“So then it’s hardly worth it,” Quinn argues. “Why do it?”
“Uh, have you forgotten that we have a cash-flow problem? Something beats nothing every day of the week. Think of it as a creative method of withdrawing some of the money Mom and Dad had in their accounts at LL National. The bank doesn’t care about what happens to us. Why should we care about the bank? It’s as good a way as any to get a little revenge, don’t you think? I still want to go after Harrison. This is just a little bonus.”
“And what if Christian’s group gets caught this time? What then?” Quinn asks.
“We make sure that we get rid of any evidence that might connect us to the crime, like those pictures he has on his phone. And if that proves impossible, I could say that Christian heard about us through the newspapers and that he blackmailed me into infiltrating the bank to get him insider information. It would be my word against his. You can wipe your computer so there’s no way to refute it. In the face of a total lack of evidence, who in their right mind is going to believe him over me?” Admittedly, I would feel bad if it went down like this and I was forced to lie, but given the Romero Robbers’ track record, it seems unlikely it will. Still, my gut starts churning. I shouldn’t feel bad for him. But somehow, inexplicably, I do.
“Now that that’s settled, let’s get back to Harrison. What else can we do to investigate?”
“What we really need is his computer password at the office so we can log on as him and go through his files and emails there. It’s the only place we haven’t been able to check out,” Leo says.
Quinn shakes his head. “I’ve tried to remote hack the bank’s system. So far no luck. Server security is tight. We need a way to access his computer in person.”
“I have a question about the robbery thing. How are you going to get this guy to give up the details of the job? Seems like we should know when they plan to hit the bank and how many of them there are, that sort of thing.” Elena chews on her lip as she mulls it over.
“We need to get Christian’s phone so I can get the pictures he has. When we do, we look for texts between him and the other robbers. Quinn, Leo, and Oliver could take turns following him over the next couple of days. Find out where he goes. Who he meets up with. Where he lives.”
“The dude is a bank robber, Lex. And you want to break into his place to get his phone? No way. That’s suicidal.” Elena traces a circle in the sand with her toe and thinks. “Unless…unless we make positively sure he’s not home. I mean, really make sure. And we get in and out fast. Leave zero evidence we were there.”
Quinn rubs his chin with one hand and breathes heavy. “So we get what we need from Christian and we work on Harrison. That’s two breaking-and-entering-type maneuvers we have to plan in a short period of time. Before your meeting with Christian. So three days.”
Leo sits back in his chair and stares at the sky. “We’ve never pulled anything off in that short a time period. Risky. Definitely risky.” Then he smiles. “But if we manage it, it’ll be the most epic series of BAMs we’ve ever done.”
Quinn rubs his chin and clears his throat. “About the office break-in. Maybe we could pose as a cleaning crew. We would need a back way into the building, something unexpected. And some uniforms.” I want to do a little dance because he’s already working things out. He’s 100 percent on board even if he hasn’t come right out and said it. “The security cameras pose a problem. We either have to get into the security room where the footage is reviewed—which will be impossible because it’s monitored by security guards at all times—or figure out a way to cover up the camera near Harrison’s office just long enough to get what we need and get out.”
“Hey, you guys ever watch Ocean’s Eleven? Remember how they used the balloons to block the camera? Can we riff off that somehow? Pose as delivery people or something and then slip upstairs?” Whitney asks.
“Hold on,” Oliver says, barely loud enough to be heard over the crashing waves. He leans closer to the fire and fiddles with his lighter. “Oh my god, it’s freaking perfect. LL National is under renovation, right?”
“Right,” Quinn says.
“And my dad’s running that job, right?”
“Well, are you going to tell us what you’re thinking?” Elena stops making toe circles in the sand.
Oliver looks at each of us, considering. “Yeah, definitely, but first—how well can you guys climb?”
