Thorne winced.
“I never asked for no damn medal.”
“And I never asked for the big chicken dinner, but I got it anyway.”
They sat in silence for a couple of minutes, the air between them crackling with bad energy. Blake regretted losing his cool, it wasn’t what he wanted from this trip.
“I got to ask,” Thorne said, “what does Lynch bring to the table?”
“Believe it or not, he was you before you came on board.”
“He's an asshole.”
Blake grinned. “Exactly.”
He saw a trace of a smile pass over Thorne’s face.
“Seems to me like the two of us could pull this robbery on our own.”
“You’re probably right about that, but I’ve worked with these guys before. I trust them. Besides, they know all the details so cutting them out would be difficult.”
He turned into the parking garage Thorne had selected on the internet and began to circle the ramps up to the roof. It was only two days since he’d last cased the gallery, but that time he’d parked some distance away and walked. There were cameras everywhere, and he knew the footage would be studied after the robbery. Coming here was a risk, but if Thorne was right, it was going to be worth it.
The car peeled out onto the roof.
Blake saw three security cameras, two covering the entrance and exit ramp, and one at the far end covering the entire parking area. Lower floors would need cameras to cover blind spots caused by support pillars, but on the roof they were out in the open with nowhere to hide. He gritted his teeth. This better be good. He parked up and they climbed out. As if on some hidden signal, they both performed an identical back arch and shoulder flex. The seats in the car were luxurious, but they were not designed for men their size and build. Thorne noticed their synchronized movement and grinned at him across the hood of the car.
They walked to the edge of the structure and stood side by side at the wall that wrapped around the top of the roof. Blake reached into his pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes he’d bought for exactly this moment. He took two out and handed one to Thorne.
“The hell’s this?” Thorne said. “Who even smokes anymore?”
“If the security camera back there can pick us out, this is the reason we’re standing here. It's not because we’re planning a heist.”
Thorne smiled. “I wonder if I ever really knew you.”
“Nobody ever really knows anyone, don’t you know that?”
Blake lit their cigarettes with a lighter and they held them to the side where they could be seen then looked at the gallery beneath them. The sun had gone down and there was no light left in the sky but all the lights burned inside the gallery and there was enough light from street lights to see what they needed.
“What time does the gallery close up?” Thorne asked.
“It’s closed already, but the staff don’t leave for another half hour.”
Thorne glanced at his watch.
“They turn the lights out when they leave?”
“Yes and no. The lights in the main building are on 24/7, but the office lights are turned off. If you want, you can see some of the paintings through the front window even at four in the morning. Not the pricy stuff, but some of it.”
Blake brought his arm in, like he was taking a draw on his cigarette, then returned it to where it was.
“It’s another layer of security,” Thorne said. “Anyone inside is going to be lit up like a Christmas tree to anyone outside, or to the cameras which are probably high definition.”
He nodded. “That’s what I figured.”
“From up here you can see the front and back of the gallery, as well as traffic approaching along north and south Santa Monica, Camden, plus the end of the alley. One of your guys should be up here when it’s going down, let us know if things are turning to shit outside.”
“Agreed. Stockton’s the obvious choice, he’s a sniper.”
Blake thought again about the infrared sensors. Thorne was right, he’d never counted how many the guard had scribbled onto the blueprints, he’d always just considered it someone else’s problem. Thirty was a high number, and eighteen wasn’t much better. He was concerned that defeating them all would prove to be either impossible, or take too long.
“You think you’ll be able disable the sensors?”
“I don't think you can, that’s the mistake I was making.”
“What then?”
Thorne smiled. “I’m going to let them go off.”
“Is that sarcasm?”
“I don't know, is it?”
Blake sighed. The actor had a fine line in bullshit. No doubt all would become clear soon enough. He dropped his cigarette and mashed it under his heel. Thorne did the same.
“Let’s do this, I need to eat.”
They took the stairs side by side, their feet synchronized. It felt like old times, the two of them out at night looking for a good time. Too bad that wasn’t the case.
They walked onto North Camden Drive. Across the street, a Wells Fargo bank towered over them. The line of cars parked in front of it were each worth an easy hundred thousand. Blake glared at a ninety pound blonde girl climbing out of a Lexus SUV. He turned away, back to the sidewalk. Being broke made him someone he didn't like or want to spend time with, but he couldn't stop himself. At the gallery’s window, they stopped and looked in.
Blake saw half a dozen paintings from where he stood, and none of them were any more than a colored shape on the wall to him. He felt nothing. Emotionally, he could be looking at kitchen appliances. He didn’t get art, or what people saw in it. They continued to walk toward South Santa Monica Boulevard. At the corner they took a right, heading for the road that serviced the back of the gallery. Neither spoke, the four lanes of traffic was all it took to block conversation. They took a right again, up the alley.
