67
Late, late night. They sat on the floor, their empty wine glasses resting on the coffee table, the lamp on the end table dimmed. Jake was telling her his schedule—at the end of the week he’d see Dormer and buy the tools and template; he’d figure out how difficult it was to use them; he’d watch Lomax a couple more days, until after the weekend was over. He hoped to hit the store early next week.
“So soon?” she said.
“Yeah.” He hadn’t included her in any of this yet, though he needed a lookout. He didn’t know anyone else around here and wasn’t about to ask a stranger. He had learned his lesson with Bobby. He said, “Lomax closes earlier on Mondays and Tuesdays.”
“And this guy in San Rafael is going to show you how to open the safe?”
“So he says.”
“What if Lomax notices the missing extra key?”
“I doubt it.”
“But what if?”
He nodded. “Anything’s possible. I’ll have to abandon the plan.”
“It’s all so risky.”
“Not that bad. The locks are easy. I have the alarm key. I’ll have the template for the safe. We know Lomax’s schedule. I’ll probably want to make sure Lomax doesn’t return to the store that night.”
“How?”
“Slash his tires or something like that.”
Her forehead wrinkled, and she shook her head. “I don’t think I can help you.”
“All right.”
“It’s just too dangerous.”
“I know,” he said. He tried not to seem disappointed, but this would complicate things. He’d have to monitor the police scanner himself, as well as periodically check the street for people, all the while working on the safe.
“Did Euge tell you where he went tonight?” she asked.
Jake shook his head.
“I don’t know what to do,” she said.
“Maybe he’s job hunting.”
“I doubt it,” she said.
Jake was quiet.
“He’s losing it,” she said. “He’s messing up.”
“What should we do?”
She shook her head. “I have no idea.”
Jake stood up and told her he was turning in. “I’ve got a bunch of things to do tomorrow.”
“Like what.”
“Get back all my jewelry. Buy supplies.”
“I have to find an apartment,” she said.
Their eyes met as they said good night, and Jake felt the pull. She watched him, then turned away, and they drifted in different directions. She turned off the lights as he went into his bedroom. He closed the door, but listened to Rachel’s movements as she made up the sofa bed. Jake stripped off his clothes, aroused, and climbed onto the futon. He was wide awake, knowing that they were alone in the apartment.
He heard her lying onto the sofa bed, and he waited. He was warm; he removed the top blanket, keeping the sheet on. He touched himself lightly. Rachel was just a few yards away, just ten steps from this door. He pictured her in her work-out clothes, stretching in front of him, and remembered massaging her legs. He inhaled slowly, ready to stand up and walk out there. He thought of his brother coming home and catching them. This made him more excited. No, he shouldn’t think like this.
Movement. The floor outside creaking. The apartment settling or Rachel approaching? Jake rolled onto his stomach. He liked the pressure, and rubbed himself some more. His door opened slowly. Rachel’s shadowy figure closed the door behind her and moved towards him. She stood over him, wearing a sheer nightgown, her hands by her sides.
She touched the back of his neck, her fingers cool. She grabbed the edge of the sheet and peeled it away slowly, exposing his bare back to the air. Sitting down at the edge of the futon, Rachel ran her fingers down his spine, circling. She used her fingernails, then brushed down over his bottom, his legs. Jake’s heart beat loudly in his ears. His erection was hurting him. He turned onto his side, facing her.
Rachel hesitated, then ran her fingers along his waist, up along his stomach and chest. Her nail trailed over his neck, then lingered back and forth on his cheek, along his scar. Jake watched her through the darkness. Her mouth was slightly open, her gaze directed at his body. He reached forward and rested his hand on her thigh. She continued touching him, letting her fingers trace down his stomach and brush against his penis. The contact sent a shiver through him, and he moved his hand up her leg. She stopped his hand, placed it on the bed. She pushed him gently onto his back. He lay still.
