It Was a Very Bad Year

SIXTY-EIGHT

We went back to the Sands briefly, to check if I’d gotten any calls. There were none.

‘You put out so many feelers,’ Jerry said, ‘you’d think somebody woulda called by now.’

‘Yeah,’ I agreed. ‘You’d think.’

We each changed into dark clothes, then drove to pick up some things Jerry said he’d need. After that we went back to the Hi-Point building and worked our way around to the back.

There was a collection of dumpsters, all full of garbage, lined up in the alley. The smell out there was something between rotten meat and piss.

Jerry whipped out his pen light and I held it for him while he worked the lock. He had also brought a small gym bag, which he laid near his feet.

‘They think puttin’ a metal door up is gonna keep people out,’ he said, while he worked, ‘but they forget that a lock is a lock.’

He continued to work while I looked up and down the alley, trying to hold the light still.

‘Got it,’ he finally said, and we were inside.

We found a back stairway and took it to the second floor. By the beam of his pen light we found the door of unit 220. He handed me the light again, put his bag down and took out a hammer.

‘Why not a hacksaw?’ I asked.

‘That would take longer. But if this doesn’t work I brought one.’

‘What if there’s a watchman downstairs?’ I whispered.

‘I’m gonna try and open it with one shot,’ he said. ‘If a watchman comes up I’ll take care of him.’

‘Don’t kill him,’ I said.

‘Naw, Mr G.,’ he said, ‘don’t worry. Just stand back.’

I backed away a few steps. Jerry brought the hammer back, then hit the lock with one solid whack. . and it snapped open.

We both froze, waited to see if anyone would come up the steps looking to see what the noise was.

‘I think we’re OK,’ I said.

He put the hammer away in the bag. The door was metal, on hinges. He removed the snapped lock, then slowly, quietly swung the door open.