Sacrifice Fly

by Tim O'Mara

  Edgar asked, “How long do we wait?”

  “As long as it takes,” I said. “You got plans?”

  “No, no. I’m good.”

  “Hungry, thirsty, gotta pee?”

  “Nope.”

  “Excellent.”

  “What exactly are we going to do if they do come back here?” he asked.

  “I’ll call Royce first thing in the morning and hope he gets sufficiently motivated to drop by and rattle Roberts’s cage. I would have loved to have pushed him more this morning, but we both knew he was well within his rights to bring charges against me.”

  “How come he didn’t, do you think?”

  “I thought he didn’t want the extra hassle. Now I’m thinking he’s happy keeping the cops out of his life as much as he can. I’d like to start making his life a little more uncomfortable.”

  “You’ve done a lot already, Ray.”

  “Not enough, Edgar. It’s not going to be enough until Frankie gets home.”

  “Hey,” Edgar said, motioning with his head out the windshield, “speaking of coming home…”

  The van was pulling up in front of Roberts’s. Suit and Ape got out, and Ape went to the security gate, bent over, and unlocked it. As he lifted the gate up, Suit came around with the briefcase and punched some numbers into the alarm pad located to the right of the front door. When he was done, Ape unlocked that, and the two men stepped inside the travel agency.

  “There we have it,” said Edgar. “You think that’s enough for the detective?”

  “Should be,” I said. “Let’s give it a little more time though, okay?”

  “I was hoping you’d say that.”

  Edgar unbuckled his seat belt and opened his door.

  “Where are you going?” I asked.

  “Got something in the back that might come in handy. Okay if I get it?”

  I thought about it and said, “Yeah, fine. Just be quick about it.”

  Less than a minute later, he returned holding a small black case. He placed it on his lap, opened it, and pulled out a pair of binoculars that looked like they’d just come out of the factory.

  “Got these last week,” he explained. He put the binoculars up to his eyes and adjusted the lenses. “Freaking beautiful,” he said. “You really do get what you pay for in surveillance equipment, Ray. These are special night-vision glasses, and they rock. Here, take a look.”

  I took the binoculars and peered through them. They gave the evening a light green tint and were as good as Edgar had said. So good, even from this distance and in this low light, I could make out the numbers on the alarm pad. Which gave me an idea.

  “Edgar,” I said, “if this place has a back entrance, what are the chances it would have the same alarm code as the front?”

  “Better than excellent. Who wants to bother with two codes? Especially if you don’t use the back door all that much. Why?”

  “Just thinking out loud.”

  Before Edgar could respond, the front door reopened and out stepped Ape and Suit. Suit no longer had the black bag with him. He turned to reset the alarm, and I focused the binoculars on the pad. “Write this down, Edgar.” I watched Suit’s hand. “Five, six, four…” Ape stepped in front of Suit as he finished pressing the buttons. “Shit,” I said. “Five, six, four, what? Dammit.”

  Suit went over to the van as Ape pulled down the security gate and relocked it. They hadn’t been in there for more than two minutes, which meant they had probably just dropped off the bag. Ape got in the van, and they pulled away.

  “We gonna follow them, Ray?”

  “No,” I said.

  “Why not?”

  “Because I want to know what’s in that briefcase.”

  “Won’t the cops do that?”

  “That case’ll be gone as soon as Roberts knows Royce is coming over. That is, if Royce comes over. Even if it were still there, Royce would need a warrant to take a look at it, and he’s not going to get one because he only has my word to go on, and that’s thin to begin with.”

  “So how are you…?” It came to him before he could finish his question, and he gave me that big smile he’s got. “You’re thinking about going in there and getting the case, aren’t you?”

  “Shut up a second, Edgar. I’m thinking about it.” I paused for a few seconds and then said, “Can’t do anything unless we know the last number of that code.”

  “Gotta be something zero through nine,” Edgar said, thinking out loud.

  “Thanks. What happens if you press the wrong number?”

