Entry #576684, added on 03-07-09 @ 6:51 pm EST
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| "The Great Jewelry Store Caper" | Entry #576684 |
“The Great Jewelry Store Caper”
January 1973
I don’t know if it still exists today (at the time of this writing) but at the time of Myles there was situated on the corner of two relatively busy streets in the little town Myles chose to haunt a jewelry store. This particularly juicy target lay in wait one city block from the run down hotel Myles claimed as home.
As Myles described it, this noteworthy jewelry store had on one of its four sides an asphalt parking lot which Myles had observed was, ‘For Customer Parking Only.’
There was a heavy glass door at the front entrance of The Great Jewelry Store, and about halfway to each corner of the building which faced Second Street were tall narrow windows, one on each side of the front door.
Casually strolling down the sidewalk past the front entrance of the jewelry store and turning left at the corner of Second Street, (which I believe is one way now) would take you along the third side of this red brick fortress. About eight feet from the rear corner of this building, on your left, was a heavy steel door prominently marked, ‘For Deliveries, Press Buzzer.’
Continuing to walk down the sidewalk past this delivery door you would come to a breezeway, I guess it would be called that. It was apparently a concrete walkway that ran from street to street, separating the city block. This sidewalk breezeway thing also separated the rear of The Great Jewelry Store from the rear of the brick office building which backed up to it. This sidewalk ran all the way to the next street, the street on which Myles lived. Myles called it an alleyway; so I will too. But it was nothing like the ‘alley’ he lived down. This alleyway was more of a breezeway and, it was clean!
Anyway, just past the steel delivery door and the entrance to this alleyway, if you kept walking down the sidewalk, you’d arrive at the back corner of the office building directly behind the jewelry store.
Continuing your walk down the street side of this office building you’d come to the entrance of its parking lot. Across this shared parking lot two identical office buildings faced each other. Myles had previously noted that each of these two office buildings was ‘conveniently’ two story’s tall.
Crossing the parking lot entrance and continuing on down the sidewalk past the street side of the second office building would bring you to the vacant lot overgrown with trees and bushes behind it, then the intersection of First Street.
The narrow alleyway, the one located directly behind The Great Jewelry Store, was of ‘particular’ interest to Myles, for he’d observed it narrowly separated ‘his intended’ from the rear of the two-story office building directly behind it.
This alleyway, which ran the full length of the jewelry stores’ back wall, could not have been more than six to eight feet wide, Myles estimated, at the most.
The truly outstanding feature, at least to Myles, of the two-story office building behind the jewelry store was; it was ‘coincidentally’ the same height as The Great Jewelry Store.
Laying his cigarette carefully down in the green ashtray in front of him, Myles, in describing this somewhat vague scene to me, put it this way
“Let’s say you’re a criminal,” he held out both hands, “standin’ in this park’n lot between these two office buildings. You‘re facin’ the front a’ the one,” he demonstrated by pointing one finger, “that backs up to this jewelry store.”
“Even if you were stupid,” Myles said, “It wouldn’t take ya’ very long ta’ notice the second floor walkway that runs the full length a’ that building, the one you were staring at.”
His expression revealed the ease with which he’d figured it out.
With his hand still moving through the air, Myles continued on with his description.
“And each end a’ this convenient walkway abruptly toyminated at a steel staircase which led the sat-is-fied custum-a’ back downstairs to their waitin’ vehicle,” Myles paused, nodded and held out both hands again. He chuckled.
Yes, in answer to your query, that really is the way he said it. I took it right of the tape recorder. Myles enjoyed using different voices. This I assume was his ‘Yankee’ voice.
“And,” leaning back in his chair and crossing his ankles, he continued. “Runnin’ the full length of this second story walkway, protectin’ the owner of the buildin’ from lawsuits, was this ornate wrought iron railing thing of,” what appeared to Myles as he ‘cased the joint’ to be of, “perhaps, Spanish design?”
By now, even ‘stupid’ ol’ me was beginning to grasp the importance of all this analysis. Myles was trying to figure out a way of conveying himself onto the roof of the office building behind the jewelry store then, across its roof, over the alleyway and onto the roof of the jewelry store, without killing himself in the process.
Now, came confirmation of my assumption. Myles leaned towards me, his elbows resting on the armrest of the chair, and said:
“When I’d finished ‘scoping out’ that office buildin’ man, I was sure I’d figured out a way to get myself into that jewelry store,” he cleared his throat and added with a grin, “after hours that is.”
His plan was:
“I’d casually walk up the front stairs a’ that office building, under the cover of darkness of course. That means at night,” he informed me, for some unknown reason.
I was truly grateful for that exchange of knowledge, so I didn‘t interrupt to thank him.
“Climb up on that Spanish wrought iron railing,” he continued on, “shimmy up one a’ the support poles and pull myself up onto the roof.”
Myles paused, took a breath, and was off and running again:
“From ‘that’ vantage point, I’d get me a runnin’ start, then huu-rrl myself over that alleyway, and sidewalk thirty feet below, I might add, onto the roof’a that jewelry store.”
That was his brilliant plan, he’d made clear, by tapping his forehead with the tip of his nicotine stained finger.
After hearing that, the same thing was going through my mind that’s probably going through yours right now.
Having satisfied himself that it could be done and, that if it could be done, he was the one who could do it, and, apparently thinking (‘?’) it was a good idea; Myles informed me he’d determined:
“I was gonna’ do the deed on the next moonless night, soon, real soon.” He concluded this discourse by making some kind of “Mu-ha-ha-aa” kind of sound.
Myles confessed to me that sometime earlier that same week, during one of his numerous “shopping” forays into The Great Jewelry Store, the twenty by twenty inch air duct on the ceiling of the second floor had caught his attention.
He was by the time of that last visit painfully aware that he’d long ago worn out his welcome in “That place” as he had in so many other establishments around his little town. In some cases, it had been ‘unpleasantly’ recommended to him, as he put it:
“And don’t come back!”
Myles said the way he figured it, “I’d probably not be dark-n’ the doorsteps a’ ‘that’ jewelry store again anyway.”
Therefore, Myles had determined to ‘hit’ the place ‘good and hard’ one last time. Now, he was certain he’d spotted his new entrance, “That air duct on the second floor ceiling.”
Myles knew all along:
“These people weren’t fools. It hadn’t taken them too long to figure out what I was really up to. They just hadn’t been able to catch me at it.” Then he added, “Yet!”
Myles calculated:
“The odds were no longer in my favor though, I mean, how many times do you think you can go ‘shoplifting’ in the same store, with the proprietors doing their best to catch you at it, and still walk away Scott-free, Hun?”
He paused, I assume to give me time to think about it.
Then he added:
“How many times could you calmly stroll out the front door, with your latest acquisition tucked firmly under your coat, or down your back, without getting arrested?”
