Nyssa Glass and the Caper Crisis

by Burke, H. L.

  She grimaced. The last time she’d had to play this part, giggling at the bellhops in the hotel she was casing, dropping handkerchiefs and asking for “tours” of restricted areas, she’d failed miserably. Well, she’d gotten her information, but the young hotel worker she’d targeted ended up looking at her like she had two heads. Hardly inconspicuous.

  No, with this old man, I’ll play shy child. I’m still young enough to pull that off … too young to be flirting with a fellow in his sixties, anyway.

  When she pushed open the shop door, a chiming bell played a few bars of a waltz. She paused. That’s unique.

  Warmth swirled about her like a blanket, and she smiled. Her only coat was a hand-me-down from her uncle, patched, stained, and obviously tailored for a man. Even so she’d tried to wear it, only to have Chief pluck it right off her shoulders as she exited their hideout. It didn’t have fit her disguise, he said.

  The old man, she presumed Mr. Calloway himself, looked up from his dealings with a man in an embroidered vest.

  “I’ll be with you in just a minute, my dear.” Mr. Calloway smiled, blue eyes twinkling. He wasn’t a large man. Still he stood straight and spry in spite of his wrinkles and mostly bald head.

  “I’m just browsing,” she said quickly. She was in no particular hurry to get done and return to the snow.

  “Of course. Take your time.” He returned his attention to his original customer. “As I was saying, we do expect a new shipment of videophones before the new year, but I’m afraid I’ve sold out most of the stock I ordered for Christmas. Is this for a gift or for personal use?”

  Nyssa ran her finger over the glass cases. Yes, they were wired, but the merchandise they contained wouldn’t interest Chief anyway. He liked his big scores.

  Makes sense the safe wouldn’t be in the customer areas, though. How can I get in the back without arousing suspicion?

  Her examination of the front room’s security took only a few minutes. With that accomplished, she indulged herself by poking at the displayed merchandise and imagining what it would be like to crack the electronics open and really get into their inner workings.

  A large videophone, basically a knob-covered bronze frame surrounding a glass screen, sat in a place of honor behind the counter. The title “Dalhart 2” was displayed on the frame in raised lettering. She squinted at it. It was an older model, much bulkier than the devices she’d seen in the homes she’d burglarized … or than the other devices for sale in the shop around it. In spite of its age, it gleamed with a high polish.

  The door chime went off again followed by a tickle of a draft.

  “I’m afraid that unit is no longer manufactured for sale.”

  Nyssa jumped at the shop owner’s voice in her ear. She whirled about, face warming.

  He gave her another kind smile. “It’s a Dalhart 2, one of the first videophones Professor Dalhart mass produced. Nearly as old as you are, I’m guessing.”

  “It’s well-kept. I was just admiring that.” She lowered her eyes. Usually she avoided face-to-face contact with intended victims. Her conscience poked at her, making her neck itch, or perhaps that was the stupid ruffles.

  “Well, when you get to be my age, you value tried and true over new and flashy.” He chuckled. “Were you looking for anything in particular? Tomorrow is Christmas, so we’ve sold most of the new models, but I can always special order something on your behalf.”

  “I’m looking for a gift for my father. A radioset. Something reasonably priced but reliable.” She craned her neck towards the swinging door into the backroom. “Is this all you have? No extra stock in the back?”

  “No, mostly broken units needing repairs in there.” He strode over to the window display and opened it with a tiny silver key he drew from his pocket. “But these radiosets are the best on the market, and I have models for every price range.” He held forth a round-topped radioset with a mouthpiece and attached amplifier cone. “What’s your budget?”

  The door opened, again filling the shop with the waltzing bells, and a large woman carrying a bulky cardboard box entered.

  “Mrs. Victor, that looks heavy.” Mr. Calloway rushed to take her burden. “Here, allow me.”

  The woman let out a long breath and fanned herself with a hankie. “Thank you, Mr. C. I wanted to have my butler bring it down, but I can’t trust him not to tell my husband. If George found out that this broke after less than a week, I’d never hear the end of it.”

