Thief
Alright, let me get this off my chest for starters. I’m not crazy. Seriously, you’ll think I am, but it’s not true. Not that your even one to judge me. You see, after my dad died, I didn’t take it so well. I started drinking. I got sloppy at work. I drove my wife away. When it really started to cave in on me, I um, started to hear him speak to me. I know how it sounds. Voices from the great beyond. Believe me. I get it. But that doesn’t change the fact I still hear him. I’m not a quack. Okay? I’m really glad we got that straight.
Another important thing you should know about me: I hate cops. But, of course, you probably hate cops too. Who doesn’t? But then, looking back, they do pay me pretty well. Ahem. I’m not a cop. I just work with them as a consultant. There’s a difference.
Still hung up on the ‘voices’ thing, eh? You’re not one to be judging me.
Oh wait, did I order already? Never mind, they know what I want. Always been a creature of habit, right? And by the way, after I tell you this story, you have to leave me be. Deal? The reporters were bad enough back then, and then you show up.
So, this all happened over fifteen years ago, back when things were good for everyone. I had a good career going with those donut pushers, had lots of good cases. I consulted for the police, the Feds and the CIA from here in downtown Fremont, sometimes in South Cape, and even a few all the way down in Greenville. There’s the one-armed wife killer of Melton or the Mountainview City serial killer. I could blab to you about any one of them. But you didn’t come all this way for that. No, I know what you came to hear. I’m getting to it.
It was 1995. The divorce to my now ex-wife, Maggie, had finalized and she’d won everything. You think I had learned from the first two, but no. It was because of this, I rolled up to the crime scene in my dad’s old, beat up ’84 Sentra.
I had just gotten out of my car at the scene of the crime when some young kid come bumbling up to me. His uniform was so clean, you could visually see how new he was to this life style choice of law enforcement.
“Mr. Lenux?” He was sure to throw in mister, just so I don’t forget I’m a civilian and not one of ‘them’.
“Lenox. Ox like a minotaur there, ok, kiddo?” I corrected officer dum-dums. It was then I really could see his attempt at a moustache was in funny little patches above his lip. It was a baby cop ‘stache. I could see a little frown of dismay developing on one side of his face to compliment it. And, yes, I throw in smartass remarks so they know I don’t care about that ‘not one of us’ crap.
“Special Agent Middleton is looking for you.” He said pointing ahead past the cordoned zone of crime scene tape.
“Ya, great”, I mumbled as I passed him.
I could tell immediately I was called to the scene of a bank robbery. It had that feel to it. And everyone was going in and out of this bank with ‘Do not cross’ tape on the entrance. I know. I’m just that good. I figured it hadn’t just happened either, and yet they waited until now to bring me in. Was this because of my little ‘incident’?
As I walked closer, I could see orange and red leaves falling from almost barren branches. The leaves had gathered all over the place in a mess, carpeting the streets like blood spatter at a crime scene. I trudged through several piles on my way. I could feel my trusty brown loafers soaking through and wished I had gone around them.
I reached Clay Middleton thinking to myself what really made special agents so damn special. He was wearing his usual FBI attire (suit and bulletproof vest, though on this day the vest seemed overkill for a bank heist that already happened). The fall morning air was quite crisp. It was cold enough to see your breath. I blew human smoke past Clay’s head to get his attention. I can jerk his chain since he was kind of like my boss and kind of not. “Are you looking for me?”
Middleton turned toward me, all business all the time. I told you he was FBI, right? From his point of view he was looking at a short, slightly overweight, middle-aged Irish guy dressed mostly in things that are brown. I’m not a fashion model. “Ralph. I’m glad you’re here. Follow me.”
He led me into the Riverside Bank. I looked around and did a quick scan. It was smaller than I would have expected. It reminded me of the old days when banks were about their customers and didn’t look like Wal-Mart. I looked up. “What’s with the lights?”
“The power was cut during the robbery. The electric company is repairing it now.”