“Blake, I’ve been thinking. If things go south on Friday night we won't have long to wait for the cops. The Beverly Hills PD is minutes away, I could see the building from the roof. You’re talking five minutes tops, and that’s assuming a patrol car isn’t closer.”
They’d drawn level with the back of the gallery.
“You’re thinking like a civilian, Thorne. When we were in Iraq, we were surrounded by people who wanted us dead. We drove up and down their streets, we kicked down their front doors, we ripped apart their homes, we screamed in their wives’ faces. We did all that knowing that behind every other window was some haji with four teeth and an AK. Yet, here we are. We’re still here, man. We’re survivors, you and me. For all your jumping off buildings, you’ve been domesticated. But you got to trust me, it all comes back. The training, the attitude, all of it. Once a Marine, always a Marine. It’s muscle memory, it’s part of you forever. Now, in three days, we’re going to rob these fools of their dumb ass painting and we’re going to get rich in the process. What do you say to that? Are you worried about some linguine-eating motherfucker who hasn’t seen his dick in thirty years after what we’ve been through?”
Thorne laughed. “You’re crazy.”
“Doesn’t mean I’m wrong, does it?”
“It’s different, this is our home. You don’t shit where you eat, everyone knows that.”
“This feels a million miles from my home, brother. We probably have more in common with goat herders in Iraq and Afghanistan than these people here.”
“I can’t argue with that.”
Thorne’s mask appeared to melt away. In its place, he saw something he hadn’t seen in a long time, before all the bad blood and the death of that girl. He saw his friend.
Blake softened his voice.
“Chris, how about we start over, put everything behind us?”
Thorne looked at his feet for a moment, then nodded.
“Let’s do that.”
Blake smiled and gripped Thorne’s shoulder.
This was more than he could’ve hoped for and vindicated his decision to
leave the others at the bungalow. He couldn't imagine this happening while Thorne and Lynch were trying to kill each other. Blake turned and they began picking their way through a small parking lot toward the back door of the gallery. On one side of the building was a fire escape, on the other, a ladder going straight up to the roof. The name of the gallery was written vertically on the wall in two foot wide letters. He glanced around the lot and across the alley to the building opposite.
“Are you seeing any cameras?”
“No, nothing.”
“That’s pretty weird, isn’t it? Even gas stations have cameras.”
“I can’t say I’m disappointed.”
“Still though.”
“I know,” Thorne said. “Could be this land doesn’t belong to them or is shared in some way and they aren’t allowed to record people without their permission. I’ve heard about stuff like that before. There are cameras inside the gallery, I saw that much.”
Blake nodded. It didn’t make much sense to him, but like Thorne, he thought this was good news. They’d be able to load the painting straight into the van without being seen or recorded. They cleared the parked cars and made their way along the side of the gallery. There was a dumpster right under the ladder that led to the roof. It would be easy enough to use it to bridge the short gap between the bottom of the ladder and the ground. He saw Thorne look at it, then up, obviously making the same connection. They kept walking. The administration building next door was the one they were interested in. As they approached the rear door, Blake noticed something he wasn’t expecting.
A keyhole.
“Fuck! They added a deadbolt!”
Thorne stood silently staring at it, his hands on his hips. Blake shook his head. The security guard had said nothing about a deadbolt. The keypad and card swipe were there right enough. That looked relatively new, added shortly before Matt Hanson was fired. But the key card wouldn’t open the deadbolt, only an electronically controlled latch.
“Can any of your goons pick a lock?”
Blake snorted. Thorne and his goons again.
“You kidding? They can barely tie their shoes.”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”
“Can’t we can kick it in or use a sledgehammer?”
Thorne shook his head.
“The door opens outward. You wouldn't just be breaking the lock out the casing, you'd be trying to force the door through a smaller opening. Besides, the frame is extruded steel embedded in concrete. You kick that, all you get is a busted foot.”
“Shit,” Blake said.
“It's not the end of the world.”
“We can drill out the cylinder?”
“I got better idea.”
“All right,” Blake said. “Let’s go.”
He followed Thorne out. The actor was taller and walked faster because of it. They moved south, away from the alley entrance. He supposed they were going in the parking garage from the other side, but they walked past that as well. Thorne was going the long way around.
“Where we going, man? I’m starved.”
“We’re not through here.”
Blake sighed. In his mind he pictured a thick, juicy steak. He could practically taste the meat. Taste the blood that would ooze out from the middle and spread across his plate. The blood would soak into some of his fries, but mostly they’d be crisp and golden and perfect. He turned to Thorne as they made their way out.
“What’s your take on the door having a deadbolt and a key card?”
“Deadbolt is probably only used when the gallery is closed, the rest of the time the staff buzz themselves in and out with their cards. The parking lot is right next to it, so that makes sense.” Thorne said nothing for a moment, before continuing. “Aidan, I got to tell you. That lock did not look new. I figure your security guy missed it out on purpose.”
“Certainly looks that way.”
“You don't sound surprised.”
