Meaner Things (23 page)

Charlie kept up a nonstop monologue about everything under the sun as he drove downtown to Emma’s place. I paid little attention, kept the blanket over my head and screened out his incessant yammering. I realised Charlie’s volubility was just his own way of coping with nerves.

Every time the car hit a bumpy bit of road I was jolted around on the floor, my hands encountering all sorts of bits of gravel, crumbs, old screws and God knows what else. There was even some sticky stuff that felt like chewing gum and wouldn’t come off. Worse still, with no air conditioning in his ancient rust bucket, I was beginning to gag from the sweaty odours coming off the blanket. I peeled the corner away from my mouth and gasped for fresher air.

“Did you take this blanket straight off your bed?” I shouted.

“No sacrifice too great,” he replied.

I managed to stick it out until we got to Alberni and were buzzed down into Emma’s basement garage. My first port of call in her apartment was the bathroom, where I scrubbed dirty pink gum from under my fingernails.

When I came out I took a look around and noticed that the walls were stripped bare.

“What happened to the paintings?”

“I put them in storage,” she replied, “They’re mine anyway, not his.”

“Even the Alex Colville?”

She blushed. “Not that one. But I like it, and he owes me.”

“I did the same,” I replied. “Except I don’t have paintings like you.”

She’d prepared lunch for us and we sat at a corner of the big dining table, munching on a spinach salad with blush wine vinaigrette dressing. I could tell that Charlie would have preferred a burger and ketchup. For the rest of the afternoon we sat around, moving from chair to chair, saying little.

Eventually twilight came. I had a strong urge to look out the window and watch the sky darken above the mountains – I knew it would calm me – but I was aware of the other tall condos nearby and how we could be seen from them. Emma had even mentioned some creep across the way that she’d once spotted peering at her through binoculars. So we kept the table lamps dim and the blinds closed all the way across her big, curving floor-to-ceiling window.

Still restless, I fetched myself a fresh, strong coffee and moved my chair until I could see outside through a tiny gap at the edge of the blind. The light grew dimmer and dimmer until night fell and darkness reigned. Emma offered us wine or liquor, but I declined and was glad to see Charlie do likewise. Tonight was not a night for even slightly fuzzy heads, never mind Dutch courage.

The special fireworks display, supposedly even bigger than the city’s annual Festival of Lights competition back in July, started at nine thirty and lasted about half an hour. We heard it but couldn’t see it from the window. It would be long over by the time we made our move, but I was well aware of the all-night partying that usually went on after such events. This one was relatively late in the year, but Vancouver was still enjoying hot summer weather. That meant the massive crowd would be filtering home for many hours to come, with large numbers of people milling around Denman and Gilford Streets and catching packed buses along West Georgia.

All available police would be out on the streets monitoring these liquored-up, and often rowdy, masses well into the early hours of tomorrow – a scenario that suited us perfectly. With any luck, the paddy wagons would be busy and the police have their hands full with drunken revellers and spaced-out druggies until dawn at least.

I lay on the couch with my eyes closed but my brain was buzzing. I was no longer worried about the magnets on the vault door. If they’d moved at all, the connection would have broken and the alarm would have gone off. By now the Zheng Building would be in lockdown, with police cars swarmed around it. That would give us plenty of warning to turn back if need be. I went over everything in my mind one last time, visualising each successive step. It seemed foolproof, at least until something unforeseen happened. That’s what I’d missed the first time, ten years ago. I’d better not miss it again.

At midnight I stood up and stretched. “Time to go,” I said.

We each used the bathroom one last time, then went back down to the garage and over to the Corolla which Emma had filled with gas yesterday and driven into one of the building’s guest parking spots. We stashed the equipment in the trunk beside a large travel bag that Emma had placed there already.

“You got the stuff I mentioned?” I asked.

“Strong, zippered tote bags, three backpacks and half-a-dozen bottles of water,” she replied.

I nodded. “Good work. Let’s hope we fill all the bags. That should be plenty of water. It’ll be hot in there.”

