Authors: David Anderson
When I got to the end of the block and around the corner, I started shaking.
So it wasn’t just Emma I was thinking a lot about. I tried to convince myself that this guy could have been anybody, that it was coincidence, that he was just some rich dude waiting for his rich girlfriend.
Then I remembered the cold, dead eyes.
GERM OF AN IDEA
My bright idea didn’t last long. She already seemed to know what it was. I phoned her the next day and, still keeping things a little formal, told her I’d like to discuss her situation. I didn’t mention the goon with the muscles and bad attitude.
We met at her place after work. Well after my work anyway. She wore a low cut purple t-shirt and denim shorts, the kind women call Daisy Dukes, her long legs and feet bare. I sat down and she disappeared into the kitchen for a while. I heard a machine gurgling and eventually she brought out some fancy layered cold drink, the sort you expect to be served with a cherry on top. She gave me a tall cold glass filled with something that smelled fruity.
“Orange mango smoothie,” she said, “To cool you off.”
She got straight to the point.
“I should have taken the papers from his safe that day,” she said, as she sat opposite me. “Or at least taken copies. You’re probably wondering why I didn’t.” It was a statement more than a question. She was right of course.
“I had an idea about that,” I replied. “I thought if you could get some hard evidence.“
She cut me off. “He still wouldn’t divorce me.”
“But can’t you get a divorce anyway?” I had to be sure about that.
She nodded. “Of course. But he’s making it a lot harder.”
“Well, if you had those documents it would come a lot quicker and the settlement would be a lot more generous.”
“Too late for that. He’s changed the locks to the house. The housekeeper is under orders not to let me in. He’d sack her if she did.”
I sighed. This Zheng guy seemed to be a typical mega-rich jerk used to getting his way about everything. Marrying Emma hadn’t been enough for him; he’d want to control her afterwards too. She needed some leverage against him. Maybe there was still a way for her to get that, with my help.
“Don’t even think about it,” she said.
”About what?”
“About breaking in.”
I forced a little laugh that sounded faked even to me. “Those days are long over,” I assured her.
“Are they?” she said, looking right at me, “You sure?”
“Totally.”
“Then what was this great idea of yours?”
“My idea was that
you
go there and get the incriminating documents. I could have kept watch from the road or whatever. That’s all. I see now that’s impossible.”
She sat back and sighed. “Yes it is. Even with your help.”
Well, maybe, maybe not. I was still reluctant to give up my bright idea. He might be a careless rich jerk.
“I guess his house has the latest security?” I asked her, hoping the answer would be ‘No’.
“Alarms all over the place.”
“I know someone who’s good with alarms,” I said. Maybe I could rope Charlie in with the promise of whatever else Zheng had in his safe.
She gave me a rare smile. “I knew that’s what you were thinking.” Then her mood changed. “But he’ll have changed the safe combination. I know him.”
I wasn’t giving up. “There might be a way around that too.”
She thought for a moment. “You were always brilliant at planning those things, Mike.”
“Just not the execution.”
She frowned and leaned over towards me. Her low neckline became a distraction and I forced myself to look up into her eyes. Her hand gently folded over mine. “Don’t say that. Your execution was perfect, apart from me messing it up.”
“So what are you going to do?” I said.
She looked deadly serious. “I don’t have much choice. I’m desperate. I don’t like it, honest I don’t, but I might have to take you up on your offer. If there’s anyone can figure out a way to do it, it’s you Mike.”
I tried not to gulp too obviously. My initial idea really hadn’t gone much further than sitting in a car, waiting for her to sneak in and out of Zheng’s house. What the hell had I just got myself into?
*
We kissed at the door, my hand resting lightly on her back at the gap between t-shirt and shorts. I considered telling her about the guy with the BMW and decided against it. He hadn’t been there when I arrived today, so perhaps he wouldn’t show up again. Best to leave things on a high note.
The next thing to do was go see Charlie. He was the one person I could trust with something like this and I’d need his help if anything was to happen. I’d talk it over with him. With any luck he’d tell me it was impossible and I’d be nuts to try. That would provide me with an escape chute out of this craziness.
I gave him a buzz on my cell phone and he said to come on over. He lived out near Kingsway, close to Mount St. Joseph Hospital, so I took the 99 bus along Broadway and walked the few blocks south. As I crossed Main Street at the lights I wondered what I had been thinking earlier. Emma’s faith in my abilities was extremely flattering but if Zheng’s house – no doubt some enormous mansion with no expense spared – really was stuffed with burglar alarms, then what could I do? Sure, I had foolishly toyed with the idea to impress her; I now admitted that to myself. But there was no way I was going in there on a
kamikaze
mission.
Being with Emma again was something I wanted very badly. Did it have to involve another kind of ‘going back’: a return to the only thing I truly excelled at – the heist business? I hoped not.
I needed Charlie’s help alright, but not to get in. I needed his help to get out of this crazy scheme. I’d just raised Emma’s hopes for nothing. That was too bad; we’d figure out something else that didn’t involve
Mission
Impossible
. Maybe she just needed better lawyers.
Charlie owned a small, ramshackle house on a large lot, on a pleasant street in a pleasant neighbourhood. His neighbours hated him, not just because of Charlie’s lackadaisical attitude to home maintenance but for his distinctive ideas about recycling and garden decor. As I turned off the sidewalk and on to the broken concrete slabs that constituted the winding path to Charlie’s front door, I admired the latest examples of his creativity. As well as the usual cracked clay planters lying around on their sides, there was a life-size Holstein cow with antlers, a half finished robot constructed mainly from wire coat hangers and, in the crook of a dead tree trunk, an old porcelain sink now serving as a birdbath.
