

by Leonard Chang

  The man hesitated. “Sorry, customers aren’t allowed in back.”

  “Just for a minute? It’s a little…urgent.”

  “There are bathrooms at the restaurant across the street.”

  “I’ll be really fast.”

  “Sorry. My boss would kill me.”

  Rachel watched Jake, and he smiled. “That’s fine. We should go then, honey.”

  She took his arm as they walked out. They moved down the street, out of sight of the store, then Rachel asked, “What are you up to?”

  “Just looking.”

  “I hope you’re not thinking what I think you’re thinking.”

  “Oh, and what’s that?”

  She gripped his arm tighter. “I thought you were done with all this.”

  “Did I say that?”

  “No, but you implied it.”

  Was this true? The mess with Bobby had scared him, but whatever fear or regret he had felt was wearing off quickly. He said, “Can I borrow the car tonight?”

  “Why?”

  “I want to follow the owner, find out where he lives.”

  “What are you doing?”

  He turned to her. “My job.” He liked the feeling of her arm linked with his and pulled her closer. Their legs touched, and he said softly, “I’ll be careful. Very careful.”

  “But why? Do you need the money?”

  “Not yet,” he said. Though he liked the idea of having a cushion, something he had had only once before.

  “Then why?” Her cheeks were pink, and she blinked rapidly, trying to focus on him.

  “Because, it’s…it’s what I do.” He gave her arm a light squeeze, then pulled away. Her perfume mingled with the smell of coffee. As his fingers brushed down her arm, he felt the bracelet he had given her and smiled. “You’re wearing it?”

  “I like it.”

  “So, can I borrow the car?”

  “I’ll drive you. What time?”

  “You will drive me?” he asked.

  “I will. What time?”

  “Six. You don’t have to.”

  “I know,” she said.

  “Are you sure about this?” he asked.

  “No, of course not.”

  45

  Bobby watched Mary Lim’s place on Park Blvd. He waited in a stolen Mazda directly across from her house, among other parked cars. No one noticed him. He went through two packs of cigarettes, fought the urge to piss all afternoon, and sat in a haze of smoke, his eyes stinging. He had some trouble finding this place—he had thought he could take the subway—but ended up stealing a Ford truck, checking into a large parking garage downtown, then stealing this old Mazda and switching the plates. He preferred taking cars from garages, especially long-term ones, since they usually weren’t noticed right away. But he’d have to dump this car after tonight. He’d drive it to his hotel in the city, a crappy place in the Mission, and leave it. From the looks of the neighborhood, the car would probably get stolen again.

  He itched to get back to L.A. He was always cold. He was always getting lost. He just wanted to find Jake and get this goddamn thing over with. When he returned to L.A., the first thing he’d do would be to get a doctor to check him again. Something didn’t feel right.

  He half-hoped Jake would be hiding out here, but a quick look around the house showed nothing. She was probably at work. He wasn’t sure how he’d play this. He went over the possibilities while he smoked his throat raw.

  He hadn’t eaten all day, and also had refused to drink because he didn’t want to piss. He kept tasting something sour in his mouth, adding to the ash flavor.

  A small sports car—a low two-seater—sped by, slowed at the center divide, made a U-turn, then signalled in front of the house. It pulled into the driveway. Bobby sat up. The signal light was still blinking when a woman shut off the car and climbed out. She activated her car alarm. Bobby had trouble seeing anything except long hair and a large, bulky grocery bag, as she walked to the front door and let herself in. The lights went on inside.

  He waited fifteen minutes. He gave her a chance to put away her groceries, change out of her work clothes. He didn’t want her annoyed by his surprise visit. The other houses around hers were still quiet. More cars drove by, rush hour in full swing.

  Bobby limped across the street. A car was approaching, and he had to run, which immediately sent shooting pains through his stomach and groin. He stopped at the other side, panting. The fresh air felt good. Some of the wooziness left him.

