Chapter 45
Jansen
Iknow I’ve been bored for too many weeks when I’m excited to sit in the van.
Seriously. This used to be excruciating. But now, crowded in here with RJ, Walker, and Fluffington, I feel like I’m flying, or high, or well, alive.
RJ’s focused on the cameras, as usual, while Walker preps his third anonymous email to Trips’ dad, this time with a video of Mattie and Bryce.
I’m a little worried that she’s the one who’s going to get hurt in all this.
Trips’ dad isn’t the most stable. But we need Bryce on the man’s shit list, and this is the quickest way to put him there.
If the big bad dad can take care of our problem before we take care of him, well, that’s one thing we don’t have to carry on our backs.
My morals have always been nebulous, but I never figured I’d be pro murder. I guess you live and you learn…that some people just need to be taken off the face of the planet.
Dang. It’s getting dark in here.
Opening my phone, I pull up the most ridiculous cover my sister’s band has out there, a twinge of regret flaring that I don’t let take over. Then I crank the volume high and wrap Fluffington around my neck like a scarf.
The chorus starts and I hoedown like I know what I’m doing. I don’t. But it’s stupid fun to pretend. Walker and RJ turn to watch me, Fluffington grumbling as he stands on my shoulders, his tail whipping in annoyance across my face before he launches himself at Walker on the bench seat.
“Ow,” he gripes, scooping the cat up and placing him beside him instead of clinging to his legs with nails fully extended. “Jansen—” he stops himself, forcing the annoyance off his face.
Apparently, he’s trying to humor me. Deciding to take advantage of it, I pluck the laptop off his lap and set it aside, then yank him to his feet to dance with me.
RJ chuckles, shaking his head and warding me off with open palms when I try to get him on his feet too. Walker bounces on his toes, even though I know he’s got better moves than that, his face locked in mock censure.
But his eyes shine with withheld laughter.
Somebody’s got to liven up this place. We can’t do what we’re going to do with frowns. Doing minorly illegal stuff is supposed to be fun. And I want everyone here acting like it.
The song ends, and Walker grabs my phone, silencing it before it continues our party. “What was that about?”
I shrug, folding myself onto the floor. “We’re too serious.”
Walker glares out the front of the van, a look I’m more accustomed to seeing on Trips’ face than his. “Yeah. But that’s because this is serious stuff, Jay.”
“If we’re not having fun when there’s a chance for it, why are we even doing this? Besides the whole ‘save Clara and ourselves’ bit. That’s a given. But stealing? It’s a game. And if you take it too seriously, it’ll mess you up. It’ll make you mess up. Trust me.”
RJ spins back to his monitors. “This one’s only you, Jay. Why worry about where our heads are at?”
“Because the next one is all of us.” I flop onto my back, Fluffington immediately taking that as an invitation to launch himself onto my stomach. Oof. “And because I don’t want you two to walk much farther into the dark. That place is hard to pull yourself out of. Trust me. I know.”
The silence tells me I maybe said too much.
Or maybe it’s the exact right amount. Because it’s true, even if they don’t want to hear it right now.
Working hard without playing hard isn’t a life worth living.
At least, not to me. And while most of my playing lately has been in the form of random sexts with Clara, it’s still something.
I’m not sure the other guys have taken much of that opportunity—they’re too caught up in the mess we have in front of us.
And if they won’t hand any of the work off to me, well, they’re going to have to deal with random dance parties.
Movie nights and museum visits. Whatever I can do to get them out and living again.
We’re going to get through this, but Clara doesn’t want a bunch of serious, mopey boyfriends. She wants us to be mostly who we were when she left.
We’ve all changed, of course. I’m sure she and Trips have as well. There’s no way we could go through all of this and not become something a little different. Darker. Stronger. Bitter.
But we’re doing this so we can live free. Be the people we are without the weight of imminent doom hanging over our heads. And I’m going to squeeze whatever joy I can out of that future. We might as well practice now.
RJ clears his throat. “I hate to interrupt the heavy silence, but it’s time to get out there.”
I laugh at his almost joke, needing the lightness more than ever. I can’t sink again. The drugs help, but I still have the brain I have, and I’m not going there again. Not if I’m risking the sanity of everyone around me.
“Alright then. Same entry as last time? Any changes in the window?”
“Nope. They still leave it unlocked.”
“Sweet.” I run through my quick warmup, excitement thrumming through my body.
It’s muted, not the same as it was, but I have to remind myself that my normal isn’t actually normal.
This soft buzz is apparently what others feel.
So I’m going to have to learn to enjoy the subtle pleasure of it. I guess.
