The Lock Artist (48 page)

I shook out my hands and stepped up to the safe.

There was no dial. Only a touchpad.

It was an electronic safe.

Now, there are ways to break into an electronic safe. Apparently, somebody figured out how to program a computer to send out a special wireless signal to the locking mechanism in an electronic safe, working at lightning speed through each possible combination until the right one is hit.

Of course, I didn’t happen to have a computer with me at the time, programmed to send out a special wireless signal or otherwise. In other words, I was totally fucked.

I stood there letting the reality soak in for a while. Then I left the room and closed the door behind me. Gunnar was just coming down the hallway with another gift basket. His eyes got wide when he saw me.

“What’s the problem?”

I motioned him over to the door, opened it for him, and pointed to the safe.

“What? What is it?”

I made a stabbing motion with my finger, like I was keying in a combination on the touchpad. He looked back and forth a few times. Me. The safe. Me. The safe. Then he got it.

“Oh, fuck. Are you kidding me? You can’t open that thing?”

I shook my head.

“There’s got to be a way.”

I shook my head again. He looked like he was about to do his patented gift basket throw again. Then he got his composure back in the next second. He opened up the nearest stateroom door, slammed the basket down on the little table next to the bed, then went up the stairs to the second deck.

Gunnar, Julian, Ramona, and Lucy were all standing at the bar when I finally went up there. I could tell that Gunnar had already told them the news.

“This is all a joke,” Julian said. “You guys are playing a joke on me. There’s not really an electronic touchpad down there.”

“Yeah,” Gunnar said. “It’s a joke, all right.”

“The other boat had a regular safe. I swear.”

“Well, good. Let’s go find that boat and rob it. Whaddya say?”

“What do we do now?” Ramona said.

Julian took the last bottle out of his crate and set it down on the bartop. “We finish our deliveries like good little boys and girls. Then we leave.”

“Four million dollars,” Ramona said. “In a safe. On an empty boat. And we can’t touch it.”

“We could hijack the whole boat,” Gunnar said. “Just take it.”

Julian just looked at him.

“It’s all right,” Gunnar said, slapping my shoulder a little too hard. “I should have known it was too good to be true.”

“Give him a break,” Ramona said. “It’s not his fault.”

“Yeah. I know. They didn’t cover this in safecracking school.”

He walked away from us. He left the ship, went down the gangway, paused for a half second at some smart remark from one of the two guards, then kept walking down the dock.

The rest of us followed. When we were all at the car, we got the rest of the stuff and carried it back on board. I wouldn’t have been surprised if Gunnar just sat there in the car and let us finish the job without him, but he grabbed a big crate of wine and carried it back to the boat. When we were all on board again, we split up to distribute the rest of the baskets. Nobody said a word.

I took my basket down to the lower level. As I walked into one of the rooms, I couldn’t help noticing the faint aroma. The exotic cigarettes, mixed with the cologne. This was
his
room. The man who owned me and apparently would keep on owning me. Forever.

It felt strange to be standing there, right next to the bed where he would be sleeping every night. A half million dollars of his money just next door in that safe.

I put the basket down on the table. The only thing I would accomplish that day, a thoughtful delivery of various amenities to make his trip a little more enjoyable. Some fine Cuban cigars. A bottle of Lagavulin, aged sixteen years. A German Birko straight razor, complete with shaving brush and shaving cream. A can of L’Amande talcum powder, from Italy. May you enjoy it all, sir. Glad to be of service.

I left the room, went halfway down the hall.

Then I stopped.

I went back to the room and looked at the gift basket. I loosened the cellophane wrap and took out the can of talcum powder.

Then I went back out. To that last room. I opened the door.

“Michael!” It was Lucy’s hushed voice, from somewhere behind me. “Where are you going?”

I went to the safe. I poured out some talcum powder into my hand. Then I held the powder up about two inches away from the touchpad. And blew.

“What are you doing?” She was standing right behind me now.

I looked around the room and found a flashlight in one of the drawers. I brought it back and shined it on the touchpad. I played around with the angle, moving my head, moving the flashlight, until I finally achieved the effect I was trying for.

“Are you telling me . . .”

I nodded without looking at her.

“I’ll go tell those guys to stall a little bit. Good luck!”

She left the room. It was just me now. Me, the touchpad, the flashlight, some powder, and four visible fingerprints on four of the numbers.

I knew how to do this last part. It was just like when I would narrow down the numbers on a dial, and then go back and try out each possible combination. With four numbers, that meant twenty-four possibilities, assuming each number was only used once. I started going through them, hitting the
ENTER
button and then watching the little indicator light. Around the fifth try, I started to wonder if there would be some kind of lock-out mechanism if you tried too many incorrect combinations.

I held my breath and tried the sixth possibility.

Or you know what? Maybe too many incorrect tries sets off an ear-splitting alarm. That would be fun.

I tried the seventh combination.

Right about now, I thought. If this next one is wrong, something bad is going to happen. The alarm will go off, and those huge men will come storming onto the boat with guns.

I tried the eighth combination. The little light went from red to green. I turned the handle and opened the safe.

Now, I know what a stack of hundred-dollar bills looks like. A hundred
bills in one stack equals ten thousand dollars. A hundred stacks equals one million. Off the top of my head, I was guessing we could fit a hundred stacks into one empty wine bottle crate. So I left the safe open and hurried back up to the second deck. And walked right into a party.