  The house was dirty white, the shingles cracked near the front door. He knocked, then rang the door bell. After a moment the porch light went on, and he stood back in the light and waved. The door opened, and through the screen he saw that she had changed into a sweat suit. She said, “Yes?”

  “I’m Bobby. I called from Seattle about Jake Ahn?”

  Her face immediately lost its curiosity, hardening. She frowned and said, “So?”

  Bobby saw that she was a mix, a little bit of Chinese and white—her eyes were set wider than Jake’s, but she still had long straight black hair, and there was something about her cheekbones that made him think of Chinese people. He said, “I was passing through and wanted to ask you about him.”

  “How’d you get my address?”

  “Information. You’re listed.”

  “I haven’t seen him in years.”

  “I know, but I’m trying to find him, and don’t got any leads.”

  “Why are you trying to find him?”

  His bladder seemed to bubble up and he suppressed a wince. He said, “He owes me money and just took off.”

  She nodded. “Too bad.”

  “All I’m asking is maybe you know where he might go, who he knows, that stuff.”

  “How’d you find out about me?”

  Bobby said, “A girl he used to go out with said he mentioned you.”

  “Jake mentioned me to another girlfriend?”

  He shrugged. “Just a couple minutes, that’s all I need.” He felt another pain in his bladder and he stiffened.

  “Are you all right?” she asked.

  “Yeah. It was a long ride down here.”

  She studied him, looking him up and down. “I don’t know. Maybe tomorrow, during my lunch break.”

  He said, “Yeah, that’s fine. I was just passing through…” He paused. The pain in his bladder got worse, and he inhaled sharply. Shit. Something was wrong. He said, “Tomorrow at lunch? Where are you working?”

  “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “I just need to rest. So, maybe twelve tomorrow? You work around here?”

  “Downtown. Right next to City Hall. The Fedco building. Rodale Insurance. I can meet you in the downstairs lobby.”

  He said, “Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He needed to piss badly, and was going to run into the bushes, but he slipped on the steps and stumbled backwards, hitting his head on a flower pot and crashing against the edge of the brick steps. He bounced off the corner and fell heavily onto the ground. The wind was knocked out of him and he couldn’t move. He stared up at the porch light above. A moth kept flying into the bulb.

  “Jesus! Are you all right?” She opened the screen door and hurried down to him.

  He lay still, blinking. He slowed his breath, and waited for his lungs to recover. His skull throbbed. He had landed flat on his back, and for some reason it hadn’t hurt. But his bladder burned. She leaned over him, blocking the light, and said, “Hey! Should I call an ambulance?”

  He shook his head.

  “Oh my God, can you move? Are you okay?”

  He turned his head towards her, looking at her upside down. Her hair fell around her face, the edges glowing from the light directly above her. He stared. “You’re very pretty,” he said hoarsely.

  She drew back, and the light hit his eyes, blinding him. He heard her say, “Oh God, you’re delirious.”

  “I’m okay.” He sat up slowly. The pain in his bladder softened. “I just slip
ped.”

  “Do you need help?”

  “I’m okay.” He pulled himself up, rubbed the back of his head, then saw the broken flower pot littered along the steps, black soil clumped around him. “Sorry about that.”

  “Are you sure you don’t need a doctor?”

  “Yeah, yeah. I just need to get back to my hotel. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Wait,” she said. “Shouldn’t you rest a second? Do you need anything?”

  He said, “I’d really like to use your bathroom, if that’s all right.”

  46

  Rachel drove Jake to the jewelry store in the early evening. He asked her to circle the area as he looked for the silver sedan with the 3TCN license plate. They had time to search up and down the many blocks. It was possible the owner had used one of the parking garages, though Jake suspected otherwise. Parking was free on these side streets, and if he came in early enough, the owner would find a spot.

  “There’s a silver one,” Rachel said, pointing up the road. The car was wedged in between two SUV’s. She stopped next to it, and Jake climbed out to check the license plate.

