Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
Nothing Good Happens After Midnight
CLIFF
At precisely four fifteen AM when the moon was setting into the Pacific Ocean and most of the citizenry of Manhattan Beach were enjoying an Ambien-fueled slumber, the computer-driven security system of Pasha’s Fine Jewelry was doing a routine maintenance update.
For Cliff, a recently paroled convict and ex-master thief, it was the opportunity he had been waiting for.
As the software updated, Cliff stood over the power panel in the alley behind the store, hovering.
He looked at his watch, just as the second hand touched twelve.
4:16:00 AM. The update created a three-second window, nearly as fast as an F1 pit stop, that allowed Cliff to snip a green wire and disarm the entire alarm system.
He let out the breath he had been holding.
He was in the “blank space,” a tick of time thieves referred to as the moment you’re in, undetected, but before you grab the loot.
The point of no harm; also the point of no return.
Cliff slipped into the back room of the jewelry store and sized up the vault.
The latest Casoro-Million TL15 model. Two tons of American-made steel, six feet tall, dense, immovable, and burglary-tool resistant.
It had a three-wheel combination lock, a heavy handle, and four plated door bolts.
He smiled. It was identical to the one he’d been practicing on in his rented garage, on loan from an ex-con friend who now sold vaults for a living.
Cliff was a great listener. Which came in handy with quality women and imposing vaults.
Hands gloved, he tacked two delicate microphones to the vault’s face, put his earbuds in, and began twirling the dial slowly until he heard the first faint tick of a tumbler drop.
Forty-five seconds and two tumbler numbers later, Cliff opened the heavy door and relieved Pasha’s Fine Jewelry of three velvet-lined boxes filled with roughly $2 million worth of precious gems, including a five-carat perfect cut diamond engagement ring.
Cliff briefly admired the ring and wondered what it would be like to give such a piece to a woman who deserved it.
It had been a long time since he’d been in love—if ever.
He’d had women, sure. Women like the waitress from OB’s, as his brand tended toward emotionally unstable types who’d seen their fair share of hell.
He’d come to understand that he liked the role of protector.
He liked being needed, and that worked for a long time.
But as the great ball spins, so did his changing needs.
He wanted an equal. With flaws, and decency, and a point of view. He needed a woman willing to give a shit. Real love with a real woman was messy, and full, and joyfully complex. The only kind of love that was worth it. The only kind he’d stop for.
Loneliness could be solved in the short term.
Evidenced by his dalliance with Amber. He had no answer for the long term.
Maybe Amber should be a last stop. Maybe he should get off that train?
Or maybe he should meditate on it. He’d met a guru named Gautam Chodron in the joint who was doing time for embezzlement and claimed meditation was the only way to find what one seeks.
Cliff made a mental note to try it later that night before stuffing the diamond ring in his backpack with the rest of the goods.
He gently closed the vault, careful not to disturb anything else.
He knew the backup alarm system would alert the police as soon as the computer realized it had been turned off, which was exactly thirty seconds from now.
He turned quickly, slung the backpack over his shoulder, and headed for the door when he heard a sound.
He stopped in his tracks and peered into the dark recesses of the jewelry store. He crouched down to make himself small.
In that moment, a black shape darted across the floor toward him.
It was a cat so black it swallowed the light.
The feline reached him and began sidling up to his leg, purring.
Cliff bent down and gave the cat a quick pet, let the relief flood through him, and realized he’d been holding his breath again.
He let it out slowly and looked at his watch.
Twelve seconds to get out. He stood up and felt a muscle cramp in his hamstring.
He had to stop to stretch it out as he watched the seconds rapidly dwindle.
He stood up straight, cramp assuaged, and vowed to drink more water.
He was getting too old for this gig.
He quietly opened the back door into the alley where two streetlights were out thanks to two accurate pops with a BB gun the night before.
Manhattan Beach was an affluent town with very little crime and a lot of bored city employees.
Those streetlights would be fixed by today.
He knew, because he’d tested it a day before on his own street.
Light was fixed within thirty-six hours. That was good knowledge to have.
Cliff heaved the backpack on his shoulder and started walking up Eleventh Street toward his rented apartment on Valley Drive.
No one was out, but that would change in an hour.
Californians rose early for all manner of healthy physical recreation.
Surfing, paddleboarding, yoga on the beach.
The fit and restless would be arriving soon.
He glanced at his watch and realized he had three hours before his meeting. Enough time for a quick shower, a breakfast burrito, and an existential crisis.