Justice For Belle

by Didi Oviatt

  Mac gives me a short tour up the broken steps of the house, past the second floor, and guides me down a short hallway on the top level. We go into a small bedroom with the stained carpet that’s littered from one end to the other with torn pieces of old newspaper. Mac opens the window and climbs out onto the roof. He offers me his hand so that I can follow suit.

  The sun is rather blinding. It feels like we’re cavemen breaking free from our lives of darkness and solitude. I cover my eyes, place a foot on the windowsill, and let Mac pull me out into the fresh air. My eyes adjust quickly, and I’m stunned at what’s before me. Mac wasn’t entirely joking when he mentioned the view. I thought he was just kidding around, but wow! It’s beautiful up here. I gasp, a little beside myself, and spin a slow circle to see it all.

  “Of all the houses I own in Michigan, this, right here, is why I chose this one in particular to work from.”

  “And by that you mean sneak around?”

  “I mean work . . . you and me. Let’s get to it, shall we?”

  I plop myself down into one of the two beach-style fold-up chairs that are comfortably arranged to face away from the morning sun. Mac helps himself to the other chair. Between us is a coffee table with a well-arranged flower pot on top and two plastic crates shoved underneath.

  We’re overlooking the entire suburb, plus about half the city, yet we’re concealed by the curves and points of the roof. This place is perfect. If I were to live in a house that offered such a rooftop, I’d transform it into a garden deck. The perfect retreat to hide out and escape the world. Mac slides one of the crates closer to him and pulls us each out a pair of binoculars.

  “Here,” he says, “research time.”

  “You’ve got to be shitting me.”

  “Nope,” he says with a voice as cold as stone. “Help yourself. Me casa . . . and all that jazz.”

  I mumble a “wow” under my breath before reaching for the big eyes.

  First thing’s first, I locate my apartment building. Just as I suspected, there’s a perfect view right into my living room window. I don’t say a word, just thank God inside my head that it isn’t a view into my bedroom window. I then look for Dad’s house, followed by Tim’s little off-campus rental. Both are visible, but only in bits and pieces. Surrounding structures block full spying access. Lastly, I focus in on Belle’s old home. I hold my breath, ready to lie if Mac asks any questions about where I’m looking and why. Luckily, it’s close enough to Dad’s place that I could totally get away with it, if need be.

  To my surprise, Mac doesn’t even seem to care what I’m looking at. He clearly has his own intentions. I place the binoculars on my lap and try to make out where he’s pointing his. Of course I could ask, but I’m kind of curious as to what he’s willing to tell me on his own. I think it’s time for me to sit back and observe for a while, allow myself to process. Mac reaches into the crate again, this time producing a notebook and pen.

  “I have a list,” he says, “of thieving possibilities.”

  I sigh; he’s really thought this through. I’m not a thief, never have been, and never wanted to be. Even if I did commit a murder in my sleep as a kid, and even if I do daydream about killings as an adult, I still consider myself to be above such nonsense. I kick my feet up to the edge of my seat, and cross one foot over the other. This could be interesting; I might as well make myself comfortable.

  “Okay,” I tell him, “so let’s say I hear you out, and we narrow down your little list. How do we go about the actual act? Wear face masks and kick down doors? I mean, you and I aren’t exactly trained in heist tactics, if you catch my drift.”

  “You might not be, but I’ve been practicing.”

  The laughter pours out of me; I can’t help it. It isn’t just a giggle either. It’s a full-on belly laugh, the kind that splits your sides.

  “This, I’ve got to hear,” I bellow.

  “Over there,” Mac points a finger at an old industrial location. There’s a large sign stretching across the face of the main building, but the words have been weathered, and even through my binoculars, I can’t make out what the name of it was. There are four onsite buildings total. At least one of them must have been a warehouse at some point as it has several loading docks. There’s little employee parking, and the entire place is surrounded by an electrical fence topped with spiral barbed wire.