“Interesting.” I said. I noted as much as I could as I walked around. Thankfully the morning sun was blazing through all the windows so you didn’t even need lights. It would’ve been nice, though.
My eyes drifted here and there and then back to Clay who was looking at me with his cold blue eyes like I already knew something. What could I say to brighten his day? The scene was pretty clean. Whoever had done this had done it discretely. There didn’t seem to be anything broken. The guy that was dusting for prints was the only one making a mess. There were desks placed evenly on one side, a regular loan zone. On the other side of the room was the teller area. It was the old fashion kind with the bars. I could see the bank manager’s office in another corner. He was yelling at someone. This was your standard bank, no frills.
“This happened last night?” I asked him. ‘And you’re calling me in now?’ - I wanted to add.
“Ya. We couldn’t drum up any leads. Whoever did this is making us look bad, Ralph.” His expression displayed something more than his usual shade of grim. His hair was salt and pepper which isn’t all that strange for a middle aged guy these days. At least those guys that don’t dye their hair, I should add. I didn’t have to of course, since I was already mostly bald back then anyway. I was sure old Clay would be all white soon if he kept taking life too seriously.
“How many people were here when it happened?”
“Just three employees.”
Robbers didn’t do the old stick’em-ups like they used to. Those old westerns where they rob the train were long gone. Now, they get them right as they close when most all the money’s in the safe. I guess even then, some people were still desperate enough to try to get what they could. I knew they couldn’t have got much from this heist though. Banks don’t have that much cash out at any one time as it is.
“So they didn’t have the bank manager open the safe?” I asked him.
Clay shook his head. “They didn’t really see the guy at all. One second they are closing up, the lights go, and then someone is running out the front door with whatever cash was in the drawers.”
“How much did they get?”
“37 grand, more or less.”
All this stink over 37 g’s? We wonder why everything went belly up. They had local cops, the feds and probably several other state agencies looking for a thief that didn’t take much. It took 37k for all these bells and whistles for one hour. It didn’t add up. I didn’t understand the hubbub until later, that is. I should have known just by looking at the chaos outside.
“You get the surveillance from before the power was cut?” I could count a few cameras in the place. I could also tell these cameras were out of date. Why didn’t these little banks have backup power for such things? Even then?
“Ya. We got a copy back at the station. They’re probably done analyzing it now. Have you seen enough?”
I did have enough stale bank air to last me and walked out. Clay followed suit. “I think so. Let’s go.” I pointed toward my car. “I’m over here.” I whipped out a Lucky Strike and lit it before the wind could snuff it out.
“Still smoking?” Clay asked.
“Still asking stupid questions?” I smiled to myself. Clay didn’t ever show it, but I’m sure if he had a sense of humor it would’ve sparked then. I took a couple drags as we both walked to our cars.
He paused momentarily next to the Sheriff and muttered things too softly to hear. I stood waiting, just out of earshot, even though I thought it was rude. We were on the same team, weren’t we?
“I know who did it.”
It was the voice of my father. If I didn’t answer he would usually stop. Thankfully when Clay wrapped up his conversation, he didn’t say another word.
“Let me know if you find anything else.” He said and the woman nodded.
While watching their exchange, I turned toward my car and nearly stumbled over a dirty pile of trash and clothes. Upon further inspection, I saw it was a homeless man. He didn’t seem to be paying attention to anything going on in this world. His mouth was open slack, bloodshot eyes looking at nothing in particular. I thought he was black at first until I saw it was just fifth. Maybe he’d just lost his job as a chimney cleaner. He held out his grubby, dirty hand. I did that thing where I pretended to check for change, and then, oh no, surprised, I hold out nothing.
I put it out of my mind and turned to Clay, “You must be desperate if you called me.”
Clay was silent for a moment. “Your father was a good man. You remind me of him. I need that kind of out-of-the-box approach on this one.”
