Their father was running back and forth between the kitchen and the bedroom.
Eugene kept whispering, I can’t take this anymore. I can’t take this anymore.
Later that night, when things upstairs had quieted, Jake helped his brother up the steps, and used the screwdriver to pick the lock. Eugene limped towards the refrigerator and opened the freezer. He took out the ice trays.
Jake smelled smoke and burnt chemicals. He searched the house and found their father passed out on the bathroom floor, puddles of vomit near the toilet; he turned away, sickened. The bathtub was filled with his mother’s clothes and pictures, smoldering in a half-burnt pile. The window was open, but the chemical odor stung Jake’s throat. He turned back towards his father, whose cheek was pressed into the linoleum, saliva dribbling from the corner of his mouth. Venom burned inside Jake as he watched his father twitch, a tremor in his stubbled cheek. He hoped his father would die right there, just stop breathing. He wondered what would happen if he shut the window, relit the clothes, and then closed the door tightly.
He tried to close the window, but he wasn’t strong enough. It was stuck high in the frame. He then tried to light the pile of clothes, but everything was wet. His father must have doused it before it flared too high. He threw the matches down angrily. He turned to his father.
He unzipped his pants, his neck prickling with fear, and leaned back. He began pissing on his father’s shirt, the sound of the hissing strange without the accompanying splashing in the toilet. His father’s shirt was soaked in one spot, so Jake moved and spread his piss around.
What the hell are you doing? whispered his brother.
Jake finished, shook himself, then zipped up. He said to Eugene, I’m pissing on him.
Eugene hopped back, his eyes frightened. Are you nuts?
Jake saw the ice bag in his brother’s hand. He said, I’m not nuts. He is nuts.
Their father began coughing, and Jake leapt out of the bathroom, almost knocking his brother over. They waited and watched, but their father just rolled against the bathtub.
You can’t do that, Eugene whispered.
I hope he dies. I hope he dies right there.
Eugene shook his head and limped to their bedroom. Jake continued staring at his father. He knew one day he would be stronger than his father, so he wouldn’t have to wait until his father was passed out to piss on him.
Eugene called him from the bedroom, Leave him alone or he might wake up.
Jake closed the door tightly, trapping in the smell of piss and vomit and burnt clothes.
63
Jake woke to the sounds of movement in the living room, Rachel making up the sofa bed. It was midnight. He stared at the dark ceiling and listened to her brushing her teeth as she walked through the living room, then back to the bathroom. The line of light under his door clicked off, and he heard her settling in. He had liked the feeling of her close to him, of her holding his arm, of him pulling her close. The thought of this aroused him.
He sat up, listening. He heard her shifting restlessly.
He stood up, and glided across the room. He opened the door. She stopped moving. In the darkness he could see her frozen, listening. He waited a few moments, then moved quietly towards her. He saw her lying back and closing her eyes. His senses were heightened. He could hear her soft, shallow breathing. He smelled the mint toothpaste on her breath. She rested her hands by her sides. He stood over her, watching her through the darkness, her eyes opening, blinking, then closing. He leaned over, and softly touched her hair, his fingers tracing her ear.
Her breathing quickened, but she pretended to be asleep. He let his fingers trail across her cheek, her neck. He moved over the sheets, and his fingers brushed over her breasts, and down her stomach. She was breathing faster. He stopped and waited for some kind of response. When she remained still, he leaned over, kissed her lightly on her forehead, and walked quietly back to his room, glancing back and seeing her open her eyes, searching the darkness. He thought, You are and you are not. He returned to bed.
64
Dormer wouldn’t talk much. He grunted affirmatives and negatives, asking how Hunt was, and when Jake relayed Hunt’s message about the tattoo, Dormer let out a wheezing, hollow laugh. Jake tried to ask questions, but Dormer said, “Not over the phone.”
Jake took a bus up to San Rafael, a hassle because he had to use a different system—Golden Gate Transit—which he had trouble distinguishing from the city-based Muni. Two hours after setting out for Marin, he finally arrived at San Rafael, irritable and tired. Downtown San Rafael was crowded with traffic, small restaurants and stores along Fourth, where Jake was supposed to meet Dormer. It was lunch time, and office workers streamed onto the sidewalks. Fenced construction sites appeared every few blocks. Jake saw more Hispanics here than in the city.
Dormer had told Jake to meet him at a bar off Fourth, a tiny dump with red tinted windows and only two tables. A few men sat at the counter, drinking shots. They looked up at him when he walked in, their faces shaded red, their eyes blank. Jake sat at one of the tables, and the bartender asked him from behind the bar what he wanted. “Any beer on tap is fine,” Jake said.
One of the men at the end of the bar turned toward him and said, “You Jake?”
Jake saw through the dim room a gray-haired, scraggly man with hollowed-out cheeks. Jake nodded.
“You’re late,” the man said. He stood up and shuffled over. His hand trembled and Jake thought, No way.
“I took the bus up,” Jake said.
