32
ANSON
Whoever was in the sleeping bag hadn’t moved.
Twill and I quietly stepped over and went back to the sidewalk.
The rest of the camp appeared abandoned.
If Andy had been working this particular corner, I expected to find others doing the same, but if they were there, I didn’t see them.
The handful of people who walked by ignored us just as the cars did.
Twill must have known what I was looking for. “Any regulars out here would have heard what happened and gone somewhere else today. They’ll stay away for a little while. The symbol I left will help with that, but sooner or later, they’ll be back, and it will be business as usual.”
I looked up and down the street. “So he would just stand out here?”
Twill nodded. “Someone likes him, they pull up to the curb. There’s a quick negotiation on terms, and Andy would either go with them or back off if he got a bad vibe.”
“He wouldn’t take them to the tent?”
“You never take them home,” Twill stated flatly.
“You don’t want them to know where you live.
Either do it in the car or on one of these side streets, or go to a hotel.
When you’re working the streets, it’s all about the numbers.
Keep things moving fast. Line your pockets.
Stay visible as much as possible. Stay safe. ”
Nothing about any of that seemed safe.
I inched closer to the curb.
“You’re not careful and someone is going to think you’re working.”
“It’s ten in the morning.”
Twill shrugged. “Pervs know no clock.”
Turning slowly, I studied the storefronts.
Most were still closed. The pharmacy opened at eleven, and the liquor store didn’t open until twelve.
The dry cleaner housing the homeless encampment had been vacant for a while.
There were political flyers from an election two years earlier in the windows.
“Anson?”
When I looked back at her, Twill was pointing at the door above the liquor store. Nestled in the corner, barely visible under the awning, was a security camera. A red light indicated it was working, and it appeared to have a full view of the corner, the street, and me.
Oh, you didn’t look for cameras when you first got there, did you?
How many times have I told you to understand your surroundings before stepping through a door?
When the cops find this place, and you know they will, they’re going to find you standing there on the corner right after rifling through a dead kid’s tent.
Your friend stole his money. How is all that going to look? Better get thinking on an explanation.
“There’s a good chance whoever Andy left with is on that camera,” I said quietly.
I meant the words as a rebuttal to Father, but it was Twill who responded. “They open in two hours. Should we wait?”
“They’re not going to give the footage to a couple of kids.” Looking back up and down the sidewalk, I stepped closer to the door. The lock was a MediSteel. A big and bulky deadbolt, the surface was scratched with years of use. “Andy had a letter opener in his tent. Can you get it for me?”
“You can’t be serious?”
I wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t serious. I guess she realized that, because she let out a soft huff and made her way back toward Andy’s tent. While she was gone, I reached up and redirected the camera in the opposite direction, careful not to touch it in a way that would leave fingerprints.
Twill returned and handed me the letter opener. “He carried that for protection. He told me you get busted with a knife and it’s a concealed weapon. A letter opener stabs just as good and can’t get you a record.”
I took the letter opener from her and checked the heft. It was cheap metal, but sturdy—it would work. “Can I have your paperclip, too?”
When she handed the clip to me, she turned back to the street. “Get ready to run. I get the feeling what you’re about to do will lead to running.”
The paperclip wasn’t as good as the lock pick kit Father had given me for my twelfth birthday.
It took me nearly two minutes to work it through all the tumblers, but the last one finally clicked into place.
I slipped the letter opener into the keyhole and carefully twisted both.
The bolt slipped back and released. It was old, but well-maintained.
“Wait out here,” I told Twill. “Anyone comes, pound on the door.”