Then I’m out of the van and loping around to the back of the house, my earbud humming faintly in one ear.
“Heading up,” I announce as I scramble up the same side of the house I took last time, the ice not as bad with this week’s slight thaw, but still nothing easy.
I make it in with minimal twinges in my chest, though, so I’m counting it as a win.
Knowing where I’m headed, I slink into the epic closet and move the mirror hiding the safe full of Nazi jewels, ripe for the taking. As soon as I get it set aside, though, I sigh.
“We’ve got a problem,” I announce.
“What is it?” RJ asks.
“He got a new safe. A fancy one with buttons. I don’t do buttons nearly as well as old-school wheels.”
“Take a picture and send it to me.”
I do, then plop down in front of the metal beast, looking it over. “This one is fancier than any I’ve gotten into before.”
A soft curse makes it over the line. “That’s because it’s top of the line. Walker, can you run to that drugstore two blocks back? We need dark eyeshadow.”
“On it,” Walker says, the bang of the tailgate audible both through the earpiece and the wall.
“Man, I’m getting quite the collection of makeup,” I mutter. “At least I’m pretty.”
RJ chuckles. “We all have our roles to play.”
“And mine’s the pretty one?”
“You’re the heart of this thing, Jansen. Never think anything else.”
I swallow back my emotions at that observation. “Not just an annoyance?”
“Go plant the threat. We only have so long before the owner gets back.”
I chuckle. “One compliment at a time. Got it.”
“Go, you pest.”
“Buzz buzz!” I sing as I walk out to the sitting room, finding a pad of paper on top of the visible safe.
I pull the fancy pen from my fanny pack, the weight of it strange in my hand.
Even with my gloves on, making my hands look larger, the pen is still huge, obviously expensive.
“He’s on the invitation list for the wedding, right? ”
“Yeah. He’s sent his regrets, though.”
I chuckle. “You’ll have to tell me if he changes his mind after this.”
I scratch out my message, dropping the pen on top of the pad.
“Got it,” Walker’s voice cuts in. “I’ll meet you at the back.”
He tosses the small case up, and I snag it, then go back to the safe, painting the powder across the keypad. “Okay, it looks like one, three, nine, and zero are in the code.”
The soft clicks of RJ’s keyboard make their way across the quiet mics. “This safe can have codes that are five to eight digits long. You get three chances before it locks you out for thirty minutes. So, at least one of those numbers is in there twice.”
“That’s like a huge number of possibilities, isn’t it?”
“Yeah.”
The back of the van slams again. “What do we know about this guy? What number matters to him?”
RJ taps on his keyboard. “It’s not his birthday…the date of his marriage…or his divorce.”
“Any kids?” I ask.
“Nope.”
“Parents?” Walker asks.
There’s another bit of silence. “Nope. They were both born in the forties and married in the sixties.”
We sit there. I look around the closet, thinking about what this house is full of. “What about Nazi dates?”
There’s a hiss at the other end of the line. “These people…” RJ mutters.
“No kidding,” Walker mumbles.
A second later, though, RJ asks a question. “Do you think he’s the kind of guy who puts zeros before single-digit dates?”
I shrug, then realize they can’t see me. “No idea.”
“Okay, if he does, we have a choice between the start of World War II and the day Hitler came to power.”
I sit there, looking around. “He probably wouldn’t want to memorialize the beginning of the end of the Nazi movement, would he?”
“No, probably not,” Walker cuts in. “Give him the date for Hitler.”
“Simple first, then. January 30th, 1933.”
I press it in, and the safe immediately unlocks. “Well, that was equal parts easy and disgusting.”
“You’re in, then?” RJ clarifies.
“Yup.”
I pull out the highly compressible nylon backpack I shoved in my fanny pack, scooping out the jewels indiscriminately. “Pity we can’t keep some of these. Or return them to their rightful owners.”
“The police have experts for that,” RJ says.
“Yeah, but will they actually go through the steps?”
“No idea. But at this point, I don’t have the time, and they need to be repatriated. The cops are our best bet.”
Walker scoffs. “If they don’t, we can always take them back and do it ourselves.”
“True,” I say, shoving the last ring box into my bag.
I leave the door to the safe open, taking the eye shadow with me. Then I glance one last time at the note I left, hoping it’s a big enough taunt.
There needs to be chaos. Not vipers dressed as gentlemen. And hopefully this will stir up that nest.
Scratched across the page, my writing obviously not cultured, is the trigger. Hopefully.
Thank you for the wedding gifts.
Powerful men fight with words and manipulations in the dark.
We’re starting a war built for both sides to lose. One where we’ll be the only winners.