Her fingers brushed his skin in circles, nearing his groin. He had to resist pushing up his pelvis, the need for contact was so strong. She finally touched him there, slowly, gliding her fingernails over him, and he closed his eyes. She held him, moving up and down, and then leaned forward and put him in her mouth. The sudden warmth and wetness startled him. He let out a quiet groan. She stopped, pulled away. He saw her shrugging off her nightgown and couldn’t believe that Rachel was sitting right next him, naked, touching him. He worried about his brother.
She climbed over him, reached down and guided him as she lowered herself. He tensed as he entered her, pushing up higher. She was warm. She exhaled sharply and shifted positions, moving left and right, forcing him deeper into her. He ran his hands up her leg again; she stopped him, grabbing his wrists and sliding them to his sides. She moved slowly, back and forth, the weight of her body resting on his pelvis and thighs. He saw her hands touching her breasts, running her fingers over her nipples and chest, and she leaned back, quickening her pace.
He was close to coming, and held his breath. She moved faster, and she cursed quietly, leaning forward and pressing her hands into his shoulder as she thrust hard against him. She made three long, deep thrusts and grabbed his shoulder hard, her nails digging into his skin, and locked her arms, then arched her back. She inhaled deeply, then stopped.
Jake kept pushing up, and when he grabbed her thighs, she didn’t stop him this time. When he came, his body broke out in a sweat, and he whispered her name.
They stopped moving, both of them panting. Rachel leaned forward, kissed him lightly on the lips, then climbed off him. He shivered as he left her, and she lay down with her back to him. He wrapped his arms around her, their skin cooling, and they soon fell asleep.
PART IV
68
At Dormer’s apartment, Jake studied the Harding-Bower template. It was just a piece of laminated paper, roughly five inches square, with a large hole that was supposed to fit over the safe’s combination dial. Light lines running across the template helped position it on the door plate. There were two smaller holes, one above the dial with the numbers “3.75 18º” printed next to it, the one to the left with “4-1/8”. Jake asked Dormer, who was sitting across the small table, “Why two holes?”
Dormer explained that there were two ways to drill a safe. The first way, the hole on the left, was to drill through the locking bolt, removing the point of contact between the cam and the bolt. This would allow the handle to swing open without hitting the bolt.
Jake asked, “But one drill hole would do that? Isn’t the bolt large?”
Dormer nodded. “That’s why you got the template. It should show you the exact place where the bolt and cam meet. Without it, you’d have to keep drilling to get chunks of the bolt out.”
“Just one drill hole.”
“More or less. You should be able to force the handle open after the drilling.”
Jake found this way messy and imprecise. He worried about slipping, about getting the angle wrong, about his inexperience. He saw it parallel to the gorilla method of drilling the pins out of a pin tumbler lock.
Jake glanced at the demo Harding-Bower safe Dormer had found for him, just a small two-cubic feet home safe. Next to it on the dirty carpet were the metal briefcases containing the tools Jake was buying. The studio apartment had the same worn look as Dormer, the furniture scratched and peeling, the linoleum in the kitchen bubbling up. They were above a bar
bershop. Jake smelled stale beer and butter coming from the sofa cushions. He asked, “What about the second hole?”
Dormer told him it was the “peephole” method, where the drilled hole didn’t affect any of the locking mechanisms; rather it was used for the person to peer inside the wheel-pack to see the combination plates. “Once you see inside, you can tell what numbers are set for the wheel slots,” he said. “Then it’s a matter of figuring out what the actual combination is.”
“Wait. You can’t just open it by looking?”
“No. You look to see what the dial ratio is. So, let’s say you look inside and start turning the dial. You’ll see the slots appear, and you can match them to numbers on the dial. Let’s say it’s 30-20-10. The thing is, the slots are aligned to open the safe on the side of the dial, not where you’re looking, so the actual combination is probably not 30-20-10, but three sets of numbers in the same ratio. So maybe it’s 35-25-15.”