My brilliant cousin concluded:
“I couldn’t keep getting away with it.”
He stuck another Marlboro between his lips, shot me a cunning glance, and then added lightheartedly and with a snicker:
“Not at ‘that’ place anyway.”
“Does it strike you,” I said, staring seriously at him, “that.” Then I realized; I was suddenly at a loss of what to say to him.
This is how, according to him it happened.
The moonless night arrived several days later.
In his little hotel room, Myles, several minutes after having sedated his anxiety with the last of his Heroin, discovered that he was seated. Seated on the only thing there was to sit on in his little hotel room, the old stained mattress. The lamp, the one on the little bedside table next to his leg, illuminated the dingy room just enough for his anesthetized eyes to make out what he was doing.
After some semi-alert consideration, Myles made up his mind; his choice of evening attire would consist of, “Sum ol’ cloths and my ol’ sneakers.”
Which after that night, Myles planned:
“Ta ‘never’ see again.”
Placing his hand somewhat firmly on the corner of his little bedside table he lifted himself up slowly. He disrobed to his boxers, then flopped back down on the bed. Lying on his back he dragged a pair of old Levi’s over his practically hairless legs.
Now, once again seated on the edge of his bed, he inserted his bare feet into a pair of dark blue Adidas running shoes. These were his favorite shoes. Myles had used these shoes a lot for running and jumping, ‘especially running’, which Myles admitted:
“I do a lot of.”
He was going to miss those shoes after tonight.
After raising himself back to his feet Myles stretched a solid black T-shirt, “With absolutely nothing identifiable printed on it,” over his head, then pulled it down over his belt.
Myles then searched himself for anything the cops might find useful in their investigation of the crime scene and ‘attempted’ identification of the perpetrator of said crime.
“That is,” he added, “after I’d made a clean get-a-way of course.”
He checked his T-shirt and jeans “thoroughly” for anything he might have previously left in the pockets, searching for anything that might fall out at the scene.
Myles paused in his story to boast:
“I even shoved my finger down into that little pocket in a pocket thing that Levi’s have, and swirled it around, nothing in there but lint.”
Myles had now convinced himself that:
“‘The cops’ were gonna’ have ta’ catch me in the act, if they were gonna’ catch me at all.”
Next Myles told me:
“I removed my glow dial Mickey Mouse watch I’d previously ‘found’ in the display case of a different jewelry store, and my turquoise ring.” Which ‘coincidentally’ he’d also ‘found’. Myles carefully placed these prize possessions in the little drawer of his bedside table and wiggled the old drawer shut.
With a sigh, he flopped back down on the edge of his bed.
Oh yeah, gloves, he remembered.
Myles rolled over onto his side, rested for a moment, then slowly opened the Huckle Bag lying at the end of his bed. He extracted some tight fitting leather gloves he’d stolen, then “Shoved ‘em in my hip pocket.”
Rolling back over Myles sat up.
He realized he was still a little wobbly.
He hung his head and reconsidered tonight’s adventure.
A moment later he awoke from his nod, sighed, lifted himself to his feet with some help from the little bedside table, and weaved his way to the door, “Thinking.”
Turning around Myles took (what he hoped) wouldn’t be his last look at his little sanctuary with it‘s old brown wallpaper and cracked walls.
Exhaling, he turned to go.
Halfway around it hit him, perhaps when he’d glanced at the bed.
I didn’t get anything to carry my loot in!
Myles cursed:
“I’m so stupid.” he admitted.
Myles shuffled back to the head of his bed, stumbled, jerked up his pillow and extracted the contents from its case. He threw the naked pillow back onto the bed and weaved his way back to the door, folding the old pillowcase up as he went; he shoved it down his back into the waistband of his Levi’s.
The atmosphere of his modest dwelling seemed to be ‘electrified’ with excitement, each breath he brought in “tingled” every cell of his body.
He was losing one high, but gaining another.
Myles gave the door an ‘easy’ push in using his shoulder. Then he cautiously turned the doorknob counter clockwise. He had high hopes of being able to escape from his hotel without any of the other residents being the wiser. He slowly eased the unlatched door open and peered out through the crack.
Myles calculated, leaving his dull bedside light on and his radio playing, “just loud enough to be heard through the thin walls,” would convince the other tenants he’d never left his little room.
They’d always vouch for each other in cases like this; when one of them needed an alibi. But Myles was well aware that their testimony, “would be much more convincing, if, they really believed what they were telling the cops this time.”
Myles poked his scraggly face through the crack he’d made in the open door and --- looked to his right. Then slowly swung his head left as he leaned out the door “Just a little bit further.”
The single bare light bulb, suspended by its frayed wire from the stairwell ceiling, bathed the landing outside his room in a soft yellow glow.
Myles was alone.
He edged his meager frame as quietly as possible out through the opening he’d made in the door of room number Seven. Turning around, Myles gently ‘eased’ the door shut.
His heart was making almost as much noise as his friends in the room across the narrow hall were.
The moans of someone down the darkened hallway to his right reached his ears as he stood trying to lock his door. Myles listened.
Only Myles heard the click of his lock.
For a fleeting instant, Myles wondered if someone might need help.
Allowing his gaze to turn down the dimly lit hallway towards the moan; his eyes searched the darkness. The more trouble he had seeing if anyone was really there, the more it dawned on him, if they were, they could easily see him standing in the yellow glow of the light outside his room.
The sound of a toilet flushing, coming from the direction of the community bathroom to his left, startled him back to reality. He turned quickly and began to consider how he might convey himself down the old creaky staircase, “As quietly as a church mouse.”
Suddenly, the little light in his head went off, again.
He was going to need a flashlight!
And, ‘more importantly,’ he hadn’t already thought of bringing one.
The realization of that sent a shiver of alarm up his spine.
“What else hadn’t I thought of?”
Once again, back in the relative comfort of his little eight by twelve-foot womb, Myles found himself frantically going over his plan again and again in his head. Even the most insignificant detail was crucial. He strained to think of any mistake he might be making, “Or worse, about to make.”
This is serious business, he thought.
Myles was already on probation and he didn’t like surprises, nope, he didn’t like surprises at all!
It was then that he noticed, for the first time in quite a while, his hands were shaking, and once again, he sensed a familiar presence in his darkened little room, ‘Fear’ had returned.
Myles eased his back off the latched door and walked soberly to the far side of his little cubicle. Through thin curtains he could see the glow of the Safeway parking lot lights next door.
Looking down at the Coors box under the window next to his little bedside table Myles sighed.
Sitting on the old linoleum floor, cross-legged, Myles leaned over and lifted one flap of the reinforced cardboard box he kept his personal possessions in and pushed his hair off his face. Knowing exactly where to strike, he plunged his hand in, wrapped it around the black shaft of his plastic flashlight and hoisted it aloft.