  The box clanked as Mr. Calloway set it on the counter. Nyssa tried to appear smaller. Maybe this woman would distract him enough that she could slip into the backroom to look for the safe. Risky, but possible.

  “I didn’t buy it here, but you’re so good with these sorts of things. I hope you don’t mind,” Mrs. Victor continued. “I have coveted these devices since they came on the market. Even with our new home wired for electric lighting, George kept saying, ‘No, no, the new electric lamps are trash. Steam and gas, that’s where the power is.’ When I saw it, though, I couldn’t resist.”

  Mr. Calloway opened the box and pulled out a table lamp with a stained-glass shade. He carefully removed the shade and set it aside. Squinting, he examined the incandescent bulb. “The filament hasn’t burned out yet.”

  Nyssa edged closer. She’d seen electric lamps in the newer office buildings she’d burgled. This was a pretty example, with a bird of paradise on the shade and silver vines curling up the stem. A cord hung from the base. Something about it caught her eye: tiny, pinprick holes all over the insulation.

  “Do you have a cat?” she asked before she could stop herself.

  They both stared at her.

  She dropped her gaze.

  “How did you know?” Mrs. Victor frowned. “Do I have fur on my frock coat?” She frantically brushed at her large bosom.

  “No, it’s just the cord: something’s chewed on it.”

  Mr. Calloway’s eyebrows shot up. He ran his fingers down the cord, reached the spot with the teeth marks, and smiled. “She’s right. It needs a new cord. I can have it fixed by this afternoon.”

  “Oh, thank goodness … but how do I stop the cats from biting the wires?”

  “That I can’t help you with, though perhaps just keep them from wherever you keep the lamp. Nasty for them as well as the lamp if they bite too deep while the circuit’s going.”

  “Good. I’ll pick it up after the holiday. Thanks so much, Mr. C.” Mrs. Victor bustled out the door.

  So much for not drawing attention to myself. Had to go showing off. Nyssa chided herself. I need to get out of here before he starts getting suspicious.

  She hazarded a foot towards the door.

  “That was clever of you, sighting the problem so quickly.” Mr. Calloway tilted his head. “You like fixing things?”

  Nyssa shrugged. “I dabble.”

  Leaving the shade on the counter, he picked up the lamp and motioned for her to follow. “Would you like to help me with this repair?”

  Her heart skipped a beat. Was he actually inviting her exactly where she wanted to go? Was it a trap? Mouth dry, she nodded.

  In the backroom of Mr. Calloway’s shop, two worktables stood, side by side, covered in an assortment of spare parts. On the wall was a line of hooks with a series of keys, each with a label above it … like early Christmas for an eager burglar. In a quick glance, Nyssa identified vacuum tubes, pistons, a crank generator, and more spools of wire than she could count. From the scattered tools and crumpled schematics lying here and there, she had to wonder if Chief was too late and Mr. Calloway had already been robbed.

  The old man cleared his throat. “Sorry about the mess. Usually it’s just me back here.” He pushed around the contents of one table until he had room to set the lamp. “I dislike throwing things out. People dispose of machines too easily. I don’t know how many times I’ve had a customer in here looking to replace what he could easily repair. So you fix things?” He eyed her.

  She nodded. “Some things,
when I can find the parts. My dad worked in a watch factory and used to bring home cogs and gears for me to play with.” Nyssa hadn’t thought of that in years. A warmth spread through her at the thought of her father’s smile. She pushed it away.Can’t get soft now. I have a job to do.

  “That’s nice … is there a reason you’re not in school today?”

  “I don’t go.” She clenched her jaw shut. Mr. Calloway’s line of questioning was quickly growing too personal.

  “You know, there are some excellent trade schools that accept young ladies now.” He reached for a screwdriver. “I saw the way you were examining my wares. More than a casual eye.” He held the screwdriver out to her. “You want to give it a go? Can’t get much more basic than replacing a lamp cord.”

  She drew away. “I’m not sure …” Before she could finish the thought, she caught sight of a black box, built into the back wall. A safe? “I suppose I have the time.”