After seeing Psycho at the house, I want to check out for myself these diggers Soldado’s got lined up. With Maria’s life threatened, I’m not taking any chances with this job. I want to personally make sure that everything’s going according to plan and that there aren’t things going on that my boys and I don’t know about. I had Gabriel give me a copy of the drainage-system map right after we left the meeting. I was going to wait until morning to go underground, but Gabriel said the men work all night and rest during the day, when the noise might attract suspicion, so I ask him to take me there directly from the house.
Gabriel, Carlos, and Eddie all have work in the morning, and if they’re too tired to show, it might look suspicious, so Benny is the only one going with me. Together we make our way to the exit point Soldado marked on the map for us. Using his directions, we move back toward the tunnels and the bank, where the dig site should be.
I switch on my flashlight. Benny does the same.
“It’s full-on creepy in here,” Benny whispers.
“Haunted house creepy,” I agree.
The tunnel winds forward, disappearing into black where our flashlight beams can’t reach. Water drip-drops somewhere up ahead. There are other sounds, too. Scurrying, foraging-type sounds. The scrabble of claws as something tries to get out of our way. We walk slowly, flashlights bouncing. We focus them on the floor, then the ceiling, then the floor again. I half expect bats to be hanging above us. Or vampires.
“The dig site’s at least a mile or two in,” Benny says, examining the map. “We got about half an hour before we’re there, at this pace.” I don’t want us to jog it because I’m not sure if we’ll run into anyone. We need to make as little noise as possible.
We walk in silence most of the way. Who knows how far our voices might carry into the tunnel. I listen, ears straining, for some hint that people are coming toward us from deep inside the tunnel or are sneaking in behind us. The echo is tricky in here. Twice it makes me think someone is coming when they’re not. There are these little alcoves here and there that we can duck into if we need to, but they’re shallow enough that we still might be seen.
“So how are things going with your connection at the bank? How’d you manage to get her to agree to give you the security stuff we need? You weren’t lying, right? She’s really going to get them?”
I point my flashlight toward my feet so he can’t see my face. Benny has a way of reading into my expressions.
“She’s going to help. That’s straight-up fact. I meet her Saturday.”
“What’s she like? This girl?” Benny is watching me in the dark, I can feel it.
“I don’t know. Nice, I guess.”
“Nice, huh? Like the girl you met outside the Bank of America, the one who got your medal? That kind of nice?”
He can’t know Angela and Lexi are the same person. But the fact that he’s bringing up Lexi right now has me wondering if somehow he knows just the same. “Why would it matter?”
“It doesn’t. You just seem…I don’t know, to be sort of guarded, like you’re not giving us the whole story.”
“What are you getting at?” I ask. “Spit it out already.”
Benny goes quiet a second, as if he’s chewing over what to say. “I just think that the whole writer story doesn’t add up. You got something on her. That’s why she’s helping, right?”
“What? You don’t think my charm alone could convince her?”
Benny laughs. “Possibly, but in this case? Uh. No.”
“How would you know?” I say.
“Just a feeling.” Here’
s the thing about Benny. We’re tight enough that it’s hard for me to keep secrets from him. Turns out I want to tell him about Lexi. I need to tell him. If only so he can tell me what I already know. I have to blackmail her. There’s no other option.
“Okay, the truth is that this girl from the bank is the same girl who showed up at the Bank of America, the one I clobbered that day.”
“Doughnut girl.”
“Yeah. Except now she’s in disguise: wig, colored contacts, tanned skin, the whole nine yards…and suddenly working for LL National.”
Benny stops walking. “What?”
“I don’t have all of it figured out, but the LL National thing is about her dad. He used to work there. Before he got arrested—something to do with bad mortgages and shady lending. My best guess? She’s trying to find something to help clear him. Or maybe she’s planning to rob the place out of revenge. She is feisty. I’ll give her that.”
“Okay, but either way you’re afraid she could cause a problem for us, right? I mean, if she figures out who you are. You think there’s any way she might already know?”
I shrug. “I’ve thought about it. Maybe, but I don’t see how she can prove it.”
Benny nods. “So when you get the information we need, then what?”