There wasn’t really much of value in his little cardboard box. “Else,” he’d said, “I
woulda’ already sold it, now wouldn’ I?”
I knew the real reason he still had his watch and ring; he couldn’t get the price of a bag of dope for them. And, even when he had, he’d just ‘found’ new ones. He liked that Mickey Mouse watch.
Myles once told me:
“The other day, I traded my black leather pants for two bags a’ dope and walked home in my boxers from the bar.”
I believe him. Those pants were his last tangible memory of his old hippie days when he’d owned a hippie boutique in Chapel Hill North Carolina, The Smokin’ Mule.
I assume Myles named it after himself during his pot smoking days.
On second thought, Myles did have one item of value he’d refused to sell, so far.
‘Ol’ Reliable’ waited patiently in the corner of his hotel room under the little sink and mirror.
‘Ol’ Reliable’ was a Sony TC 630 reel to reel tape deck, suitcase style, speakers hinged to the front, that his old buddy down at the pawn shop would ‘loan’ him forty bucks for, “to hold,” when Myles was dope sick and couldn’t get straight any other way.
And, on those rare occasions, when Myles did accidentally get caught in the act of performing some “minor” petty crime, he would inform his bail bondsman (from jail) where he might find ‘Ol’ Reliable’ as collateral for Myles’ bond.
So it seemed, that for one reason or another, Myles was always redeeming ‘Ol’ Reliable’, after ‘Ol’ Reliable’ had redeemed Myles.
Myles had a few other items of personal value which he’d sworn, “I wouldn’t sell for anything!” That no doubt was true, unless of course, the price was right. One of these items of personal value was a model ship he’d made. It seems Myles had fabricated this thing from “things one commonly finds around ones own jail cell.” It really was quite a nice piece of work if he did say so himself, and he had upon numerous occasions. He’d actually rejected some halfway decent offers for it I’m told.
I do know for a fact that this story is true because I’ve seen and held his little boat with my own two hands.
Something else Myles placed great value on was his sketchpads. Very early in our relationship I discovered Myles was somewhat of an artist. In fact, in his early childhood, he’d apparently studied art under the tutelage of some French artist, so he says. I’m inclined to believe him, since I have seen some of his early work.
“I hope I don’t have to steal batteries on my way to work tonight,” Myles angst as he held his breath and slid the ribbed button on the side of his black flashlight forward with his thumb. He was instantly pleased with the results.
A yellow oval of light now illuminated his cracked and flaking ceiling. Looking up at the disintegrating plaster, pieces of which occasionally fluttered to the floor, Myles paused for a moment of meditation.
He wished tonight’s caper was over. He wished he was back in his little womb, with the occasional bit of falling plaster rousing him as he lay reclined on his dingy little bed, unaware. Unaware, that once again, his Marlboro was slowly extinguishing itself between his scared fingers. He fells no pain. Without any pain, Myles wished to be listlessly gazing up into space through half closed eyelids, trying to wring every last drop of pleasure out of his drug induced stupor before, reluctantly, allowing himself to nod into unconsciousness, his drugs, never allowing him to dream, asleep or awake.
Myles clicked his flashlight off and thought:
Perfect, not too bright, but bright enough to see all the goodies in that jewelry store.
Next, Myles administered a couple of firm left hand twist to the cap of his flashlight and lifted the cover from the shaft. He dumped the two ‘D’ cells out on the floor. He grabbed a corner of the dingy sheet, pulling it towards him; he plucked up one of the batteries and, with the corner of the sheet, began meticulously wiping off fingerprints. Fingerprints he might have stamped on them when he’d originally dropped the stolen batteries into his newly ‘acquired’ tool.
In Myles’ line of work, one thing he had to constantly be mindful of was:
“Where I might be leaving my fingerprints.”
Myles was mindful. But, in a case like this, “It never hurts to double-check. After all, ya never know who might be looking for em’ someday. Wouldn’t wanna’ lose your flashlight at the scene, wearing gloves, with your stupid fingerprints plastered all over the batteries inside; informing ‘the cops’ of ‘exactly’ who they should be arresting, now would ya? That would be pretty stupid now wouldn‘t it?” Myles concluded by throwing up his eyebrows and hands.
I had to agree on all points.
As Myles figured it:
“That’s the first place they’d look if they found yer flashlight at the scene. At least that’s the first place I’d look if I was a smart cop.” He said.
Satisfied his batteries were now fingerprint free, Myles dropped the first one onto the spring at the bottom of the tube. He finished twisting the cap backs on after dropping the second battery on top of the first. He flipped it on for a second to reassure himself he’d inserted them properly, clicked it off, wiped it clean, then shoved it snugly in his hip pocket next to the gloves using the corner of the sheet.
Myles allowed his eyes to close.
I waited a moment then cleared my throat.
His eyes opened, he took a little air in through his nose and began to scratch at his beard. He looked into my eyes with a look that told me he’d shaken some cobwebs from his mind and was now back in his own field.
He dropped his finger tips to his chest and scratched.
He spoke:
“I was thinkin’ about trying to remember not to put the key in my pocket when I left my hotel room. Wouldn’t want the cops to find ‘that’ juicy morsel a evidence on the roof-a the jewelry store.”
He paused, then snorted:
“I can just see some detective holdin’ my little key up, ‘Let’s see whose door this opens?’ like he just discovered the key to a promotion.”
Myles eased his lean frame out into the dreary hallway of the hotel once again.
He successfully remembered to ‘not’ put the little key in his pocket after locking everyone out of his room.
“Good,” he was alone and no one in the bathroom this time either, just the usual hotel noises and ‘Ramble on Rose’ blaring through the door of his oblivious friends across the hall.
Myles noiselessly made the short trip to the edge of the landing then stood there under the dim light looking down. He held the balustrade tightly with his left hand then, keeping his sneakers as close as possible to the edge of the treads, to minimize the chance of a squeak, began his descent.
Don’t forget to hide the key.
Don’t forget to hide the key.
Myles reached the bottom of the stairs without making noise anyone but he could hear and strolled out into the alley.
He almost startled himself by the newfound silence in his head when he stopped repeating; Don’t forget to hide the key.
He’d kept his little hotel room key in his right hand as an extra precaution. Being over six feet tall Myles had no trouble reaching the ledge over the old metal trash cans where he’d hide his key, “on special occasions like this.”
There was a slight chill in the air. ‘Good!’ thought Myles, for he knew he’d probably be sweating before ‘this’ night was over.
Myles strolled to the entrance of the alley and took a little peek out at the street.
Dark, deserted, all quiet except for the open-air bar up on the corner to his right, excellent.”
Seeing no one towards the Safeway parking lot to his left, Myles strolled across the sidewalk then casually stopped at the curb.
“To catch my breath,” he said.
