5. The Crime

Henry drove his beater car through the gate of the self storage facility.

Found his unit and parked.

Unlocked the lock and pulled open the metal roll-up door, greeted by an outflowing of heated air.

The storage unit was the size of a single car garage. Inside was his safe car, a loaded clothes rack, a mountain bike and a single, plastic bin.

A full-length mirror hung on the corrugated metal wall, put there the day he rented the unit.

The mirror would stay when he was gone.

Which would be soon.

Henry rented the space at the start of the year, after meeting Luci. Part of an industrial park on the outskirts of Fall River, a no-man’s land where everybody knew nobody.

The unit opened westward, the sun now sinking behind the identical building built parallel to the building that contained Henry’s unit.

He removed his shirt and shoes and slid his butt onto the hood of the safe car, left leg dangling over the left quarter panel, right stretched toward the nose.

Spread the Worthboro Chronicle into the space between his thighs to catch the light still peaking over the tin roof of the opposite building.

Read the story for the third time.

A thief was in their midst (oh my!).

Reports of missing valuables from Worthboro’s rich neighborhoods (oh golly gee willikers!).

Finally, a loud and clear warning to the public from the police department, courtesy of this fine, local paper.

Henry, looking at the byline said, “Thanks for the heads up, Chip Bryant.”

Moments like this, Henry felt like his favorite movie character, the pirate Jack Sparrow, swashbuckling his way through life, plucking jewels and warming the beds of lovers.

Henry felt invincible, but knew better.

Even without this unexpected and rare collaboration between the local paper and police, Henry knew it was close to leaving time.

Damn, though.

He liked Worthboro!

Place was too good to be true.

When Henry met Luci, he was several years into a fuzzy plan for the future, the overall goal being the accumulation of enough wealth to truly disappear.

Sail off into the sunset, like Jack on the Black Pearl.

Chill and live off his money the way Pop showed him. Somewhere by the beach. Modest, but nice.

Henry had accumulated an impressive stash of jewels, hoarding his finest pieces, set aside for a final, big payment from The Jew.

The Jew—that would be his fence. Business partner, you might even say.

Henry was introduced to The Jew at a popular nightclub in Worcester six years ago. He gave Henry a long, Russian sounding name then said, “My clients just call me The Jew.”

“Less syllables,” Henry said and got a chuckle.

He told The Jew to call him Bandit and the two had gotten along great since.

The Jew was one of three brothers heavily involved in organized crime and owned a chain of jewelry stores, a convenient way to launder money.

Henry had a mutually lucrative arrangement where he gathered quality stones and The Jew gave him cash.

The stash of pieces Henry had reserved was already a six-figure payment when he arrived in Worthboro, and in the few months here, had doubled.

Pop said that when something appears too good to be true, it either isn’t true or that good.

Worthboro was too good to be true, which meant it was time to go.

But there was Luci.

And Oscar.

As Rico, he had to admit that he genuinely cared for both of them.

Feeling affection for two people at the same time?

Since Pop died, that had never even happened with one person.

Henry folded up The Chronicle and slid off the hood of the car.

The sun was down, radiant heat fast dissipating.

That was when he got the text from Oscar that changed everything.

***

Oscar was in a positive mood. Whatever life had in store for him, he had good friends and a Mom that loved him.

So he had been rehearsing, but not for telling jokes.

Silently mouthing at his reduplication—in front of the mirror, his reflection in the window, even the chrome bumper of the car this morning—“Carla hon, I’m gay.”

Sometimes, he even said the words out loud, though softly.

Oscar promised himself by this day next week, Carla would know.

They would remain friends. Neither could make it through life without the other. The stormy period that would surely follow was what Oscar dreaded.

But at least tonight there was a drawing.

Feeling important on the job helped the positivity thing, like when he told a joke and everyone laughed.

Funny to think about it now, but the first time Oscar entered the winning Mega-Mega numbers, he had been too damn nervous to feel important.

Now, having performed the task many times, all was cool, despite having his boss, Ops Supervisor Marty McClain (MM, as they called him) off one shoulder and gabbing with the armed, state trooper standing astride the other.

They were talking over his head, Oscar being short.

Officially, both MM and the trooper were there to scrutinize Oscar’s every action, but they’d been through this even more times than Oscar, whose eyes remained on the door before them as they blabbered about house stuff, one of them having just bought his first home.

The trio were the only occupants of the lottery control room.

Spread about the open space behind them were multiple computer desks. Monitors and printers. Rolling office chairs spaced amongst the workstations.

On the far side, an acrylic wall of deep water blue ran the length of the room, the server stacks within like a shadowed skyline.