  “Most systems give you a second chance. Like your ATM card. They’re programmed to allow one mistake. They figure anyone can touch the wrong button. You make a second one—and ding ding—the alarm’s activated.”

  “So a one-out-of-five chance of getting it right.”

  “And four-out-of-five of not.”

  “Fuck,” I said.

  I took the time to run the first three numbers through my head. Five, six, four. Too few numbers to spot a pattern. Maybe it was an important date, but that wasn’t going to help. I knew next to nothing about Roberts and his family. I looked over at Roberts’s place again. AROUND THE HORN TRAVEL AGENCY. I had seen no posters inside the other day that would make me think they booked trips like that. And in this location, it didn’t add up. So why name your place after a destination most of your clients couldn’t find on a map?

  “Edgar,” I said to hear my thoughts out loud. “What do you think of when you think of that name? If you just saw the words, without knowing it was a travel agency?”

  He made a face as if someone had just suggested sucking on a lemon. “I don’t know, Ray. I guess I’d … maybe…”

  “Baseball,” I said. “‘Around the horn.’ Third, second, first.”

  Edgar—whom I’d seen fill out hundreds of scorecards while watching baseball on TV at the bar—smiled. “A five-four-three double play. Throw in the shortstop and…”

  “Five, six, four, three.”

  “Pretty clever.”

  “If we’re right.”

  “Well,” he said quietly, “there’s only one way to find out.”

  “I know.” I thought about the two places I’d already entered illegally this week. “Fuck it,” I said. “Let’s find out.”

  “I was hoping you’d say that,” Edgar said and, once again, slipped out the side door.

  Chapter 25

  THE UPPER HALF OF EDGAR’S BODY disappeared inside the trunk of his car. When he reemerged, he was holding a beaten-up brown leather case. “Let’s see what we have in here,” he said, closing the trunk and putting the case on top.

  I had moved the car a few more blocks away from the travel agency, into an area with a little less light and traffic. After the decision to break in, I realized we needed more privacy to work out the details, possibly even reconsider the whole thing. The first thing Edgar pulled out of his case was about the size and shape of a deck of cards. “Clip this onto your belt.”

  I fingered the box, found the clip, and did as he said. “What’s this do?” I asked.

  Ignoring me, he began unrolling a black cord, which was wrapped around a headset. He handed me the jack and, with about three feet of cord between us, said, “Plug that into your end.” When I did, he stepped over and slipped the headset over my ears.

  “Dammit, Edgar. That’s digging into my scalp.”

  He gave me a look like that was my fault, removed the headset, and readjusted it. “Here,” he said, “you put it on.”

  I did, carefully this time, and it felt better. “That’s good.”

  “Now lower the mike.” He waited while I did that. “How’s that feel?”

  “Like I’m working the drive-through window at Burger King.”

  Edgar has little sense of humor when it comes to his techie stuff. He reached under his shirt and removed the cell phone from his waist. He punched in some numbers. Five seconds later there was a ringing in my ears. “Push the button on
the side of the receiver.” When he realized I had no idea what he meant, he said, “The receiver. On your belt. There’s a button on the side.”

  I reached down, found the button, and pressed. The ringing stopped. “Okay.”

  “Come here, Watson,” Edgar said. “I need you.”

  “Neat,” I said.

  “Two thousand dollars’ worth of technology, and all you can say is ‘neat’?”

  This from a guy who thinks breaking and entering is “cool.”

  “You’re right, Edgar. This is pretty impressive stuff.”

  “Thank you,” he said, giving me a slight bow. “You can get cheaper shit these days, but most of that’s line-of-sight crap or stuff for parents who don’t wanna lose sight of their rugrats. This”—he tapped the box on my belt—“goes through all sorts of building materials, and it’ll give you a range of two miles most of the time and won’t drop out like a cell phone.”

  I removed the headset. “Just as long as it goes—what?—a quarter mile?”

  “Not a problem.” He reached into his bag of tricks and came out with the flashlight I had used last night in Rivas’s rented truck. “I put new batteries in,” he said. “It’s good to go. You remember how to work it?”

