The Lockpicker

by Leonard Chang

  “Better hurry,” Bobby said. “She’s gonna pass out soon.”

  Rachel let out a choked, “Don’t tell…”

  Bobby tightened his grip and she gasped.

  Eugene shook the phone off, letting it fall to the ground and said, “I’ll tell you. It’s in the bank. Jake put it in a safe deposit box.”

  Bobby let go, and Rachel gasped in air. He grabbed the phone and said, “All right. Now we’re getting somewhere. The bank opens when, nine? At nine-thirty in the morning, you’re going to come here with everything you took from me—the jewelry and the cash. I remember what was in the box. Don’t fuck with me. You got it?”

  “You little asshole—”

  Bobby hung up. He limped to the table and sat down, holding his stomach. He saw Rachel glaring at Eugene and laughed. “It’ll be a while. You better relax.”

  81

  Jake thought about pulling the fire alarm, hoping to force Bobby to appear, but suspected that Bobby would just shove Eugene and Rachel into a closet and wait it out. It was a mess, no matter how he played it. As for the police, they’d be learning about the Lomax job in the morning, so they were out. Jake had no choice. He had to deal. He had hoped to lie to Bobby and separate him from Eugene and Rachel, but Eugene’s confession scrapped that.

  Christ, he didn’t even have a gun. He had his safe cracking tools and the thin hunting knife.

  But that was five hours away. There were a couple things he could do: he could check on them, make sure they were all right. He had called the apartment from the laundry room, and now took the stairs up to the twelfth floor. He moved quickly down the hall and stopped at the door, listening. He pulled out his knife and held it by his side. He heard the TV on low. Another sound, something metallic clinking on the glass table. Jake realized Bobby was going through the jewelry piece by piece, something that Jake hadn’t done yet.

  “Fucking jackpot,” Bobby said, his voice muffled.

  Rachel said something that Jake couldn’t hear.

  “Are you kidding? The cops? What’s he going to say? My name’s Jake and I tried to kill my partner, but now he’s stealing the shit I just stole?” Bobby laughed. “He’ll bring the Seattle stuff. He’s not stupid.”

  The clinking continued. Bobby said, “Both of you stop moving. I’ll do your legs if I have to.”

  Jake checked the doorknob. It was unlocked, but he was pretty sure the deadbolt was engaged. He turned the knob all the way and pushed in the door slowly. It didn’t move. He let go of the knob carefully.

  He heard scraping. Bobby was probably testing some of the diamonds, damaging the facets.

  Jake thought about waiting this out. At some point Bobby would be away from the table, away from the line of sight of this door. Then Jake could try to go in quietly, maybe jump him. He could try to get his brother and Rachel out. At some point he’d have to go to the bathroom. Jake tried to think of a distraction, something that would give him time to get to Eugene and Rachel. Once they were free, Bobby would probably take what he had and leave.

  What would happen if Jake just disappeared? What if he didn’t show up in the morning? But he thought about Chih. Bobby wouldn’t hesitate to kill.

  Jake brought his key to the deadbolt. How the fuck did Bobby survive that gunshot wound? He could still see Bobby unconscious, his body sliding into the dumpster. And how did he find Jake? Chih hadn’t known anything. This rattled Jake. Bobby was stronger than he had thought, and he hesitated with the key in his hand. Maybe Bobby expected Jake to return. Maybe he was sitting right in front of the door, gun in hand, waiting.

  Movement. The sound of the kitchen faucet. Bobby getting a drink. Jake heard Bobby curse, and say, “Your brother is a dirty fighter.”

  Jake began pushing his key in, using his fingers as a brace around the lock. He went in one notch at a time, stopping and easing off on the pressure with each movement. Once the key was flush, he started to rotate it, but knew the bolt would click loudly once it disengaged. He turned the key until he felt the bolt catching, and then he stopped. He waited. He listened.

