Chapter 4
Dressed in shorts and muscle shirt, both heather gray, the wind outside the 24-hour gym was cool and good on her wet body. She was running hot, gym bag swinging in her hand. Brenda turned right toward the strip mall that closed hours ago. There was hunk of grass between the lots and she crossed it in three strides. Not a single car in the lot at this hour.
There was a matched set of three payphones on the brick wall outside the CVS. She put her bright blue and electric yellow NAPA bag down on the cement next to the soft drink stains and cigarette butts and fished out two quarters from the side pocket.
“You’re late calling.”
“I’m sorry, I just finished working out...”
“You should’ve called before you went in. Where are you?”
“I’m at the CVS next to the gym,” Brenda said, putting her back to the bricks and pulling the metal cord attached to the receiver to its limit.
“CVS is closed.”
“I’m at the payphone outside.”
“Oh. What are going to do now?”
“I’m gonna do it,” Brenda answered.
“Do you remember, the box is in the china closet behind the green glass?”
“Not in the top part,” Brenda said, “in the bottom part, the part with the solid doors.”
“That’s right. Don’t get spotted...”
“I’ll park a few blocks over and walk in.”
“Don’t interrupt me.”
“I’m sorry,” Brenda said.
“It’s not a big deal, it’s just that you know I hate to be interrupted.”
“I’m sorry,” Brenda said.
“Don’t make a big deal out of it, just don’t do it,” the voice on the phone said. “It’s like you do these things I keep asking you not to do, and it just shows how much you disrespect me...”
Tuning her out she rolled her head over to the side and in the smoked gray plastic of the payphone’s cowl Brenda saw her reflection. She loved it. It made her want to puke. She stared, admiring her jaw line, nose, and forehead, the perfect eyebrows, all perfect. The poor quality of the reflection almost hid the purple pigmentation that ran across her cheek and wrecked it all. It was impossible not to stare, and she understood why people did.
“Okay?” she said.
“Okay,” Brenda agreed.
“Good. I’ll see you when you get here. Don’t get caught.”
“I won’t. Bye.”
“Okay. Bye.”
She hung up the phone and picked up her bag, trudged back across the spit of grass to the El Camino parked in front of the gym. Throwing her barrel bag in the short bed she got behind the wheel and cranked the motor. Two parking spaces over a red Prelude pulled in. Brenda instinctively obscured her face by tucking her chin behind her shoulder, looked over out of the corner of her eye to give away only her profile.
A young man got out of the Prelude and began to strut toward the gym.
Go work out Pretty-pretty, I could take you, Brenda thought. That’s right, look away. I could take you apart.
The faded blue El Camino pulled away, and Brenda looked out through the windshield at the pocked streets with broken stripes, the scarred curbs, the telephone poles covered in hides of staples. As she drove, from time to time she looked left and regarded herself in the reflection of the driver’s side window.
You’re one scary number, ain’t you? She said to herself.
In a dark spot beneath old trees she parked the car and slipped on a dark blue long-sleeved t-shirt and a pair of charcoal Dickies. Deep trouser pockets held her .38 revolver, the screwdrivers, and the expired credit card she always used for good luck. The bank had pulled her credit line long ago, but it was still money to her. A black Baltimore Ravens ball cap contained her blonde hair.
It was two blocks over and four down to the house she wanted. She locked up the El Camino and headed that way. There was nobody on the street, and the bars wouldn’t make last call for another hour and a half, so it was all good. Old oaks near the street lumped and split the sidewalk, and in places where there were no streetlights she had to be careful not to trip.
As she had planned it, she spotted the brick house with the American flag mailbox and went up the front walk like she owned the place, but this was not the house. Turning right and going around the side, she crossed the back yard and hopped the fence. Now she was in the back yard of the old cape cod whose back yard abutted the brick one. She went to the back door and put on a pair of brown jersey work gloves.
Inside in less than a minute, she could smell White Shoulders, Noxzema, and stale cigarettes, and she could hear the old bag breathing. She won’t wake up, she thought. They never do. But if she does, and she gets a look at this face, somebody’s going to get the shock of their life. Don’t wake up Old Bag, I don’t want to hurt you.
Brenda found the china press in the dining room and pulled out the matching set of green glasses blocking removal of the box. It turned out to be more of a small safe than a box, and surprised by the weight, she almost let the heavy, tan fireproof monstrosity slip. It weighed thirty pounds even though it was small, and she knew it would be impossible to hide under her shirt or carry inconspicuously. One glance from a cop and she’d be in cuffs.
There was a loud snort and the creaking of a mattress. Maybe she just rolled over. Old Bag, don’t you get up. Stay in bed. There was a scratching sound, fine and far away that she could not identify, and not knowing what it was made Brenda wince and rush to put the antique glasses back in place. As she shut the doors there was the tinkling of a bell that grew closer. A dog? Lovey-dovey didn’t say nothin’ about no dog. A dog that makes a bed creak is a big dog. Why didn’t you bark when I carded the door? Go kick rocks mutt. You old hag, you’ve got a big-ass, deaf, soon-to-be-dead, dog.
Brenda did not move or breathe. She waited, squatting on the balls of her feet in the space between the dining room table and the china cabinet. Facing the kitchen door with the box in front of her she listened to the sound approaching. The tinkling stopped.
Lousy mutt. Wake up Granny and it’s on. I ain’t pulling the Big Bitch for either of you.
When the cat hopped onto the table she flinched; her butt hit the china cabinet turning every piece of glass inside it into a chime. To her it seemed loud enough to signal a hundred yard dash, but she waited and the heavy breathing did not stop. The cat, looking like a little tiger in the dark, soon grew bored of staring at her and bounced away.
She got out quickly, sure that it would be several days or more before the old lady went for the box and found it gone. She’s filthy rich, she’ll never miss it. Besides, you don’t want your stuff stolen, lock up your stuff better, it’s that simple.
After a nervous walk back to the El Camino she stuck the box in the passenger seat and headed home. She had worked out hard at the gym earlier, and then gone on to score a nice little payday with the fire-safe. Her face was warm from the tension of how it had gone down. By her count she had earned two beers.
A couple of beers won’t destroy my waistline, she thought. It’s Miller Time.