  “This is it,” he said. They were on Vallejo, two blocks from Union. “We need to wait back there, ready to go when he goes.”

  “Get in. I’ll circle.”

  They drove around the block, and, unable to find a space, Rachel parked across someone’s driveway. She said, “When will he be showing up?”

  “It should be in fifteen minutes. That’s if he goes home.”

  “And why are you doing this?”

  “I want to know where he lives.”

  “Why?”

  He thought about lying to her, then said, “The more information I have about him and the store, the better off I am.”

  “You’re going to burglarize that store?”

  He liked the word “burglarize.” It sounded so polite. He said, “I’m in the information gathering stage. I might not do anything.” He realized with a small jolt that this wasn’t true, and was startled by the ease with which he had slipped into this mode, a natural progression from seeing an opportunity and preparing to take advantage of it. His mind was clicking, his vision sharp and wary. He thought about their parking in a no-parking driveway as a possible danger. He was glad for the descending darkness.

  “Are we still going to the gym later?” she asked Jake.

  “Maybe.”

  “I really should. I’m feeling soft.”

  He said, “You look good to me.”

  “Thanks,” she said. “There was a time when I was in better shape.” He turned to her. “When? I don’t remember.”

  “In high school. I did sports: track, swimming, a little gymnastics.”

  Jake imagined her as a teenager, and smiled.

  “What’s funny?”

  “Just thinking about you in high school.”

  “Oh, no,” she said, shaking her head. “Don’t do that. It wasn’t a good time for me.”

  “Why?”

  “You know about my father dying. My mother started working two jobs, I was feeling really lonely. I was pretty unhappy.” She stopped. “Good God, I haven’t changed that much, have I,” she said.

  “Didn’t you date a lot?”

  “Me? Are you kidding? I was a misfit.”

  “Not one of the jocks?”

  “I did those sports for me, for college. I didn’t say I was any good at them.”

  “You, no boyfriends?” he said. “That can’t be true.”

  “Oh, it’s true. I didn’t start dating until the end of college.”

  He said with disbelief, “Come on. But you’re so…right now, you’re so—”

  “So?”

  “You know,” he said. “You know what I mean.”

  She grinned. “Boy, where were you in high school when I needed you?”

  He said, “Getting kicked out.”

  “Right. Euge mentioned that.”

  Jake said, “So I was one of the losers in the school. I doubt you would’ve talked to me.”

  “I would’ve,” she said.

  A light over the garage door flickered on, and they turned towards it, waiting. After a moment, Jake said, “Automatic.” A slice of dim light passed across Rachel’s face as she sat back in the seat. She pulled up the sleeves of her sweater, exposing the bracelet. She turned to him, smiled, then noticed something. She stared, and said, “Is that thin line a scar?”

  He touched his cheek. “An old one. Very old one.”

  “From what?”

  “Long story,” he said. He traced the line with his index finger. “I cut myself with a knife.”

  “Tell me.”

  “Some other time.”

  Rachel glanced at the mirror and perked up. Jake turned. He saw a large, heavy-set figure trudging up the other side of the street. He whispered, “It might be him. Stay down.”

  The man walked slowly and crossed the street, heading for the silver sedan. Jake said, “Okay. Get ready to follow him.”

  She started the car, but kept the headlights off. The sedan took a while warming up, then had trouble getting out of the tight space. It only had a foot or so to maneuver, so they waited for five minutes as the car inched back and forth, angling out onto the street. Jake asked, “Do we have enough gas?”

  “For what?”

  “He might live far away.”

  “We have enough.”

  The sedan finally eased out of the space and drove away. Rachel turned on the headlights. “How close should I get?” she asked.

  “Fairly close. It’s getting dark and I don’t want to lose him.”

  She followed him off Vallejo and onto Van Ness, heading south. There was one car between them, a small compact. She said, “I hope he doesn’t hit 101. It’s a mess this time of day.”