Assuming the proper stance, Myles checked right then left one more time. He slipped his long fingers down into the pocket of his T-shirt and withdrew the lone cigarette. He stuck it between his lips and, to avoid detection, cupping a match, struck it. As he glanced down, the orange glow in his cupped hands illuminated his mistake, Myles was about to ignite the filter end of his cigarette.
“Crap!” he mumbled, lips stuck to the paper.
Slinging the match in the gutter, Myles carefully eased the defiant cigarette paper off his lips then licked them. He plucked a strand of tobacco off his tongue with his fingers then, turning the cigarette around, put it between his lips the right way. Cupping another match Myles set fire to the end of the cigarette and tossed the rest of his matches in the gutter. He took a drag, exhaled anxiously and, watching the smoke ascend into the night air, licked his sore lips again.
Standing there in nothing but a T-shirt, (and pants) Myles shivered. “It was colder than I thought it was gonna’ be,” he said. “I already had goose-bumps on my arms.”
Watching the smoke from his next exhale more carefully, he wondered for a second how much of it was really smoke and how much was just cold air.
Myles turned left and strolled past the shops below his hotel smoking his cigarette.
“The light whatn’ that good, and I tripped cause the stupid sidewalk was all cracked up from the roots a’ those stupid trees the city planted in some failed attempt ta’ rejuvenate and beautify that part of town. Like some trees were gonna’ help,” he added scornfully.
Myles stopped at the entrance to the Safeway parking lot and turned right. He stepped over the curb and gutter onto the cold black asphalt. The street was a dim green, illuminated by the traffic light up at the intersection. As Myles strolled across to the other side of the street he said couldn’t help but notice:
“The traffic light changed to red.”
Myles confided:
“I wondered if that whatn’ some ki’na premonition a’ danger or sump’in. But at least the stupid Christmas lights were off,” he added.
Myles stepped up onto the sidewalk across the street. Moving his head imperceptibly he gave both ends of the street a quick glance then disappeared between two buildings. Stopping to peek back out at the street to reassure himself he was alone, he began his walk down the long dark alleyway heading straight for the jewelry store.
Our little burglar had planned his caper for Saturday night, hoping no one would be the wiser until Monday morning.
In his minds eye he’d rehearsed it a hundred times.
Walking like he belonged there Myles strolled down the narrow sidewalk. When he came out from between the two buildings and felt the breeze he realized he’d been warmer in there. Myles walked across the parking lot behind the two buildings until he reached the back corner of the office building behind The Great Jewelry Store.
Veering to his right Myles cut diagonally across the parking lot which occupied the left side of his target.
Absentmindedly, using his thumb and middle finger, he flipped what was left of his cigarette out in front of him as far as it would go. Myles watched the scattered embers extinguish themselves on the cold black asphalt as he walked by.
As planned, he came out of the parking lot onto the sidewalk well before reaching the corner of the jewelry store.
He’d intentionally done this he informed me:
“To keep from walkin’ round the corner and bumpin’ into someone else walkin’ down the sidewalk late at night, ‘like a cop for instance’.”
As I think I mentioned already, Myles didn’t like surprises and he certainly didn‘t want any, especially tonight.
“But I do enjoy a good adrenalin rush,” he admitted.
“Myles,” I countered. “You like any kind of a rush.”
Passing the front corner of The Great Jewelry Store Myles continued his stroll down the sidewalk intentionally looking in any direction except towards the narrow window and glass front doors of the store, up at the trees, out at the street. After passing the second narrow window Myles took a sharp left at the corner and walked down the sidewalk past the metal delivery door; again “not noticing” it.
At the back corner of the store, a quick glance down the alleyway to his left informed Myles, “The coast was clear,” he told me, batting his eyebrows as he did so.
He continued down the sidewalk along the street side of the office building behind the jewelry store, then crossed the entrance of the parking lot that separated the two office buildings.
Upon reaching the back corner of the second office building, using just his eyes, Myles took a quick look behind him, cut left behind the building and vanished from sight.
Taking a short break from his tale, Myles leaned forward in his chair, set fire to another cigarette, blew a cloud of pollutants towards my ceiling then, with renewed intensity in his tone, he went on with his story:
“As I crept along behind that office building the tension was killing me man. I couldn’t wait to get inside that jewelry store, won-drin’ if my brilliant plan was gonna’ work.”
The cool moonless night seemed to have a soothing effect on his nerves, but Myles confessed:
“I coulda’ used another fix man and it was getting colder, but I didn’t care, I was on.”
I believe I already told you, Myles intended to walk down the back of the office building, coming out at it‘s far corner. Then turn left and walk the short distance down the far side of the building, arriving at the parking lot, almost where he’d started. Then he would scoot across the parking lot, launch himself up the stairs of the office building behind the jewelry store and climb up onto the Spanish wrought iron railing, shimmy up one of its support poles and pull himself up onto the roof of the office building.
Myles said:
“Member? I’s gonna’ walk to the back edge a’ that office building, take a quick look at tha roof-a the jewelry store cross the alleyway, not at the sidewalk thirty feet below, then go back, get a runnin’ start, and hurr-ul myself over that abyss onto the roof a the jewelry store.
IDIOT! Was the word that popped into my mind.
But, fortunately for Myles, as he crept along in the dark, he spotted something through the leafless trees in the little woods behind the office building. Myles spotted something, something shinny, something leaning against the back wall of the building. He could see street light reflecting off whatever it was.
As he neared the object, he said he wondered:
Can it be? Is it what I think it is?
“Yes-ss!” he hissed out loud. “It is.”
Maybe there is a God, he reflected for just a second.
His droopy eyes got as big as saucers.
“It was a ladder, a big silver ladder”.
Now he really could feel his heart beating.
Myles stood in the shadows looking up at a ladder. Some workers had apparently left their ladder leaning against the back wall of this office building and, Myles said, “It reached all the way up to the roof.”
His mind skipped a beat. It was perfect.
“Just what the doctor ordered,” whispered Myles to himself.
He instinctively reached for it but, just before laying his hands on it, he caught himself.
Calm down, calm down. Don‘t blow it now, his mind cautioned him.
Reaching into his hip pocket Myles extracted his black leather gloves. Stretching them over his cold hands he felt a shiver of warmth ascend his spine.
“Ah! That’s better,” he whispered to no one.
Now, he was ready to take possession of his prize.
Myles grabbed the sides of the ladder and pulled back. He pulled back a little harder. This time the ladder stood up, wobbling.
Now what? He heard his mind ask.
Myles was an experienced climber, he had no problem with that part, but he was unfamiliar with extension ladders. Lifting the heavy ladder straight up hadn’t been to difficult, his little muscles were strong enough, but Myles didn’t have much bulk.
The problem was; he was now having trouble keeping the top of the ladder from swaying back and forth, hitting things, or worse, toppling over.
