On the way to the check-cashing store, he felt it again. This time he was worried. He began looping around the block, unsure if he was becoming paranoid, and kept stopping to look around. Nothing registered. Nothing, that is, until he began searching the cars driving by, and he noticed a black car a block down that had pulled to the corner, parking illegally. He thought it might be the police, but then, after a moment, recognized the car: it was Eugene’s. He cut across the street, and saw Rachel in the driver’s seat. She sunk lower when their eyes met. He knocked on the passenger side window, and she unlocked the door. He climbed in.
“Damn,” she said.
“What’s going on?”
“How’d you know?”
He turned to her. “Have you been following me all day?”
“Yes. How did you know?”
“I felt it. I sensed it.”
“Sensed it? Like Spiderman?”
He shook his head. “I wish. No, just paranoia.”
She put the car in gear and merged with traffic. “Where to?”
He was about to tell her, but didn’t want to show her any more of his activities. “The apartment.”
“Already?”
He nodded, then asked “Why are you doing this?”
“I’m not doing anything.”
“You were following me all morning.”
“When did you know?”
“On my way to Pacific Gems.”
“I was running errands in the neighborhood and happened to see you walking. I decided to check what you were doing.”
“Why didn’t Eugene take the car?”
“I don’t know. He said he didn’t need it.”
“He’s at work?”
“Of course.”
“What’s happening with that?”
She shook her head, keeping her eyes on the street. There was something about her expression—defeat—that prompted Jake to ask, “Is it ending?”
She glanced at him. “Is what ending?”
“Your marriage.”
Quiet for what seemed like a full minute, she eventually said, “I think we’re giving up.”
“What about last night?”
“What about it?”
“You two got along.”
She smiled sadly. “There’s more to marriage than getting along.” Her patronizing tone bothered him. “What about a counselor?” he asked.
“I told you we tried.”
“How come you guys never had kids?” he asked, then remembered too late her books on infertility. He added, “I guess it’s a good thing. Kids would complicate it.”
“No. We wanted children. I can’t seem to have them.” He kept silent.
There seemed to be a traffic jam ahead, and she let out an annoyed breath. She said, “So what were you doing? Selling jewelry?”
“Something like that.”
“How do you choose which place to burglarize?” she asked. This startled him, and he said, “What?”
She repeated her question.
“What do you mean?”
“Do you just choose a house? Do you do some kind of lookout?” Jake said, “It depends.”
She waited, and when he didn’t continue, she asked, “On what?”
“On the situation.”
She said, “Look, it’s not a big deal. I’m just curious. It’s not brain surgery.”
He was stung by this, and knew his questions about her marriage had annoyed her. He said, “When I first started with a partner, it was systematic. We’d drive around in a nice neighborhood at night, and looked for any signs of an empty house.” He explained the checklist: No cars, no lights. Piled newspapers, mail, or restaurant leaflets. Michael had already done this at least a half dozen times, and talked Jake through it. Was it worth the job? If there was a car, was it nice? Any clues to what might be inside?
“Then what?”
“Michael knocked on the door with some magazines in his hand.” If someone was home, he would try to sell them magazine subscriptions. But since the lights were off, and there was no movement, they guessed there was no one there. Then: a visual check of the windows for alarms. Were there any alarm control boxes, switches, stickers? Just to make certain, they knocked on the back door, the windows, ready to run. They were looking for people, dogs, anything.
“It was methodical,” Jake said. “We chose an emergency escape route before anything else. If someone showed up, if the cops appeared, we’d have a way out. Then we went in.” Michael’s favorite entry had been the sliding patio doors. Most nice houses had them. And many homeowners didn’t lock them, or if they did, it was with a tiny hook in the handle. A joke. A crowbar could yank it open. Sometimes he would use a screwdriver, and pry the entire door off its track.
Rachel said, “What about alarms?”
Jake nodded. “This guy Michael got me scared of alarms. At the very first house we hit, as soon as we got in, he picked up the telephone and listened. I asked him why. He was checking for an alarm signal going out.”
“A signal?”
“A hidden alarm automatically calls the police or alarm company. But at that house there was nothing.” Michael left the phone off the hook. It was simple. They went through the closets, the drawers, looking for jewelry and cash. Maybe a few small electronic items, but nothing big. They were in and out within twenty minutes. They had jewelry, some cash, a notebook computer, and Michael had found a little coke. A small bonus.
“You don’t do drugs, do you?” Rachel asked. “No.”
Jake’s take for those twenty minutes, after fencing the jewels and the computer, was two thousand. Not bad for a night’s work. The next day, they were back at the department store, unloading and unpacking crates.
Jake told Rachel how he had soon developed his own methods. He would watch a place for a few days, and would target it only if he knew there was something worth taking. He’d carry a police scanner and try not to leave any evidence of his theft. Michael could pick locks, but didn’t have the patience on the job. Jake never understood that; he had taken the time to teach Jake, but rarely used this skill himself.
Rachel listened, and when Jake finished, she said, “I always imagined it to be more haphazard.”
“It usually is.”
“Doesn’t it bother you that you take all these things people saved for?”
“A little.”
“But it’s every man for himself, I guess.”
“Something like that.”
“Is that your outlook? You watch out for number one?”
Jake heard her biting tone, and said, “Who else would I watch out for?”
“It seems kind of selfish.”
He felt the jab, and turned to her, wondering if she was trying to start a fight. He said, “My life would suck if I didn’t try to make myself happy. You do whatever it takes, that’s my philosophy.”
“No matter what the consequences are.”
He found himself unable to get angry at her tone; she couldn’t rile him. He smiled and said, “There you go.”
“No responsibility.”
“None at all.”
A sports car was trying to cut in front of her on the left, and she accelerated to keep it away. The sports car then sped up as well, zipping by her but she wouldn’t let it in. “Goddamn him,” she said. She swerved around the car and kept ahead of it. The car honked. Jake gripped the door handle, surprised by her driving. “Uh,” he started to say.
Rachel had accelerated too quickly, and the cars ahead had stopped for a red light. She was approaching too fast, and Jake said, “Slow down.”
She slammed on the brakes, and the sports car thumped into the rear corner of her car, the crunch throwing them back. There was an explosion of white and dust, and his face was slapped, his body pushed back. He realized then it was the airbag, and his neck hurt. For a confusing moment he heard honks, a few screeches. A man was cursing and yelling as he came towards Rachel’s side.
Jake managed to push away the air bag, coughing out some of the white dust, and asked if Rachel was all right. She turned to him, her face streaking with tears, and she nodded slowly.
He jumped towards her. “Are you hurt? What’s wrong?”
“I’m okay,” she said, shaking her head. “Nothing hurt.”
“Why’re you crying?”
She wiped her face. “I don’t know.” She stared at him, her forehead creased, her eyes locked on his. White dust sprinkled through her hair and eyebrows, turning them grey. She said quietly, “I think… I’m sinking.”