  Jake was watching the sedan. He hadn’t been able to tell whether or not the man was carrying a strongbox, but he suspected not. He was also clocking the drive, determining how long it took the man to return home. Rachel said, “It looks like we’re going to pass Market. It gets a little tricky here. I might have to get closer.”

  Jake said it was fine. He doubted the man would notice. Most people don’t expect to be followed. Rachel sped up, changed lanes, then cut in right behind the sedan. He said, “Just don’t let his taillights show our faces.”

  She nodded. They passed Market, but then the sedan turned off, and Jake no longer knew where they were. Rachel said, “He’s not taking the freeway. He must live around here.” They drove up and down one-way streets and alleys, keeping the sedan at a further distance.

  “Where are we?” Jake asked.

  “This is the SoMa neighborhood, South of Market.”

  “Residential?” Jake asked, seeing the warehouses and store signs along the buildings.

  “It’s becoming more so. Wait. He’s turning into that gate. It looks like private parking.” She pulled up to the curb, and they watched the gate roll back slowly. The sedan pulled in, and the gate began closing.

  Jake said, “Drive past it and park.”

  Rachel did, and Jake saw that the sedan was in a small lot for five or six cars, adjacent to a warehouse building. She said, “He must live in a loft.”

  “In there?”

  “A converted warehouse. The apartments are sectioned off as big rooms.”

  “You can wait here. I just want to see where he goes,” Jake said, opening his door.

  Rachel climbed out of the driver’s side. She said, “I want to see too.”

  Jake waved her over. They walked along an uneven and crumbling sidewalk, and turned the corner. The lower level of the warehouse had a high concrete wall shielding the building from the street, but beyond and above the wall Jake saw the large, multi-paned windows, over six feet in height. He couldn’t find any evidence of an alarm system, though it was dark. A man with a sleeping bag draped over his shoulders pushed a shopping cart along the street. Jake looked around: decrepit storefronts and boarded
-up windows along the street. He asked again, “This is residential?”

  “A mix.”

  They found the front entrance with a gated entryway, securely locked. No cameras. The intercom was covered with heavy, scratched plexiglass and listed six names. Jake turned to Rachel and said, “You go back to that side, I’ll go over here. See if any lights are going on now.”

  They separated. Jake moved towards the street and looked up at the windows. He saw two sets of windows on the second floor, and a partial set on the ground floor, hidden beyond the brick wall. There was a dim light already on the upper left loft. Jake waited. After a moment he heard Rachel call out his name sharply.

  He ran around the corner and saw two men facing Rachel. She was shaking her head, and backing up slowly. She glanced at him and said, “Jake?”

  The two men turned towards him. They were teenagers. One scrawny white kid in an army jacket, another muscular Latino with an arm band around his flexing bicep. Jake said, “What’s up?”

  They looked him up and down and then turned to each other. The Latino kid shrugged, and they walked away.

  “What did they want?” Jake asked.

  “They kept asking if I wanted to buy drugs.”

  “You okay?”

  She nodded.

  “Let’s go,” he said.

  “But I saw a light go on.”

  “Which one?”

  “This one,” she said, pointing to the second-floor windows. “Just a minute ago.”

  “All right. Do you have a pen and paper?”

  “In the car.”

  Jake retrieved some scrap paper and a pen, then wrote down the names and apartment numbers listed on the intercom system. He said to Rachel, “That’s it for now. Let’s go.”

  Inside the car, Jake watched her fumble with her keys; her hands were shaking. He said, “Do you want me to drive?”

  She said, “Yes. That’d be great.”

  He climbed out and circled as she scooted over to the passenger seat. He drove away.

  47

  Rachel didn’t want to return home yet, so they went to the gym. Jake stayed on the free weights, while Rachel spent thirty minutes on the Stairmaster, rolling her shoulders and increasing the speed until the machine was whirring loudly above the others.