Struggling, Myles carried his prize ladder, straight up and down, to the far corner of the office building. He lowered its feet to the ground. Exhaustedly he peered around the corner of the building.
“All clear,” he heard himself whisper.
With the top of the ladder wobbling back and forth Myles rounded the corner of the building and scooted to the edge of the parking lot. As hoped it too was deserted. But, instead of darting across the lot and up the stairs as planned, he maneuvered his ladder across the dark parking lot then down the side of the office building behind The Great Jewelry Store.
Myles eased up as he approached the corner of the building where the alleyway began. This was the same corner he’d picked earlier to turn right and cut diagonally across the jewelry store parking lot. He set the heavy ladder down again allowing the top of the ladder to lean against the office building a few feet away from the corner.
Myles needed to catch his breath and regroup.
No cigarette this time, and besides, he‘d only brought one.
The use of a ladder was an unexpected yet providential change in his daring plan to say the least. Myles needed a moment to think it through. After all, a lot was at stake tonight. Wouldn’t want to screw it up now; Myles thought, formulating a new and improved plan.
Let’s see, ladder’s the right height, will fit perfectly between the two buildings. “Humm, Plan B looks pretty good so far” Myles whispered.
“But,” he said, “I needed to make another quick check of the alleyway and street.”
Myles injected:
“I thought that’d be wise. I wouldn’t wanna’ hav’ta splain to the cops what I was doing halfway up a ladder behind the jewelry store at one o’clock in the morning now would I?”
So, like a rat, Myles scurried to the end of the alleyway and stopped, holding his breath he casually strolled out onto the sidewalk trying to look as though he’d someplace to go. After a few paces Myles acted as though he’d made a wrong turn, glanced around and turned back. Now, Myles was pretending to be heading in the ‘right’ direction.
No one this way either. He confirmed.
He turned and disappeared back down the alleyway acting as though he was going back for whatever it was he’d forgotten; or so it was to appear.
He exited the far end of the alleyway and kept walking right past the ladder intentionally ignoring it. He went on about ten feet or so, stopped, paused, looked around, then pretended to be checking himself as though he’d lost his wallet or something. The rogue turned around, his eyes darting back and forth, and headed back towards the corner of the building upon which his ladder rested.
With the exception of the revelers at the corner bar a block away, Myles was now confident he was alone. Casually strolling over to the ladder as though he’d just run into an old friend, Myles reached down and lifted it up.
Addressing the ladder he said quietly:
“You’re heavier than I remember.”
Myles peeked around the corner of the building down the alleyway one last time, still empty.
Balancing his ladder, Myles wobbled down the narrow alleyway making for the back wall of The Great Jewelry Store.
Reaching a point somewhere near the middle of the store he set his burden down. Without any hesitation he positioned the feet of the ladder against the foundation of the office building behind the jewelry store, the die was cast.
Holding the rails with both hands, Myles eased the top of the ladder down until it came to rest against the roof of the jewelry store.
Perfect, he determined.
Myles hung from one rung with both hands for a second, shook it to reassure himself the ladder was secure, then climbed around and up onto the ladder. He’d made it up to about the fifth or sixth rung when it dawned on him why the rungs were hurting his feet, they were facing the wrong way, they were up-side down!
I can still recall my reaction when I heard him tell this part of his story, I remember looked down at my lap and chuckling; once again the word ‘IDIOT’ came to mind.
Myles had realized:
“I was climbin’ up the backside a’ dat’ stupid ladder.”
Is it okay? Myles wondered.
Seems to be.
What about past the middle?
Keep go…ing,
Take it slow,
Especially near the top, he cautioned himself.
Then he heard it. As he neared the top of the ladder Myles heard a car turn onto the side street and begin approaching the narrow alleyway.
Trying to ignore his adrenalin rush, Myles thought:
If they see me, what would’Il do?
“Slide, jump, and run like Hell,” he said with a chuckle, now that he sat comfortably and safely in my study.
He qualified:
“But only if it was the cops, and I knew they’d seen me of course.”
Frozen in place, Myles hugged the ladder and watched anxiously as the car passed through the visible slice of street. Fortunately for him, by the time the car passed it was going so fast “I could’n tell what kind’a car it was. But I saw anuff of it ta know, it what’n the cops.”
The wind blew his hair back exposing his receding hairline as he poked his head over the rim of the roof and took his first look around.
“Man,” Myles said to himself. “The scenery sure is different when you see it from up here.”
Myles took another step up the ladder.
“Kinda’ reminded me a' my ol’ climbing days on the high school roof back in Arizona,” he told me.
Myles crept the rest of the way up the ladder then jumped off onto the gravel roof of The Great Jewelry Store.
“Made it!” He proclaimed, breathless and amazed.
“But man,” he said next, “I hadn’t thought about how well I’d be able to see stuff from up there and, more importantly, how well those drunks down at the corner bar’d be able ta see me.”
Myles realized, “I’d have ta stay low.”
“There it was!” he said anxiously, “I knew it would be.”
Myles, staying low, crawled over the sticky roof pebbles on his hands and toes then crouched down in front of the massive air conditioning unit.
Good, it isn’t running. He thought.
Myles raised his gloved hands, then swore.
Crap!
Well, that wasn’t exactly what he said, but its close enough.
“Man, I had tar and those stupid little white pebbles all over my gloves.”
Instinctively Myles rubbed his gloved hands together. He succeeded in wiping the pebbles off but his gloves were now sticky.
Squatting (“Because the pebbles hurt my knees,” he said,) Myles tugged at the bottom of the access panel on the warm air conditioner and was elated when it slid up about an inch. He could now feel warm air escaping on his exposed wrist. Pulling on the ridge, he said:
“The thing came right out man.”
Myles set the sixteen by sixteen-inch panel of sheet metal to the side and immediately felt warmer air on his face.
“I had to practically peel my sticky gloves off that ‘stupid’ panel,” he added.
Looking around, Myles found the only thing available. He wiped the sticky palms of his gloves off on the side of the old faded air conditioner.
“It didn’t help much,” I was told. “And, it left black smudges all over the side a’ that air conditioner.”
Grabbing his flashlight out of his hip pocket Myles made a mental note:
Don’t forget ta get rid’a this flashlight. No sticky flashlight’s gonna’ be found in my room later by the cops.
Waiting until he’d poked his head through the metal opening to turn it on, Myles slid the switch on his flashlight forward.
“This is too good to be true” he snickered, seeing his entrance to the jewelry store only six feet down the metal shaft to his right. Without the least hesitation Myles started squirming in through the square opening.
“The pebbles were hurting my knees again,” he mentioned.
He knew this was going to be the hardest part, the part he hadn’t been able to plan for. Myles had figured out how to get up on the roof of The Great Jewelry Store, and once inside, he knew exactly what he was going to do. Tonight had gone better than planned so far. “Go for it!” he whispered, emboldening himself.
