Dream Job

When a job description goes south.

Sylvia Easton adjusted her night-vision goggles, and then dropped the jet-black nylon rope through the carefully removed sky-window. She gently lowered herself down, inching along.

Below her, the master bedroom was a glowing testament to riches beyond the middle-class.

She hovered just above the floor now, listening to the laughter of the A-lister party guests downstairs. She made out the owners of those voices as well. These were the well-heeled Hollywood celebrities, talking the kind of trash that their fans could hardly imagine would be coming out of their mouths.

Sylvia instantly matched the voices to the faces in her mind, as easily as she knew the soft call of her own mother's voice.

You don't get labeled as "The Hollywood Thief", as one local television anchor dubbed her, for nothing. Problem was, the broadcaster didn't get it quite right. The broadcaster was under the assumption that the celebrated thief was a he, rather than a she. No matter, Sylvia actually took it as a compliment.

Now, her mind was in overdrive. As soon as both of her feet lightly touched down on the rust-colored carpet, she went to work. From her backpack, she removed the specialty drill, and within seconds, the wall safe was open. She stuffed the cash, along with a priceless 18th century necklace and matching earrings, into the hard black case. Within seconds, she had it all; the stocks, the bonds, and a large diamond ring. Through her research, she already knew that it was, estimated alone, to be worth millions.

Turning towards the door, she first saw him. He just stood there, as if posing, like a statue. He seemed unaware that she'd already spotted him through her goggles. He was holding his cell phone.

"My, my, you do have a dream job," he said boldly. ""Allow me to introduce myself; I'm Jack Durning. And you? Tell me right now dear, or I'll make the call now."

"Okay Jack, my name's Sylvia. And right now, that's all that you need to know. I've got a gun pointed at you right now," Sylvia said, "so I wouldn't make that call right now, if I were you."

"On the contrary, maybe I already have. Perhaps I saw you before you noticed me. Wait, did you hear that? It does sound like a police siren, now doesn't it? No, you won't shoot me now. No, I suggest that you leave as I close this door."

Is this guy for real?

"But I do ask you to do this: call me at this number, on this card I'm placing here on the table, at this very hour. Let's make it 11:30 p.m., shall we?

If he is for real, he's an original.

"Now, if I don't get a call, my dear Sylvia, then I'll inform the police. I'll be telling them, that on reflection, I did see someone in here the night of the robbery.

I should just drop him right here, right now.

"It's your choice. Good night."

And with that, Jack left, closing the heavy oak door behind him.

Sylvia unlocked the back window, climbed back on to the roof, quickly pulling up the rope, replacing the sky window pane, leaping on to an adjoining roof, as the first of three cop cars came screeching to a halt in the stone driveway below.

Hours later, laughing, Jack sat down in the dark-brown leather couch, with a drink in his hand. Now, what will that poor girl do, he wondered.

The next day, Sylvia arose, checking her cell phone for the morning headlines. Finding nothing there, she turned on the local television news. As she listened, she heard no mention of an overnight burglary. Not one single word about the heist.

Cops are getting clever, she thought, while taking careful inventory of her haul. Don't break it to the news media. Persuade the rich, the one percenters to just keep quiet about it. Let us work our magic.

Don't let the criminal know what our next move will be. By not leaking anything to the media, whoever did this won't know about any possible leads we have.

Smart move, Sylvia had to admit, on their part. She rolled that thought around in her head, as she went through her morning workout at the gym. First the treadmill, then the weights. Her 5'4" frame and 112 lbs. had served her well, up to this point.

She took her chosen occupation seriously, keeping herself in shape. But even now, she felt the slight twinge of a growing ache in both ankles. It was a small price, she reasoned, for her leap from last night's close escape.

After a shower, followed by breakfast, she began looking over her well-detailed notes for her next job. She turn on her laptop, checking her next victim's website, to get a feel. It was a large company with both a sloppy security force, and aging computer system. After finishing off her coffee, and feeding her pet parakeet, named "Crook", she left her apartment.