“Oh, and I added one more thing for good luck.” She fished in the travel bag and pulled out a familiar dark brown object.

“Sammy,” I said, surprised to see him.

“You mean Samantha,” she replied with a grin. In fact, I think I’ll keep her right with me.” She stuffed the tiny bear into her pants pocket.

“Won’t he get squished in there?” I protested.

“She’ll be just fine,” Emma replied, “It’s a big pocket. Anyway, I need my good luck charm with me at times like this.”

It was a welcome lighter moment among the sombre preparations. Just seeing the bulge of Sammy in her pocket helped me relax. We got into the car and Charlie drove out while Emma and I crouched down in the back, this time with a clean blanket over us.

When we’d left the block I straightened up. “Any sign of Zheng’s chauffeur?”

“Nope,” Charlie replied. “Didn’t see a soul about.”

“Then let’s get to the Zheng Building.” I peered out the window into darkness, alone with my thoughts.

22.

IN LIKE FLYNN

The only people walking the streets were late night revellers quietly making their way home, probably from fireworks after-parties. I was pleased to see there were no rowdy groups milling about – that meant there should be no cops around either.

Charlie drove without any evident nerves, taking his time and remembering to signal and do everything by the letter. Tonight wasn’t the time to get pulled aside by a traffic cop, not that there were any around. We encountered one police car on the far side of the street at West Georgia and Thurlow, and for a second or two my heart raced. I thought of the equipment in our trunk and how it alone was enough to get us arrested on the spot, investigated, and almost certainly charged with ‘intent’. We passed a blue and white cop car and nothing happened. No screaming siren, no rapid pursuit. I let out the breath I’d been holding. Emma’s hand circled mine, squeezing gently.

It was the only police presence we saw. The trip took only a few minutes and soon Charlie was a block away from the Zheng Building. He pulled into the kerb and we donned tight rubber gloves, tugging them over our fingers and snapping them into place. My palms were already sweating profusely. Somehow I got the gloves on.

Charlie kept his side window half open and I welcomed the cool night air on my face. He pulled in again beside the Zheng Building’s garage door and held the frequency scanner up to the open window. Immediately the big metal door began sliding upwards. I had prepared myself for the noise, but it seemed even louder tonight, making a tremendous clanking racket I thought loud enough to waken the whole neighbourhood. Loud enough to draw every cop in Vancouver to this very spot.

Whilst it was still rumbling upward, Charlie eased the Corolla a little to the right and down the short driveway. We slipped under the door and each of us pulled on a ski mask as we entered the garage. Charlie pressed the transmitter again and the door began clanging its way back down. It seemed to take forever before it was completely down and still, and silence restored.

We parked as close as possible to our chosen door into the building.

“Wait here a minute,” I said. I could feel my heart pounding and needed a few moments to calm myself.

“This ski mask is going to be murder,” Emma said.

“You can take it off inside the vault.”
If
we
get
that
far
. My breathing returned to something like normal. “OK, let’s go.”

We got out of the car and went to the trunk, where each of us shouldered one of the heavy bags. Crossing over to the door into the building I thought the three of us probably resembled some sort of Special Forces group operating behind enemy lines. Then I saw Charlie and almost laughed aloud at the thought. He was already lagging behind.

“Hurry up!” I hissed. The garage was the most dangerous part of the building for us. This is where it could all go wrong. It would only take us to bump into one workaholic tenant, finally going home for the night, to end our evening before it had properly begun. We had to get out of here and into the building pronto.

We stood in front of the door with the lock instead of a swipe card and Charlie reached into his bag. I shone a dimmed light on the lock and Charlie inserted the master key he had cut for it. He turned the key. Nothing happened.

“What’s wrong?” I whispered.

He gave a low grunt. “Key doesn’t work.”

“Why not?”

“Don’t know. Could be I didn’t file it down enough. It only takes me to be a millimetre off on one tooth.”

I held back my frustration. “What do we do now?”