Oscar remained focused on the door, waiting for whatever lottery dweeb was on tap for the night.

A ding sounded and the LED indicator lights on the EXIT sign went from red to green and the door swung open.

Oscar smiled.

The Lottery dweeb was Ellen, the cute admin from downstairs.

His grin widened when she winked and said with feigned cheerfulness, “And this is the part they don’t show on TV!”

The Trooper accompanying Ellen was an older fella, mocha brown and scowling, purposefully looking bored (though he secretly loved picking up the extra dough with the cushy, lottery gig).

Oscar said, in his best news anchor voice, “Stay tuned as it will be riveting.”

Ellen, who dyed her hair strawberry red and wore too much makeup (especially for a pretty girl), smirked and handed an envelope to MM who, with well-practiced flourish, flipped the flap open and extracted a sheet of paper.

Gave Oscar a nod.

Oscar spun on a heel with surprising grace and stepped to the chair placed in front of a workstation that already had the requisite GUI on screen.

Rolled the chair closer to the keyboard as MM placed himself behind one shoulder and the stern looking, older trooper stepped forward to stand behind Oscar’s other shoulder.

The younger trooper moved to the side to engage Ellen with his house extravaganza, as though she couldn’t wait to hear.

The first time Oscar entered winning numbers he was glad that it was with a mouse and GUI, rather than the keyboard and command line, where he performed most of his duties as operator.

His hands had been shaking a bit, that first time.

Now Oscar only hoped dandruff wasn’t showing.

As the older trooper watched, MM raised the sheet of paper and began reciting numbers.

“Three,” he said.

Oscar answered, “Entering three,” and moved the mouse.

MM and the trooper watched the screen as the cursor moved across rows and columns of numbers and stopped at the numeric checkbox for three.

“Three entered,” Oscar said, clicking the mouse.

Oscar and MM repeated those steps for the remaining numbers as the older trooper murmured verification, managing to sound more bored each time.

Once the six game numbers and the bonus ball number were selected, MM, Ellen and the two troopers vocally confirmed their acknowledgement and Oscar clicked Enter and then Send on the ensuing message boxes.

Behind the blue, semi-transparent wall in a carefully maintained climate of 68 degrees and zero humidity, the central system compared the numbers Oscar had entered to the millions of tickets played.

Any ticket matching one or more numbers was compared against the rules of the game.

Winners big and small registered across redundant databases.

The troopers left with Ellen through the same secure door and a few minutes later MM followed.

Oscar’s shift ended in a few hours. He sat at the same workstation where he’d entered the winning numbers and began absent-mindedly clicking through emails.

Ellen looked cute tonight and Oscar thought of Rico.

Found himself daydreaming about hanging out with his new, ultra-cool friend.

They’d be smiling, laughing. Having a beer.

Oscar would tell his new joke about what happened to a blue balloon after dropping into a Smurf orgy and Rico would laugh.

Oh golly, when Rico laughed Oscar just wanted to….

Shook his head as though to wake from a daydream.

That wink from Ellen had certainly gotten him into a mood.

On a whim, Oscar checked the results of the night’s drawing and saw that no one had hit the Mega-Mega jackpot, which meant matching all six numbers.

But hold onto your pantyhose, there was a million dollar winner played in his jurisdiction, which meant someone had matched five out of six, plus the bonus ball.

Curious, Oscar switched to the command line and started a utility, which required re-entry of his password.

Tapped at the keyboard and dug through a hierarchy of folders to the location of the files that held encrypted information for all unclaimed, winning tickets.

If Oscar (or anyone else) managed to open one of the files, it would display only gibberish, but the utility he was in at least allowed him to sort the files according to date of entry.

He looked at the name of the most recent file.

To the untrained eye, the file names were a gobbledygook of letters and numbers, but buried amidst the multitude of characters, Oscar recognized an 11-digit sequence known in control room slang as the pissed num (PISD—point of sale identification number).

Oscar copied the pissed num, signed out of the utility and launched a GUI.

Clicked through several screens and pasted the pissed num into a text field and clicked Search.

A new screen appeared and Oscar leaned in.

Softly he said, “Well shit on a shingle, that’s Mario’s.”

Clicked through several screens and began scrolling through the hundreds of daily ticket sales.

Found the million dollar winner.

Not realizing the chain of events that he was about to set into motion, Oscar pulled out his phone and tapped a message: wanna grab a brew at the house? and hey! remember what we talked about? a $million winner sold in worthboro tonight.

Shortly after, Oscar left lottery headquarters to meet Rico for a beer at The House.

