Be an opener of doors.
— Ralph Waldo Emerson
Not like that!!!
— The Ghost Of Ralph Waldo Emerson
The plan was perfect.
I picked up a used Polaroid instant camera at The Shady Lady so I could take a picture of The B and give it to Dez. I had to go all the way into the Chicago burbs to find film for the damn thing. And, yeah, I tried calling her Destiny. Couldn't do it. The name's too dumb.
Anyway, The B was a regular at The Bitter End. Dez sometimes trolls for johns there. Once she had his picture, I knew he'd be easy to find.
All she had to do was flirt with him, and turn it into a date, during which she'd convince him to go for a swim at The Dunes. That's a popular spot on the edge of Lake Michigan.
She'd text me a heads up, so I'd know where to find their clothes.
It went down just like that.
It was a nice summer evening. They showed up, stripped down, and hit the water. Their clothes were balled up in an orange beach towel.
Great!
I found his pants.
I grabbed his wallet and keys, and headed for the Boxtan Inn. The manager had a key machine. For fifty bucks, he didn't care. I made copies of The B's keys and took a picture of his driver's license. Then, I headed back to The Dunes to put his keys and wallet back in his pants.
The picture of his driver's license meant I had his address, and I had a copy of the keys to his house. He had no idea. He just thought he had a wild evening with a pretty girl named... whatever name Dez gave him.
The hard part was waiting for the right time to rob him. Anytime was the right time, but I didn't want him to connect the dots between skinny dipping with her and his home getting cleaned out by me.
I even had some pros with a moving truck ready to haul everything away at a moment's notice. Pros, meaning, movers who do dirty work on the side. They'd pay me for the stuff and sell it. I'd split my take with Dez.
Simple enough.
I decided to do it in three stages.
One: Scope the place out. I am not a Sloppy Steve.
Two: Let myself in to get an overview of the job, but disturb nothing.
Three: Come back with movers to haul everything away.
After that, I'd never go back to The Bitter End or anywhere else The B might be, because fuck that guy. I didn't need to see his sad sorry face. I just needed to know he got got.
Stage one was easy: The B worked nights. He was an audio engineer at The Crimson Ace, a casino at the harbor. Any night with an event meant he'd be there until at least 2am. He owned a small house in a neighborhood where most places had been divided into sublets. But not his. Nobody would care if they saw a moving truck, and his place had a long driveway leading to the side of the house. Much of it was obscured by trees. This was almost too perfect.
Stage two was where the plan fell apart.
I used my copy of his keys to let myself in.
What I saw wasn't right.
This guy flashed cash, but there were no signs of anything expensive in his home. Nothing said, "This guy has money."
It made no sense.
The walls were covered with framed and neatly hung posters, all of which were signed, presumably by bands that played The Crimson. They were probably free. The furniture was decent, but modest, and probably second hand. He had a desk with a calendar where he marked off dates for upcoming shows, or various other things. I laughed when I noticed a circle with a "NICE!" on the date he met Dez, but he didn't write down her name. Maybe she never told him.
All of this would have been fine, maybe even nice by typical broke guy standards, but The B wasn't broke. He made sure people knew he was loaded. So, why was there nothing of value in his home?
It. Made. No. Sense.
Nothing suggested this guy was worth a damn, and yet, he had a safe, in the basement. It was turned backwards to make it look like a small file cabinet with no door or maybe an ugly coffee table. The thing was heavy as fuck, but it was on a throw rug, so it was easy enough to turn around, with effort, once I realized what it was.
The safe took two keys to open, which meant whatever the Hell he had locked in that thing must have been important.
One of the keys was on his keyring, so I had a copy. But where was the other one?
I started searching the house. And then I stopped.
"What am I doing? I was supposed to be in and out, just for a look at the job."
To Hell with it.
I put everything back exactly as I found it, and I left.