Page 50 of Baker

“You don’t.” He turned around. “But, if it doesn’t taste good, don’t be afraid to spit it out.”

TWENTY - Baker

Using three ten-foot-long pieces of steel pipe, we lifted the air conditioning unit onto four pneumatic tired carts, and then rolled it out of the way.

Tito peered into the ductwork that was exposed by the unit’s absence. “If there’s a silent alarm, I’ll let you know. If not, come in on my signal.” He checked his harness, and then slipped the rope through the carabiner.

Cash planted his feet against the air conditioning unit’s framework, gripped the rope firmly, and gave a nod. “Get in there before the cops get here.”

After climbing inside the L-shaped section of duct, Tito removed the fasteners and handed the individual sections to Ghost. He looked at Cash. “Slow-ly”

Cash lowered him into the building a few inches at a time, giving Tito time to inspect the facility for backup alarms. With my stomach twisted into a knot of apprehension, I waited, hoping a silent alarm didn’t send the small-town cops screeching into the parking lot with guns at the ready.

Thirty seconds later relief washed over me as his voice echoed through the opening.

“Clear!” Tito shouted. “Drop the equipment.”

As Ghost lowered the gear through the opening, I looked at Reno. “Get out of here,” I whispered. “Make it newsworthy.”

He pounded his gloved fist against mine. “Newsworthy? You got it, Bake.”

The jewelry shop was positioned in the center of a small six-unit strip mall. The front of the building had a parapet wall extending up from the roof, giving each storefront a location to mount a sign over their respective business. The wall was only four feet tall, but it provided sufficient shelter to make viewing our activities from the street almost impossible.

As the tone from Reno’s exhaust faded in the distance, three of us disappeared one at a time into the jewelry shop, leaving Cash on the roof to act as lookout.

To thwart thieves, the facility left lights on over the jewelry cases. To keep from raising awareness that the place was being robbed, we’d illuminated the darkened sales floor with battery-powered lights immediately after killing the power supply.

Our camouflaged faces and black coveralls made us stand out like Ninjas in a Neman Marcus. Within seconds, the four of us were out of sight – huddled in the narrow corridor that led to the vault.

Goose looked at the vault’s steel door and then at Tito. “Go through it with the plasma cutter?”

Tito handed him a sledge hammer. “Plasma cutter will set off the sprinkler system. The flow sensors will activate an alarm at the fire station. We’ll go in through the block wall behind you.”

He removed another hammer from the long canvas bag, handed it to Ghost, and then checked his watch. “Seven minutes.”

I grabbed the last hammer and joined the other two in their effort to break through the eight-inch-thick concrete block wall. Like convicts on an Alabama chain gang, we took turns swinging the hammers into the exact same location on the wall.

After what seemed like an hour of pounding, we’d made no progress whatsoever.

“Six,” Tito barked over the commotion.

We swung the twenty-pound chunks of steel with such force that the floor beneath us shook each time they slammed into the wall. Just as Tito belched out the five-minute warning, a section of wall gave way.

Seeing it energized me. I swung the hammer into the weakened spot, moving it an inch upon impact. When I lifted the hammer, Ghost’s came crashing down, moving the section two inches. Then Goose’s slammed into it, sending large chunks of concrete flying into the adjoining room.

I swung the hammer a foot above the opening. A two-foot square of concrete disintegrated. After Ghost and Goose took a swing, a four-foot by three-foot void was staring back at us.

Tito looked at his watch. “Four and a half.” He gestured toward the opening. “Let me take a look.”

He got on his knees, looked inside the room with a flash light, and then stood. His eyes were as wide as saucers. “Jesus.”

“Jesus what?” I asked. “Are we clear?”

He nodded slowly. “There’s nothing in there.”

“There’s nothing in there?” I shouted. “What the fuck are you talking about? Nothing?”

“No motion sensors,” he said. “But there’s no way we’ll get everything out. That room’s tiny, and it’s packed. Fur coats, televisions, there’s even artwork.”