***

It was two AM and Henry had no fear.

He was in the zone.

After meeting Oscar for a beer at The House—the two of them had talked for about an hour—Henry had all the information he required and unbeknownst to Oscar, went back to Luci’s only to change clothes.

Dressed entirely in black, the smooth skin of his face the only reflective surface.

Drove Luci’s Corolla out of the west end.

Followed ghostly Main Street and turned onto Clancy Lane, passing evenly spaced, expensive homes until reaching the intersection with Second Street.

Turned left and there it was: an odd looking building with an oversized lot and a single street lamp on the corner of Second and Gulf Road.

Woods occupied the side of the street opposite the store.

Behind the store was a narrow tree line and then the Gulf Road houses began.

Henry drove past the entrance to Gulf.

An excavating business on the opposite corner was lit up, the lighting directed on the bins of stone and mulch and topsoil.

Henry continued down Second Street and considered.

The good: an older building with obvious additions, which meant multiple options of access.

The bad: isolated on a big corner lot next to a brightly lit business.

Henry drove past Worthboro High School and turned around.

As Rico, he hadn’t spent much time in this part of town; the workers who lived here generally didn’t have the baubles he was after.

Having had his share of wrestling through pricker-bush-laden woodlands to lose pesky-ass suburban cops, Henry did not relish the idea of entering an unknown property; nevertheless, this truly original idea that Oscar presented now had million dollar potential.

Pop used to say that as long as the risks were low, occasionally trying long odds was worthwhile because of the payoff.

“Just remember that life ain’t playin’ the lottery,” he also liked to say.

“We’ll see, Pop,” Henry said as he drove past the store, this time going the opposite direction.

Passed Clancy Lane and saw an unmarked entry to a dirt drive and pulled over to park in the trees. Shoved hands into pockets and ambled down Second Street, the late-night stroll of a satisfied worker home from the late shift.

Just a civilized bum burning off steam before snoozing.

Henry went past the store and then right onto Gulf Road and into the treeline, moving to a patch of brush across from the rear of the building.

Stepped across a short stretch of asphalt and melted from sight where the walls intersected.

Henry’s pupils became fully dilated and the night sky filled with stars; the temperature was warm enough so the more ambitious crickets were rehearsing.

An occasional motorist droned in the distance, but not a single driver came down Second Street or Gulf Road.

Still, even sleepy neighborhoods such as this had drug addicts, alcoholics, insomniacs and lonely teenagers.

After waiting 10 minutes, Henry became a slinky cat, navigating the building periphery within the shadows, a pen light with a hand cupped over the lighted end to inspect points of access.

There were two, interesting additions: one big, one small; the larger addition on the Gulf side, faintly lit by the lights from the excavating business, no door and the vent on the roof looked like that of a cooler.

No way in without making a lot of noise.

Henry hadn’t brought tools, anyway, but for the basics: pen light, demolition screwdriver and his favorite pickset and bump keys.

The main entrance at the front of the store was a straightforward, single door with a wooden frame, but sure as shit would be loaded with magnetic contact sensors and might even have a motion detector on it.

The smaller addition, more like a shed, was attached to the side of the store opposite Gulf Road, where it was dark; with a door and a heavy chain and padlock.

Padlocks were a joke and that’s where Henry slipped inside.

The pen light revealed shelves with de-icer and cases of motor oil and soft drinks and stacks of folded paper bags and other miscellaneous items.

On the wall against the main building was a steel door with a subframe. Surprising, considering the extra expense.

Henry found himself nodding, because the owner had done the smart thing.

Ball bearing hinges were impossible without a lance or blowtorch and the push-bar handle didn’t even have a lock to pick.

To lock or unlock such a door, you would have to be on the other side.

Henry shone light around the gunmetal door and frame.

Not even a small window.

Still, in a town like Worthboro, security wasn’t a concern like in the city.

Business owners, even the smart ones, weren’t as strict with the help.

Or their alarm systems.

And there had been the padlock and chain on the outer door.

Henry mentally went over his escape route if he had to run.

Shut off the penlight and waited for his eyes to reach maximum dilation.

Took a breath and prepared to sprint out of the building and pressed the push-bar and wasn’t surprised when the door swung inward; he was surprised (but supremely pleased!) when the peel of an alarm didn’t shatter the quiet.

Moving quickly, Henry crouched through the entrance, gazing along the ceiling, looking for the tell-tale red lights of motion detection cameras.

Nope.

Flicked the pen light on and straddled the entrance, one foot in the storage room, the other inside the store, crouching up and down, scouring the door frame for any magnets that might have already triggered an electronic signal to bring the police.