Dormer held out his bony hand, which Jake shook. Dormer’s fingers were cold and lifeless. Dormer sat down with his empty shot glass. He looked at Jake more closely and said, “You’re an Oriental fella.”
Jake blinked. “Yeah.”
“From China?”
“From L.A.”
“Chinese?”
He said, “Korean. Hunt says you’re retired.”
“Yup. What you think of them Hyundai’s? I’m thinking of buying one.”
“I have no idea. You used to work safes?”
Dormer motioned to the bartender for another shot. He said to Jake, “That was a long time ago.”
“How long ago?”
“Haven’t touched a safe in ten years.”
“Why?”
Dormer shrugged. “I got busted, quit the life.”
“What do you do now?”
“You sound like a cop.”
Jake laughed. “I’m no cop.”
“You’re looking to do a job or something?”
“I am. Do you know anyone?”
“What kind of safe?”
“It’s a Harding-Bower.”
Dormer looked surprised. “They went out of business years ago.”
“So?”
He shook his head, “You don’t know nothing about safes, do you.”
Jake said, “That’s why I’m here.”
The bartender brought over Jake’s beer and Dormer’s shot. Jake could only sip his drink, since it was still too early for him. He waited for Dormer to explain. It took a while as Dormer brought his shot glass unsteadily to his lips. He gulped down the whiskey. He said to Jake, “When they go out of business, there aren’t any more secrets.”
“About the safes.”
“About the safes. The templates go out, and everyone knows.”
“Templates?”
“Drilling templates.”
“There are drilling templates?”
Dormer sighed. “Every safe company got templates for locksmiths to drill their safes. In case the owner forgets the combination, or the Feds need to open it. It’s a paper that you put up over the dial. Shows you where to drill and the angle.”
“It shows you?”
“Yeah. Little holes pointing where to drill, telling you the angle. They never lend them out, and when they do they record everything.”
“But if they go out of business—”
“Yeah, no one’s keeping re
cords. No one cares. The templates get around.”
“Is this common knowledge?”
“For locksmiths, yeah.”
“Do you have the templates for Harding-Bower?”
“No. I don’t do that anymore.”
“Do you know anyone who can do this?”
“Hell, anyone can drill a safe if you got the templates and tools.” Jake asked, “Where do I get the template?”
“I can ask around, but every model got a different one. You got to find all the templates—”
“I know the model and make of this safe.”
Dormer smiled. “How the hell you get that?”
“I did my homework.”
“I can ask around. It’s going to cost you.”
“How much?”
“What kind of job is it?”
Jake didn’t reply, wondering if he even needed him. He said, “That doesn’t matter. How much for the template?”
“Five thousand.”
“If what you say is right, I might be able to get it for free.”
“Five thousand, plus I show you how to use it.”
“Five hundred, and you show me how to use it.”
“Five thousand, I show you, and I give you tools.”
“You have tools?”
“The best, with carbide and cobalt drill bits.”
Jake thought about this. If he could do this himself, he’d feel safer. He said, “One thousand, plus the tools.”
“Three thousand, plus a percentage.”
“No percentage. I’m not sure how much there will be.”
Dormer said, “Three thousand. Cash.”
“Twenty-five hundred cash, tools, template, and you show me everything?”
“Cash in advance. A bonus if everything goes well.”
Jake said, “How soon can you get the template?”
“Depends on the make and model. But it shouldn’t take me more than a week or so.”
“You’ll show me everything?”
“We can practice on an old safe. Twenty-five hundred plus a bonus afterwards. You decide how much.”
Jake nodded. “Deal.”
65
When Jake walked into the apartment, Rachel looked up and brightened. “Hey, stranger,” she said. She put the roll of packing tape down and wiped her forehead. More boxes lay against the wall.
He met her eyes, and remembered how soft her skin had felt, his fingers running over her warm cheek and neck. She was looking at him differently, a puzzled smile on her lips, and he wondered why she had pretended to be asleep.
He asked her if she was getting her old job back.
“They want me back, but I’m not going.”
“They couldn’t live without you.”
She folded her arms. “Most people can’t.”
He smiled.
“What were you up to?” she asked. “I can’t stop thinking about what we did.”
He hesitated. “Lomax’s apartment?”
“His apartment. His things. You just walked right in there. Does that happen often?”
“Not often. It was risky, but it paid off.”
“You mean the key?” she asked.
He had shown her on the bus ride home what he had taken, and had explained its importance. He said, “And the information I got from his files will be helpful.”
“The safe?”
“The safe.”
“Tell me: where were you?”
“Making preparations. I was pricing police scanners and two-way radios.”
“So, you’re actually going through with this?”
Jake said, “I am thinking about it.”
“But why? Do you need money?”
“Not right now.”
“So, why risk it?”
He said, “The opportunity presented itself.” He added, “Depending on how this goes, I might be able to stop for a long time.”
“Is that the goal?”
“Goal?”
“Your ultimate goal, your plan.”