I pressed the doorbell and waited, then two minutes later pressed it again. When still nothing happened I grabbed the doorknocker, a wonderful homemade job consisting of a smooth stone wrapped in wire resting on a brass plate, and gave it several loud thumps. That did the trick.
“Hey, no need to wreck the place,” Charlie said when he opened the door.
“Sorry, but your doorbell doesn’t seem to work.”
“Of course it doesn’t. Why do you think I put up the knocker?”
He led me inside to the kitchen.
“Coffee?” he asked, “I’ve just made some.”
“Sure,” I replied, without thinking, then rapidly regretted it as I watched him toss a large scoop of Nescafé granules into a chipped mug, pour boiling water on top, and hand it to me.
“Thanks,” I said, “Got any cream?”
He looked pained, as if I’d insulted him, but took the mug back and sloshed some two per cent milk into it until the contents became pasty white.
“So what’s the occasion?” Charlie asked.
I took a sip from the mug, discovered that the coffee was now lukewarm as well as tasteless, and made a mental note never to agree to coffee in Charlie’s house again. “I’ve come to ask you about something in your area of expertise,” I replied, “Something you might even want to be in on. It’s up to you of course.”
Charlie grinned. “Does it have anything to do with that sexy blonde we saw the other day?”
I nodded. “It does.”
We sat on two old deck chairs in his back garden, flies buzzing around us, and I told him all about it. I started at the very beginning, from the first day I met Emma, and included the warehouse shenanigans. By the time I was done my mouth was dry and, remarkably, my coffee mug was empty.
*
For once, Charlie looked serious. Either that or his junk food diet had made him constipated.
“You sure you want to get involved in this?” he said.
I considered his question carefully. “Not a hundred per cent,” I replied, “But I do want to help Emma if I can.”
“Even after what she did to you.” It was more of a statement than a question.
I shrugged; said nothing.
“You could have done jail time, you know,” he persisted, “You’d risk that again?”
He had me there, and this time I knew I had to answer him. Was Emma a good enough reason to take that risk? If I was honest, I had no idea. Again I shrugged. “If I plan it right, there won’t be much risk of anything going wrong.”
“Then it better be one hell of a plan,” he shot back.
“And what about you, Charlie? Are you in on this, ready to take the risk too? I’ll need your help.”
His frown disappeared, replaced by a slow grin. “What do you think?”
“You’re in? You think it’s possible then?”
“Sure it is. Best scenario is when the house is empty; next best is when they’ve all gone to bed. The alarms and stuff are easy.”
“But what about getting into the safe?”
Charlie shrugged. “Ways and means, ways and means.”
“I’d need to know a bit more than that before we went in.”
Charlie jerked forward in his deck chair. “What’s this about me being there? I never agreed on that; just that I’d help you.”
My hopes suddenly crashed. “You’re the master cracksman.”
He seemed appeased by the compliment and sat back again. “Yup, I am that.” He seemed to be imagining it in his head. “And it would be easy-peasy. But I’d never agree to do it.”
I was feeling guilty now for having asked him, like I’d sprung two horns and a trident. “Fair enough Charlie. I realise you’ve gone straight. I don’t want to jeopardise . . .”
He didn’t let me finish my spiel. “It’s not that. To hell with that. I continue to take my opportunities when I see them Mike. And this Zheng guy would likely have plenty worth taking. Believe me, I’m sorely tempted.”
“You don’t trust me then?”
He snorted. “To the contrary, mate. From what you’ve told me of your past, you’re a natural. You should see the fire in your eyes when you talk about it. If I was doing this job, I’d want you and me to do it together.”
“Then why not?”
He sat back and peered at me through squinty little eyes. “The woman.”
“Emma? What about her?”
“I don’t trust her. Not at all. She’s a quitter. Suppose she does what she did last time?”
That hurt, but there wasn’t much that I could say in reply. I didn’t want to get into an argument with him about her. But his strong reaction conveniently put the kibosh on my great idea. If Charlie wouldn’t take part, there was no way that I could do it by myself, even if I wanted to. I’d come here expecting Charlie to tell me it was a crazy scheme. Instead he’d confirmed its viability. He was even keen to do it, if only it hadn’t involved Emma.
But I’d still got my ‘out’. Emma would have to accept it.
“OK, Charlie, if you won’t do it with me, it’s off.”
“No hard feelings, mate?”
“No hard feelings.”
On my way home I felt like skipping, I was so relieved.
*
After sleeping on it I called her first thing the next morning and hastily arranged to meet her at a Starbucks on West Broadway. Over a breakfast blend I told her the news. She wasn’t pleased.
“Then what am I going to do?” she said.
“I don’t know.”
“And don’t care.”
I didn’t know how to respond to that. I mumbled something about finding another way and we batted it back and forth for a while, her voice increasingly shrill. I replied softly, trying to calm her, but that only made things worse. The tension between us became palpable. It was the first friction between us since we’d met up again and I wasn’t happy about it.
But I had to get to work so rose to leave.
“I guess that’s it then,” she said, touching my arm.
I sat down again. “Look, I’m sorry about this, but I can’t do it without my friend. He’s the electronics whizz, not me.”
“You’re sure?”
“It would be suicide, Emma, and wouldn’t help you at all.”
She shrugged acceptance. “I guess you’re right.”
I checked my watch and realised the time. “Gotta go.”
“Can we talk later? We’ll figure something out.”
“Sure, I’d like that a lot.” It came out sounding more lukewarm than I’d intended. I got up again and this time she didn’t try to stop me.
“Thanks for trying to help,” she said.
At the door I paused and looked back. She was watching me with a strange, forlorn look on her face.
I smiled and turned away. For the first time in our relationship I felt like an utter louse.