  “Yesh! What is that place? Some kind of prison I didn’t know existed?”

  “It was some sort of government testing lab.”

  “You sure about that?” I ask.

  “Yup. I figured out that it’s the only place around here that’s still under surveillance of sorts, so I checked it out. You should see the inside. They shut it down over fifteen years ago, but they left behind some pretty crazy shit.”

  “How the hell could you just figure something like that out?”

  “I’m a geek.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “As in a hacker. Didn’t you realize that most people in marketing really do know a thing or two about computer systems and how to access restricted databases?”

  “Nope, I didn’t know that. Lucy has a friend in marketing, and she’s an idiot.”

  “Maybe Lucy’s friend is in the wrong business then.”

  “Maybe you are.”

  “You’re probably right.”

  I set my binoculars back onto my lap and stare at him. I’m a little surprised, and a little in awe of Mac. He doesn’t acknowledge my gawking even one little bit, he only continues to look into his own magnifying spy tool. After a minute of trying to figure him out without success, I, too, turn back to studying the shutdown lab.

  “I feel like I don’t know you at all,” I tell him.

  “That’s because you don’t.”

  “So what are you? A writer? A marketer? A thief? Or some genius computer hacker in disguise?”

  “Ahnia, I’m just a busy man with a high IQ. A guy who over studies, tinkers, over analyzes, and gets little sleep. I think that pretty much sums me up.”

  “Humpf.” I snort an awkward agreement. “So tell me about this place. How do you know what’s inside?”

  “The surveillance system runs on an old database; the coding was easy to decipher and there are holes. I planted a bug that replays the same fifteen minutes over and over and shut down the power on the north end to cut a hole in the fence. I can only do it periodically and for a few intervals at a time. I’ve been inside twice now undetected, but I can’t do it again for at least a week.”

  “I’m impressed, Mac . . . a little disturbed, but impressed.”

  “Why thank you, Ahnia.” He grins a full-on, sexy smile in my direction. “Now you know why I’m confident that we can pull off a real job.”

  “Don’t get too full of yourself, just yet. We still don’t even have a plan to be so confident about, now do we?”

  “I suppose you’re right.” He scowls out at the wasteland of the suburb below us. “Do you want to see some of the stuff I got out of that place? Maybe we could use some of it, you know, if we come across any emergencies while in action.”

  He reminds me of an eager kindergarten-aged child ready to show off his pretend spy tools to a friend. For a second, I can’t decide if I want to play along or call a babysitter. Curiosity gets the better of me, and I convince myself that a man so muscular and rustic as Mac can act like a child any day of the week; I’d be sure to play along.

  “Sure,” I giggle.

  Mac pulls the other crate from beneath the table. He starts rummaging through it and placing items out on display. There are test tubes and strange chemicals galore.

  “Chloroform? Black powder? What the hell are you going to do with all this stuff?” I ask. “I mean, should you even be storing it all together? What if you blow this place up?”

  “None of the containers are leaking. I think we’re fine.”

  “Why would you even take this kind of stuff?”

  “What do you mean?” His conf
usion seems genuine.

  “It’s weird, right?”

  “Maybe, but how could I not take it?” He scratches his chin. “Could be useful.”

  I merely shake my head and leave it at that. We move on to talking about danger and creating the feelings we need for writing, something with a real deep-rooted motivation. I’m placing my life in the hands of a genius liar who has access to chloroform. My stomach knots.

  How much more danger could I possibly put myself in than this? My mind races to my best seller. No wonder he picked me, I wrote an entire chapter about being numb, a character not in control of her own body. She performed heinous acts, all the while her mind was elsewhere.

  I can feel his eyes fixated on me while I recall my own writing. My comparison of what I did to Belle, and what my character did to her victims. I don’t know what’s going through Mac’s head right now, but his grin is growing and calculating. The already stolen contraband, along with Mac’s hacking skills and confidence, is filling my head with possibilities. Ideas are flowing like crazy, and writing a fictional book with the incorporation of real life—heart pounding memories, may just work out in my favor, a second time.