“I let her go. She doesn’t talk; I don’t, either.”
“Do you like this girl?” Benny asks.
“What?” I feel blindsided. I don’t see why it matters.
“You heard me. Do. You. Like. This. Girl?”
I snort. “She’s hot, but do I like her, like her? No. I don’t really know her.”
“I don’t believe you,” he says, smiling. “I can tell. The way you’ve not talked about her? You’ve got it bad.”
I don’t want to talk about this anymore, and besides, I’m starting to hear noises, faint ones, but noises that aren’t of the scurrying or dripping variety. “Shh,” I say.
We start walking softer, straining to hear. We go another quarter mile and the noises get deceptively loud, like I can’t tell if they’re coming from around the corner or from where I think they should be coming from based on the map.
I motion to Benny that we should shut off our lights. I don’t want to, but we have to if we want to stay hidden. I click off my flashlight, and with a sigh, Benny clicks off his. The world goes away. All that’s left is a velvet-black void. My heart squeezes, panicked. My lungs tighten. I feel buried alive, but then my other senses take over and I can feel the open space around us again, can smell the air—dank, for sure, but also full-bodied somehow, like I can actually sense that the oxygen level’s good. Benny’s to my right. I can’t see him, but I feel him there, the slight displacement of energy in the air around me.
“Use the wall to guide you,” I whisper. “It’s a straight shot to the dig site after we turn this corner.”
The going’s slow as we feel our way along. I trip a couple of times on stuff I can’t make out. Hopefully, not some rat. I keep my teeth clenched in case I do step on something that moves. I’m not sure I can keep from screaming. Not macho, losing it over a rodent, but I am not into rats. At all. It’s weird, because in a darkness this thick, your mind plays tricks on you. I keep thinking stuff is brushing up against my legs. I feel someone’s breath on the back of my neck.
All at once there is a high-pitched metallic shrieking that knocks me out of my own thoughts and has both Benny and me hugging the tunnel wall. It’s so loud I can’t believe no one up above on the street hears it.
We inch forward and my feet hit…something. I test it with the tip of my shoe. Dirt. It’s a huge pile of dirt. Very carefully we navigate around it only to find another pile and then another. Light. There is light up ahead, faint but there, to the right, glowing, flickering. I can see a bit better now. I look at Benny and can’t help grinning. His eyes are huge in the dark, and his skin is covered in dust. He blinks at me and grins back—crazy wide. Teeth so white against the grime they glow. I must be just as dusty as he is, judging from how hard he’s laughing. I couldn’t see it before, but now, riding on the ambient light, there’s this storm cloud of cement dust and dirt.
We peek around the corner at the tunnel to our right. About halfway down there’s a hole in the concrete wall, the left side. The light’s coming from it. Bright light. So bright I’m squinting trying to look at it. Shadows flicker, the looming shapes of people, dancing across the tunnel wall. I can hear laughter and voices, men speaking Spanish.
We wait a few minutes, and when no one’s head pops through the hole in the wall, we hurry toward it, flank both sides. I peek in. There is a chamber beyond the hole, roughly dug, but a near-perfect square with arches made from thick wooden beams every few feet or so. There are battery-operated lanterns hanging on thick nails hammered into the arches. I can’t see anyone in here, but they’re close.
Do we risk going in?
I look at Benny and he shakes his head.
I hesitate a second, then climb into the chamber anyway, edging my way to the far end. It’s about ten feet long, narrow, but tall enough that I don’t have to crouch. I’m about halfway to the arch when the metallic shrieking starts up again and I nearly jump clean out of my skin. It is unbearably loud. I clap my hands over my ears, but it barely helps. If someone’s coming, no way I’m gonna hear them.