  Nyssa took the screwdriver and eased the lamp onto its side. The cord disappeared up through the base. It has to get power to the bulb at the top. “The wire goes through the body of the lamp up to the bulb?”

  Mr. Calloway nodded.

  She inspected the top where the bulb connected. The socket beneath the bulb was attached with two screws. With the screwdriver, she loosened these and eased the bulb and socket out of place. The cord split into two wires, each clinging to a different side of the socket.

  “You’ve never done this before?” the shop owner asked.

  “No, but things like this make sense if you take a moment to figure them out … to me anyway.” She flushed, wondering if that sounded arrogant.

  “I know a lot of folks don’t see trade school as proper for young ladies, but if your father brings you bits and pieces from the watch factory, I bet he’s open minded about vocational training for women.” Mr. Calloway took a spool of wire from a shelf. “This should be the right gauge. Most of the schools have scholarship programs if tuition’s a concern. You should ask your parents about enrolling you in one—”

  “My parents are dead,” she snapped without thinking.

  His eyebrows melted together. “I thought you said you were looking for a gift for your father?”

  Nyssa nearly swallowed her tongue.

  Before she could even think of a lie, the waltzing doorbell sang from the front room.

  “If you’ll excuse me.” Mr. Calloway left her alone.

  Nyssa eyed the safe. There didn’t look to be any extra security around it. It shouldn’t take more than a few minutes to break into. The keys were the first concern. She hurried to the rack, slipped the one labeled “back door” off the hook, and reached into the small pocket she’d sewn into the dress’s sleeve for her wax block.

  “Reverend Dobbins, this is unexpected.” Mr. Calloway’s buoyant voice greeted someone in the shop.

  She pressed the key into the wax, then replaced the key on the hook and the wax in her pocket.

  “Yes, well, we had another busy day at the soup kitchen. May asked if I could get some funds for a new stove. Do you think the church can allocate for that?”

  “With that donation from the Suzanna Dalhart Memorial Foundation, we could replace the whole kitchen.” Mr. Calloway laughed.

  “Yes, but there are more urgent needs, and I hate to use such a windfall blessing frivolously.”

  “The donation was a blessing indeed, but keeping the soup kitchen working is hardly frivolous.”

  Nyssa’s stomach twisted. These were the funds she was supposed to steal.

  “Yes, but there are so many needs … but May is right. One stove isn’t enough to feed all those people. I had hoped we would be able to use the donation to replace the roof on the orphanage.”

  Shock me … I’m an awful person. Am I really going to steal from orphans? Nyssa moaned.

  “We may still have enough for that. Let me fetch you the money for the stove. How much was it?”

  Nyssa busied herself with the lamp as Mr. Calloway hurried past. She refused to look as he used the combination dial to open the safe and reached inside for the money. However, when he returned to the reverend in the front room, he left it wide open.

  Her throat tightened. Oh, he’s so trusting. I could stuff my frock with bills and bolt out the back … someone needs to look out for this poor man or he’ll get himself robbed blind, and the poor little orphans with him!

  Chapter Three

  On the long trolley ride home, Nyssa went over the various ways she might stop the heist.

  If I just refuse to do my part, Chief will easily find another replacement. I might be the best safecracker he knows, but I’m hardly the only one. She rubbed her hands up and down her goose-bumped thighs. The trolley windows didn’t keep out the winter cold, and her thin, frilly dress wasn’t ideal for the weather. Still, every moment she was on the trolley, she wasn’t confronting Chief.

  I could go to the police … but with no proof of a crime being planned, they probably won’t listen, and that’s assuming Chief isn’t right about them already having a warrant out for someone matching my description. She shuddered.

  Across the trolley aisle, an old woman with a terrier on her lap gave Nyssa a smile. “Cold, dearie?”

  Nyssa shook her head, even though her fingers ached. I don’t deserve to be warm right now.

  The trolley jerked to a halt at the end of the narrow street filled with alehouses and businesses of a questionable nature. The conductor raised his eyebrows when Nyssa stepped off the car. In her current getup, she hardly looked like she belonged on this side of town.