“Why can’t you just look to see what the exact combination is?”
“The mechanism blocks your view near the handle.”
Jake examined the hole in the template, trying to imagine what the slots in the wheel pack would look like. “Won’t it take a while to find the combination?”
“Maybe. You just start with the numbers you find, then begin adding one, and move up. You can estimate faster by knowing where the gate and fence is.” Dormer described the locking mechanism: once the combination plates were lined up, the “fence” clicked into the slots, and the “gate” allowed the bolt to be opened. “If the gate and fence are towards the handle, which it is for these Harding-Bowers, then start adding twenty to the ratios you find. Then twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three, and keep doing this until you hit it.”
Jake said, “Because the slots that open the gate are a quarter turn to the left, and the dial is a hundred notches, so it’s roughly twenty-five notches away?”
“Exactly.”
“So, if the ratio begins near the hundred mark, you just start the count over at one.”
“Yup. You got it.”
“But how do you see through that small hole?” He held up the template. “The safe wall is pretty thick.”
Dormer nodded and opened the first metal case. Inside was a cylindrical object that looked like a short flashlight with narrow tube-like connections. He said, “This is a fiber-optic scope. It’s an older one—the newer ones are smaller and brighter—but this does the trick.”
“You use that to look into the hole.”
“And you get a perfect view of the combination plates.”
“So you like this way better.”
“If you got the time. If you’re really careful, you can putty up the hole, make it look like part of the metal. They might not even notice anything for a while.”
“What about picking the combination?”
He shook his head. “There are some things, like using electronic sensing equipment, but it’s mostly TV bullshit. That James Bond crap doesn’t really work.”
“Why not?”
“Think about it. Even if you have a really sensitive gadget that can hear the clicks, you don’t think your breathing will affect it? Cars on the street? Someone walking in the apartment next door? Come on, that’s bullshit. And some of the new safes have false sounds.”
Jake wondered if there was new equipment Dormer wasn’t aware of, developments since he had quit. He watched Dormer’s unsteady hands put together the scope for Jake’s benefit, screwing on the eyepiece, the connecting light, and demonstrating the flexible arm. Jake noticed a framed photograph on the kitchen counter, and a child’s finger-painting taped to the wall by the refrigerator.
“Why’d you quit doing this?” he asked.
Dormer shrugged. “Got busted and did five years. My wife took off, and when I got out, I didn’t have the stomach for it.”
“You have a wife?”
“Had. And a daughter. No idea where they are. Sure they like it that way.” He turned on the scope and peered through it. “Get new batteries just in case. This looks a little low.”
“Where’d you get this?”
“Lab supplier,” he said. “You got family?”
“No.”
“No? What about a girlfriend?”
Jake was about to say no, but thought of Rachel. He wasn’t sure what she was. They were having sex in the middle of the night, and never talked about it. In the morning they pretended nothing had happened. It was the strangest affair he’d ever had. Yet in the evenings, Jake waited. He stripped and closed his eyes and listened for her footsteps.
“Girlfriend?” Dormer asked again.
Jake finally just shook his head.
“Guess that’s better. Sooner or later this catches up to you.”
“What does?”
“This life.” Dormer scratched his stubbled chin and winced when he pushed his chair back. “How long you been doing this?”
“About ten years.”
“And never been caught?”
“No.”
“Well, you’re either lucky or good.”
Jake shrugged. “How’d you get caught?”
“Stupid fucking mistakes. Thought I could break down an alarm. They caught me with some tools and pinned a shitload of other local jobs on me.”
“Which you didn’t do?”
His face wrinkled up into a smile. “I did, but it shouldn’t have been pinned on me.”
Jake heard people in the apartment above walking heavily across the floor.
“Want a drink?”
It was noon, and Jake shook his head. He watched Dormer shuffle to the kitchen area and pull out a bottle of brandy. He poured himself a shot, and brought it to the table.
