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Something pinched my chest as I heard the telltale signal of Mickey’s cruiser pulling into the driveway and I peeked out, watching his feet hit the driveway, his bag at the ready as he went into the house.
As far as I could tell, Mickey lived alone. It seemed like such a small, cramped life with the same routine over and over again: work, a walk, and takeout.
Two and a half hours later, the streetlights lit up as Mickey reappeared. I couldn’t even summon a sense of gratitude that he’d made this all so laughably easy. Instead, I watched him stride down the driveway and head south down Lawton Street.
Once I heard his footsteps fade away, I crossed the street, hopping the fence of the lot next door. Then I kept running, climbing another fence before scaling the short brick wall that ran along the back of the houses on Mickey’s side of the street.
Since it was late fall, the sun had set by the time Mickey got home, so it was highly unlikely anyone saw me in my dark pants and sweatshirt. Still, I crouched and looked around just to make sure.
When nothing appeared out of the ordinary, I crawled a few feet at a hunched and awkward angle, then let myself drop into Mickey’s backyard. It was as boring as the front — a tidy andfrostbitten back lawn with a rusting grill on the deck and an overgrown firepit.
Something stirred in the back of my head as I passed by the firepit and, for a second, I paused. A sudden memory hit me, one where I had run by it, smelling the burgers and dogs, while my mother chased me with a squirt gun and music boomed up through the trees. She’d caught me from behind and swept me up into her arms, kissing my cheek, while kids ran around and adults laughed. It was a memory soaked in sunshine and mosquito repellent and sticky-sweet juice… But, why was it here?
Shaking my head, I made it to the porch, wondering why Mickey had only opted for motion detector lights in the front of his house and the side yard. Then I froze, noticing the half-hidden motion sensor and camera. As I stared at it, I noted the pattern of the swivel arm that it was on, and, taking a deep breath, I jumped to its left.
It didn’t move.
“Holy shit,” I whispered.
It was broken or needed new batteries, orsomething. God, what a lucky break!
Bolstered by my triumph, I slipped around the corner and went to a metal box. Fishing around the top of my boot, I pulled out my lockpick kit and studied the silver lock of Mickey’s security power box. It was separate from the power to the house, whichI’d considered cutting, until Sara pointed out that the computer and Wi-Fi might turn off.
It took me a few tries but I jimmied it open and then frowned. In the diagram that Sara had shown me, this thing was supposed to be lit up like a Christmas tree. But it was dark and dim. Craning my neck, I saw that the lights were on in the house next door and the streetlights were on too.
A bead of sweat dripped down my neck. Had Sara been wrong? That’d be a first.
But maybe it was a different model or something. Regardless, I found the wire that Sara had told me to cut, and, taking a deep breath, I snipped it – waiting for alarms to wail.
When nothing happened, I closed it and slipped over to the window that I’d marked as my point of entry a few days ago. Narrow but long – it didn’t have a screen and it took only a matter of seconds to get it open, climb inside and close it again.
I found myself in a bathroom. My breath was clattery and my nose filled with the stale scent of a disused room and faint whiff of lavender. There was a soap dish with a perfectly placed bar of soap atop it and toilet paper folded into a paper triangle.
Again, that pinch went through my chest. It looked as though Mickey was ready for guests who never came. And from the layer of dust on everything in here, no one had been in this bathroom in about ten years.
Stepping across carefully, I winced when the door creaked while I peeked out into the hallway.
The whole house was grim and shadowed. The kitchen was right down the hall and I could hear the fridge droning loud enough to drown out the noise from the street. The noticeable smell of microwaved leftovers hit me when I took a step closer. Turning around, I went in the other direction and found the staircase.
As I crept up the stairs, I glanced around, taking note of what I could see. Everything was clean but barren. There were no pictures on the walls, save for a few that looked like they’d been left up by previous owners or hung in a half-hearted attempt at decorating. They were small, faded frames of flowers or landscapes. If I had to guess, Mickey Weiss must have inherited this house from his aging parents and kept some of their décor.
His bedroom was much the same and I shook my head, then gasped when I approached his office. There was a serious-looking piece of hardware on the door, a big metalthingwith a glowing keypad and two locks.
“Shit,” I breathed and ran my gloved fingertips over the knob. Then I turned and went into the bedroom, forcing the window open and peeking out.
There was a lip of roof nearby with the window to the office right there. I’d have to remember to close it on my way out, but that was fine. This was the only way in.
Taking a deep breath, I made quick work of the screen, hoisted myself up and then swung out. For a brief second, my head spun, and my arms shook. I had an image of myself plummeting to the concrete walkway below. Then my shoe caught on the edge of the roof but thankfully got my footing back swiftly. Gripping the edge of the window took a few tries but I managed to shove myself forward and fell hard onto the shingles.
Needing to get back on solid ground, I clambered up the roof and got to the window. Then I gasped again when I saw the double bolt and the fancy wires around the square frame.
“Fuckin’ A,” I cursed and eyed it, wondering what would happen if I smashed my way in. My heart pounding, I leveled my elbow to the glass when I spotted the same kind of narrow window a little further on. It was a little smaller than the one downstairs, also with a screen. It would work.
After a few minutes of huffing and puffing, I got the screen free then jimmied the lock and wondered if Mickey Weiss had painted it shut when it swung open. I wheezed in joy and, not thinking, I stood up, forgetting about the screen. It rattled down the roof and I tried to reach after it but it caught on the lip of the gutter and swung out.
“Oops,” I said and shrugged, swinging myself in. I almost didn’t fit but holding my breath and scraping off some of my skin, I got in.
Sliding to the floor, I took several deep breaths and touched my neck, realizing I was a sweaty and disgusting mess. Pullingoff the sweatshirt and hat, I shook my hair free and fanned the bottom of my t-shirt.