“Don’t worry, I have my picks.” He reached into his bag again and produced them and began work on the lock. As he dragged the picks over the mechanism I found myself counting seconds in my head.

I’d reached about a hundred and seventy seconds and was beginning to get really worried when at last I heard a satisfying click of the lock.

“Just needed the right pressure,” Charlie said. He turned the handle. We grabbed our bags and went in, leaving the door closed, but unlocked for a quick getaway if needed.

I hadn’t been able to stand around and observe this entrance for long – such behaviour would have looked odd and attracted unwelcome attention – but I was pretty sure that it was either completely unused or served as a service entrance. In the pitch darkness I switched on my penlight and we ascended half-a-dozen bare, concrete steps up to the hallway above. At the end of the corridor we turned left into the illuminated part of the building, the main, daytime lighting off, but small night lights twinkling from the ceiling. From here on we were in range of video cameras suspended from above.

We lugged the heavy bags along the hallway and past the security control room. It was dark and unoccupied, the monitors turned off; no-one was there to watch the live feeds at night or on the weekend. But the cameras were still recording and there was no avoiding them, which made a raid on the security control room essential. Tempting as it was, now was not the right time however. We’d take care of it later on the way out.

I still had to check one more thing on this floor. I tapped the other two lightly on the shoulder, signalling them to stop for a moment, and stepped towards the front of the building. The guard booth in the foyer was dark and empty too, Roger G. no doubt at home in his bed.

I rejoined the others and we moved swiftly past the elevators to the back stairwell door at the end of the main corridor. I opened it slowly to reduce the sliding, clacking noise the push bar would otherwise make, which would only seem amplified in these gloomy, empty confines. There was no point in scaring myself.

We slipped through and I closed the door just as gently behind us. I felt better now that we were this far and once again out of sight of the cameras. We descended as softly as we could, taking care not to clunk the bags on the bare steps.

The bottom of the stairwell seemed a natural place to pause for a minute or two and take a quick breather. Gradually the sounds of our breathing died away and I listened to the silence of the building, alert for anything unusual. There were no creaks, no footfalls, nothing.

I leaned close to Emma. “How are you doing?” I whispered.

“Not bad,” she replied, “Could do with a bit of fresh air though.”

The remark was innocent, but it triggered an image of her and me on a high rooftop ten years ago. Suddenly I felt worried for her tonight. I dismissed the mental image and fought down the fear.

“Stuffy building, eh?” I said calmly, to elicit a bit more from her.

“And this bag weighs a ton.”

“Don’t worry; we’ll soon be able to take these masks off.”

My face was sticky with sweat and the ski mask was making me itch. I was sorely tempted to take it off, even for just a minute. Instead, I satisfied myself with a good scratch. I listened one more time for any sounds echoing down the twenty-four floors above us.

Still nothing. So far, so good.

*

“Déjà vu all over again.”

I ignored Charlie’s remark and opened the door to the vault foyer. He was right though: we now had to repeat the process that he and I had worked through two days earlier. I reached above my head and shrouded the video camera, then went over and turned on the lights. We pulled off the ski masks and chucked them into our bags. I scrutinised the vault magnets from a distance and they seemed perfectly normal. Or as normal as we had left them anyway.

We dragged the bags over to the vault door. Charlie took out the metal plate and I carefully positioned it over the twin magnets, clicking it into place.

“Done.”

Charlie passed me the wrench and I unscrewed the eight bolts along the top and bottom of the magnets. They only needed a couple of turns each and they were out. I placed the bolt stubs in a small bundle on the floor beside the vault, though I couldn’t think why I would ever need them again.

“Rip ‘em off,” Charlie said with a grin.

“Carefully,” Emma added, frowning.

“Right,” I replied. They knew as well as I did that the next few moments were crucial. If I didn’t do this right and the magnets were separated by even a centimetre . . . I let the train of thought fade away.

“Want me to do it again?” Charlie asked.