“Show me the drill.”
“You’re getting a good deal for this equipment. This drill here is a portable drill press, something you just can’t find in stores.” He opened the second case and showed Jake the hand-held drill with clamp attachments. “This strap goes around the safe, and this small platform goes over the template.”
“So you can get the right angle.”
“Yup. This thing never let me down. You’ll wear out the bits really fast though, so you should buy more.”
Jake counted the bits already in the case. “There are over a dozen here.”
“Yup, but different sizes. You’ll need one size, and maybe ten to fifteen of them. A fresh three-eighths-inch, carbon-tipped bit will go for a couple of minutes, then you’ll need a new one.”
“And I go three and a quarter inches deep, at this eighteen-degree angle?”
“Yup. Let me show you how to rig this drill.” He motioned to the small, old safe on the floor.
“The same as the one I’ll be working on?”
“Yup. It’s smaller, but the wall’s the same.” He began setting it up, showing Jake how to strap on the portable press, position the hand drill, and find the correct angle. “Use these guides. They’re marked every five degrees, so for the in-between angles, use your eye.”
“What about the hole on the left? The drill goes straight in?”
“Yup. Ninety-degrees.”
“Should I try?”
Dormer began unstrapping the drill press. He said, “Try it from scratch. You gotta make sure it’s really tight, otherwise you’ll slip it.”
Jake stood. “Let me try to open the safe. You have a template for it?”
“Yup. Let’s see how you do. You ready?”
Jake examined the test template, and then sat on the ground in front of the small safe. He said, “Yup,” and began to work.
The only problem Jake had was with the initial drilling—he hadn’t expected it to require so much finesse. He broke the first drill bit trying to force the hole faster. Dormer had told him that it wasn’t just strength that did it; Jake had to ease off at the beginning in order to set the hole, then slowly begin applying more force. The small safe had required eight bits to drill the peephole, and Dormer warned him that th
e actual safe might be higher rated. If Jake had seen the UL tag on the safe itself, they could’ve figured out how strong it was. Underwriters’ Laboratory tests every model of safe and rates it. Dormer gave Jake a listing of the codes. “If the metal UL tag has a rating of TRTL-60 or TXTL-60 then it’s the highest protection and drilling might take a while,” Dormer said. Once Jake had drilled the hole, using the fiber-optic scope and determining the combination was easy. Jake saw the combination plates—though he had to get used to the warped perspective of the lens—and found the notches, quickly determining the corresponding combination ratios. He then began the combination sequences, unlocking the safe after the fifth series.
Dormer said, “Not bad. You done this before?”
“No,” Jake said. “But I have a feel for locks.”
69
Bobby Null had a few days to recuperate. The antibiotics and bed rest had helped. He saw everything clearly now. It no longer hurt to piss. Two nights ago he had become delirious, the infection breaking, and he had lain on the hotel bed, staring up at the ceiling that rippled like water. He heard bugs in the mattress, plotting to lay eggs in him. He saw the ghost of his brother Kevin, laughing at him for being such a wimp. His brother’s face was shot up, holes in his cheek and forehead. His chest spouted blood. Bobby didn’t know all the details of his brother’s death, but he hadn’t realized that Kevin had been so mutilated.
He had blown off Underhill because he had been so sick, but now it was time to deal with him. He telephoned Underhill and told him he’d come by the office. Underhill said, “I was wondering when you’d call.”
“I was sick.”
“I figured.”
“You got the name and stuff?”
“Oh, yeah.”
So, Bobby was getting closer. He bought a burger and fries at a dingy Mom and Pop grill, ate them standing up by the window, then looked up and down the street for a dealer. He saw one, a pale, scrawny junkie leaning against a wall, trying to catch the eye of people walking by. Bobby crossed the street, and the man, dressed in an oversized denim jacket with his sleeves rolled up, his forearms bone thin, said, “Weed, rock, crystal?”
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