  Holding her skirts up above the slush of melted snow, she hurried towards her employer’s lair. The sign outside read, “Rare Goods,” a vague reference to the fencing of stolen items that sometimes went on in the front room. Chief mostly left that side of the business to Barney, however. He’d be in the warm backroom, drinking whiskey and planning the next crime, as always.

  Barney smiled as she entered. “Back already?”

  She shrugged and pushed through to where Chief waited.

  “Did you get a good look at the alarms?” Chief asked. He sat at the table, various lockpicks, ropes, and even two revolvers laid out before him, all the tools of a well-planned break in.

  “We can’t do this job!” The words rushed out of Nyssa like steam from a kettle.

  Chief’s face darkened. “And why not?”

  Nyssa swallowed. Her head scrambled through various lies about impossible security systems, guards with guns, and dogs on chains … none of which Chief would likely believe.

  The floorboards creaked behind her. “Is everything all right?” Barney asked.

  “The man we’re supposed to rob,” Nyssa forced her voice steady, “he’s a good man, Chief, a kind man, trying to help people.”

  Chief took a cigar from his pocket and lit it. “So?” He puffed on the cigar until the tip glowed red.

  “And the money we’re supposed to steal is from a church charity fund.” She bunched her skirts in her hands. “We can’t do it. It’s not right!”

  “And those other robberies we’ve pulled, they were okay somehow?” Chief sneered. “Why? Because they weren’t charity money? Or because you didn’t have to look the victims in the eye like today?”

  “I never wanted to do those either,” she mumbled.

  Chief’s eyes glinted. He stood, his chair squeaking across the floor. Nyssa winced, but Barney stepped to her side.

  “Chief, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. The girl’s just tired is all.” The old man smiled weakly. “She’s been working hard. We all have.”

  “This girl don’t know what working hard is.” Chief snorted. “Lazy little leech.”

  Nyssa chest tightened. “I’ve put more effort than you have into the heists, and I haven’t seen a cent from it, unlike you. You said I had to work off my uncle’s debt? Well, that’s easily been paid twice over by now.” She threw her shoulders back. “I don’t want to do this anymore.
You can rob kind old men and orphans all you want, but I’m not taking part. I quit!”

  Chief barreled towards her. Nyssa yelped and threw her hands over her face, but he grabbed her by the hair. Pain shot through her scalp as he yanked her head back.

  “Careful, Miss Glass.” His hot breath singed into her nostrils, rank with alcohol. “When you came into my care you was too young to be used as more than a thief. Now … I could get good money for you on a street corner. Is that what you want?”

  Nyssa twisted in his grasp. She stomped with all her might on his toes only to be flung against the wall. Her breath left her body in a painful whoosh.

  “Easy, Chief!” Barney stepped between them. “Look, she’s just a kid. They all go through their rebellious stages.”

  Chief stomped to the table and picked up his lighter. He relit his cigar, still glaring at Nyssa.

  She rubbed her aching ribs. “Please, I don’t want to do this any more.”

  Barney scratched his neck. “She’s tired out, doesn’t know what she’s saying, but it’s all right. I’ll stand in for her on this one. I can crack a safe as well as she can.”

  Chief puffed out a ring of gray smoke then chuckled. “Barney, we all know your hands are shot. The last heist I took you on, you nearly set off every alarm in the building with your palsy-ridden fingers.”

  “It’s been better of late.”

  “Nah, you’re still useless to me. The girl’s got plenty more good years left in her.” Chief grinned at Nyssa, flashing yellowed teeth. “Because that’s all that matters to me, girl, if you’re useful to me. If you are, I’ll keep you alive and off the streets, but once you stop being of use? Well …” His hand swept to the table and clutched the revolver. A bang split the room. Nyssa shrieked.

  Barney crumpled, clutching his chest. He whimpered as he hit the floor.

  “Barney!” Nyssa crawled to him.

  The old man lay, blood pooling beneath him. By the time she’d flipped him over, the light had left his eyes. Her heart stopped like a busted clock.