  I look over Mac’s list. There are more than a few shopping centers and a couple of art galleries. To me, none of them actually seem worth the risk. There’s a call center that he’s likely listed for the equipment. Being a techie, I’m sure he could find a use for the stuff, but anything too big and heavy would be an obvious complication. There’s a bank, that’s a big fat NO. There’s also an old, locally owned jewelry store.

  Hmm, now there’s something worth hearing him out on. If he’s really as smart as he says he is, then we might just be able to pull this off after all. Not to mention the money we could get out of the heist itself. If we were to wait long enough before selling and spending it, as not to get busted, that is.

  “I think we should talk more about this jewelry store,” I tell him.

  Chapter Seven

  I’ve never really understood why the lighting in furniture stores is always dim and dreary. I mean, I get that they want to create a comfortable ambiance and all, by my hell. If I’m really going to let Dad buy me a new couch today, I’d like to see the exact color I’m about to pick out.

  It’s been three days since I met up with Mac, and quite honestly it feels like a lifetime. I actually miss him, which is a new feeling for me. We set out to accomplish a bit of homework this week, and intend on following through with our mission this coming Saturday. We’ll meet up first thing that morning, study up on the plan A, along with plan B or whatever other emergency scenarios we can come up with, and then execute at nightfall.

  I have my doubts. In fact, I’m scared out of my damn mind. But, what other choice do I have? Besides, if we go in prepared and just get the job done quick and easy, then our chances of getting away unscathed are totally possible. I don’t know if it’s because I’m completely hypnotized by Mac’s confidence, or if I truly have unwavering faith in him that I intend on following this through. He’s my last hope at a second chance, and I’m not going to pass it up now.

  No matter how nervous I am, it’s time to take action on something big. We have no intention of selling the stolen goods any time soon. We’d get caught, for sure. We only plan to put it in a safe place, for at least a decade until the coast is clear. I made that my very unmistakable stipulation, in agreeing to such an outrageous ‘business’ decision. At first, the money has to come from a novel, not the heist contraband. Just like with Belle, no one can know from where the motivation was rooted.

  The time crunch is an enormous obstacle. We have to get the job done before little Miss Lorraine gets back from New York, and that’s not to mention giving ourselves enough time to write a book about it before we’re both completely broke. Novels take time, and time we don’t have. This really puts a cramp on our heist prep and execution. There’s no time to dick around. It’s an in and out job. Rip it off like a bandaid, no matter how scary and painful it is. Then we can reap the reward afterward.

  On the plus side, I haven't been stalking Mac’s business page anymore, and Lucy hasn’t said another word to me about him. My dad is insisting on buying me a new couch as an early birthday present. Apparently, he doesn’t care that my birthday isn’t for another two months. He and Tim came up with the bright idea of an early gift as encouragement on my book to come. Like maybe if I’m extremely comfortable in my apartment, then I’ll stay there and write until I’m finished. If they only knew how much time I don’t plan on spending there.

  I’ve refused to give them any details about my writing project, obviously, only that it’ll be another suspense novel. As if I could get any vaguer than that! It’s funny how crime mysteries and psychological thrillers can walk so closely, hand in hand, yet be so very different.

  Meanwhile, I’ve already been compiling ideas for an outline. Perhaps Mac was right, a switch up in genre along with real-life motivation might just be the ticket. My own homework for the week is coming up with characters and major plot points for the book. All the while Mac is breaking the walls of the jewelry store’s security system and making a step by step plan of attack.

  “Oh, I love this!” Lucy says as she plops herself on the right side of me.

  Tim joins us, to my left. “Me too.”

  They’ve been wandering around, pretending to find me the perfect wraparound, but I’ve been watching. Tim’s avoiding eye contact, and Lucy’s just here to brush her hand against his once in a while, hoping that he’ll take the bait. Dad left twenty minutes ago. His taste in furnishings is borderline embarrassing.