  “It’s a flashlight.” I took it from him and put it in the front pocket of my pants.

  “How you planning on getting that back door opened?” Edgar asked.

  I smiled, reached into my other front pocket, and pulled out the lock pick that Deadbolt had given me. “You got any WD-40 or something to make this work a bit easier?”

  “I think I can oblige you there.” He went back to his trunk, practically skipping. Here I was, about to commit my second felony breakin in two nights, and Edgar was acting like he’d just won the science fair. When he returned, he was holding a small can with a three-inch tube coming out of the top. “Stick this end into the lock, or just spray it on the pick, and it’ll slide in and out quicker than a twelfth grader’s dick on prom night.”

  We spent the next ten minutes going over what was starting to sound like a plan. It had one central theme: the simpler, the quicker, the better. I would head over to the alley behind Roberts’s. Edgar would pull up to the alley and drive past slowly, making sure I got inside.

  “If we’re wrong about that code,” I said, “I wanna get out as quickly as we can.”

  “Agreed. You think those two are gonna come back?”

  “I doubt it,” I said. “They pulled the security gate down.” I thought for a bit and added, “I want you to keep the car moving once I’m in. Keep an eye out for the van. Any vehicle or foot traffic, you let me know.”

  “Agreed.”

  “That includes the cops.”

  “Obviously.”

  “Also,” I added, “I’m going to need you to keep track of the time for me. I wanna be in and out of there in five minutes. If Roberts has some sort of secondary alarm system, I don’t wanna find out the hard way.”

  “Gotcha,” Edgar said. “You wanna synchronize watches?”

  “Just let me know when two minutes have gone by. Then we’ll go minute by minute.” I tapped the box attached to my belt. “This thing is charged up?”

  “Fully.”

  “Good,” I said. “Dial me up.”

  He did, I pressed the button, and Edgar said, “You ready?”

  “Yeah.” The situation played around inside my head for a few seconds, and I was flooded with the events of the past week. Frankie was still missing, even though I’d just seen him and lost him on the bridge. The cops were nowhere finding whoever killed his father, and I’d been stalked, threatened, and tossed around. I’d had to get my sister out of town, and I was frustrated, exhausted, and more than a little pissed off. Was I ready to break into somebody’s business in order to … what? Prove I could still play with the big boys? Save Frankie?

  “Yeah,” I said again. “I’m ready.”

  “Then let’s do it,” Edgar said, slapping me on the back. “Let me know when you’re in position at the back door. I’ll be circling around if you need me.”

  “Thanks. Why don’t you go around first? Make sure things look okay.”

  “You got it. See ya on the other side.”

  Right.

  A minute later, I was in the small alley behind the agency. No cars had passed, and there was nobody walking around. The smell of urine and garbage greeted me as I made my way to the back exit. I took the lock pick and spray out of my pocket. Sweat was starting to run down my back. I took a deep breath and realized how hard my heart was beating. I leaned against the wall and closed my eyes. Shit, I could almost hear it, ready to come out of my chest. Still time, I thought. I could call this whole thing off, face the scornful disappointment of Edgar, but be back home within fifteen minutes. The alley filled with light from a passing car, and I flattened myself against the wall. Just my luck. Getting caught behind a place of business with a flashlight, a can of WD-40, and a lock pick. When the alley went dark again, I let out the breath I was holding and whispered, “Was that you, Edgar?”

  “Was what me?”

  “Never mind.”

  I closed my eyes and pictured how I wanted this to happen. Spray the pick, slip it into the lock, turn, and open the door. Step inside, punch in the four numbers on the keypad, and shut the door when the alarm was deactivated. Use my mini-flashlight to find what Ape and Suit had dropped off, reset the alarm, and slip back outside and into Edgar’s car. Sounded good to me. It’d be all over so quick. Like I didn’t do a thing.

  I held the lock pick about two feet away from my face and sprayed it. I returned the lubricant to my pants pocket, turned on the flashlight, placed it in my mouth, and aimed it at the lock. Then I slipped the pick into the lock and turned both the pick and the door’s latch at the same time.