The two guards had come up the gangway and were standing at the bar now. Each with a bottle of Mexican beer. The women were still smiling and laughing, still playing their parts, but as I caught Ramona’s eyes I saw the flash of helpless desperation. Julian and Gunnar were still rearranging everything on the bar, moving all the wine bottles around and otherwise trying to look like they still had a good reason to be there.

I knew we needed several empty wine crates downstairs, as quickly as possible, but there was no way we could take them down there and fill them with money. Not while these guards were here.

“You guys about done?” one of the men said.

“Oh, just about,” Julian said. “Making sure everything’s perfect.”

“Maybe you need to show us around the boat,” Ramona said. “As long as we’re here . . .”

“That could be arranged,” the man said. “For a reasonable fee.”

She gave that one a little laugh. I could see the muscles in Gunnar’s forearms straining as he slammed a wine bottle down on the bar.

“Show us what’s up here,” Ramona said, pointing to the upper deck. “Like, is there a place where you can get a good tan?”

“We can show you the sundeck, sure. Maybe the staterooms, too?”

Ramona was practically pushing the man up the stairs. Lucy followed with the other, giving Gunnar a quick look as she did.

“Come on, let’s go,” Julian said, when they were gone. He grabbed two of the empty wine crates and headed down the stairs.

Gunnar didn’t move.

“We’re wasting time,” Julian said. “You gotta focus here.”

“I will fucking kill that guy if he touches her,” Gunnar said, grabbing two more wine crates.

When we were all back in the safe room, Julian and Gunnar started packing the bundles into the crates. While they did that, I took the talcum powder back to the room where I had found it. I slipped it in the gift basket and then went back to the safe room to help with the money.

“There’s too much here,” Julian said. “We’re not even halfway through it.”

“This isn’t four million dollars,” Gunnar said. “Is that possible?”

“What did they do, double the buy-in this year? I think there’s fucking
eight million dollars
in this safe.”

“There’s no way they’re just playing poker. Something else is going on here.”

“Does it matter? Just keep moving!”

A few minutes later, we had all six of our wine crates packed tight. There was still about two million dollars left in the safe.

“Come on,” Gunnar said, “let’s get these to the car, so we can come back for the rest.”

“This is enough,” Julian said. “It’s six million dollars.”

“We gotta come back anyway, right? You’re gonna leave two million dollars here?”

So each one of us took two crates apiece, one under each arm. Probably fifty, sixty pounds of total weight, so it was hard to move fast, especially as we got down to the end of the gangway and had to keep going down the whole length of the dock. When we finally made it to the car, Julian was breathing hard.

“This is what you get for not working out with us,” Gunnar said. He opened up his two crates and dumped the money into the trunk. “Mike and I will go get the girls and the rest of the money. Start the car and have it ready to go.”

Julian looked at him for a moment, not accustomed to being the one receiving the orders. Then he gave us a nod and took out his keys.

“Did you see how he just let Ramona go off with that guy?” Gunnar said as we were running back to the boat. “It didn’t seem to bother him one bit.”

All part of the job, I thought. What the hell else was he supposed to do? But no matter. We had two more cratefuls of money to pack up, and then we could all get the hell out of there.

Up the gangway, moving so fast now it lunged up and down like a trampoline. Back down to the lower deck. Shoving the rest of the money into the last two crates. Then, just as we’re finishing up, we heard the noises from upstairs.

“What the hell is that?” Gunnar said.

I closed up the safe while he went to the door and peeked down the hallway.

“Come on, I think we better get out of here.”

We were halfway down the hall, each of us carrying a crate, when we heard the men on the second deck. We ducked into the nearest stateroom.

“Now what?” Gunnar said. “We’re totally fucked now.”

I put my hand on his arm. I didn’t think we had a huge problem.

“No, you’re right,” he said. “We just made one more trip. Now we’re all done. So what if we’re carrying these? Just pretend they’re empty.”

I nodded.

“Okay, let’s go.”

We walked up the stairs. Just two deliverymen finishing up their work.

That’s when we saw the limos.

They were pulling up to the gangway, as the two guards ran down to greet them, followed by Ramona and Lucy. Lucy took a quick look back and spotted us, her eyes growing wide, but she couldn’t help us now. I saw one limo door opening. I saw Sleepy Eyes getting out. Followed by the man from Detroit. A red-faced man who must have been the harbormaster ran up to them and started yelling. Not happy about the limos driving on his dock, no doubt. Ramona and Lucy used the distraction to slip away without being seen—but we were still trapped.

“We can’t go down there,” Gunnar said. “They’ve never seen me, but you . . .”

He didn’t have to finish the thought. Even though they knew I was in California . . . seeing me here on the boat . . . right now . . . it would break the spell and ruin everything. We might as well just slit our own throats right here on the spot.

“We gotta find another way off this boat.”

He went over to the stairs, took one more quick look down the gangway, and then scrambled up to the top level.

“Come on, what are you waiting for?”

I followed him up the stairs, even if it seemed hopeless to me. The boat was pointing nose out, after all. There was no other way off.

“This way. We have no choice.”

I followed him down the side rail, to the sundeck at the front of the boat. Gunnar went to the very tip of the nose and looked down. We were maybe twenty, twenty-five feet above the water, but it might as well have been the edge of the world.

“Hold on to your money,” he said. Then he jumped.

I heard the splash below. I looked over the edge and saw his head surfacing. He started treading water, working hard to keep his hold on the crate.