I didn’t know whether to take that as a compliment or an insult. “So, you have no idea what happened?”
“It’s a mystery. I don’t know who it was or how they got in. It’s why I called you.” He started breaking toward his car which was right outside the cordoned off area.
“My car?” I asked playfully.
Clay shook his head. He drove a new BMW.
I threw out my smoke and I followed after him in my Sentra. I felt certain I had this thing figured out already. If I didn’t, I’m sure my pop would have a theory. He kept talking in my ear about what he would be doing and how much I was botching it.
Aren’t the dead supposed to rest?
I cranked the engine and started the car. I had to turn on the windshield wipers to shed the excess leaves before driving off. The clouds opened up enough to share some heavy rain, which I enjoyed all the way to the office (I couldn’t hear the old man).
●
Several blocks from the bank stood the FBI’s field office. It was nothing special, located on the eighth floor deep in the business section downtown. It was a cubicle jungle if you didn’t know where to go. Outside Clay’s office, in the multimedia room, I sat going over the surveillance footage. It was what you would normally expect to see.
People walking. Walk, walk, walk. So much of this job is painfully tedious. It’s the worst part of the job: the boring stuff. It’s not all car chases and shooting guys. Although, come to think of it, I’ve only had to draw my weapon and use it once. It was this serial rapist we finally baited into a trap. I thought he was going to draw on me. Turns out, he was actually going to answer his phone which was on vibrate. It was a whole fiasco. I don’t like to get into it. It’s why I was glad to get a case again. I would work for any agency if they let me. Even the Feds.
“Did you see that?” My father asked.
Oops, I hadn’t. I rewound it. I leaned forward in the chair now, belly resting in my lap as it did. Don’t judge. I smiled at the screen. Sometimes I would see a pickpocket on one of these things and sure enough a crafty little devil had sprung up. They were quick, but I read body language better than anyone. Yank, there went another one. It was a woman with a baby. She was good. Quick fingers eventually walked off camera. My gut told me she wasn’t the one.
“That’s not what I was talking about.” My father kept on.
“Anything yet?” Clay asked me, blissfully interrupting. He was walking in with a coffee cup his kids had clearly made. It was made of clay (no pun intended) and painted bright blue. It didn’t even look functional. The handle was barely hanging on.
“Not yet.” I said as nicely as possible.
“Well… let me know if you find anything.”
I waved him off. He nodded and unconsciously tipped the cup to me like he was toasting me, then he was gone again.
Why do people do that? Let’s say I had found something, what did he think I was going to do? Keep it to myself? Ya, Clay, I found your guy… but I’m not telling you crap…
I set my attention back to the screen, and let my eyes relax.
“C’mon son. Your slipping.”
“Shut up dad.”
I think he said something else but I was back to ignoring the dead.
My attention fell upon a man spending a long time eating an ice cream and looking toward the bank. He was pug-faced with light blonde hair. He kept trying to seem like he wasn’t gawking, but that only made him stand out more. I was also interested in his backpack. It had plenty room for equipment you’d use to break into a bank. He got startled by a homeless man doing his rounds. He was clearly not the one I had avoided earlier. They exchanged words for a second. The ice cream guy didn’t give him anything. He just kept at that ice cream. A grown man eating ice cream. C’mon.
This strange fella was most likely the guy, but I couldn’t be sure. There were others I could check out, like a guy taking pictures and a guy reading a newspaper that never turned the page. There was a dog walker who kept going back and forth. All strange, yes, but it was downtown and there were lots of weirdos.
The only thing that made watching the video fun was seeing hobo-baggins make his rounds. He was one of those Jamaican looking ones with the dreadlocks and black circular glasses. He wouldn’t win any Bob Marley lookalikes, but he’d come in close. I’d been following the downtown protests and was surprised he wasn’t at the capital. There were plenty of bleeding hearts there who’d give up some spare change. I chuckled to myself still watching. No matter how many times he got shot down he’d come right back. I’d spot his next mark and began muttering to myself, ‘watch out lady, here he comes’.
