Nest of Thieves

CHAPTER ONE

Conor Monroe ran up the hill toward the chain link fence but couldn’t hold the pace.

He slowed to catch his breath. Once he and Sully cleared the fence, they’d be home free.

He tightened his grip on the black metal cash box under his arm and looked back.

Sully met his gaze, his face black with grease paint.

“C’mon! We’re almost there!” Conor yelled, pushing back into a sprint.

He looked ahead at the silhouette of the fence stamped against the clear night sky.

A quick look back at Sully told the story.

The two security guards chasing them were twenty—maybe twenty-five—yards back.

And the off-duty cop with the beer belly was totally out of the picture, watching their escape with binoculars from the stadium’s ticket booth.

The problem was the empty dog leashes hanging from the cop’s hand.

Everything hinged on when the cop had released his Rottweilers.

That and how fast those black and tan monsters could run.

He and Sully had to get over that fence. Fast.

Adrenaline dumped into his system. The night sky peeled open, turning bright as his pupils dilated. He bore down, ignoring the trouble whirling around him.

The impossible weight of each step.

The acid burn in his thighs and lungs.

The shouts of the security guards screaming for him to stop.

He tossed the cash box over the fence, scrambled up it, and then vaulted the barbed wire.

His feet hit the sidewalk. He rolled. Back on his feet, he grabbed the fence.

The two security guards hadn’t made up much distance.

Sully was going to make it. Then Conor’s heart sank as he watched the Rottweilers fly by the security guards with fantastic speed.

They closed on Sully in great, muscled strides.

Sully looked back, caught sight of the dogs, and stumbled.

Conor shook the fence and yelled, “Run!”

In a dead run, Sully threw his cash box over the fence. Conor heard the box hit the sidewalk behind him, change pinging on the concrete. The fence rattled as Sully slammed into it. Gasping for air, he said, “I...can’t...climb.”

Conor pushed nose-to-nose with him. “The dogs are coming! Move!”

Sully scrambled up the fence, but the lead Rottweiler was a stride away, ready to leap. Conor shook the fence and screamed at the dog.

The Rottweiler threw himself at Conor. Slobber flew into Conor’s eye as the dog hit the fence and clamped down on the chain link.

Conor backed up, blinking to clear his vision. A blurry image of Sully perched on top of the barbed wire came into focus. Sully leaped. Conor watched him plummet and hit the ground with a thud.

Sully lay face-down in the grass. He wasn’t moving. Conor held his breath. He couldn’t leave Sully. But he couldn’t stand here and let the guards catch him either.

Sully moaned and pushed off the ground.

Conor exhaled. Thank God.

The fence shook with a jackpot rattle as the second Rottweiler and both security guards slammed into it.

Conor helped Sully up and then turned toward the fence.

The guards obviously spent a lot of time in the weight room.

One was goateed, bald, and a couple inches shy of six feet.

The other was well over six feet and probably turned sideways to fit through doors.

Conor decided the bald guy was the scarier of the two.

His neck was a pillar of muscle, and his vein-wrapped arms stretched the sleeves of his blue golf shirt embroidered with “Armco Security.”

Eyes bulging, the bald guy shook the fence. “You guys are dead!”

Conor grabbed Sully by the shoulder and pulled him away from the fence. Sully pointed back at the guard. “Yeah? Come over here and we’ll see who’s dead, you motherfu—”

Conor clapped a hand over Sully’s mouth and whispered, “Shhh. You want them to pick you out of a lineup? Let’s go before they get over the fence.”

Sully glanced at the guards and mumbled, “It’ll be tomorrow before those muscleheads get over it.”

Conor pointed at Sully’s cash box on the sidewalk. The lid was broken open. Change was spilled everywhere along with a few bills.

Sully nodded and got down on a knee, shoving the money back into the box.

Conor turned, looking for his box. It stood on end in a mud puddle.

He picked it up, wiped off the mud, and shoved it under his arm.

A gust of wind blew a few loose tens and twenties from Sully’s broken box around his feet.

He picked up the bills, stuffing them in his pocket.

Behind him, the fence rattled. Conor looked back.

The bald security guard was halfway up the fence. His monster of a partner crouched below him, straining to push him higher.

Sully tapped Conor’s shoulder. Cash box in hand, Sully dipped his head toward the quiet neighborhood of split-levels and colonials across the street. Conor nodded, following Sully in a run across the street.

Four blocks deep into the neighborhood, Conor cut through the backyard of a big, white house with two-story pillars bracing the front porch.

He pushed through a hedge at the back end of the property, walking out into a parking lot with Sully close behind.

A Ford Bronco idled next to a handicapped parking sign. Conor opened the front passenger door.

Fitz stared at him from the driver’s seat. “Did I hear dogs barking?”