Myles twisted his lanky frame sideways through the opening squirming and wiggling towards the vent to his right. Once in, a moment of dread swept through him reminiscent of the time he’d forced himself (“while on LSD” he claimed) to crawl a quarter of a mile through a twenty-four inch drain pipe under the streets of Chapel Hill. Why? Even he didn’t really know.
His fear quickly passed.
Myles speculated:
“Maybe that test of my will in that ol’drain pipe was training for that very moment.” He raised his eyebrows and shoulders in question.
Myles admitted he was a bit of a mystic anyway.
He didn’t have much trouble twisting his skinny hips in, but when it came time for his knees, he had to roll all the way over onto his back before he could bend them in.
He said excitedly:
“I was in man, I couldn’t believe it. I was in.”
Lying on his back in the dusty metal tomb Myles closed his eyes and reflected on his good fortune. Then, using his shoulders and heels, he started wriggling his body down the narrow metal shaft towards the vent in the jewelry store ceiling. He opened his eyes and the dust fell in. His immediate impulse was to rub the dirt from his eyes with his gloved hands. Just in the nick of time he remembered, but not before smearing tar on his forehead. Second instinct, “Just turned my head and shook as much of the dust out as I could.”
Squinting up at the dusty ceiling of his new prison Myles decided to rest for a moment and gather his thoughts, he relaxed his neck and shut his eyes again.
“At least it was warmer,” he said.
In the quiet Myles detected warm air rising from inside the jewelry store escaping to the outside world through the new opening he’d provided. A smile, not something his facial muscles were use to creating, slowly appeared on his face. Through his long hair Myles realized what he felt were the ridges of the air vent against the back of his head.
“My head was actually resting on that vent, the one I’d seen on the ceiling,” of the jewelry store during his last visit.
A fresh surge of adrenalin coursed through his body.
Myles once again erased any doubt I might have had about his love of adrenalin when he said:
“I liked it!”
Shaking his cleverness from his head the skinny burglar returned to the business at hand. Twisting his body around like an alligator in mud Myles soon discovered some of his hair had gotten snagged on the vent. He jerked his head up, his neck popped at the same time his long hair broke free from the vent; some from his scalp.
Rolling onto his stomach Myles set his flashlight down on the far side of the vent then, pulling his elbows in towards his chest, he lifted up his head up so he could see down through the vent.
“I found myself looking into Nirvana,” he said with a smirk plastered all over his face.
I let him know with the look on my face that I did not share his enthusiasm for the moment.
Placing the palms of his sticky gloves on the vent Myles gave it a little push. “It wasn’t solid man,” he said, excitedly.
He pushed a little harder; then harder. His arms and head suddenly dropped down through the opening as the vent gave way. The hinged door hit him on the back of the head as it swung back up.
Myles gave his newest adrenalin rush a moment to subside. Then, with his head and arms dangling from the ceiling, he took a look around.
Myles said:
“I had the sensation man, like I was looking up inside a upside down jewelry store. All the lights and showcases and stuff was all hanging upside-down from a carpeted ceiling. I could see all the way over the little wall up to the floor of the room below.
Yep,” he said, “my head really was dangling from the ceiling of the jewelry store. I was almost in.”
He paused then added, “The stairs looked the weirdest man.”
At the top of the second floor stairs of The Great Jewelry Store, protecting its proprietors from lawsuits; was a short sheetrock wall about four-foot tall. The top of this wall was capped with a tastefully stained and varnished hardwood handrail.
If you happened to be standing upstairs, looking over this little wall, you could easily see down to the ground floor of the store below you.
Had you been stupid enough to be in this same jewelry store, at precisely one thirty-eight on the morning of January the seventh nineteen hundred and seventy three, and looked up instead of down, you would have found yourself facing the dangling arms and bright red face of an intruder by the name of Myles High.
There it was, right where Myles High had calculated it would be; that short little wall. The one he’d planed to use to leverage himself out of the predicament he’d hoped to be able to get himself into. He’d seen it in his minds eye a hundred times. “But not upside-down,” he pointed out.
Myles started wiggling his torso forward like a giant inchworm, stretching his sticky glove towards the top of the polished handrail. But the top of the wall was still a good two feet away.
Inching his chest through the opening a little further; wiggling his hips and pushing with his toes, Myles began to slither out.
The more of his meager chest he worked through the square metal opening the easier it got. The weight of his torso, which wasn’t that much, was beginning to help pull the rest of his body out through the vent in the ceiling.
The increased blood supply was beginning to strain the vessels in his head and neck, yet the fingertip of his sticky glove was still a good eight inches away from the polished handrail.
The opening that had once been the neck of his T-shirt was now stretched to the point that his three blond chest hairs were prominently displayed for all to see; had there been anyone there to see them.
Myles must have looked a sight to say the least. I still smile when I try to picture it. The sticky fingertips of his right arm stretched to their limit towards the handrail. The arm, protruding from the tar-stained glove, tanned up to where his Lilly white bicep began. Hanging down to his forearms was what can only be described as a ‘mass’ of dishwater blond hair. The stretched out T-shirt only served to enhance the glowing red head the hair was attached to. An identical glove and arm dangled not far away.
Once your image of Myles High had moved past his obvious lack of chest hair and sun you would be quick to notice the reason the neck of his T-shirt was stretched so. From what he told me, apparently the bottom of the T-shirt had gotten snagged on the metal ridge of the vent and had long since ceased to follow his body out through the square metal opening.
Groaning and cursing, Myles tugged at his shirt, struggling to no avail. He reached up again, this time, using his left arm to sway his body from side to side; he ripped the bottom of his T-shirt free. Then, in frustration, he jerked his “stupid shirt” all the way through the opening making sure it wouldn’t get caught on anything “ever again.”
From under the T-shirt his muffled voice uttered several popular expletives, for his T-shirt had fallen all the way down over his head, shoulders and arms and was now inside out. Stretched out from underneath this dangling T-shirt, which now looked more like a cheap black dress, was a few inches of tanned wrist and two sticky black gloves that I imagine looked more like little feet. There the invader hung, upside down. The sight must have brought to mind a belly dancer hanging from her mid-riff through a hole in the ceiling of a jewelry store.
No doubt somewhat embarrassed by my snickers Myles said:
“Well, at least I could breathe again.”
After a short breather, Myles allowed his belly to slide out through the opening a little further as he stretched his arm towards the handrail.
“Great! Now my belt buckle’s hung up,” he’d cried, incensed.
Under his black T-shirt, he closed his eyes, sighed and just hung there for a minute.
Ready again. Myles arched his back up quickly.
Ouch! he seethed, swinging right back down immediately. He‘d hit his head on the vent door.