“Son, I can help you.”
My dad never helped when he was alive and I wasn’t going to accept his aid now. I just kept my attention on the bum.
When I realized he was also just another distraction, I tried to focus on everyone else in the video, but to no avail. Finally I came to where the power cut off and the picture went dead.
I yelled for Clay to come in.
“So?” There was no coffee cup this visit.
“I have a couple of candidates.” I rewound the tape and showed him each one, ice cream man to dog walker.
“I’ll make some calls.”
“Can I speak with the tellers?”
Clay drew in a breath. “We’ve already debriefed them.”
I gave him a look that must have displayed what I was feeling. When a fat, little Irish guy doesn’t like what he hears, I imagine he can look pretty ugly.
Clay scratched at his neck and cleared his throat. “I’ll call them in.”
“Thanks.” Where would he be without me? I was like fifty percent done with this thing. “And Clay?”
He turned back, not in love with me that was for sure. He waited.
I chuckled and told him. “Life isn’t all black three piece suites, bad coffee cups, and work.” I arched an eyebrow so he knew I was joking.
His face remained expressionless. “For me it is Ralph.” He pulled out his phone and walked away from me.
I couldn’t make him laugh or piss him off. I thought to myself ‘maybe he’s a cyborg’ and came up with proof to back my theory. Well he was most likely a zombie… probably drank blood out of that ridiculous cup to make sure he didn’t come after all of us… but what if the coffee cup ran out?
My mind was racing, which was good because I was in for a long wait.
●
A couple hours later, the two tellers worth talking to (the third had been in the john) were in an interview room. One was Rebecca Golding, a chubby forty-nine year old. Her brown pixie-cut hair embodied that classic late forties ‘mom’ look. She came dressed in a worn, ill-fitting gray pantsuit. The other teller was Spencer Craft, this nerdy, lanky twenty-something sporting thick black rimmed glasses with perfectly combed hair and slightly greasy skin.
“Alright, let’s get to it.” I started. A burp slipped past unintentionally. I didn’t excuse myself just in case I looked weak at the start of the interview. They’d think I had meant to do it. I pressed forward. “You both stated that after the power went out, you both heard something like someone falling.”
Simultaneous yes’s.
“Uh, right. Without blowing a hole in the roof, the only way through would be the vents. And I was told there was no sign of anything in the ventilation system. No disturbance.”
They exchanged looks with each other. I pressed further based on their reaction. “You see there would be signs of movement in the dust in those vents and there wasn’t.” I explained.
“That’s because it’s brand new.” The woman said. She must be the manager. She looked it. She pulled a strand of brown hair behind her ear. That was a common tell. She was speaking the truth.
Of course the police missed that little nugget of information. It was so clean because it was just installed. How did any crimes ever get solved without me? Unless they kept that info from me.
She continued without being prompted. “Our corporate offices did a spot inspection of all locations in this area and they found we needed to start looking like the larger banks. And, because of the first robbery that sparked all this, all our branches are being updated with new equipment from the safes to the vents. Our vents were going to be fitted with sensors this weekend.”
Oh ya, this is when I figured out that there were other bank robberies in the area and they had kept this from me. Nice, real nice guys. See again why I hate cops?
“So I’m assuming this other robbery didn’t make headlines?”
Ms. Golding shook her head. “The police didn’t release it to the press. This robbery is the third in the last nine weeks. The press is sure to catch wind by now.”
Three robberies total?! I was getting pretty pissed now. Of course they called me to clean this all up.
“These other two aren’t solved either are they?”
The woman looked away. “I don’t think so.” I saw she was right about that, she didn’t know, and I had my answers.
I turned to the nerdy kid, “You got anything smart to say hotshot?”
He shrugged to himself.
“Ya probably not.” I waved them both off. “You’re free to go. Thanks for your cooperation and all that.” I slammed the door leaving them alone and confused.