“I guess I'm not. A part of me supposed he was holding something back. He was giving me all this information, maybe because he thought it’d be useless to me.”
“You think he missed anything else out?”
“I sure hope not,” Blake said. “I guess we’re going to find out.”
“On the blueprints there’s no indication of a magnetic contact on that door, but dollars to doughnuts there’s one there. I don’t think I’ve ever seen an alarmed building that didn’t have one on a main door. It’s like alarms 101.”
“You’re right. That fat weasel.”
They walked in silence. Matt Hanson had set him up, missing out key details of the alarm. Enough to get him caught. Perhaps the guard had seen what was going to happen to him that night and planned a little payback.
“Did you see it?” Thorne said.
“Huh?”
“We just passed a video camera. It’s in a black dome enclosure, mounted on the wall. It’ll capture every vehicle that drives past.”
“And this is a one way street.”
Thorne nodded, a wry smile on his face.
“I see a traffic violation in our future.”
They exited the alley as a white Prius turned in. Both of them glanced at Rodeo Drive like they’d caught a glimpse of a circus, then turned up Camden to walk back to the parking garage. There was an easy silence between them now. He knew it was easier to talk about forgetting the past than it was to do it, but he had to assume that their previous near twenty year friendship would help offset that. They were back inside the Audi before either of them spoke again.
“Now you've seen it, any idea how we get in?”
“Sure,” Thorne said. “As long as your guy can get what we need.”
“Like?”
“For a start, I’m going to need a shotgun with M1030 shells.”
Blake scratched his chin. His stubble was well on its way to becoming a beard.
“We already got a couple of shotguns. What’re 1030s?”
A car exited the ramp and swung around behind them. Thorne turned to watch it go by, his eyes following it as it parked. He spoke, still watching the driver of the other vehicle.
“Master keys.”
Thorne had shut down, no doubt thinking about Kate Bloom. She was a beautiful woman and worth thinking about for sure.
“What else?”
“There's going to be a bunch of stuff, Blake, I'll write you a list.”
Thorne’s voice was hardening up.
“That’s cool, but we're short on time here so if there's something on this list that’s going to be difficult to get hold of then you should let me know about it now.”
He nodded, the tightness in his face easing again.
“I need a couple of high-end radio frequency signal jammers, the best you can get, and an RF spectrum analyzer.”
“We're going to jam those sensors?”
“Right.”
“Will that work?”
“If they can block IEDs then for sure they can block a $5 sensor made in China.”
Blake smiled and started the car’s engine.
Thorne was the right man for the job. Perhaps, for any job.
FIVE
Three nights later, they were back. This time, in Blake’s van filled with his gang of rejects and bags of equipment. A part of Thorne had supposed that something would’ve come up to prevent the heist going through, but it was the reverse. Everything had gone without a hitch. At this hour, the drive to Beverly Hills was effortless and soon they were coming up on their turn. Traffic on Santa Monica Boulevard was light and well spaced and the closest vehicle was several hundred feet back, too far to notice their illegal turn. Blake swung the van around the parking lot and reversed back up to the gallery.
Finally, Blake cut the engine and turned to face them.
“All right assholes, this is it. The easiest million dollars you’ll ever make. Let's try not to stand on each other’s dicks until we’re out the other side, okay?”
Porter grinn
ed, his perfect white teeth shining in the dark.
“That’s a beautiful fucking speech, man.”
“You know it.”
Blake put on a baseball cap and they all did the same, pulling the brims down to hide their eyes, nose, and cheekbones from security cameras. Far from bulletproof, but enough to stop facial recognition software. Thorne, Porter, and Blake piled out the front of the van. Blake opened the side door to reveal Foster like a captured grizzly. The giant filled the entire opening and the van shifted noticeably as he climbed out. Behind him, looking considerably less like a grizzly, was Lynch whose pale skin shone like porcelain in the moonlight. His hair hung half over his face and he flipped it over the top of his head with a practiced hand movement. The Irishman’s eyes connected with Thorne’s and remained connected while he got out.
“See something you like?” Thorne said.
“Your future.”
“Do we grow old together? Is that it?”
“You’ve done all the aging you’re going to, Thorne.”
Thorne shook his head. Lynch had a serious bug up his ass about him, that was for sure. Perhaps because he’d replaced his role within the gang at the last minute. He wondered what background Lynch had that could be comparable to his. Electronics? Computers?
Blake opened up the rear doors of the van. A dozen bags and cases were lined up ready to go. Thorne reached down to pick up a nylon bag directly in front of him, but Foster pushed past him, his huge hand grabbing the handles first.
“I got this one.”
“You're welcome,” Thorne said.
When everything was unloaded, Thorne found the grocery bags he was looking for and took it to a clear space to work in. He bent down on one knee and lay a watermelon on the asphalt in front of him. The lot was dark and though his eyes had adjusted to the moonlight, it wasn’t enough.
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