Steve Hamilton - The Lock Artist

Another half-baked idea, I know. The wrong way to think about it. I know!

We rolled over the border, into Connecticut. The house was only a few minutes farther. The more money you’ve got, I guess, the closer you can live to New York City, even if you’re in a different state.

The Ox directed Bigmouth to the house. It was a big brick Tudor-style mansion, on top of a long sloping lawn. We drove past it and turned about a half mile down, looping back to a playground that was just on the other side of the house’s backyard. I didn’t like the sight lines on the back of the house, but it was thirty degrees outside, the sun was going down, and the playground was totally deserted.

Bigmouth pulled off the street and turned the car off. We all sat there for a few minutes, waiting for somebody to say something.

“We’re actually gonna do this shit,” Bigmouth finally said. “Can you believe this?”

“Piece of cake,” the Ox said. “What are we waiting for?”

“You’re the expert,” Bigmouth said to me. “What do you think? Do we go now or do we wait a while?”

As if I hadn’t already known this was Amateur Hour. I shook my head and opened my door. Everyone else followed me. When we were outside, I put my hands up to stop them.

“What? What is it?”

I put one finger up. Then I pointed to my eyes, pretended I was looking around in every direction. Then I pointed to the steering wheel of the car and pounded on an imaginary horn.

“Somebody should stay here and be the lookout? Is that what you’re saying?”

I gave him the thumbs-up. Either Heckle or Jeckle got elected for that job. Then the rest of us were on our way to the house. We walked down the edge of the backyard. I kept looking around us, trying to find a potential problem. Everything looked clear.

When we got to the back of the house, I stopped everyone again and pointed to my eyes again. Whichever of Heckle or Jeckle was still with us got positioned on the corner of the house, where he could see up to the car in one direction and down to the street in the other. That left Bigmouth, the Ox, and me to go inside.

The Ox carefully raised the window he had left ajar. I was thinking maybe I should make us all wait again, but then I thought, hell, let’s just go for it here. Assume the dumb bastard did everything he said he did and the alarm system is really off. Why would a rich man go to Florida for the holidays and not turn his alarm on? Because like Bigmouth said, some people are just plain stupid and deserve everything that happens to them. That’s the one thing Bigmouth got right that day.

The Ox climbed into the window first, with about as much grace and delicacy as I would have expected. I went in next. Bigmouth came in behind us. We were already standing in the office. The Ox went right to the nearest painting on the opposite wall. A sailboat battling the waves, the usual high-class crap. He made a big show of putting one finger on the picture’s frame and lifting it from the wall. There was a safe there, all right, recessed a few inches into the wall’s surface.

“Do your thing,” Bigmouth said to me. “How long’s it gonna take, anyway?”

I went over to the safe. The Ox stepped aside. I could feel them both staring at my back now as I put my fingers on the dial. It was a brand I’d never seen before. Some European-sounding name. A tiny ray of doubt started to flicker in the back of my mind. What if this one was different from every other safe I’d ever opened before? I certainly didn’t know the tryout combinations, so I wouldn’t be able to try those first. Which was a shame, because a man who leaves his alarm system off is the same kind of man who’ll buy a safe and never change the combination.

But first things first. Try the handle, see if the damned thing is even locked. I put my hand on it, gave it a little twist. I didn’t really expect it to move. It’s just the thing you do first, to eliminate the possibility.

The handle moved.

I froze on the spot. In two seconds, I saw the whole thing unfolding in my head. When the Ox got in here the first time and found the safe, he didn’t even bother trying the handle. If I open the door right now and show them that it’s unlocked, they’ll know that they didn’t need me here at all. Hell, I didn’t even open the back door for them. We came in through the damned window.

So what’ll happen next? They’ll jump right in here, take the diamonds. They’ll take me back to New York, at least. I hope. Then they’ll dump me on the street corner and say, Thanks for nothing. Unless they’re honorable thieves, of course. Fat chance. Or unless they ever want to work with me again. Fat chance again. Like this isn’t a once in a lifetime thing for all of these guys.

I could feel that the bolts were already retracting into the door. One little pull and the door would be open. I slowly let the handle slide back. Then I turned and sneaked a look back at Bigmouth and the Ox.

“Is it a hard safe?” Bigmouth said. “Can you do it?”

I shook out my hands, worked my neck around like I was about to attempt the impossible. I pointed at my eyes, then out the room in one direction. At my eyes again, then in the other direction. You two guys get the hell out of here and keep watch.

They both seemed a little reluctant to leave, but I stood my ground. I didn’t move a muscle until both of them were gone. Then I let my breath out.

I went back to the safe and opened it. There was a black velvet bag inside. Like something out of a movie, exactly what you’d expect to see holding a million dollars’ worth of diamonds, right? With a little drawstring on top? It was perfect.

I opened the drawstring and looked inside. Twenty, maybe thirty glittering stones. Not quite as much as I would have expected, but what did I know about diamonds? I took a few of them out, thought about maybe keeping some for myself. Then I realized that was probably stupid. I’d never be able to do anything with them, and I’d just be reducing the overall take. So I closed up the drawstring and put the bag on the floor. Then I went back to the safe. I knew I needed to kill a few minutes, so I thought I might as well check out the locking mechanism. I spun the dial a few times, pretended that it was locked and tried to open it. I parked the dial, picked up three wheels. Pretty standard so far. I cleared the dial and started going through the numbers, feeling for the contact area. It seemed very well defined to me. When I got to the first short contact, it stood out immediately. This was not a hard safe. I was almost sorry that I didn’t get to crack it.

What the hell, I thought. At least I’ll know this now, if I ever see another one. In the meantime, no sense taking any longer than you have to. Let them think you’re really, really fast at doing this.

I wiped off the dial and closed the door. Then I replaced the picture on the wall. I left the room and found Bigmouth standing by the front door, looking out the little window. He almost jumped through the ceiling when I tapped him on the shoulder. He got over that when I handed him the bag.

“What? Are you kidding me? Did you open it already?”

He looked inside the bag. He seemed at a loss for words, maybe for the first time ever.

“Happy New Year,” he finally said. “Happy Fucking New Year.”

We collected everybody and got back in the car. I rode shotgun again. This time, when we got back on the expressway, I put my hand on Bigmouth’s arm and got him to ease up on the gas. Everybody was just a little bit too excited, and I didn’t want us all to get killed on the way back.

“He did it!” Bigmouth screamed, for the third or fourth time. “How long did that take, like four minutes? Five minutes? The kid is a fucking genius!”