The chamber I’m in ends. The next arched opening in front of me is covered by a comforter—to muffle the noise, I guess. Fail. There’s nothing that can muffle that god-awful screeching. It’s some kind of saw brought down here to cut the beams needed for the tunnel arches. Very, very carefully I lift the blanket a half inch. There’s another chamber, this one bigger, big enough that they had to use some of the wood beams as columns at the center of the room and run crossbeams perpendicular to the arches. The whole place feels like a mine. No one’s in this chamber, either. But there are stacks and stacks of equipment. Beams, saws, tool belts, shovels, and two very large wheelbarrows piled high with dirt. None of this concerns me. What does are the three crates tucked into the far right-hand corner of the room with what looks like TNT in them. Why do they need that? No way they can set that mess off anywhere near here without risking a tunnel collapse.
Wait…unless…
Do they want a tunnel collapse? Is that how Soldado’s gonna cover our tracks? Blow up the tunnel after we haul the cash out? It makes sense, but I don’t like that he didn’t tell us this part of the plan.
I look toward the opposite side of the chamber, where there’s another comforter hung up in that archway, too, light bleeding out from under it. The voices are crystal clear now, as if the guys are within a few feet of us. Unfortunately, most of what they’re saying I can’t understand. Just snatches. My Spanish amounts to a handful of words and a few choice phrases. That’s it. Damn. I make a pact with myself to take a Spanish course at UCLA next year.
I watch Benny listen in. He and Rosie speak Spanish almost exclusively at home with Tia Jeanne, so I know he’s getting most of what’s being said. From the pained look on his face, it’s obvious something’s wrong. I give him a questioning look, but there’s no way he can translate right here.
The saw starts up again. It’s time to move. I don’t want to risk being here too long, even if I still have little to no idea what’s going on. On a whim, I take out my phone and start snapping pictures of the site so I can show them to the other guys later. Benny watches me silently. He looks sick, and my pulse starts to race. What exactly did he hear?
“This is the only chance we have to get inside while no one’s home, so let’s do it like we planned. Quick and by the numbers,” Leo says. “Christian’s whole family is at his graduation right now. From what I’ve seen, it is one of the rare times that the house is empty. And there was some cyberbullying at the school. An incident. Student cell phones are banned from graduation.”
We’re in one of the craft-services trucks from the latest film the twins’ dad is working on. It’s a nondescript white cargo van with
no windows in the back and no seats, either. We didn’t exactly get permission to take it. It was more like Whitney called in a favor. The guy who drives the van owes her for not telling her dad that he took some on-set pictures of the two leads and sold them to Star magazine.
Elena’s riding shotgun, and Leo, Quinn, and I are tucked in between boxes of fruit and Smartwater, trying to keep upright. Oliver had to pass on our little Christian recon adventure because he’s busy setting up for our bank break-in tonight.
“I’ll go in and get the phone,” Quinn tells me for the hundredth time as he stares at his phone. He and Leo are busy monitoring Christian’s Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter.
“We’ve been over this. I’m going in. Just me. I’m smaller, and the window’s not big enough for you to fit through,” I say. “And if for some reason everything goes wrong, he won’t hurt me because he needs me. You he doesn’t even know. You’ll get shot. Besides, if all of us get out of the van and head into the house, the neighbors will likely notice, right? How long before they call 9-1-1?”
“Children, please, can we get through one car trip in peace?” Leo says, eyes closed, head resting on a stack of tablecloths. “No ice cream for either of you.”
Quinn rolls his eyes and starts back in again. The boy is relentless when it comes to protecting me. But I’m just as relentless about getting my own way.
“We’re here,” Elena says, bouncing in her seat, her GPS announcing our arrival in the sexy male Brit voice she programmed it to use. “Yep, yep. This is it.”
The house is small—a stucco box with a handful of windows, all of them covered with wrought-iron bars. There’s a rectangular patch of front yard bordered by a chain link fence and a set of stairs that lead down to the sidewalk. Covering the entire length of the chain link are brightly colored streamers and a homemade sign that reads CONGRATULATIONS, CHRISTIAN! It’s kind of messed up—breaking into his house the day he graduates from high school. But then, if we’re careful, he won’t know we’ve done it.
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