ever know.
Doyle made a visual inspection of the apartment to guarantee he was alone. Once Doyle was satisfied, he set his bag on the kitchen table, walked quickly to the bedroom. He found several pair of earrings on the nightstand, then a necklace. He dropped them in a little pilfer bag he wore around his waist, along with several rings. Next he pulled open the wife’s top dresser drawer and found some more loose jewelry, lipstick, and perhaps the best find of all, a gigantic purple dildo. It had a face at one end and a little set of feet at the other. He dropped that in the bag for laughs.
More jewels in the bathroom and a damn expensive watch. Doyle picked up a choice pair of cufflinks as well, then made his way to the closet. That’s where the safe was. That’s always where the safe was.
Except this time it wasn’t.
Doyle’d spent a lot of time studying the floor plan to the unit so he found the safe in the bathroom on his second guess. Before he went to retrieve his bag from the kitchen he checked the door, just in case. Sometimes the kind of people who installed deadbolts and didn’t use them were the same kind of people who didn’t lock their safe. The Parker’s were lazy and complacent. The door came open with a click.
Doyle swallowed hard, his palms sweating through his gloves.
He pulled the big door open to find papers, envelopes, folders, and loose cash. Maybe five, six thousand. Fuck! He started thinking. The bag was too big to fit in the safe anyway. He’d been so consumed by the thought of breaking in the Indigo and walking out with the money he failed to consider the raw facts.
It was always the little things that could make or break a job.
Doyle closed the door without taking any money. He couldn’t risk tipping their hand. He couldn’t risk Parker knowing they were onto him. His stopwatch beeped, he was running out of time. Doyle sprinted back to the bedroom, started putting things back. Suddenly everything felt wrong and his cheeks were burning. Instinct told him to run, but where was the money?
He only lost sight of them for a few minutes. How many minutes? Ten? Fifteen?
Doyle started looking around the room. Under the bed, behind closed doors. It must be in the trunk of the car. He called Big Tony, but he got no answer.
Doyle walked back to the living room and thought. He paced, he went over everything in his head and then suddenly the pieces clicked together like math. If he were the Englishman, he’d keep the money.
Suddenly Doyle knew. Those fucks decided to keep it for themselves. He thought about the scene from Montgomery’s. He’d seen them find the money and they’d been surprised. It was still early, the police weren’t saying much. Parker didn’t know the heist had gone down, assumed the deal was dead.
So the Englishman killed the tweaker without realizing he had the money in the trunk of his car.
The top of Doyle’s cheeks dimpled with a mischievous smirk. He could feel electric intensity humming in the air. They stashed the money at the Indigo for the time being. One of them, the Englishman probably, had a key. They hid it there because it was close and because if Mr. Parker got wise, they could play it straight. Doyle had to think really fast. Sid would return just as soon as he knew it was clear and he’d take the money. Then he, that short fuck, and the money were gone for good. And Mr. Parker wouldn’t get a dime.
Doyle walked to the door, turned around. He figured the Englishman popped the trunk; the other guy took the bag to the room. His brain thought hard and fast, processing the information.
He walked down the hall, checking doors. He came to a big closet on the left, pushed it open and saw the duffel bag which had been pitched on the carpet and knocked over a plastic mop bucket. Suddenly everything became real and he was forced to change his plan. Doyle ran back to the other room to get his tools.
•••••
Big Tony sat behind the donut
Doyle made a visual inspection of the apartment to guarantee he was alone. Once Doyle was satisfied, he set his bag on the kitchen table, walked quickly to the bedroom. He found several pair of earrings on the nightstand, then a necklace. He dropped them in a little pilfer bag he wore around his waist, along with several rings. Next he pulled open the wife’s top dresser drawer and found some more loose jewelry, lipstick, and perhaps the best find of all, a gigantic purple dildo. It had a face at one end and a little set of feet at the other. He dropped that in the bag for laughs.
More jewels in the bathroom and a damn expensive watch. Doyle picked up a choice pair of cufflinks as well, then made his way to the closet. That’s where the safe was. That’s always where the safe was.
Except this time it wasn’t.
Doyle’d spent a lot of time studying the floor plan to the unit so he found the safe in the bathroom on his second guess. Before he went to retrieve his bag from the kitchen he checked the door, just in case. Sometimes the kind of people who installed deadbolts and didn’t use them were the same kind of people who didn’t lock their safe. The Parker’s were lazy and complacent. The door came open with a click.
Doyle swallowed hard, his palms sweating through his gloves.
He pulled the big door open to find papers, envelopes, folders, and loose cash. Maybe five, six thousand. Fuck! He started thinking. The bag was too big to fit in the safe anyway. He’d been so consumed by the thought of breaking in the Indigo and walking out with the money he failed to consider the raw facts.
It was always the little things that could make or break a job.
Doyle closed the door without taking any money. He couldn’t risk tipping their hand. He couldn’t risk Parker knowing they were onto him. His stopwatch beeped, he was running out of time. Doyle sprinted back to the bedroom, started putting things back. Suddenly everything felt wrong and his cheeks were burning. Instinct told him to run, but where was the money?
He only lost sight of them for a few minutes. How many minutes? Ten? Fifteen?
Doyle started looking around the room. Under the bed, behind closed doors. It must be in the trunk of the car. He called Big Tony, but he got no answer.
Doyle walked back to the living room and thought. He paced, he went over everything in his head and then suddenly the pieces clicked together like math. If he were the Englishman, he’d keep the money.
Suddenly Doyle knew. Those fucks decided to keep it for themselves. He thought about the scene from Montgomery’s. He’d seen them find the money and they’d been surprised. It was still early, the police weren’t saying much. Parker didn’t know the heist had gone down, assumed the deal was dead.
So the Englishman killed the tweaker without realizing he had the money in the trunk of his car.
The top of Doyle’s cheeks dimpled with a mischievous smirk. He could feel electric intensity humming in the air. They stashed the money at the Indigo for the time being. One of them, the Englishman probably, had a key. They hid it there because it was close and because if Mr. Parker got wise, they could play it straight. Doyle had to think really fast. Sid would return just as soon as he knew it was clear and he’d take the money. Then he, that short fuck, and the money were gone for good. And Mr. Parker wouldn’t get a dime.
Doyle walked to the door, turned around. He figured the Englishman popped the trunk; the other guy took the bag to the room. His brain thought hard and fast, processing the information.
He walked down the hall, checking doors. He came to a big closet on the left, pushed it open and saw the duffel bag which had been pitched on the carpet and knocked over a plastic mop bucket. Suddenly everything became real and he was forced to change his plan. Doyle ran back to the other room to get his tools.
•••••
Big Tony sat behind the donut
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