he laughed and looked at the computers affectionately.
Big Brother Is Watching You. . . .
In the passenger seat of his car Jake Muller nodded toward a high fence in an alleyway behind Tremont Street. “Sam, pull over there.”
The car braked slowly to a stop.
“That’s it, huh?” the nervous kid asked.
Nodding toward a white house on the other side of the fence.
“Yep. Now, listen. If a cop comes by just drive off slow. Go around the block but turn left at the street. Got that? Stay off Tremont, whatever you do.”
The boy asked uneasily, “You think somebody’ll come by?”
“Let’s hope not.” Muller took the tools he’d just bought that morning out of the trunk, looked up and down the alley then walked through the gate in the fence and disappeared around the side of the house.
Muller returned ten minutes later. He hurried through the gate, carrying a heavy box and a small shopping bag. He disappeared again and returned with several more boxes. He loaded everything in the back of the car and wiped sweat from his forehead. He dropped hard into the passenger’s seat. “Let’s get outta here.”
“Where’re the tools?”
“I left ’em back there. What’re you waiting for? Go.”
The kid hit the accelerator and the car jumped into the middle of the alley.
Soon they were on the freeway and Muller gave directions to a cheap motel on the far side of town, the Starlight Lodge. There Muller climbed out. He walked into the lobby and registered for two nights. He returned to the car. “Room 129. He said it’s around the side in the back.”
They found the spot, parked and climbed out. Muller handed the boy the room key. He opened the door and together they carried the boxes and the shopping bag inside.
“Kinda lame,” the kid said, looking around.
“I won’t be here that long.”
Muller turned his back and opened the grocery bag. He extracted five one-hundred-dollar bills and handed them over. He added another twenty. “You’ll have to take a cab back downtown.”
“Man, looks like a good haul.” Nodding at the bag of money.
Muller said nothing. He stuffed the bag into a suitcase, locked it and slipped it under the bed.
The kid pocketed the bills.
“You did a good job today, Sam. Thanks.”
“How’ll I find you, mister? I mean, if you want to hire me again?”
“I’ll leave a message at the Starbucks.”
“Yeah. Good.”
Muller glanced at his watch. He emptied his pockets on the dresser. “Now I gotta shower and go meet some people.”
They shook hands. The boy left and Muller swung the door shut after him.
In the bathroom he turned the shower on full, the water hot. He leaned against the wobbly basin and watched the steam roll out of the stall like stormy clouds and wondered where his life was about to go.
“There’s something screwy,” Sergeant Hager called out.
“What?”
“A glitch of some kind.” He nodded at one computer. “Muller’s still online at his house. See? Only we just got an advisory from National Bank’s credit card computer.Somebody using Muller’s card got a room at the Starlight Lodge on Simpson about forty-five minutes ago. There’s gotta be a mistake. He—”
“Oh, Christ,” Carnegie spat out. “There’s no mistake. Muller left his computer on so we’d think he was home. That’s why he parked the car around the corner. So our men wouldn’t see him leave. He snuck through a side yard or out the back.” Carnegie grabbed the phone and raged at the surveillance team that their subject had gotten away from him. He ordered them to check to make sure. He slammed the receiver down and a moment later a sheepish officer called back to confirm that the painters said Muller had left over an hour ago.
The detective sighed. “So while we were napping he knocked over the next target. I don’t believe it. I just—”
“He just made another charge,” a cop called. “Eighteen gallons of gas at the Mobil Station on Lorenzo and
Big Brother Is Watching You. . . .
In the passenger seat of his car Jake Muller nodded toward a high fence in an alleyway behind Tremont Street. “Sam, pull over there.”
The car braked slowly to a stop.
“That’s it, huh?” the nervous kid asked.
Nodding toward a white house on the other side of the fence.
“Yep. Now, listen. If a cop comes by just drive off slow. Go around the block but turn left at the street. Got that? Stay off Tremont, whatever you do.”
The boy asked uneasily, “You think somebody’ll come by?”
“Let’s hope not.” Muller took the tools he’d just bought that morning out of the trunk, looked up and down the alley then walked through the gate in the fence and disappeared around the side of the house.
Muller returned ten minutes later. He hurried through the gate, carrying a heavy box and a small shopping bag. He disappeared again and returned with several more boxes. He loaded everything in the back of the car and wiped sweat from his forehead. He dropped hard into the passenger’s seat. “Let’s get outta here.”
“Where’re the tools?”
“I left ’em back there. What’re you waiting for? Go.”
The kid hit the accelerator and the car jumped into the middle of the alley.
Soon they were on the freeway and Muller gave directions to a cheap motel on the far side of town, the Starlight Lodge. There Muller climbed out. He walked into the lobby and registered for two nights. He returned to the car. “Room 129. He said it’s around the side in the back.”
They found the spot, parked and climbed out. Muller handed the boy the room key. He opened the door and together they carried the boxes and the shopping bag inside.
“Kinda lame,” the kid said, looking around.
“I won’t be here that long.”
Muller turned his back and opened the grocery bag. He extracted five one-hundred-dollar bills and handed them over. He added another twenty. “You’ll have to take a cab back downtown.”
“Man, looks like a good haul.” Nodding at the bag of money.
Muller said nothing. He stuffed the bag into a suitcase, locked it and slipped it under the bed.
The kid pocketed the bills.
“You did a good job today, Sam. Thanks.”
“How’ll I find you, mister? I mean, if you want to hire me again?”
“I’ll leave a message at the Starbucks.”
“Yeah. Good.”
Muller glanced at his watch. He emptied his pockets on the dresser. “Now I gotta shower and go meet some people.”
They shook hands. The boy left and Muller swung the door shut after him.
In the bathroom he turned the shower on full, the water hot. He leaned against the wobbly basin and watched the steam roll out of the stall like stormy clouds and wondered where his life was about to go.
“There’s something screwy,” Sergeant Hager called out.
“What?”
“A glitch of some kind.” He nodded at one computer. “Muller’s still online at his house. See? Only we just got an advisory from National Bank’s credit card computer.Somebody using Muller’s card got a room at the Starlight Lodge on Simpson about forty-five minutes ago. There’s gotta be a mistake. He—”
“Oh, Christ,” Carnegie spat out. “There’s no mistake. Muller left his computer on so we’d think he was home. That’s why he parked the car around the corner. So our men wouldn’t see him leave. He snuck through a side yard or out the back.” Carnegie grabbed the phone and raged at the surveillance team that their subject had gotten away from him. He ordered them to check to make sure. He slammed the receiver down and a moment later a sheepish officer called back to confirm that the painters said Muller had left over an hour ago.
The detective sighed. “So while we were napping he knocked over the next target. I don’t believe it. I just—”
“He just made another charge,” a cop called. “Eighteen gallons of gas at the Mobil Station on Lorenzo and
Similar Books