●
“So there were other hits besides this one? Were there really three?” I asked, slamming my hand on his desk. Did I really do that? Come to think of it, I think so… Let’s just say I did for dramatic effect.
“Ralph, we’re not sure they’re related.” Clay was looking at me, but I could tell he was lying… which only pissed me off more. I thought about tossing that stupid coffee cup.
“They are and you know it. There were two other robberies at two other Riverside banks, and I’m supposed to believe it’s a coincidence?” I dropped my voice knowing this wasn’t going to get me anywhere with him. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“It happened in South Cape. They have their own team.”
I knew then that Clay was most likely the only one left in town that was willing to hire me after I accidently shot that guy. I’m being punished and solving this one could be my golden ticket out of the crapper. This was just what I needed. The stakes had just gone up on this one. I had to find the guy and save my reputation. Clay was giving me my last chance because he’d been so close with my dear old dad.
“How did they breach the others?”
Clay scratched his neck. He knew it wasn’t going to work arguing with me so might as well share. “First one was through the front door. They just walked in after the power went out. The second one we’re still not sure about. But he got in undetected like in this last one and left running through the front, cash in hand.”
I saw he was telling the truth. Mostly. Of course they were all related. I put the thought of strangling him out of my mind. I’m trying to help this fool and he’s holding back on me. Are you trying to get in the dictionary next to ‘idiot’ Clay? You’re there. Don’t try so hard.
“Where’s the crime scene pictures of robberies one and two?” I might as well solve all these cases, I told myself.
“Talk to Dave. He’s got the file.”
I stormed off in search of Dave, the guardian of the file.
●
I looked over the pictures from both hits. I looked at everything I could, from every angle, and I came up with diddly-squat. So yes, I’m great at what I do, but I can’t catch everything right away. I returned the file back to Dave then got the surveillance footage and popped it in. I chowed down on someone’s sandwich I had procured from the community fridge. It was egg salad. You can’t pass that up. What? I couldn’t find any popcorn.
Walking, walking, walking… Sigh, here we go again.
“I know you need me on this.”
Old pops was really pressing hard. He normally went away after a few attempts. Maybe he had something.
I made sure the coast was clear. “Who did it dad?”
“You have to ask nicely.”
He was a prick even in death.
“C’mon. Just say please. You remember when you failed your final exam to become a cop? All you had to do was say please and I would’ve told you all the answers. I did this job a long time before I was killed. I had been a real cop, unlike some people we know.”
Why didn’t ghosts actually appear like they’re supposed to, like in the movies, so I could punch him in his ghost face?
When I realized he was only screwing with me, I put him out of my mind again. I had to keep some kind of sanity.
I tried to see anything amiss again. I saw a little girl being dragged into the dentist across the street. She crept trying to lie down so her parents would have to drag her. I’m glad I never had kids. I’ll stick with my ugly bulldog Chewie. My dad always said he wanted to see grandkids. Screw him.
Then there came a lot of nothing. This wasn’t as busy a street as the other one. I began missing that hobo.
Whoops! I almost missed a lead. My dad had missed an opportunity to cut me down too. Maybe he was finally going to leave me alone again.
It had happened so quickly because the man had been so close to the camera. I had caught it though. It was the ice cream man again. He walked right past, stopped, then went on.
It was too much of a coincidence. I rewound the tape a few times just to be completely sure.
This was it! I would’ve told Clay, but he was already searching for him. Instead I just left with a printout of his face. It was time to sniff out something on my own. I’m pretty sure I was already hungry again too.
●
South Cape wasn’t an easy drive. The day was mostly gone now and people were headed home. Downtown was a mess at rush hour. The rain had at least let up. I chain smoked my way out of the city with my arm out the window. The fall night came pretty quickly. I ignored the cold, wearing my favorite brown tweed jacket, and blared ‘70s rock hits until I got there. Just in case my dad returned.