Exasperated, his teeth clinched, he reached up and grabbed his belt buckle. He rolled his weight as much as possible to one side, sucked in his gut, and pulled the buckle free.
Without a thought Myles allowed his tired body to relax. Another surge of adrenalin hit him, this time he didn’t like it. His whole body was starting to slide out through the opening like a baby at birth. Before Myles even had time to figure out what to do next, the heels of his Adidas running shoes hit the roof of the air duct and the fingertips of his right glove came to rest on the polished surface of the handrail. He sucked in a deep breath then slowly exhaled through pursed lips.
Myles asserted:
“That was a rush!”
After another quick breather, he wriggled and twisted his hips the rest of the way out through the opening. He now had a firm grip with both hands of his twisted frame on the polished handrail.
Now what? He wondered.
The contortionist wriggled and twisted and turned his body until he was suspended upside-down by his legs. There Myles hung from the ceiling of The Great Jewelry Store like a trapeze artist wearing a cheap black dress over his head and arms.
Myles steeled himself for the rush and raised his feet. His legs instantly slid out through the opening. He tried (half successfully) to do what he described as:
“Some kind’a mid-air cat turn thing or some’um.”
Myles sailed through the air with the greatest of ease but his landing was a hard one. One knee hit the cheap carpet (“Probably pad less,” he added) the other knee put a dent in the sheetrock at the base of the little wall his gloves were stuck to.
Myles allowed his head to rest between his upraised arms.
“I’m in,” he said, exasperated.
A moment later, Myles stood up, adjusted his T-shirt and pulled his Levi’s back up where they belonged. He peeked over the little wall.
“Crap! I almost forgot my flashlight,” he realized, turning to look up at the vent in the ceiling.
Reaching down picked his pillowcase up off the floor and shoved it back in his waistband then climbed up on the little wall. Balanced there, his sticky shoes stuck to the wooden handrail, Myles stretched his left arm up through the air vent and felt around.
“Good,” he said, “I could reach it.”
He switched it off and shoved it back in his hip pocket after jumping down from the scratched and sticky handrail. He turned and leaned back over the little wall. He looked left.
“There it was,” he said excitedly. “I could see it, downstairs, right near the front door.”
A moment later Myles was there.
Situated on the floor behind the glass showcase, the burglar was ready for the first order of business, the safe.
Facing that massive, black, six-foot tall hunk of solid steel, Myles knew, deep down inside, it was a lost cause.
“But hey, who knows,” he said, “maybe they’d forgotten to lock it.”
Myles reached up with his sticky glove and grabbed the handle of the safe and gave it a firm twist, then a good tug.
After whispering his favorite expletive, he said:
“Nothin‘, just as I thought.”
Then, Myles confessed, he actually leaned over and put his ear against that cold steel door, closed his eyes and listened for the sound of tumblers as he got the big dial of the safe sticky. A moment later Myles reluctantly pulled his ear away from the cold steel door.
“Hay man, ya never know unless ya try, right?” obviously noticing the smirk on my face.
With his eyes closed and his ear to the safe, Myles had been totally unaware of the beam of light that had pierced the glass front doors of the darkened jewelry store. For at the very moment he’d closed his eyes and placed his ear against the massive safe a police cruiser had coasted to a stop just outside the front doors of the establishment.
The patrolman, using the powerful beam of the searchlight mounted to the side of the vehicle, had taken a quick look inside the darkened store. Switching the beam off; all the driver could see now was the reflection of his own patrol car on the dark glass doors given off by the lights of the street.
The patrol car gradually eased forward and the driver negotiated a slow left hand turn onto the side street heading for the alleyway. The headlights of the cruiser brought the dark pavement into view. Again the driver reached over and switched the sidelight on and adjusted the handle. The brick façade of The Great Jewelry Store came into stark view.
The patrolman moved his trained eyes down the side of the building as the cruiser eased its way along the narrow street.
A squawk from the police scanner under the dashboard momentarily startled them. The dispatcher broke in briefly interrupting their thoughts to say something about drag racing a few blocks from their present location:
“Ten four, we’ll check it out,” his partner responded lazily into the hand-held.
The driver, having visually checked out the steel delivery door of the jewelry store, said without looking at his partner:
“Looks OK.”
“Gonna check-out the alley,” he said a second later, swinging his head towards his partner.
The police cruiser had almost crawled to a stop by now. The intense beam of the searchlight began moving down the alleyway casting its revealing light on the back wall of the brick office building behind The Great Jewelry Store.
The minds of the two officers, his partner having also turned his attention towards the alleyway, were subconsciously responding to a small surge of adrenalin; they were paying attention. You never know what you’ll find down a dark alleyway, especially at this time of night.
The beam of the police cruiser’s spotlight was shining down the full length of the alleyway now. There it was, Myles’ aluminum extension ladder, in stark contrast to the high brick walls facing each other across the narrow passageway. There it stood, resting comfortably against the roof of The Great Jewelry Store, the store that at that very moment Myles was lurking around in. There his ladder stood for all to see.
All except the two police officers cruising by on the street outside that is. Myles would never know just how close he came. For, just as the bright beam of the searchlight was about to give him away, the focus of the patrolmen was suddenly diverted from the alleyway to the intersection directly in front of them.
Just before passing the narrow alleyway opening, Myles’ extension ladder in plain sight, the scream of screeching brakes had snapped the attention of the policemen away from the alleyway to the intersection in front of them.
For now, as they cruised slowly past the alleyway, the officers were staring back through the windshield of their vehicle at the reason they’d heard the sound of locking brakes. Two drag racers had just run a red light, sliding to a stop in the middle of the intersection.
The driver of the police cruiser immediately stepped down on the accelerator as his partner reached over and switched on the swirling red lights and siren, indicating to the two drag racers sitting in the intersection that, it was time to get outa’ there. As he sped towards the intersection, the patrolman reached over and switched off the searchlight which was now illuminating the woods behind the office building where Myles had found the ladder.
Myles cautiously began breathing again as he guardedly poked his head up from behind the jewelry case he’d ducked behind. The sound of a police siren, which had seemed to him for a moment to be right outside the jewelry store, was fading into the distance. Myles’ adrenalin rush began to subside.
He smiled as he stood the rest of the way up, steeling himself, his eyes darting back and forth.
Looking around and noticing the empty showcases Myles uttered another of his favorite expletives then whispered audibly:
“They put all the good stuff in the safe. Crap.”
In the dim light, Myles paused, allowing his eyes to survey his new environment a little at a time.
“Oh, well,” he conceded, “there was still plenty of other good stuff in there.”
A small showcase of cheaper watches had already caught his trained eye. Jerking the pillowcase out of his waistband he snapped it open. Myles reached up, opened the plastic showcase and, turning the wheel, he plucked each and every watch out, dropping them into his pillowcase.