  82

  Bobby had trouble taking pleasure in fucking Jake over with this new haul because something was wrong inside his stomach. That goddamn punch had messed things up in there, and Bobby could feel the pain worsening. Blood spots appeared between the torn stitches, soaking the paper towels he kept replacing. He had to hold out until tomorrow, and with the new cash he could see a good doctor, not one of those county shits that gave him a fucking infection. The pain flared and he bent over the sink, making sure the two on the floor didn’t see him. He breathed hard, hoping the new bennies would kick in soon. He was turning them over faster and faster. He lifted his shirt, wiped away some of the blood and promised himself to kill Jake slowly once he got the Seattle stash.

  Not a bullet to his gut, because it was too noisy. Bobby checked the knives in the wooden block on the counter. He’d use the long one with a serrated edge. Let’s see how he likes it, Bobby thought. A torn gut. Let’s see how long he can survive his fucking intestines chopped up. Thinking about this made him happy. Seeing the jewelry and cash on the table made him happy. He drank more water, since the cold seemed to help, and returned to the jewelry. Goddamn. With this and the Seattle stash, he could retire. He could buy a motor home and live on the beach. Maybe one day he’d drive up to Seattle and show off to his mother, let her know he wasn’t a total fuck-up like she thought.

  Kevin never had a motor home. Kevin never even left home, that pussy. At least Bobby looked out for himself and didn’t depend on Mommy’s money to live. What a loser. He found himself getting annoyed. He focused on the jewelry.

  The two on the floor were talking. Bobby said, “Shut the hell up. Am I going to have to lock you guys up in different rooms? You want that?” He stood up too fast, and felt more pain, but he tried not to show it. He walked slowly towards them. Eugene said, “You don’t need both of us. Let her go.”

  Bobby laughed. “Give me a fucking break. Where’d you learn that? TV? Asshole, two of you means double insurance.”

  “Why don’t you just take that and leave?” Rachel said.

  Bobby stared at her. She was really pretty, and he looked down at the outline of her legs in her black tights. He said, “Why the hell would you help Jake?”

  Her eyes narrowed.

  He said, “You supposed to get a cut?” He turned to Eugene. “Why didn’t you know about it?”

  He said, “I told him not to involve me.”

  “But she’s your wife?”

  “Will you just let her go?” he said.

  Bobby leaned forward and pushed aside her jacket, checking her breasts. She slid away.

  “Hey,” Eugene said. “What the hell.”

  Lifting his gun and aiming it at him, Bobby said, “Quiet.” He felt himself getting hard. He hadn’t screwed around in months. He wondered if he still could, with his stitches coming out. His groin began hurting, though, from the punch. Everything was connected. He said to Rachel, “Maybe I should put you in the bedroom.”

  She said, “You can go fuck yourself.”

  Bobby smiled. “That’s what you’re here for.” He pointed the gun at her and said, “Come on. Get up.”

  “No fucking way,” Eugene said, trying to sit up.

  Bobby kicked him in the side, and he went down. The sudden movement sent a jolt of searing pain through his stomach and groin, and he doubled over, holding his stomach. Rachel jumped up and began running towards the door. He cursed and hobbled after her, ignoring the feeling of something tearing inside him. She bent over and backed up, trying to open the door with her hands tied behind her, her fingers wiggling towards the knob. She found the doorknob, but Bobby reached her, grabbed her neck and threw her against the wall. She cried out.

  The door clicked, and suddenly flung open. A figure lunged towards him, and he realized it was Jake. Bobby brought his gun up, but Jake sliced his hand with a knife and kicked him hard in the groin, the shoc
k so violent that Bobby actually saw flashes of white light across his vision, and his grip loosened on the gun, but he didn’t let go. Jake yanked Bobby’s arm up and tried to stab him again, but Bobby fell back, avoiding him. He watched the knife and managed to aim the gun at Jake’s midsection. He pulled the trigger and the loud crack seemed to shake the building. Jake clutched his waist, looking down, then up at Bobby in shock. Bobby tightened his grip on the gun, closed the door quickly, and said, “That was very stupid.” Jake went down on one knee, holding his side with one hand and staring at the knife in his other hand, his mouth open. Bobby could barely move with the pain in his groin. He said, “You lose.” He advanced and hit Jake’s head as hard as he could with the gun, connecting cleanly over his ear, Bobby’s arm jolting and bouncing off. Jake’s head snapped to the side, his eyelids fluttered, and he collapsed.