The second bank was nestled outside the main city in a residential area. It stood a few miles from the harbor proper where I now planned to get to a Guinness and a basket of fresh shrimp. Yes, they can go together when they’re both half priced.
I parked and didn’t bother with the parking meter. Why pay? I was the police. Well, sort of.
The place was just like it had been in the pictures. It was similar in layout to the other bank I had been in earlier that day.
That was stupid, I thought to myself. You didn’t want your bank to be like Target. You wanted to mix it up, have things be unpredictable. Even the water cooler was in the exact same spot. That’s just poor planning.
I eventually found the bank manager in his office.
“Jason Fletcher, I’m Ralph Lenox. I work with the FBI.” I flashed my badge at him. It was actually the visitor’s badge I had gotten that morning and hadn’t turned back in, but he didn’t seem to notice.
He nodded me in and indicated I sit in the big leatherback chair across from him, which I did. I sank into it nicely.
“How can I help?”
This man, I could tell, was a gentleman with expensive taste. He was older, yet refined, dressed in a sharp two-piece suit and a gray vest. He reminded me of a shark a little bit. I liked him. Except he was clearly rich and I wasn’t. Scratch that, I didn’t like him.
“I’m trying to stop the person who robbed you guys eight weeks ago. I think I’m getting close to solving it.” I was still feeling pretty solid before I came into his office.
“Anything I can do to help.”
I took out the picture of the ice cream man and flashed it. “Do you recognize this man?”
Mr. Fletcher tried to place it. I could tell by his hands and shoulders he was trying to remember. Then he shook his head slowly. That tell wasn’t good. It meant dead end. “No. I’m sorry. I don’t know him.”
He was telling the truth. Crap. My theory of the disgruntled ex-employee-inside job was going out the window. I almost asked, are you sure, but I hate that. He was sure. It was still most likely the guy. I just didn’t know how. Yet.
This was going nowhere and I began to get up when I heard my idiot father. “Pay attention Ralphie.”
I looked around and saw it. My dad wanted me to see a picture on the wall. It was of all the employees for a birthday thing. Old Man Fletcher’s by the look of it. He was sitting at his desk where the picture was taken. But that’s not what caught my eye. It was his closet. It was slightly a different color then it was now. But just barely.
“When was this taken?”
He considered the photo on the wall, massaging his thin white beard in thought. “That was back in June.”
“And this new closet you got here was delivered around the time of the robbery, am I correct?”
He thought this over. “Why yes it was.”
I went up to the closest and without permission opened it. It was filled with more expensive suits and jackets. That didn’t interest me. I just needed to know if it could easily fit a grown man which it could.
So that’s how he did it.
“Thank you. You were very helpful.” I said as I left.
I was surprised to find no parking ticket on my car. I got in and started her up. In my excitement I almost forgot my plans to go to Captain Ed’s for dinner. I couldn’t solve this on an empty stomach. I drove down to the docks and found a table.
I couldn’t find my next ex-wife, but I did find a solution to my hunger pangs. And it was time to sort out this entire case. I listened to my dad go over everything I was screwing up. He was wrong. I had this one whether I was a ‘real cop’ or not.
●
A couple hours later, minutes before eight o’clock, I found Clay still sitting in his office. I strode in and went over everything I could think of. I stifled a few Guinness burps as they came up. When I finished he pushed back from his desk and looked out his window at the city. It was alight with a thousand different sources from downtown.
“So whoever this thief is has the keys to the first bank, hid in a closest that was delivered for the second bank, and went through the ventilation at the third?”
“Yes, they were having their locks changed. Yes, and that was pretty ballsy I might add. And yes again. He might have been part of the crew that installed it as well or bribed someone.” I thought this over. That had been one of my dad’s insane thoughts. “But I can’t be sure.”
“But he would have made some kind of dent we could see.”