Conor slid into the front passenger seat, breathing hard. “They were doing more than barking.”

“One nearly tore a piece outta me,” said Sully, slamming his door shut. “Just drive. Security might still be on our ass.”

Fitz put the Bronco in drive and pulled out of the parking lot. He eased into traffic behind a red pickup and glanced over at Conor. “How much we get?”

Conor opened the glove compartment, grabbed a rag, and wiped the greasepaint off his face. Then he opened the lid on his cash box, shut it, and put it on the floorboard between his feet.

“What’s wrong?” asked Fitz.

Conor held up his shaking hand. “Just give me a minute, okay?”

Fitz looked back at Sully, glanced at Conor, and then reached under his seat. He pulled a can of beer from under the seat, passed it back to Sully, and then pulled out another can and tossed it in Conor’s lap. “There’s gotta be a better way than this,” he said, easing into a turn lane.

“For what?” asked Conor, cracking open his beer.

“Just saying,” said Fitz, turning left onto a busy street lined with strip malls on either side. “Too much risk, not enough reward.”

“We probably got around five grand,” said Sully. “That ain’t bad. Plus, those security guards got lucky. If they hadn’t been—”

“I agree with Fitz,” said Conor. He turned in his seat to face Sully. “We almost got caught.”

Sully returned his gaze, looking serious as he took a sip of his beer, seemingly deep in thought. “But you know what, Conor?” he said.

“What?”

Sully smiled. “We didn’t.”

Conor couldn’t help it. Sully’s big, goofy smile set him off.

He started laughing. A little at first, and then a lot, with both Sully and Fitz joining in.

He shook his beer, spraying it and laughing until he could barely breathe.

Sully reached over the back seat, hugging him.

Fitz wrapped his hand on the back of Conor’s neck, joining in the group hug while he drove.

It took a minute before everyone calmed down.

Conor wiped his eyes, shook his head, and took a deep, cleansing breath.

He looked over at Fitz, and then back at Sully.

These guys were family. In a town like Brannigan, that mattered.

Without people to back you up, you were nothing.

And they’d done pretty good for themselves, all things considered.

With the economy the way it was—no real work to speak of for guys without a degree—he, Sully, and Fitz had carved out a niche.

A little part-time work here and there as auto mechanics, supplemented by an occasional robbery or theft. But to make it all work, they stuck to a set of rules.

No jobs that gathered attention.

And no jobs where civilians could get hurt.

Up until now, those rules had put them in a pretty good place.

They were able to pay their bills, they stayed under the radar, and they had enough cash to have fun.

The problem was that it was becoming increasingly clear that Fitz was right.

The rules, by design, added up to, “Too much risk for too little reward.” But what was the alternative?

“Hey, you guys want to go to the Red Fox and celebrate?” said Sully.

“I’m in,” said Fitz.

Conor nodded. “Sure, but only if your sister’s not there.”

Sully sighed. “You can’t keep ducking her. You gotta talk to her and work it out or break it off for good.”

“Not today,” said Conor.

“Fine,” mumbled Sully. “But you have no idea what your bullshit puts me through. I gotta live with her.”

“Move out of your mom’s house and that wouldn’t be a problem,” said Fitz.

Conor held in a laugh. There was no need to torment Sully—his sister, Mona, already did that on a regular basis.

She was huge trouble. A black-haired, hourglass-figured beauty from the depths of hell who probably had the bodies of all her previous boyfriends buried in her backyard.

Conor knew she was a problem the first day he’d met her when they were five years old.

But somehow, someway, he still managed to get caught in her web.

It had been exciting while it lasted. The girl was hot.

Like surface of the sun hot. But it went south fast, just the way he knew it would, with Mona becoming more and more demanding.

She actually started talking marriage after two weeks.

Conor looked out his window, watching the streets of Brannigan zip by.

Marriage. That was the last thing he needed.

And it wasn’t going to happen any time soon, especially with Mona.

“Just drop me off at home. You guys have fun without me,” said Conor. He looked over at Fitz. “And feel free to come up with any ideas about planning something big.”

Fitz looked over. “You serious?”

Conor shrugged. “Maybe.”

Fitz tilted down his rear-view mirror to eyeball Sully. “What do you think?”

Sully took a moment, then said, “I think we’re fine, but we can talk.”

The brakes squealed as Fitz pulled to the curb next to Conor’s apartment complex.

“I’ll see you guys later for my split on this job,” said Conor. He opened his door, stepped out on the street, and then leaned back into the SUV. “And let me know if you come up with any ideas.”

Sully eyed him. “We can do that—if you talk to Mona.”

“I’ll take care of it,” said Conor. He stepped out of the Bronco, shut the door, and walked toward his apartment complex, waving as the Bronco slipped into the night.