Nope.

Chuckled because he still got a blue veiner at moments like this.

Shut off the pen light and waited for his eyes to re-adjust.

Several LED lights attached to neon signs added firefly glow.

Darkness became shadows and shapes.

Henry had entered at roughly the midpoint of the main building and rows of product displays took form.

Sure enough, on the opposite side was the larger addition with a walk-in cooler.

Henry moved silently down shelves of potato chips and hostess and canned soup; he didn’t touch anything in convenience stores anymore, having lived far too long on whatever he could steal.

At the front of the store, he slipped behind the counter.

Used the pen light to identify the single camera, trained at the register, knowing it would be off.

Shops with cameras used either DVR or SD analog and usually for business hours only. The cameras always trained on the registers and/or the main entrance.

Henry followed the line of the counter and saw the recording machine under the cash register and knelt for a closer look.

A VCR.

Found the Eject button and the tape slid out.

Henry was wearing a small, crossbody backpack and the tape fit snugly inside.

Knowing not to linger, barely 90 seconds after he entered, Henry exited the same way he came in, taking time to pull the steel door shut and replacing the chain and padlock on the outer door.

Leaving things almost as though he’d never been there at all.

***

Later that morning Henry drove his safe car into the southside of Worthboro.

Ticket-winner’s neighborhood turned out spectacular, even by Worthboro standards; in fact, last month Henry had plundered two properties on the side of the development opposite of where he was now, but those were choreographed break-ins, and in the wee hours of morning when nobody was home.

Currently it is sunny and bright. Somewhere around noon.

And Henry knew that time was of the essence because if Ticket-winner already checked the ticket?

He was too late.

Henry was wearing a woman’s wig. Auburn. Bob style. Expensive.

Big sunglasses.

The safe car was an upscale sedan, five-years-old, the hand-me-down that some rich worker’s kid might drive. Henry bought the car just before meeting Luci and the paperwork was legit for another eight months so no worries about the cops running the plate.

Henry figured his skin tone was light enough and the car wouldn’t get a second glance.

The problem was, Ticket-winner lived in a house that wasn't on Henry’s radar, so once again he didn’t know a damn thing about it.

Pop liked to say, “Never involve your emotions in critical decision making.”

Of course, Pop was talking about his investments—safe, worker type shit, not life on the street.

Today, as Rico, Henry was going to bend the rules.

Hope for a little … dare he even think it?

Luck.

***

Henry had always despised the idea of luck, considering it an opiate for the less able.

But he did have to admit that the last few hours chasing Oscar’s crazy idea had turned into quite the adventure.

Oscar told Rico he could identify precisely where and when a winning ticket was sold, but his version of the story then required a hacker kind of dude using sophisticated software to break into surveillance equipment and somehow identify the person who bought the ticket.

“Probably impossible from a technical standpoint,” Oscar said. “At least until cameras can connect to the internet.”

Henry had thought of a possible workaround, his idea probably no more feasible than Oscar’s plan, but it seemed like too damn much fun not to try.

First, he broke into the convenience store and snagged the VCR tape.

Returned to Luci’s and while she slept and loaded the tape into a player.

Footage began.

The camera angle included both the lottery and register terminal, as well as the area in front of the counter where customers stood.

A digital-style timestamp was in the lower, right corner of the recording. There was no audio.

Henry watched an older fella with a dainty kind of mustache and a bald spot on the top of his head move next to the main register.

He had a large, leather envelope with a zipper and opened the zipper and began counting money and writing notes.

Henry used the fast-forward button, not paying attention to what was on screen, but focusing on the timestamp progressing through the day.

When he got close to the exact time that Oscar had provided, he took his finger off fast forward and let the tape play.

Same, older guy with the bald spot at the counter.

Picture clearer, brighter, probably due to sunlight through the main door.

Henry checked the lower right corner of the screen, where the timer updated by the second.

The hour was correct.

The minute was correct.

The seconds counted….

And right on cue, stepping into the camera, just as Oscar predicted, in marvelous definition, the customer purchasing a ticket that would go on to win a million dollars.

The customer, an older woman, set a handbag and bottle of booze on the counter.

When she looked toward the camera, Henry pressed Pause, whispering in the dark of Luci’s apartment, “I bequeath thee, Ticket-winner.”

But who was she?

His latest cell phone had one of the new, super handy, built-in cameras and he snapped a picture of the VCR freeze-frame.

Cropped the picture to show only the face of Ticket-winner.

Henry ejected the VCR tape and set it on the floor and ground it under a heel. Picked up the pieces and threw them in the rubbish.