“Not with the new system they got. That thing is built to last. And whoever it was went through slowly, screwed the roof entry back like new. He was in the vents when the power went out.”
“We didn’t find a time charge or evidence of one.”
“Well, I haven’t figured out everything yet Clay, but I’m thinking he severed the power, but kept it bound temporarily with something that wouldn’t last.”
“Like a bubble gum wrapper?”
No you idiot. “No, but it is something that we wouldn’t think of.”
Clay turned from the window. “Fine. So let’s say this is all correct. We still don’t know who he is. We’ve run your prime suspect’s face through all criminal facial recognition software and haven’t gotten a hit.”
“Then he hasn’t committed a crime yet. Maybe he’s never been caught at this.” I sat forward in his swivel chair. “He’s someone carrying around a small equipment bag in plain view. I don’t know if it’s the ice cream man with the backpack or the dog walker with his pet handling bag or what. But I’m close. I can feel it. I just wish there was a way to draw him out.”
Clay gave me a sideways glance. The kind that indicated someone knew something you didn’t and has decided to let you in. “You may get your wish actually. There’s one bank that hasn’t been hit yet. They’re having their surveillance equipment redone tomorrow. It’s the last of the remodels. We’ve already got our people watching it in case someone tries something.”
“There you go.” I wanted to add something smart, like ‘why was this bank still doing remodels when they kept getting ripped off whenever they did one,’ but I saved it. I could see they were using this one for bait this time.
Seeing the day was over I asked Clay if he wanted to grab a drink at Murphy’s across the street.
“I don’t drink.” He said, grabbing his coat.
“They have coffee.” I pointed to his cup. “You can fill that thing up as many times as you want.”
Clay almost smiled. He closed his office door and locked it shut. “Another time Ralph.”
I let it go, ignored the other feds, and made it to the hole-in-the-wall pub alone. I had three divorces and my dad’s recent death to drink off and I wasn’t going to let him bring me down.
●
The next day Clay set up a light detail around the neighborhood. The other agencies around town weren’t supporting us since we no idea if it was going to be hit that day for sure. It was just Clay, a few other faceless feds, and me. I held out hope that this was it. I would be back on top. With my license renewed I could even earn enough money to reopen my office.
I waited for something to stand out any moment but, alas, it was just the usual Wednesday crowd. This little chunk of road had a bunch of those little trees in large planter things that ran all the way down the street. The sidewalk was laid brick giving it that old rustic feel. It was impossible to hide along this stretch of road.
I got bored and hungry waiting around. I decided I would take a break and enjoy a sandwich at Starky’s. It was a place that looked dirty and rundown, but always made the best clubs. The place was riddled with grime, but the French dip was out of this world. If anything, the day was now a win no matter what. I was downing the dip when I finally saw him.
I couldn’t believe my eyes. The ice cream man was walking down the street right towards where I was sitting. He walked past me and ordered a peanut butter and pickle sandwich. That would’ve got my attention any day of the week. Who orders that?
He got his lunch, grabbed a 7-Up from the fridge and sat down. He was two tables away with just enough eyes on the bank. That son of a gun was just sitting there! I could just see the cops surrounding me, applauding, like at the end of a movie. They’d reinstate my consulting license and everything would be back to the way it was. Okay, back to reality. Should I get him now or catch him in the act?
“Wait, son, I think you got this wrong.”
I couldn’t hear my old man now. My eyes were on the prize.
Today, the kid went with jeans and a flannel shirt, and that same red backpack from the surveillance video. He wouldn’t stick out so bad if not for the giant black sunglasses. I could not believe this was the guy getting away scot-free with all these crimes. He looked like an idiot.
So the ice cream man enjoyed his strange sandwich then tossed his garbage away. He gathered his bag up and left. I was like, holy crap, here we go. I was certain this was our guy. It couldn’t be anyone else. The bank owner didn’t know him because this guy somehow cases the place from outside and must get his intel on the inner workings elsewhere. I got up and walked after him.