  Technically, that was the “breaking” part. Now all I had to do was push open the door and go inside to complete the “entering.” I wondered whether anyone in the history of criminal justice had ever gotten popped just breaking and whether or not it mattered. I forced the thought out of my head, took one more deep breath, and pushed open the door.

  I heard a beeping, went over to the keypad, and pressed five, six, four, three. The beeping stopped, and I allowed myself to breathe again. I shut the door, and I was in.

  On the other side.

  “I’m in,” I mumbled.

  “Starting the clock,” Edgar replied.

  I took the flashlight out of my mouth and went over to Roberts’s desk. I rolled the chair back and sat down, as much to get my breathing under control as to get at the drawers. All of which were locked. The thought of going at them with the pick crossed my mind, but I wanted to cause as little damage as possible and decided to save that for later, if I had the time. The top of the desk was about as minimalist as could be. A phone, a legal pad attached to a clipboard, and a pencil holder containing one sharpened pencil and three pens.

  There was a safe to my right, next to three moving boxes stacked on top of one another and marked “Office.” If Ape and Suit had put their night’s work in the safe, that was the end of that. Breaking and entering, anyone could do. Safecracking was for the pros. I swept the walls with my light. Nothing much beyond travel posters and an empty bulletin board. I stood and walked over to the file cabinet. It was small, about chest-high, with four drawers that opened easily but held nothing more than empty hanging folders and a huge plastic jar of beer pretzels.

  “Two minutes, Ray.”

  Shit. It felt like thirty seconds. “Thanks, Edgar. I think I’m almost done.”

  “You find anything?”

  “Not yet. Let me know when I hit the four-minute mark.”

  “Copy that.”

  I leaned against the file cabinet and placed my arm on top. My heart and breathing rates were still faster than normal, but I was getting over the initial anxiety of my crime. I thought about making a run through the front area. Another clue would be nice. Make this B and E
worth the time and effort. Maybe I should just take the pretzels and go. As I removed my arm from the top of the file cabinet, my hand brushed across the top, which felt uneven. I shone the flashlight on it and, sure enough, the top of the cabinet was dented in. I redirected the light to the ceiling and saw old fireproof tiles, two-by-twos, probably made of asbestos. The one directly above the file cabinet looked slightly out of place.

  I rolled the desk chair over and carefully got myself into a sitting position on top of the cabinet. It wasn’t easy or painless, but I was able to get myself onto my knees and stretch up enough to touch the tile. I pushed up gently, raised the tile, and was able to turn it enough so it could be removed. I was high enough to stick my arm in where the tile had been and reach around. After a few seconds, I hit something solid. I spun it around until I found a handle and removed a briefcase. I lowered myself into a less painful sitting position, my legs dangling over the side, with the case resting on my lap.

  “That’s four minutes, Ray.”

  “Copy,” I said.

  I placed my thumbs on the left and right latches of the briefcase and pushed. The case snapped open. Of course it did. It’s not like Ape and Suit were expecting anyone to open it before Roberts in the morning. I popped the lid and found some cash, a few envelopes, and a small spiral notebook. I flipped open the notebook and leafed through a few pages. I recognized a few of the addresses Ape and Suit had visited earlier, and other numbers I’d try to figure out later.

  “Ray?”

  “Coming, Edgar.” I closed the case and replaced the tile. I slid off the file cabinet and pushed the chair back to the desk.

  “Patrol car just swung by.”

  Shit. Maybe Roberts did have a secondary alarm. “They make you?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Good. Just count to twenty and come a—”

  “Shit. They pulled a huey. Coming back.”

  Damn it. “Just relax, Edgar.” I went over and reset the alarm.

  “Nothing, officer.” Edgar talking to the cops. “Engine seized up on me coming off the bridge. Wanted to let it rest before getting back on the BQE.”

  I went out the back door into the alley, shutting the door to Roberts’s behind me. Not knowing which side of the building Edgar and the cops were on, I crouched down against the wall, making myself as invisible as possible.