On a whim, Henry trimmed his hair and took a shower, shaved and joined Luci in bed (she was used to him coming and going at all hours).

When Luci rose just a couple hours later (she was scheduled at the restaurant for the breakfast shift), Henry was instantly awake and showed her the picture on his phone.

Bleary eyed, Luci said, “What?”

“Do you know her?”

Luci looked more closely at the phone and answered, “Leslie. Yeah. Everybody knows who she is. If you're from around here.”

Amazed, Henry didn’t even know what to say next.

Luci got out of bed, adding over her shoulder, “I don’t know her last name, but her kid is some famous baseball guy who went to our school. I see her at the restaurant all the time. Usually with one of her daughters. But never him.”

Leaving the bedroom for the bathroom Luci hesitated, half turned and added, “She’s actually really nice. Really big tipper so we rock paper scissors for her table. Whatchoo wanna know about her for?”

“Nothing Baby,” Rico said, and gave an excuse about the face on his phone being a contact he had for looking at properties.

Luci smiled seductively and brought a hand to her chin.

“I like,” she said. “Wanna join me?”

Rico winked and said to get ready for work.

He left the apartment before Luci was out of the shower and headed to the center of town. Parked along the Common and walked to the library and used what little info Luci had given him to easily find the name of Ticket-winner and where she lived. Left the library and drove to the storage unit.

Selected a woman’s business suit and shoes.

Pinned his hair tight against his scalp and squeezed into padded undies to make his ass female. Used a padded bra for the same effect upstairs and became officially female with the wig.

Stepped in front of the full length mirror hanging on the corrugated metal panel and looked himself over.

“Not bad,” Henry muttered.

Nicely shaped cheekbones and lips were good for more than just getting laid.

Lovers had stood next to him on the street without recognizing him in his lady disguise.

***

Henry coasted by the address of Ticket-winner and parked a couple hundred yards away, in a cul-de-sac with a no-man's-land parking area.

Watching.

All of the homes were huge with soccer fields for lawns and landscaping that required trees and bushes that looked like they came from somewhere else, like, maybe another zoic era or something.

A landscaper dude on a rider mower was doing hamster circles a couple mansions away, but in the middle of a school day, he was the only visible human presence amidst all of the splendor.

But then, surprise, surprise, a car came backing down Ticket-winner’s driveway.

A yellow Mercedes Benz moved lazily away in the opposite direction.

Henry said, “Got to be destiny, no?”

What were the odds that the property was empty?

And would the ticket even be there?

Certainly, in a neighborhood such as this, the house had a modern alarm system, but a lunchtime departure? Nine out of 10 times, it was a quick errand.

Why set the alarm?

Henry went to the glove compartment and took out a mini make-up kit.

Added foundation.

Dabbed on lipstick.

Put the big shades back on.

There was a plastic, but realistic bouquet of flowers in the backseat, along with a small, business type briefcase.

Henry leaned over the seat and grabbed the briefcase and took out the pick-set and dropped it into his front pocket. Grabbed the fake flowers and got out of the car.

Held the briefcase in one hand and placed the flowers in the crook of the elbow of the same arm.

Used his free hand to bring the phone to his ear.

Walked with a slight sashay up the sidewalk past a beautiful home, eyes moving behind the shades while pantomiming with the phone.

Ticket-winner’s house was next, an impressive colonial with a four-door garage.

Lush rhododendrons spread lavender speckled wings alongside an arched entrance.

Perfect.

No one could see the front entrance, but for the neighbor across the way, which, because of the gigantic lawns, was at least 75 yards distant.

Henry brought the phone down and slid it into the same pocket as the pickset, hand coming back out with tools palmed.

Strode down the front walkway and under the archway and up the steps. Rang the bell using his knuckle.

Henry had memorized a name and an address from the next street over and had a well prepared excuse, if anyone came to answer.

Nobody did.

Knocked and inspected the door.

A mortise lockset with a lever handle made of plated zinc.

At the hardware store they’d tell you a sturdy lock like this requires a door thickness of at least two inches.

Spout stuff like, “A lockset grade of heavy duty!”

Henry knew this because he bought such locks regularly.

For practice.

Quickly slipping on rubber gloves and using the pickset, Henry needed about the same amount of time to unlock Ticket-winner’s door as it would have taken someone with a key.

Expected a chain to catch as he pushed the door slowly open, but … nope!

Henry leaned in and (thinking of Robin Williams as Ms Doubtfire) raised his voice to falsetto, calling, “Hellooooh!”

Paused a moment to listen and slipped inside.