My heart started beating faster. All the leg work was coming together. I had him right in front of me. This was my ticket out of the hot seat. A quick thought went through my head. If the surveillance is down and he knows it, he could just walk right in. He may even be packing heat. He hasn’t used force before, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t capable of it. My heart beat quickened as it did when your life was in danger.
He was almost to the door. I didn’t wait to find out what was going to happen next. This was it. I chased him down and tackled him as he reached for the knob. He fought hard against me but I had him in cuffs in no time. “Easy!” It was harder than I had remembered doing it last time. I was getting too fat for this. Maybe less beer and more exercise. What am I saying?
“What are you doing man? I didn’t do anything.” He continued to buck like a caught pig.
“Tell that to a jury bud. You’re going down. You’re under arrest. If I was a cop I’d read you your rights but all I got are handcuffs. Your rights will be read later.”
He tried his best to look up at me and his shades fell off. “Look, he just paid me to watch the place. Tell him when I thought it was clear.” His eyes showed he was speaking the truth. Not good.
I felt my heart skip a beat. “What?”
“I just watch man.”
Clay was by my side now. Probably saw me drop this guy and rush over from across where he’d been perched.
“You got this?” I asked him and he nodded.
I looked around and saw a quick blur rush down the street. So the ice cream guy had been the lookout for the robberies? And today...decoy. Well, I wasn’t going to lose to the real guy and ran after him. I went as fast as I could. I really did. I pushed through groups of people and tried to keep my eyes on where he’d been. But when I finally hit the corner, the figure was gone. I guess I should mention I was a little out of shape. I worked with cops for 32 years. First you start eating like them, then looking like them, and then you run as fast as they can. I can’t remember where the other feds were when the action started, but obviously they hadn’t been where they should have been.
I turned the corner and looked down it. Whoever it had been was gone. I’d lost him.
I walked down the alley, head hung in despair. I saw the glory of solving the case slip right through my fingers. I panted loudly in an attempt to catch my breath. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I spotted the only piece of trash not befitting an Olive Garden dumpster.
I came up to a black, indiscernible glob. It was dark and shiny and seemed oddly synthetic. I picked it up and sure thing, it was a fake wig. One outfitted with black dreadlocks.
My mind flashbacked to the first surveillance tape. It was him!
He’d been right in front us the whole damn time.
Hobo-baggins did it after all. He had tricked me. He tricked us all really, but I didn’t care about anyone else.
When Clay caught up with me and I told him what had happened, I could see my job as a consultant had come to an end. He left me standing in the alley listening to my father laugh at me.
My old man wouldn’t let up. He told me he’d known all along who the guy had been.
“I told you this line of work wasn’t for you.” My dad continued to laugh.
He broke it down. The stranger playing homeless had picked the lock on bank one right as the power goes off. He went in Trojan horse-style into bank number two. And then the vent shaft of number three. Then runs out into the night, dons his disguise and becomes one with the streets. He most likely did that each time and went right past the police blockades. My old man figured he was going to just walk into number four for the last hit when his buddy saw it was clear. Actually, I’ll never know what the plan was since I ruined things. At least it was kind of a win, I thought. My dad disagreed.
So that was how I lost my job as a consultant. Been enjoying welfare and social security checks ever since. Chewie died and he never came back to haunt me, thank goodness. Not like you.
Mom? Are you there? Did you listen to all that? You said you would leave me alone if I told the whole story. Ya. Ya. C’mon! I don’t need to lose weight. Mom, I don’t want to hear it. Mom! Please leave me alone. People can see I’m talking to myself. They’ll think I’m crazy. I am not crazy! Dad, are you there? Tell her to shut up. Make that both of you.
Damnit I am nuts.
Afterword:
If you enjoyed this story, check out my others. If you really loved it, look into my first novel, Void Star. Thank you so much for reading! I hoped you enjoyed the ride.
J.P. Yager
Otterbored.com