David Hosp - Among Thieves

There were risks involved. If the guard called the real cops to confirm the report, they were screwed; once it was clear that two men impersonating the police had tried to get into the museum, the job was over for good. Security in the place would triple overnight. Bulger’s words echoed in his ears as he stood there-“If you fuck this up, I’ll only see you once more.” The meaning was clear. And yet Devon knew this was their best chance.

According to the information Bulger had given them, the guards were not really guards at all; they were music students. It was a perfect job for someone in that position. The shift started at midnight and ran until eight a.m., and a struggling musician could play in a band, then head over to work. It was a low-stress gig; there were two of them on duty at night, and their main responsibility was to watch for fire and make sure the plumbing didn’t explode. The museum housed literally tens of billions of dollars’ worth of art, and the greatest threat to the collection was from water and smoke. Theft was a theoretical risk, but a remote one at most. The place was shut up tight every night, and a button underneath the security desk could easily be tripped, which would immediately notify the police of any trouble. On the other hand, it wasn’t clear that a kid in that position would have the balls to keep out the police if they showed up unannounced.

Devon got himself into character quickly. He looked straight into the camera. “Look, you fuckin’ rent-a-cop,” he said, “we have a report of an alarm at the museum. My partner and I can’t leave here until we check it out. This is our last call of the night, and we’ve been on duty for more than twelve hours dealing with nothing but punks and drunks. You don’t wanna open the door? Fine. I’m gonna call in the fuckin’ SWAT team to surround the place. Then I’m gonna call the captain, and I’m gonna have him wake up every one of this museum’s fuckin’ directors and get their asses down here to explain why one of their employees is interfering with officers responding to a report of a disturbance. I’m sure that’s gonna make your whole fuckin’ week. Either that, or we can come in for two minutes and verify that it’s a false alarm. It’s your choice.”

Devon wondered if he’d overplayed the hand. He’d been around cops enough to know that their power and authority was most often projected through aggression. Cops liked nothing less than being questioned, and any time their authority was challenged by a civilian, the response was predictable.

He looked over at the Irishman, who was standing there, glowering at him. From the man’s expression, Devon wouldn’t have been surprised if he slit Devon ’s throat then and there if the ruse didn’t play out. Devon had seen the knife the man carried.

Finally, after an eternal moment, the guard came over the intercom again. “I’m not allowed to leave the security desk,” he said. “Do you know where it is?”

Devon winked at Liam and turned to face the camera. “Up on the main floor?”

“Yeah, that’s right. Take a left and then follow the signs for the men’s room. You’ll see it.”

“Okay,” Devon said. The buzzer on the door rang, and Devon reached forward to pull it open for Liam. He didn’t thank the guard; cops rarely thank the person they’ve just browbeaten. Besides, they needed the guard to remain nervous if they were going to pull this off. A lot still could go wrong. Bulger had given them a complete layout of the security system. Devon had never asked where it came from, but it made clear that the only point of contact with the outside world was at the security desk. If the guards managed to set off that switch, they were done. If they could get the guards out from behind the desk, though, the danger would be over. There were no other external alarms that would alert anyone to what was going on inside the place. Now it was all a mental game, and if Devon could out-duel the security guards, they would be fine.

He looked up at the security camera once more and shook his head, as though in utter contempt for the man at the controls. He hoped the guard was watching.

Ballick knew he was alone. He could have run; maybe he should have, but that wasn’t who he was. He accepted his fate with the same ambivalence he’d shown toward life. The precautions he’d taken had not been sufficient. It was enough, and he sat down in the chair out back of the shack to look out at the water and wait.

It didn’t take long. It was only a matter of minutes before he heard a footstep on the gravel to his right. “I figured you were coming,” he said simply.

“So it seems.” Ballick could hear the streets of Belfast thick in Kilbranish’s accent. “Only four? I feel insulted.”

“Who says there ain’t more,” Ballick replied. “Maybe inside.”

“No,” Liam replied. “We’ve been watching. Only four.”

“We? I thought you worked alone.”

“Aye. Except when necessary.”

“Like twenty years ago?”

“Like twenty years ago. Only it didn’t work out so well for me then, did it?”

Ballick heard shuffling off to the left of the building and glanced over to see a shadowy figure blocking any escape in that direction. “Maybe it’ll work out better for you this time.”

“That depends on you,” Liam said. He stepped forward and the thin beam of light cast by low-wattage spotlights hanging precariously from the corners of the roof bisected his face, showing his eyes but concealing his mouth and nose. It made him look like some sort of masked bandit. “Talk,” he said.

Ballick looked at Liam. The determination in his eyes seemed balanced on the edge of madness, and Ballick knew he’d seen his last sunrise over the water. He looked out at the bay, his sight drawn naturally to the horizon, where the dark steel of the water faded into the charcoal sky. “You’re not going to like what I have to say.”

“Try me.”

“We don’t know where they are.”

Liam was standing only a few feet from him now, and he raised his arm, pointing his pistol at Ballick’s head. Ballick hoped he would pull the trigger then and there, but knew it would be too easy. “You’re going to have to do better than that.”

“I’m telling you, we don’t know where they are,” he said again. “No one does.”

“Someone does,” Liam replied. He motioned toward the door to the shack with the barrel of his gun.

“It’s gonna be like that?” Ballick said.

“It’s up to you.”

Ballick stood. “Nothing I can tell you is gonna be of any use,” he said. Liam didn’t respond, but motioned to the door again. To Ballick’s left, the other man emerged from the shadows. He seemed large and shapeless, and he had a face from a child’s nightmare. He had a gun, too, and he moved with economy and confidence.

Ballick turned toward the water to take one last look. A stiff breeze kicked off the harbor and swept in, working over his face like a farewell. He inhaled deeply, letting the frigid air fill him to the core, closing his eyes in memory, feeling comforted.

Then he took two steps toward the door, and flanked by Liam and the other man, he stepped into the shack.

Devon led the way through the museum hallways and around to the security guard’s desk. He and the Irishman had discussed the fact that Devon was the only one who would talk. He had the thick Boston accent shared by the vast majority of the police on the streets. It wasn’t as though there were no cops in Boston with Irish accents, but it would stick out, and possibly give the guards cause for alarm. They couldn’t afford to take the risk. The Irishman had reluctantly agreed to allow Devon to do the talking.

Devon came around the corner first and saw the guard standing behind the security desk. That was bad. He was hoping the man might have come around from the back, and they simply would have tackled him to prevent him from setting off the alarm. Now it looked like Devon was going to have to lure the man away from his post.