The Lock Artist (6 page)

Another half-baked idea, I know. The wrong way to think about it. I know!

We rolled over the border, into Connecticut. The house was only a few minutes farther. The more money you’ve got, I guess, the closer you can live to New York City, even if you’re in a different state.

The Ox directed Bigmouth to the house. It was a big brick Tudor-style mansion, on top of a long sloping lawn. We drove past it and turned about a half mile down, looping back to a playground that was just on the other side of the house’s backyard. I didn’t like the sight lines on the back of the house, but it was thirty degrees outside, the sun was going down, and the playground was totally deserted.

Bigmouth pulled off the street and turned the car off. We all sat there for a few minutes, waiting for somebody to say something.

“We’re actually gonna do this shit,” Bigmouth finally said. “Can you believe this?”

“Piece of cake,” the Ox said. “What are we waiting for?”

“You’re the expert,” Bigmouth said to me. “What do you think? Do we go now or do we wait a while?”

As if I hadn’t already known this was Amateur Hour. I shook my head and opened my door. Everyone else followed me. When we were outside, I put my hands up to stop them.

“What? What is it?”

I put one finger up. Then I pointed to my eyes, pretended I was looking
around in every direction. Then I pointed to the steering wheel of the car and pounded on an imaginary horn.

“Somebody should stay here and be the lookout? Is that what you’re saying?”

I gave him the thumbs-up. Either Heckle or Jeckle got elected for that job. Then the rest of us were on our way to the house. We walked down the edge of the backyard. I kept looking around us, trying to find a potential problem. Everything looked clear.

When we got to the back of the house, I stopped everyone again and pointed to my eyes again. Whichever of Heckle or Jeckle was still with us got positioned on the corner of the house, where he could see up to the car in one direction and down to the street in the other. That left Bigmouth, the Ox, and me to go inside.

The Ox carefully raised the window he had left ajar. I was thinking maybe I should make us all wait again, but then I thought, hell, let’s just go for it here. Assume the dumb bastard did everything he said he did and the alarm system is really off. Why would a rich man go to Florida for the holidays and not turn his alarm on? Because like Bigmouth said, some people are just plain stupid and deserve everything that happens to them. That’s the one thing Bigmouth got right that day.

The Ox climbed into the window first, with about as much grace and delicacy as I would have expected. I went in next. Bigmouth came in behind us. We were already standing in the office. The Ox went right to the nearest painting on the opposite wall. A sailboat battling the waves, the usual high-class crap. He made a big show of putting one finger on the picture’s frame and lifting it from the wall. There was a safe there, all right, recessed a few inches into the wall’s surface.

“Do your thing,” Bigmouth said to me. “How long’s it gonna take, anyway?”

I went over to the safe. The Ox stepped aside. I could feel them both staring at my back now as I put my fingers on the dial. It was a brand I’d never seen before. Some European-sounding name. A tiny ray of doubt started to flicker in the back of my mind. What if this one was different from every other safe I’d ever opened before? I certainly didn’t know the tryout combinations, so I wouldn’t be able to try those first. Which was a shame, because a man who leaves his alarm system off is the same kind of man who’ll buy a safe and never change the combination.

But first things first. Try the handle, see if the damned thing is even
locked. I put my hand on it, gave it a little twist. I didn’t really expect it to move. It’s just the thing you do first, to eliminate the possibility.

The handle moved.

I froze on the spot. In two seconds, I saw the whole thing unfolding in my head. When the Ox got in here the first time and found the safe, he didn’t even bother trying the handle. If I open the door right now and show them that it’s unlocked, they’ll know that they didn’t need me here at all. Hell, I didn’t even open the back door for them. We came in through the damned window.

So what’ll happen next? They’ll jump right in here, take the diamonds. They’ll take me back to New York, at least. I hope. Then they’ll dump me on the street corner and say, Thanks for nothing. Unless they’re honorable thieves, of course. Fat chance. Or unless they ever want to work with me again. Fat chance again. Like this isn’t a once in a lifetime thing for all of these guys.

I could feel that the bolts were already retracting into the door. One little pull and the door would be open. I slowly let the handle slide back. Then I turned and sneaked a look back at Bigmouth and the Ox.

“Is it a hard safe?” Bigmouth said. “Can you do it?”

I shook out my hands, worked my neck around like I was about to attempt the impossible. I pointed at my eyes, then out the room in one direction. At my eyes again, then in the other direction. You two guys get the hell out of here and keep watch.

They both seemed a little reluctant to leave, but I stood my ground. I didn’t move a muscle until both of them were gone. Then I let my breath out.

I went back to the safe and opened it. There was a black velvet bag inside. Like something out of a movie, exactly what you’d expect to see holding a million dollars’ worth of diamonds, right? With a little drawstring on top? It was perfect.

I opened the drawstring and looked inside. Twenty, maybe thirty glittering stones. Not quite as much as I would have expected, but what did I know about diamonds? I took a few of them out, thought about maybe keeping some for myself. Then I realized that was probably stupid. I’d never be able to do anything with them, and I’d just be reducing the overall take. So I closed up the drawstring and put the bag on the floor. Then I went back to the safe. I knew I needed to kill a few minutes, so I thought I might as well check out the locking mechanism. I spun the dial a few times, pretended that it was locked and tried to open it. I parked the dial, picked up
three wheels. Pretty standard so far. I cleared the dial and started going through the numbers, feeling for the contact area. It seemed very well defined to me. When I got to the first short contact, it stood out immediately. This was
not
a hard safe. I was almost sorry that I didn’t get to crack it.

What the hell, I thought. At least I’ll know this now, if I ever see another one. In the meantime, no sense taking any longer than you have to. Let them think you’re really, really fast at doing this.