  83

  The blur of sounds around him, the haze of lights slowly growing brighter, Jake felt a damp cloth on his forehead, the soothing coolness pulling him out of his confusion, the quiet, threatening voice of his brother drawing him awake. His brother was saying, “…you can’t go to the bank now. You should just go and take what you have…” and Jake tried to lift his head, but Rachel whispered, “Keep still.”

  “Is he up?”

  Jake opened his eyes. The top of his skull felt squeezed, a vice tightening as he looked around. He saw Bobby at the table, hunched over, his face red and sweaty. His eyes seemed to be bulging. Waving Rachel away, Bobby said, “All right. He’s fine. Get away from him.”

  Jake tried to sit up, but found his hands and feet tied together. His shoulder joints ached, and he wondered how long he had been out. He had trouble formulating thoughts. He noticed that Bobby had put the jewelry and cash back into the canvas bag, and kept the bag close to his feet.

  “Face down on the floor,” Bobby told Rachel. “Hands behind your back. I’m tying you up again.”

  “What about his side? I should replace the bandage soon.”

  Jake thought, My side? He slowly looked down and saw that his shirt was stiff with dried blood. Red gauze and tape poked out from underneath. Then he winced, his side crackling and throbbing, and he remembered being shot. He became dizzy and had to rest his head back onto the floor, but the sudden movement sent blood rushing to his head, doubling the squeezing pain. His thoughts jumbled together.

  Bobby said, “Fuck him. Get away. Hands behind your back.”

  She lay down and clasped her hands behind her. Bobby walked over to her, his legs unsteady. He made a loop with extension cord, and while still holding his gun, bound Rachel’s wrist together. He then put the gun down and made a knot, tugging and testing it. He quickly picked up the gun and returned to the chair. He sat down with a grimace and fixed the bandage on his hand. To Jake he said, “Stupid fuck. All you had to do was wait until the bank opened.”

  “I’m hurt,” Jake said. “My side.”

  “Yeah, well, you’re lucky I missed. I was aiming for your gut.”

  “The bullet…?”

  “Right through. You must have a fucking guardian angel.”

  Jake saw his brother sitting on the floor, his back against the sofa; his left eye was puffed closed, purples and yellows coloring the bruise. His lower jaw was also bruised. He seemed dazed and kept staring at Bobby.

  “I need a hospital,” Jake said.

  “The fuck you do. We’re gonna wait until the bank opens, and you’re going to get my stuff.”

  “Your stuff.”

  “That’s right,” he said. He stopped, and held his stomach, sucking air through his teeth. He lowered his voice and said, “I’m going to open up your insides just like you did to me.”

  “If you’re going to kill me, why should I bother going to the bank?”

  “There’s still them to worry about,” he said. He aimed his gun at Eugene and said, “First him, because he’s your brother.” He moved the gun towards Rachel. “Then her, but maybe I have some fun with her before.”

  Jake said in a strong, clear voice, “How did it feel in the garbage?” Bobby sat up.

  “How did it feel to be dumped in with the rotting vegetables?”

  Jake said.

  “You fucking—”

  “I threw you in there like a sack of shit.”

  Bobby stood up, winced, then walked quickly to Jake, winding up and giving him a kick in the stomach. Jake’s midsection exploded, and he felt the adhesive tape around his wound tearing off. He cried out and began coughing, the pain blinding him. Bobby laughed. Jake didn’t see the second kick coming, but felt his chest collapsing, his breathing caught in his throat. He gasped for air, and tried to turn away from another kick. Rachel yelled something. Jake was trying to inhale but could only wheeze and cough. He felt like he was choking on air, his lungs refusing to expand, and he struggled for what seemed like a long time without breathing. Then, slowly, a breath came through, and he heard his throat rasping as he quickly inhaled.

  “You’re going to kill him,” Rachel said.

  Bobby laughed again. “That’s the idea.”

  Jake felt saliva dripping down his chin. He blinked, his vision clearing as he took more deep breaths, and he met Rachel’s eyes. He croaked, “I’m sorry about this.”

  She didn’t reply, but nodded. She glanced at Eugene. He was watching them.

  “That was fun,” Bobby said. “But you’re right. He can’t die until after I get my stuff.”