  He claimed that his knees were bothering him, but I could tell by the endless calls he kept taking from Dorothy that he’d finally had enough. He probably just caved into whatever pressing engagement she had planned for him. He left me his credit card and a spending limit before he kissed me on the forehead and mozied out.

  “I like it too,” I agree. “This charcoal is a perfect shade. I still feel bad though; I hate letting Dad buy me something this big.”

  “Don’t,” Tim says, even though he’s never needed a handout . . . not even once in his entire life. “Dad has the money. If anything, blame me. It was my idea anyway.”

  I punch him in the arm, and he pretends to wince. Lucy giggles, completely beside herself. She rarely hangs out with the two of us together, and now I remember why. She’s like a high school girl, crushing on the guy who’s looking in the opposite direction. I rub my hand across the leather and kick back the extended length recliner under my toes.

  “Yep, I think this is it.”

  Lucy follows suit, kicking up her feet too.

  “If you don’t pick this one, I’ll have to take your dad up on the offer myself,” she says. “I could live on this couch.”

  “Agreed again,” Tim says, before pretending to doze off on it.

  I chuckle and shake my head.

  “So,” Lucy says. “If this is the one, what’s your plan next? Wanna do lunch?”

  “Nah,” I say, “I have a lot of ideas running through my head. If I don’t get them out now, they’ll be lost.”

  “No one wants that.” Tim chimes in before Lucy has a chance to extend the invitation to him alone. “I should probably go study, too. I have a test tomorrow, and I haven’t even cracked open that chapter yet,” he says even though he doesn’t budge from the kicked back position he’s found himself in.

  “I can’t believe you’re taking summer classes too,” Lucy swoons. “I think you deserve a break. Do something fun before the real hard stuff. Medical school is going to kick your ass.”

  “Yeah, Tim,” I nudge him and point my eyes in her direction. “Something fun.” I grin, showing him every single tooth I can expose, and flash him a wink that Lucy can’t see.

  He blushes from behind what’s meant to be an intentional scowl before sticking his tongue out at me like a five year old.

  “You two have the fun,” he finally smi
les back. “I waited too long to do something for my future. I’d rather just stick to my studies, for now.”

  Rather than getting up, Tim leans back further, nustling himself into the cushions. The look on his face screams a deep pondering of sorts. He’s so weird.

  “Suit yourself,” I say. “I’m going to buy this beautiful couch and then go check out a WiFi cafe.”

  There’s a shopping complex across the street from Mac’s choice for our jewelry heist; it’s been nagging at the back of my mind for days. He told me about the cafe inside the complex, but I’ve yet to check it out as not to show up on any security cameras too many times prior to our big job.

  “Maybe a change in scenery will help keep me on my toes while I write. Lucy, have you ever been to that place on 34th?”

  “Nope,” she says.

  “If you’re still hungry in a couple hours, I think that’s where I’m headed. Give me time to knock out a chapter, and then I’m all yours.”

  “Perfect!” she beams. “I’ve never been, but there’s a shoe store close by that I’ve been dying to explore.”

  “It’s a plan,” I say. “Enjoy your studies, nerd,” I punch Tim a second time in the exact same place as before. “Us girls have stories to make up, and shoes to try on.”

  “I hope you get a bunion.” He mumbles back while rubbing his arm. “See ya, Lucy.”

  Tim jumps to his feet and makes his way out before Lucy has a chance to say anything but a quick, “bye, Tim.”

  Good move Tim, I think, thanks for making things less awkward. Lucy sighs and shakes her head, before shooting herself back to an upright position on my soon-to-be new couch.

  “Do you think he’s batting for the other team?” Lucy asks.

  I cough and choke a little on my spit. That isn’t at all what I expected her to say. Maybe how cute he is, or how badly she wishes he’d give her a chance. I think about it, despite myself . . . it would actually make sense.