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They crossed the street and continued along the cracked sidewalk toward Seamus’s house.
“I heard Seamus made Big Billy paint his house after he fecked up a job in Brookline last year,” Will said. “It looks good.”
The house was tidy, the wood siding freshly painted a crisp white. The porch was clear of furniture, including the folding chairs that decorated so many houses in the neighborhood, prime spots for smoking and people watching. Seamus’s wife, Agnes, had died years before. Nolan guessed Seamus smoked in the house now and had better things to do than people watch.
“Big Billy should be grateful Seamus made him paint. Could have been worse,” Nolan said as they approached the sidewalk leading to the porch. “Stay out of the light if you can.”
They hurried up the walkway, anxious to get to the cover of the porch where it would be harder for a nosy neighbor to spot them. By the time they reached the front door, Will already had his pick set out.
Nolan opened the screen, half expecting it to squeak. It didn’t and Nolan held it open and twisted the doorknob, hoping they’d get lucky and find it unlocked. It wasn’t and he stepped back a little, holding the screen for Will while he went to work with the picks.
Nolan had learned how to use a pick set back when he’d been with the Syndicate, something that had made his punk ass twenty-three-year-old heart swell with pride. It had been awhile for him, but Will had continued perfecting the skills he’d learned with Carlo Rossi’s crew.
“Jaysus H. Christ…” Will muttered, turning one of the picks in the lock.
He removed the pick and flipped through the ring, choosing one of a different size.
Nolan looked around. “Before Christmas preferably.”
“Feck you,” Will said without looking at him. “Do you want to do it?”
Nolan didn’t bother answering. Will was flipping through the ring, looking for another pick, when the porch light came on next door.
“Hold up,” he said.
Will froze and Nolan watched as the front door opened in the house next to Seamus’s. He stayed in the shadows as a woman in sweats stepped onto the porch and bent over to set something down, then murmured softly.
“Good kitty. Eat up.”
She straightened, stretched, and scanned the street disinterestedly. A few seconds later she turned to go back inside, her face momentarily pointed in their direction. Nolan flattened himself against the house a little more and turned his head so she wouldn’t see the shine of his eyes. The squeak of her screen sounded, followed by the front door closing.
Nolan exhaled. “Fuck.”
Will inserted another pick in the lock and turned it slightly, his face frozen in concentration. Nolan knew what he was feeling for, the subtle click of the pins tumbling into place when the right pick hit them in the right way.
“Got it,” Will said, removing the pick.
“Nice.”
Will turned the knob, opened the door, and stepped into the house. Nolan followed, closing the door quietly behind him and stepping through the tiny vestibule to the living room.
It was identical to almost every living room he’d ever seen in the neighborhood: a small box with one medium sized window and a doorway leading to the kitchen.
Like the outside of the house, the room was surprisingly neat, with an outdated sofa in brown plaid, matching end tables straight out of the 80s, and carpet that had seen better days but looked clean.
“Let’s do a quick sweep down here for the envelopes before we hit the rooms upstairs,” Nolan said, keeping his voice quiet. “I’ll take the kitchen.”
He headed for the doorway between the two rooms and entered a compact kitchen much like the one in Bridget’s house. Like the furniture in the living room, the cabinets were dated but clean, the dishes washed and piled into a dish strainer next to the sink.
If Seamus hadn’t been such an animal, Nolan would have felt sorry for him. The whole setup reeked of loneliness, the dish strainer holding a small saucepan, a single plate and bowl, two glasses, and two forks. Nolan thought about Agnes O’Brien and wondered if Seamus had really loved his wife, if he’d been lonely since she passed and kept the house the way he did as a way to show her respect, or if he just liked it that way.
Nolan did a quick pass of the kitchen table and the counters and moved onto the cupboards, being careful to put cereal boxes and cans of soup back exactly as he’d found them after he checked to see if Seamus had hidden anything behind them.
He walked back into the living room. “It’s clean. Not even a piece of mail.”
“Same out here,” Will said. “Well, there is one piece of mail.”
He held up an envelope and Nolan leaned in to take a closer look: a postcard for discounted Viagra.