I wiped off the dial and closed the door. Then I replaced the picture on the wall. I left the room and found Bigmouth standing by the front door, looking out the little window. He almost jumped through the ceiling when I tapped him on the shoulder. He got over that when I handed him the bag.

“What? Are you kidding me? Did you open it already?”

He looked inside the bag. He seemed at a loss for words, maybe for the first time ever.

“Happy New Year,” he finally said. “Happy Fucking New Year.”

We collected everybody and got back in the car. I rode shotgun again. This time, when we got back on the expressway, I put my hand on Bigmouth’s arm and got him to ease up on the gas. Everybody was just a little bit too excited, and I didn’t want us all to get killed on the way back.

“He did it!” Bigmouth screamed, for the third or fourth time. “How long did that take, like four minutes? Five minutes? The kid is a fucking genius!”

“He’s ice,” the Ox said. “I gotta admit it now. I had my doubts at first, but this kid is a fucking ice cube.”

“Hey, I just thought of something.” Bigmouth took his eyes off the road to look at me. “When you were in there alone, you didn’t put any of those diamonds in your pocket, did you?”

“I could pat him down,” the Ox said. “You think?”

“No, no. I’m just saying. All he has to do is look me in the eye and tell me he didn’t put any of those diamonds in his pocket. Then we’re cool.”

The car went quiet. Everybody was staring at me. I put my hands up. Like what the hell, guys? What am I supposed to do here?

Then everybody started laughing. The moment passed. The radio came on. A bottle of schnapps got passed around. I declined. Bigmouth kept driving too fast, until I reminded him with my hand on his arm, again and again, to take it easy. We didn’t stop at New Rochelle to take the Ox home. He needed to be with his boys that night, to celebrate until the sun came up.

When we were back in the city, I pointed to the sign for the Hamilton Bridge. They seemed eager to do just about anything for me, so they went ahead and took me over the river and down to 128th Street, let me off across the street from the Chinese restaurant.

“You gotta move to a better neighborhood,” Bigmouth said as I got out of the car.

I had one last card to play that night. I figured what the hell, it might be the only thing I get out of this. I stood there on the sidewalk and pulled out both side pockets.

“Fucking A, why didn’t you say something?” Bigmouth got out his wallet, made everybody else in the car do the same. He collected together about three hundred dollars and gave it to me. That didn’t seem like quite enough to him, so he parked the car and he made everyone march right down to the bank on the corner.

“Whatever your fucking limit is,” he said. “You hear me? Your absolute max. It’s the least we can do for the kid.”

Between the four of them, they were able to withdraw another thousand dollars.

“That’s just an advance, kid. Wait till we unload those diamonds! I’ll be beeping you to pick up your share! I promise! As soon as we have the money, I’ll beep you!”

A few more hugs and handshakes and carrying on. Then they piled back into the car and took off down the street.

When they were out of sight, I crossed the street and went into the restaurant. I paid the family the two hundred dollars I owed them for the month. Then I went upstairs and celebrated New Year’s Eve in my empty room. I couldn’t help but think about my uncle. I wondered what he was doing, back in Michigan. Probably having a busy night, selling champagne.

I thought about Amelia. Of course.

Then I got out my paper and my pencils and I started drawing. I put my whole day on the page, panel by panel, playing the whole thing back for her. Showing her what I had been through. It was the thing I did almost every day, just for my own sanity, and for the small amount of hope it gave me. That maybe someday these pages would find their way to her. That she’d read them and that she’d understand why I had to leave her.

As I finished the last panel, I looked back over the whole thing and it seemed totally comical. The more I thought of it, the more I realized that I’d
probably never hear from them again. I mean, they had no reason to contact me with my share of the money, right?

No more amateurs, I told myself. Never, ever again. Even though you did make thirteen hundred bucks today.

I went back to Amelia as I turned off my light, got in my sleeping bag on that cold dusty floor, and closed my eyes. I would have given anything to have her right there with me. For just one hour. I would have given my life for it.

Happy New Year to me.

The yellow pager woke me up the next morning. I went downstairs and used the pay phone. I dialed the number. It was the same number I had used the day before.

“Hey, kid,” Bigmouth said. “Hope I didn’t wake you. Is everything okay?”

I waited for him to realize he wouldn’t get an answer.

“Sorry, I’m kinda hungover. Not thinking straight. Anyway, can you come back to the diner? Soon as you can? We’ve got a little problem.”

After the robbery, Uncle Lito went out and bought himself a gun. It was a handgun, but it was a lot different from the gun the robber had used. The robber’s revolver, with the shiny bright metal . . . It looked like a classic six-shooter, the kind you’d see in a Western movie. Uncle Lito’s gun was a semiautomatic. No spinning cylinder. No bright metal. It was dull and black, and somehow it looked twice as deadly.

He hid it behind the register, thinking I’d never see it. That lasted about five minutes. He didn’t talk about the gun. He didn’t talk about anything having to do with the robbery at all. But I could tell he was thinking about it. For the next few weeks, whenever he was quiet, I could tell he was replaying the whole thing in his head. Not just the robbery itself, but the strange way I had reacted to it.

I have to feel a little bad for him now, looking back on it. It’s not like he had anybody else to talk to about me. There was a woman from the state who’d come by and see how I was doing, but she only did that once a month or so, and after the first year, she stopped coming altogether. Even if she had kept up her visits, what the hell was she going to do with me? By all appearances, I was doing okay. Not great, but okay. I was eating, even if half the time it was at the Flame. I was sleeping. And yes, I was finally back at school.

It was this place called the Higgins Institute. It was mostly deaf kids who went to this place. Deaf kids with money, I mean. Besides them, there were a few kids with what they called “communicative disorders,” some kind of defect that prevented them from hearing or talking or both. I was put in that category. I had a “disorder.”