Allowing his eyes to lead, his head following, Myles spied a whole bunch of cameras and binoculars in a tall showcase behind some sliding glass panels. They were always good sellers, especially those new SX-70’s.
He tried to slide the glass door open but it was locked. Undaunted, he stuck the palms of his sticky gloves on the glass panel and pushed up. The whole pane of glass slid up and the lock fell out onto the floor. Myles smiled slyly to himself as he slid the unlocked glass open and reached in for the cameras and binoculars. Into his goodie bag they went.
Myles stopped. What’s upstairs? He wondered.
He’d been so anxious to get down to the safe and the glass showcases where all the rings and jewelry were suppose to be, he hadn’t even looked upstairs.
Leaving his heavy bag on the floor for a moment, Myles sprinted back up the stairs and walked quickly around the little room.
Telescope?
Nope, too big.
TV’s?
Nope.
A whole showcase full of wedding silver crap?
Too bulky.
I Wish I had a truck, he thought.
Myles vaulted back down the short flight of stairs.
Hand held calculators. Oh, man, these babies are hot sellers!
He shoved all they had into his pillowcase. Wish they had more, he thought.
Skulking around the place, Myles tossed a few more juicy items in his goody bag.
This bags getting full, he realized.
Then it occurred to him, maybe there’s something valuable in the storeroom? He’d never been able to see in there before, that door had always been shut. This time, however, the door to the storeroom stood open.
The streetlights, shining in through the glass front doors and narrow windows, had illuminated the interior of the jewelry store just enough to keep Myles from having to use his flashlight. But the windowless storeroom was in the back of the store, under the second floor and, “It was dark in there.”
“I figured the steel door I saw from the outside was in there,” Myles said.
Lifting his heavy pillowcase Myles walked into the storeroom and shut the door behind him. Now, except for those mysterious little red lights on the wall across the room, it was pitch black.
Myles whipped his sticky flashlight out of his hip pocket and switched it on. The beam was much weaker than before. He’d forgotten to turn it off before wriggling out through the air vent. Still, in the yellow glow, he could make out a pegboard of handyman tools, some more TV’s, “and a stack’a some kind’a boxes.” But in the dim light he couldn’t read what was inside them.
Maybe more handheld calculators! He hoped.
The only light in the little room was coming from his flashlight.
So Myles figured:
“If I couldn’t see light comin’ in from the outside, no one’d be able to see light goin’ out from the inside, right? As long as I kept the door shut,” he added.
Myles turned the meager beam of his flashlight in the direction of the light switch and, without thinking, flipped it on.
Too late, he slammed his eyes shut. The sudden flash of light temporarily blinded him.
That was ‘stupid’. I shoulda’ shut ma eyes first! He realized instantly.
Squinting around the now brightly lit room, Myles found himself confronting the mysterious little red lights and wiring of an elaborate security system.
Out loud Myles said to himself:
“Man, getting outa’ here’s gonna’ be a rush. The adrenalin alone might just kill me.”
He started to toss his flashlight in his goody bag but, on second thought, it went back into his hip pocket where it belonged.
There were some nice electric tools on the shelf worth selling but they were all too heavy and bulky for his little goody bag.
“And besides,” he admitted to me, “I’d had just about enough of that place.”
Personally, I think it was the sight of the alarm system that did it.
Reaching down with a firm grip Myles lifted up his pillowcase and set it down just inside the steel exit door. Looking around for something to carry in his left hand he latched onto one of those little twelve inch color TV’s then turned to face his next challenge.
The grey door, wired with an elaborate alarm system, was one of those heavy steel doors equipped with a push bar.
“My heart felt like,” he said, “it was gonna’ try an beat me out the door.”
Myles wondered. Is this door gonna’ open when I push the bar? Or’m I locked in?
Myles admitted to me:
“I’d kind’a forgotten ta plan the uh, how do you get ‘out’a here’ part.”
Setting the little color TV down on the wooden shelf next to the door Myles stared at the different colored lights and wires. His eyes followed the wires from the alarm to the door. Placing his tacky gloves on the chrome bar, Myles eased it gently forward as he watched the little latch.
It was moving!
Making up his mind, Myles turned his back to the door, his butt against the chrome bar. He reached down with his left hand and placed a firm sticky grip around the opening of his goodie bag. He hoisted the little color TV off the shelf with his other tacky glove, took a deep breath, closed his eyes then exhaled calmly through his nose.
Had Myles been a religious man this would have been an excellent time to send up a prayer. On second thought, had Myles been a religious man, he wouldn’t have been in this predicament in the first place.
He drew a deep breath in through his nose, opened his eyes then shoved the steel bar hard with his butt. Amazingly, the heavy door swung wide open and, at exactly the same instant, the scream of an alarm exploded inside his head like a bomb.
Myles swung around and, “I shot out through that door faster than a race horse leavin’ the startin’ gate man.”
Hitting the sidewalk, Myles shot the intersection to his right a quick glance and was running down the alleyway long before the steel door had a chance to swing back shut.
“Crap! The ladder.”
Myles ducked just in time.
The thought of a bad luck curse shot in one side of his head and out the other as he ran underneath the ladder. All Myles cared about then was getting away from that place as fast as possible. He didn’t even ‘start’ slowing down with his little bag of goodies and TV until he’d gotten back to the street in front of his hotel.
Breathing like a thoroughbred Myles stopped, swallowed, took a deep breath then, standing at the edge of the sidewalk, Myles calmly peeked out from between the two buildings. Everyone up at the corner bar was facing the scream of the burglar alarm coming from the direction of The Great Jewelry Store a block up the street. A few of the drunks had already wandered outside and were standing in the middle of the street; beer in hand.
Now Myles could hear sirens. Nobody was even thinking about looking down the street in his direction, too much excitement going on up there.
Almost whistling to himself, Myles casually strolled across the sidewalk and off the curb. He strolled across the street, stuffed pillowcase and color TV in hand. He hopped up onto the opposite sidewalk.
“This time,” Myles said with a little gleam in his eye. “The light stayed green.”
Myles turned left and, hugging the dark store windows, walked up the sidewalk in the direction of the bar. But, the second he reached the alley marking the entrance to his shabby little hotel, he was gone, disappeared like a magician.
Feeling for his hidden room key he grabbed it off the door ledge so fast he hardly remembers setting the TV down to do it.
He hurled himself and his loot up the old creaky staircase and hit the landing before even beginning to slow down.
Just as his shaking hand was fumbling, trying to get the key in the lock of his door, the door across the hall behind him burst open.
“Myles, man, what have you done?” Holding her door open for him, she hissed. “Get in here. Quick!”
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© Copyright 2009 Myles (UN: myles at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
Myles has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and its syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
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Content Rating Notice: Recommended for Readers 18 Years and Older Only
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