Steve Hamilton - The Lock Artist

Nobody said anything. We all knew exactly what we were doing, every step of the way. But now it was real. Two men were dead. Two men who wouldn’t be missed, of course. Two men that the world would keep revolving quite nicely without. Nevertheless they were both dead because we made it happen.

Julian and Ramona hugged each other. Gunnar kept looking at his phone. Lucy came over to me and put a hand to my cheek. I turned away from her and walked out of the room.

I went back to my little apartment next to the garage. This one little room, my home for the past year. I couldn’t help thinking back on all of the things that had happened here. All those times I had checked those pagers… Kept the batteries charged… my ritual, every single day. See if a call has come in. See if you’re needed somewhere. Call back immediately. Especially if it’s that red pager.

No more.

I was no longer owned by the man from Detroit. I would never again have to answer one of these pagers. My days as a safecracker for hire were over.

I was free.

The next day, I wrote a letter to Amelia. I actually had an address for her now, after all. Care of that dormitory in Ann Arbor. I didn’t fill up the letter with drawings this time. I didn’t try to capture everything that had happened the day before, with the boat and the money and me in the water. There’d be time for that later. For now, all I wanted her to know was that I was on my way back home.

I figured we could work out the details when I got there. I mean, she was in art school, and I’d never take her away from that. Hell, maybe I could buy myself another new identity and start life over. Maybe even register for classes there. Buy a house not far from the school and have her live there with me. Anything was possible, right? I had money now, and there was no reason I couldn’t go back and make it all happen.

I went out to mail the letter. When I had done that, I kept riding around on the motorcycle, amazed at how different it felt already. Not having to think about the pagers or the next big job. Or anything at all.

Eventually, I rode down to the Santa Monica Pier and walked right out to the very edge. I leaned over the railing and looked down at the ocean.

You can’t have me, either, I thought. Not even you.

____________________

It was late afternoon when I rode back to the house. Already wondering how long it would take me to pack and say good-bye to them. Wondering what it would feel like to leave, knowing I’d probably never see them again.

Until I went inside.

I knew right away that something had happened. There were newspapers and magazines on the floor, like somebody had knocked them off the table. From somewhere upstairs, I could hear water running.

The sound got louder as I went up the steps.

I looked in Gunnar and Lucy’s bedroom first. There was nobody there. Nothing looked out of place.

I went into Julian and Ramona’s bedroom. The mattress was slightly askew, like someone had pushed their way past the bed and not bothered to fix it. The sound of the water was louder now. It was coming from their bathroom. I didn’t want to open that door. But then I did. I had to.

I stood there and let the whole scene wash over me. Julian. Ramona. Every little detail. The water running in the tub, mixing with their blood. I took it all in and then I closed the bathroom door.

I bent over, feeling the blood rush to my head. I thought I would pass out right there. Then the feeling passed.

How did this happen? Who did this?

And who got it first?

They brought them upstairs. They bent them over the edge of the bathtub. One by one. They blew the top of Ramona’s head off. Then Julian’s.

Or did they do Julian first?

That’s all I could think of. For some reason, it mattered to me.

I wanted to know who went first.

Then the very next thought… Where are Gunnar and Lucy? Are they dead, too?

I went back across the hall to their room and pushed open their bathroom door, getting myself ready for another horrible sight. But no, it was empty.

I went downstairs and back out the front door. I looked up and down the street. Then I went back around to my apartment. It was empty, too.

You knew this had to happen, I told myself. In the back of your mind, you knew. Sure, you killed the man from Detroit and Sleepy Eyes. You killed them just as surely as if you had thrown them in the water yourself. But it’s not that easy. It’s never that easy. How could you ever think it would be?

Somebody else figured out where the money went. That somebody else is hunting you down now. You don’t even know who he is. He, they, whoever. You have no idea in the world. All you know is that you’re dead. You’re as dead as Julian and Ramona. As dead as Gunnar and Lucy will be, wherever they are right now.

You can’t even call them. You can’t warn them. You can’t do anything.

There is one thing, I thought. There is one thing you can do.

I took out the box of pagers, pushing them aside until I found the cell phone I had brought back with me from Michigan. The cell phone I had taken from my uncle’s kitchen counter. It was the first time I had even turned it on since coming back here. As I did, I saw that there were a dozen voice mail messages. Which didn’t surprise me. If Banks found out I had been back in Michigan, and had taken this phone, he’d keep calling until he finally got through to me.

I didn’t need to hear any of his messages right now. I knew what the general idea would be. Turn yourself in before it’s too late, I’m only trying to help you, same old story. I never believed it. But now, well… everything had just changed. The way Julian and Ramona had been killed-that would be me someday. If not today, someday soon.

And if I really went back to Michigan, then it might be both of us. That same scene. Amelia and I together.

I looked up the one single number stored on the cell phone and hit the TALK button. It rang twice. Then Banks answered.

“Michael, is this you?”

I kept the phone to my ear as I went back, stepping over Gunnar’s barbells on the way.

“I’m glad you called. Here’s what I want you to do. Are you near a police station?”

I went inside the house and sat down at the table.

“Hello, Michael? Are you there? Just stay on the phone, okay?”

That’s when I saw that the bookcase door was slightly open. The door to the secret back room. I ended the call and put the phone down on the table. I closed my eyes for a moment, took a deep breath, then got up and went over to the bookcase.

As I pulled it open, I saw Gunnar kneeling by the safe. Another man was standing over him.

It was Sleepy Eyes.

When he saw me, he drew out his gun and aimed it at my chest. Not that he had to worry. I was too surprised in that moment to do anything. He came over to me and pulled me into the room.

“It’s about time,” he said to me. “Your friend here’s having a little problem with the safe.”

“Michael and Lucy are always changing this combination,” Gunnar said. Which was true. She’d reset it and I would open it. Keeping up with my touch. “So he’s the one who can open it.”

He was acting way too calm, I thought. He’s not being forced to do this.

“Just open the safe.” Gunnar’s voice was totally flat, devoid of any feeling. “Don’t make this any harder.”

“You didn’t even know,” Sleepy Eyes said, that sick little smile on his face. That smile I hated so much. “A Judas in your midst and you had no fucking idea.”

That’s when it all started to make sense to me. Gunnar did have a contact on the boat. Sleepy Eyes. Everything else was an illusion. They set this whole thing up together.