He was about to agree, but then recalled a previous conversation. “My ultimate goal is to survive.”
“Tell me what you learned.”
“About the safe?”
She nodded.
“Nothing to tell.”
“No, tell me,” she said.
“Why?”
“Because I want to know. I want to know everything.”
Jake said, “The more you know, the more you’re involved.”
“I’m already involved.”
“I mean really involved.”
“How so?”
“I’m going to need help.”
Her expression froze. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, when it comes time to get in there, I’m going to need help.”
“Oh.”
“So, the more I tell you, the more I’ll expect your help.”
There was a long silence while she struggled with this. He cleared his throat, waited, then walked towards the kitchen.
“Just out of curiosity,” she said slowly.
He stopped.
“If I were to help,” she asked, “would I get a share?”
66
Bobby sat in Underhill’s office again. Underhill pulled out the gun from his desk drawer. Bobby tensed. Underhill slid it towards him. “Relax,” he said to Bobby. “When you fell, this thing stuck out. I figured you didn’t want the hospital to ask questions.”
Bobby checked the magazine. Loaded and ready. He said, “So you still want a grand for doing nothing?”
Underhill shook his head. “You gotta understand that I’m running a business. I just can’t help you for free.”
“Look, I got like fifty bucks on me right now. If I had the cash on me I might pay you, but I don’t. When I find the guy I’m looking for—”
“Jacob Ahn.”
Bobby stopped. What the hell was this guy up to? He said, “Yeah, Jake Ahn. When I eventually find him I’ll get my money back and we can work something out.”
“How much will you get from him?”
“That’s none of your fucking business. You help me now and if it works out, you’ll get your grand.”
“If you find the brother. If you then find Jake. A whole lot of ‘ifs’ there.”
“What you got to lose? You just tell me what you know, and that’s it. I’m not asking you to lift a finger, for crying out loud.”
“How do I know you’ll pay me?”
Bobby was exhausted. He had an infection inside him. He had bacterial bugs running all over the place around his bladder and he felt sick. He needed to buy more antibiotics and he was down to his last fifty dollars. He looked across the desk at this guy who was trying to hustle him, and Bobby just didn’t have the patience anymore. He pulled out the gun and aimed it at Underhill. He said, “Why you fucking with me?”
“You’re not going to kill me,” Underhill said calmly.
“Why not?”
“Because I can help you.”
Bobby lowered the gun. “I’m tired. I’m really tired. I’m going back to my hotel and sleep this off. Maybe we’ll talk tomorrow.”
“We make a deal now, I can start working tonight.”
“Doing what?”
“Making a few calls. Checking the Internet.”
“What kind of deal?”
“How much he owe you?”
“You don’t need to know that.”
“Give me a cut, and I’ll help you find him.”
“Oh, motherfucker. You got to be kidding me!”
“You’re stuck, otherwise you wouldn’t have shown up here. I can help.”
“How do I know that?”
“Tell you what. I’ll show you how to get the brother’s name right now. You make one phone call. Actually, the bank’s closed, but tomorrow morning you make one phone call and you get the name.”
“From the bank? It’s Jake’s account, not the brother—”
“I tell you
this. You bring me in. You give me a cut.”
Bobby thought, Everyone trying to fuck me over. He said, “If this works, we’ll see.”
“For a cut?”
“For one grand and a piece of Jake’s share.”
“Which is how much?”
“Depends on how much he spent.”
“Give me a ballpark.”
“A few thousand.”
Underhill’s face was expressionless. He said, “I don’t believe you, but we’ll start with that. One grand as my fee, three grand as a commission.”
“Tell me how to get the brother’s name.”
Underhill said, “When you open a bank account you have to list a beneficiary in case you die. It’s called a ‘payable on death’ clause. So the bank knows who to give the account to if you die.”
“And Jake probably listed his brother?”
“Who else would he list?”
Bobby thought about it. Even if it wasn’t the brother it would be someone close, and that could lead Bobby to Jake. He said, “So I call up and ask?”
“No. That’d be suspicious. You call up as Jake and ask to change it. You call up and say you want to add someone, but first tell them you’re not sure if you put your brother already. And they should tell you. They might ask for Jake’s social security number or address, which you got.”
“Wait a sec. He closed the account.”
Underhill shrugged. “So, you say you want to reopen it. You changed your mind. They still got the paperwork. You say you want the same things, but maybe a different beneficiary. You tell them to send you the paperwork, but tell them to spell the name.”
This sounded complicated, and Bobby wasn’t sure he could pull it off. He said, “Tomorrow morning I’ll come back here and you do it.”
“So we got a deal?”
“You find the name, then we’ll talk deal.”
Underhill smiled. “All right then. I’ll find you the brother, and I’ll find you this deadbeat.”
Bobby limped down the steps and back to his hotel. Everyone trying to get a piece of him. But screw it. He did what he had to. He was getting closer. He could smell Jake.
The Lockpicker Page 22