AS A KID Dean had what’s called a developmental disability. He was slow to learn reading and math. But he was great at other things. Aunt Jessie used to say, “Smart isn’t what you’re born with. Smart is how you use what you’re born with.” It’s true.
I was a good student and a top athlete, and I ended up in prison. Dean barely made it through tenth grade, but he was running one of the best restaurants in the city. He did it with hard work, but also with smart decisions.
Dean was always in a rush as a kid. Because of that his work was sloppy. Then Aunt Jessie told him to stop—not just to slow down, but to stop completely.
“Figure out what’s most important. Do that first. Do it as well as you can. Then move on to the next thing.”
Simple advice, but it worked for Dean. When people called him slow, they missed the point. He was accurate. He was consistent. He cared about what he did.
In the kitchen Dean got good by following recipes to the letter. If something had to cook at four hundred degrees for twenty minutes, he made sure it cooked for that time at that temperature. He paid attention. Soon he was writing his own recipes.
“The first rule,” he said to me when he visited me in prison, “is always watch what you’re doing.”
Again, it seems simple, but how many people really watch? When I started in the prison mess, I had fifty tasks, and I rushed between them. Food got burned. Dishes were only half washed. I wasn’t watching what I was doing. But I learned to.
It had been different when I was a thief. When I was on a job, no one could be more careful. I watched everything, was aware of everything. I was full of nervous excitement. The thought of failure, of being caught, forced me to focus.
Dean didn’t need that fear to focus. When he said he’d do something, it got done.
So where was he now?
After waiting for another hour, I phoned a taxi and left the prison. I had a bag with some clothes and a book Dean had given me. My wallet was nearly empty. I barely had enough money to pay for the ride to Dean’s place.
The front door to Kidd’s was locked. The big neon sign was dark. A SORRY—WE’RE CLOSED sign sat in the window.
Closed? This wasn’t a holiday. Maybe Dean had taken the night off to spend time with me. Even so, he had other employees who could have covered his shift. Why was the restaurant closed?
Dean still lived in the apartment above Kidd’s. The door was around back, up a flight of stairs. A tall locked gate blocked the bottom of the staircase. On the gate was a sign that said NO TRESPASSING—PRIVATE.
When had he put up the gate? That hadn’t been there before. Was he worried about someone trying to break in?
I examined the lock on the gate. With the right tools I could have picked it. But I didn’t have those tools, and I didn’t want them. I reminded myself I was retired from the thief business.
Retired or not, I was still worried about my brother. I set my bag down near the gate, out of the rain. I jumped and grabbed hold of the top of the gate. The metal was slippery, but I pulled myself up and swung my right leg over.
I hadn’t done this in a while. I’d meant to let myself down slowly, but my shoes had no grip. I dropped down hard on the other side of the gate.
Up the staircase. I knocked on Dean’s door. No answer. His blinds were shut.
Dean had always kept his spare key under the door mat. I lifted up a corner of the mat. No key.
Should I break in? I could crack a window or force the door. If Dean was in trouble, I needed to know.
I decided I wouldn’t break in. Thieves break in. I wasn’t a thief anymore. I’d have to find another way.
On the railing at the top of the stairs was a planter box. Dean was growing herbs. Rosemary and thyme. Maybe he’d moved the key? I lifted the box.
No key.
As I set it down my fingers felt something metallic stuck to the bottom of the box. I pried it off with my fingernail. Dean had taped his spare key to the bottom.
I unlocked the door and went inside.
Dean’s home was small. The heat was off. The bed was unmade, and a pile of cooking books covered the couch. On the wall was a picture of Aunt Jessie, Dean and me. Happier times.
The bedroom and living room looked the same as always. Only the kitchen looked different. It was small but crammed full of old and new appliances. A blender, food processor, pressure cooker, slow cooker and pasta machine covered the counter. Dean still had Aunt Jessie’s old toaster, the kind with the sides that open like butterfly wings.
Everything was clean. Nothing looked like it had been used recently. His fridge was nearly empty, and his freezer held only a loaf of bread. Dean hadn’t been here in at least a few days.
There was no desk or computer in the apartment. That didn’t surprise me. Dean conducted all his business from the office at the back of the restaurant. If I wanted to learn what he’d been doing before he disappeared, I’d have to get in there.
I locked up and replaced the key. It was still raining heavily. I thought about the promise I’d made to Dean and to myself.
You don’t have to be a thief if you don’t want to, Ali, I told myself.
I didn’t want to. But I needed to find my brother.
The front door of Kidd’s had a strong double lock and a good security system. I’d installed it myself. I could have picked the lock if I’d had the tools, but it would have taken at least fifteen minutes. Even on a rainy night, that was a long time to be standing in the street. Anyone could come along.
I climbed back over the gate at the bottom of the staircase. It was a little easier the second time. I could have opened it from the inside, I guess. But to be honest, climbing felt pretty good.
I rescued my bag, then moved along to the back entrance of Kidd’s. The double doors were used for deliveries. The lock was good but nothing special. I could have opened it with a simple pick and tension tool.
Near the door were three aluminum trash cans. Empty, which was another sign the restaurant hadn’t been open today. The cans were old, and the edges on the lids were ragged.
I twisted off a small piece of metal and began shaping it into a pick. Aluminum wasn’t a good material—too bendy—but it would work for a single use.
That’s all this is, I told myself. A single use. I just need to get into the restaurant. Just because I’m picking my way in it doesn’t mean I’m going back to my old ways.
I found a small scrap of metal I could use as a tension tool. The metal was sharp. I took a pair of socks from my bag and wrapped my hands to protect them as I shaped the metal.
I heard a splash in the alley, like a foot stepping in a puddle. I didn’t see anyone. I slowly counted to three hundred, listening. No other noises. I was alone. I approached the back door and told myself what I was going to do was necessary.
The second my hands touched the door, a powerful white light snapped on, aimed right at me and throwing my shadow across the door.
“Freeze right there,” a voice said.
The light was directed away from my eyes. From the shadows a tall man approached. He was wearing a police uniform. My heart sank as I realized the trouble I was in.