Arriving at the site, she began her surveillance from the road. She took pictures of everything from the parkin g lot entrance and exits, to the building's fire alarm doors. Then, pulling up in the parking lot, she watched for the rest of the day, the arrival of key employees. She took special note of what was the most important - security shift changes.

The bigger the job, the more time was needed invested in surveillance.

Her late father had taught his daughter well.

The second day's routine was the same. Even so, Jack's parting words never left her.

On the second afternoon, following the burglary, she checked out a couple more possibilities, further down the road. In the evening, she received a call from her unsuspecting boyfriend.

Why, he still innocently believed her cover occupation as being a corporate lawyer. And why not? Lately, she'd been living like one.

No matter what, though, she hadn't forgotten about Jack. How brazen, really, can a man be? She didn't scare easily. No, you don't survive in this business if you do. The nerve of this guy! He has no idea of whom he's dealing with.

Okay, game over, Sylvia decided, as she revved the car's engine, as it neared the appointed time.

This ends tonight.

She angrily punched in the numbers from the ivory-white business card into her cell phone, as she drove. No answer. She tried three more times, before 11:30, with no answer.

She called at precisely 11:30, with a voice at the other end.

"Is that you, Jack?"

"None other."

This man does not lack confidence.

"Okay, so, now what?"

"Like I said, you've got a dream job, Sylvia. Say, why don't you teach me your dream job?"

"You're crazy."

Jack laughed. It was that loud, confident laugh she was growing used to hearing.

"No, really. Show me how you do what you do. I want to be in on your next job. By the way, if you're wondering, no, I don't really need the money. I just want to see how you do it."

"And if I refuse?"

That now familiar carefree laugh was back.

"You know the answer to that question by now, Sylvia.." He was in command now, and she hated it.

"This time, I'll meet you at that fine corporate park you've been checking out. Surprised that I knew all about that, now aren't you? Let's say that I meet you tonight, just a bit later, around midnight."

He was listening to silence now.

"I know that you won't disappoint me, Sylvia. See you then."

She felt her face turning red as the flung her cell phone behind her, landing into the back seat.

How dare he! How dare he! Okay, fine, but this it. She pulled out, from her handbag, her silver-plated revolver. It was a gift that she had treated herself after her firs robbery, in broad daylight, no less.

Dear Jack, you're gonna' be history after tonight.

She pulled up to the darkest side of the street, and parked. No way would she pull into the company parking lot. Let him make the first move. She was watching the empty parking lot, when a light tap on her window, startled her.

"Sylvia. You didn't let me down. This will be so much fun! Shall we go?"

Ah hell, Jack was cute all right. Now, she had a better look at him; broad-shouldered, slightly taller than her, she reasoned. And on top of that, the man had those perfect white teeth smiling back at her.

"You're sure you want to do this, Jack?"

"Like I keep telling you, Sylvia, I don't need the money. I just want to know the way you do what you do."

She took one final look around. The street was quiet, almost too quiet.

"Come on, Sylvia," he said, taking her hand, as she stepped out of her car. "How tough can this be? Why, I bet you've done this over a hundred times by now."

Sylvia looked hard into his fun-'loving eyes. "If this is a double-cross, you're dead, understand?"

"Let's go, Sylvia. What's that saying? Oh yes, while the night is still young."

The pair then made their way to the back of the building. Then, Sylvia waited patiently as her apprentice scaled the building right along side of her.

He was surprisingly athletic. For a man in his late thirties, early forties, he took it all in, like a walk in the park.

"Okay, that's it," said Sylvia, after she had efficiently broken the glass, then lowering her rope. "From here on in, I work alone."

Then, looking him straight in the eyes, she said, "So long, cowboy."

"Yes, so long to you too, Sylvia," Jack said. He quickly turned. He was now holding a gun with a steady hand, on her.

Now, he had her, and they both knew it.

"By the way," he said casually, with a police car pulling up, "I failed to mention one small detail the other night. I have a dream job of my own. I'm a corporate detective.


THE END