  Jake thought, So this is what it’s like to see your death coming. He felt a mix of panic and calm, the struggle to grasp what was happening mingling with the searing pain. He could no longer feel his hands. If he could survive until morning he could try something on the way to the bank. Was Bobby going to wait for him? Jake could get a gun.

  His vision was tingling. He saw star bursts and multi-colored static, and tried to blink them away. He felt something dripping along his stomach and looked down. He said, “I’m bleeding.”

  “The bandage came off,” Rachel said.

  “Fuck it. Let him bleed.”

  “He’s already lost a lot of blood.”

  “I said fuck it.”

  “He’ll die.”

  Bobby let out an annoyed sigh. “Let him bleed, understand? Let him bleed.”

  “You’re an asshole,” Rachel said.

  Jake thought, Oh, shit.

  “What?” Bobby slowly turned in his chair to face her. “What did you just say to me?”

  “Stop,” Jake said to Bobby. “You’re taking her share.”

  Bobby looked down at the canvas bag. To Rachel he said, “You don’t like that, do you. That’s how it fucking feels. At least I’m not giving you a gut shot and leaving you in the goddamn dumpster.”

  Jake said, “You tried to screw me over.”

  Bobby ignored him and continued staring at Rachel. He said, “You’re pretty hot. What’re you doing hanging around losers like him?”

  She didn’t reply.

  Bobby was about to say something else, but his face seized up, and he bent over, holding his stomach. “Motherfucker!” he said. He stood and limped to the kitchen. Jake couldn’t see what he was doing, but heard the faucet running. He glanced at Eugene, who was staring towards the kitchen and moving his hands behind his back. His shoulders rocked as he struggled with the knots. When Bobby returned, Eugene stopped moving. He turned to Jake.

  Jake, startled, saw in his brother’s eyes an anger directed at him. Eugene stared coldly, then turned away.

  Jake realized his brother knew about Rachel.

  84

  Bobby noticed Eugene watching him, and said, “What the fuck’s your problem?” Bobby breathed in shallow, short bursts, because anything too deep sent spasms of pain though his groin and stomach. His vision blurred. If it weren’t for the bennies giving him a small lift, he’d be spread on the floor. Something burning worked its way up through his insides, and he imagined it was another one of those strong infections, the bacteria multiplying and
spreading. He had finished his antibiotics days ago and now felt naked, open to attack.

  He plotted his moves. He’d wait this out until the morning, then walk Jake over to the bank, the only way to make sure everything went well. Then he’d take the Seattle stash, add it to what he had now, and disappear. He’d have to find a hospital soon. He’d have to kill Jake quickly.

  The walls seemed to pulsate. He looked around. The room breathed. He shook his head and focused on the jewelry in front of him. A fever coming on. He recognized the sluggish air. It was almost five, and he hoped he could hold out.

  Jake said, “Why didn’t you clean out Chih’s store?”

  Who? Chih. Felt like another lifetime. Bobby turned to Jake, who was hogtied on the floor, his shirt bloodied from the bullet wound. Damn lucky. Clean. Not like the bullet in his own fucking gut. He said, “He used the alarm.” The air moved around Jake, a blurriness surrounding him like heat rising from the highway, and Bobby squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them. He looked at his gun. The barrel puckered its lips and blew a kiss. He kissed it back and smelled the cordite and oil.

  They were all watching him now, and he said to Jake, “You knew Kevin?”

  “Your brother? Met him a couple of times.”

  “What’d you think of him?”

  Jake shook his head. “He was a loser and very stupid.”

  Bobby stiffened.

  “And,” Jake said, “he was pretty ugly. All that weird shit on his face.”

  “From steroids,” Bobby said.

  “I figured. He looked like a freak.”

  “Our neighbors probably heard the gunshot,” Eugene said. “They might be calling the police.”

  Bobby turned to him. “Was I talking to you? Why are you so fucking dense?”

  “It’s true,” Jake said. “That was loud.”

  “Maybe. But they’d probably call here first. Find out what it was. Funny thing about neighbors. Most don’t give a shit.”

  “You mind if I get another bandage?” Jake asked. “If I bleed too much I won’t be able to make it to the bank.”