I shook my head. “No, we agreed it would be me.” Somehow I wanted to do it. I was taller than Charlie anyway; he had had to stretch last time, so it made sense for me to be the one. I raised my arms and gripped the magnets.

I could immediately tell that both were absolutely tight against their steel backing surfaces. This was no ordinary tape, but the strongest industrial variety. I had to pull hard but not too hard. Steady pressure should do it. I splayed my fingers in the tight rubber gloves and increased the pressure.

Then increased it some more; and yet more. The magnets barely budged. My arms were aching now and my hands hot and sweating. I took a short break, waved my arms around to relax them, and wished I could wipe my sweaty palms on my pants.

Finally, I managed to get my fingertips in behind and that changed the dynamic. I gave the damned things a really good pull, almost swinging my body off them. Suddenly there was a tremendous ripping, cracking sound of rapidly peeling tape. The entire device came straight out and I had to steady myself so as not to stumble. Somehow I managed to keep both magnets tight together.

I bent the covered magnets back, until they were dangling from the hollow steel pipe well away from the vault door. Straggly bits of tape held them loosely against the wall.

I stepped back and wiped my damp forehead.

“Nice work,” Charlie said.

“Thanks,” I replied. “Nothing to it.”

“Now you need to hoist me up to get the videoscope. Best to leave no evidence, remember?”

I groaned but crouched down and lifted Charlie on my shoulders. He seemed even heavier than last time.

“Just yank it out,” I hissed.

“Do you know how much these things cost?”

I didn’t argue and settled for enduring this idiosyncrasy until he was done. Then I had to rest for a couple of minutes, stooped over with my hands on my thighs.

“Worked like a charm,” Charlie said. He wrapped the device up and put it in his bag.

I was anxious to get on with it. “I need the four-number combination, Charlie.”

“I forgot to bring it.”

I glared at him, thinking he was serious. Then I saw a broad grin appear on his face and realised that he was yanking my chain as usual. He reached into his pants pocket and produced a crumpled scrap of paper.

“It’s right here.”

“Same combo both times, morning and evening?”

Charlie hesitated. “Well . . . actually I only got it once, the morning one. But it’s bound to be the same.”

I suppressed the anger rising in me.
Now
he
tells
me
. “How come?”

“The big guard, Jeff D. or whatever you call him. When he closed up in the evening he stood right over the dial. I couldn’t see past his fat head.”

“The whole time?” This was exasperating, and just like Charlie not to bother telling me.

“He was only there about a minute, less in fact. Seemed in a big hurry.”

“This better be right,” I said, looking down at the slip of paper. There were four numbers scrawled on it in Charlie’s spidery handwriting. I gripped it tightly and went over to the door, looked at the shiny steel dial, down at the numbers again, then back at the dial. Something seemed odd about it. I reached out to dial the four numbers in sequence but paused when my gloved hand touched the centre knob.

“Four to the right . . . three to the left . . . two to the right . . . one more to the left.”

“What is it?” Emma asked over my shoulder.

I went over the sequence of turns again in my mind and tried to visualise the movement of the dial. Slowly I took my hand away.

“I think it’s been left open,” I said.

“What?” Emma took the piece of paper out of my hand and inspected both it and the dial.

“The setting is in the exact position it would be if the sequence had just been dialled,” I explained, “I think Jeff D. must have left it that way yesterday.”

“Why would he do that?” Charlie wondered.

“Complacency probably, same as with the key. And you said he was in a hurry. Friday night; maybe he had a date.”

Charlie approached the door, eased past Emma, and peered at the dial.

“I think you’re right,” he concluded, “Well spotted. The dope never erased the combination. They’re supposed to give it a whole bunch of spins after they lock up, to clear the code.”

“It doesn’t automatically erase?” I asked.

“The new ones do, they have a thing called auto scramble that connects the lock and bolt electronically. It clears the code every time the door’s closed. But this is an old door, decades out of date. It’s mechanical only, not electronic.”

“Which means it relies on humans doing their job properly,” I said.