ONE CUP (Part 8)

Affiliate Disclosure
Some of the links on this blog are affiliate links. This means that if you click on a link and make a purchase, I may earn a commission at no additional cost to you. I only recommend products and services I genuinely believe in. Thank you for your support!

27

Larry Brown

I checked my watch . . .  9:42 a.m. . . . I always prefer to hit a house during the day, while people’s at work. Acting like I had every right to be there, I walked right up to the front door, held a handkerchief over my thumb, and rang the doorbell. I waited thirty seconds. No answer. I rung it again, and knocked real loud. This time I waited a full minute. If someone answered the door, I would ask if Phil was home. Then, when they said nobody named Phil lived there, I’d act confused and dig into my pocket and pull out a piece of paper I’d written an address on. It was always the address of a house about three doors down the street. They’d cheerfully point out my error. I’d apologize and leave. It’s just a little precaution I take to keep me from going back to prison.

There was this one time, though, when the lady answered the door and I asked for Phil. She smiled and said, “Sure, just a minute …” and then she yelled, “Hey PHIL! SOMEONE’S HERE TO SEE YOU!” Now, that was awkward! I had to do some fast thinking and faster talking to get out of that one.

It only happened the one time, though, so I don’t worry about it. Most times, from having cased out the place ahead of time, which I always do, I already know that no one will be at home, and I can proceed to go right to work.

Today, I had the place all to myself. I walked around to the back of the house. The back yard was fenced in, but the gate wasn’t locked, so I was out of view of any nosy neighbors. I removed my backpack, pulled out a woman’s stocking, and slipped it over my head. It served two purposes. First, it would help eliminate the likelihood of any of my hair fibers falling to the floor and being used as evidence against me, and second, it would make it a lot harder for anyone to identify me if they walked in on me. I slipped on the backpack back and peered inside— one last check to make sure nobody was in the house. I picked up a metal patio chair and used it to break the glass on the sliding glass door. I reached in and undid the latch to slide the door open.

I did a quick walk-through of the house, looking for valuables and unlocking doors so I could get the hell out of there quick if anyone came home early. And that’s exactly what I would do. I had no weapon to defend myself with. If I was caught, I didn’t want to do hard time for armed robbery. A simple B & E, petty theft, a good lawyer could get me out fairly quick.

I removed and unzipped my backpack, carrying it in one hand, looking in all the usual places, like drawers, the cookie jar, and the freezer, keeping my eyes open for anything that caught my attention. There was some cash on the kitchen counter. Not much, only about twenty-five bucks or so. I stuffed it in my backpack and moved on to the master bedroom, where experience has taught me most valuables are kept.

There was a safe next to the bed, and believe it or not, it was unlocked. A couple hundred more dollars for the taking. Even better, there were passports and Social Security cards. I proceeded to the dressers, and found some jewelry. I couldn’t tell if it was real or fake, so I took it all, stuffing it all into the backpack. Another quick walk-through netted a touch screen tablet and a laptop computer from the roll top desk in the office. I snatched them up and deliberately ignored the cell phone someone left behind in their haste this morning. I’m no computer geek, but even I know they can track you with a cell phone. I spotted a note taped to one of the drawers, with the label, “Passwords” scribbled at the top. I laughed out loud as I snatched it. I left the way I came in, through the patio door. I glanced at my watch. 9:51 a.m. In and out in less than ten minutes. Damn, I’m good!

I did get busted once and sent to the penitentiary for selling dope to an undercover cop, but I kept out of trouble while I was there and got an early release. I made a couple of good friends in prison but I didn’t shed no tears for them when it was my time to leave.

By then the economy was so damn bad I knew there wasn’t no point in me even lookin’ for a regular job. If you got a record, it’s hard enough getting’ hired anywhere, even when times are good. These days, forget it! Besides, I ain’t got no desire to flip burgers, and let’s face it, I ain’t exactly executive material. Stealin’ was what kept me in groceries the first month or two after I got out.

I don’t care what anyone says, burglary is hard work. You gotta find a good house to hit. By that I mean one you can get in, find what you are looking for, and get out, like I done today. You need to find a place to park your getaway vehicle. Best if it’s not too far away, so you can get to it quick, but at the same time you don’t want to be so close that someone would remember it just down the block from the house you hit.

For this particular job, I left my truck in a city park about a quarter mile away. There was a woods between the house and the park, so there wasn’t nobody to see me as I casually made my way back to my truck.

I sometimes take the extra precaution of stealing license plates and using rubber bands to hold them in place over my real plates, but I didn’t do it this time. No need. But, whenever I did, I always made sure to use plates from the same state I was working in. No sense drawing attention to my vehicle while it was parked.

Every now and then, I find a location I want to rob but it just don’t have a good place to park that’s not either too conspicuous or too far away. Times like that, you need someone who can come by and pick you up. That way, you can go anywhere on foot in order to avoid the cops. Then call and tell your partner where to find you. Always leave your cell phone at home. They can trace you somehow. I don’t know how. I just know they can. I use walkie-talkies. Tried buying special cell phones that you pay as you go, no records—use ‘em once and toss ‘em—only to find out my partner didn’t throw hers away after, like she was s’posed to have done. I don’t like taking a hand to a woman but sometimes they just don’t listen. So I made sure she understood next time I tell her to do something like throw away a cell phone when we are done with it, she follows instructions. She tried to leave me after that, but I found her and, brung her back.

Having a partner to swing by and pick me up means there’s no need for stealing license plates or doing anything that would arouse suspicion. The downside is you have a partner. Besides having to worry about them not following instructions, you have someone who expects you to split the take. Someone who can talk too much to their friends in a bar, or cut a deal with a prosecutor and testify against you sometime later. So, there is always a tradeoff, no matter how you go about it.

No matter what, you don’t want to stay in a house you broke into no more than ten minutes. And you can’t be seen leaving the house with a huge bag slung over your shoulder like Santa Claus making a repo. I like to use a backpack. Lots of people walk around with backpacks everywhere you go. Nobody ever notices them. Plus, if the cops are chasing you, you can take it off and toss it without breaking stride.

28

Larry Brown

I always work in neighboring counties—never, ever too close to home where someone might recognize me. This house today was about thirty miles from where I live, and the owners would be home around noon, so I had to hustle my ass over there, do the job, and get out. Experience has taught me not to go in the predawn hours. It’s always better to work in the daylight. One particular thing I do that works slicker than snake shit is I look in the newspaper classifieds or one of them lists on the Internet where people sell things. I call ’em up on a throwaway phone and say, “Yeah, I seen your ad on the motorcycle you got for sale. What’s your bottom dollar?” They shoot me a number, and then I act like I’m real interested. “I’d like to come by and take a look at it. When you gonna be around?” And then they tell me what time they’ll be home. I act like that might not work for me and ask if someone else might be around while they was gone who could maybe let me have a look at it. When they say “No,” then I know when is the best time to swing by and rip them off. It don’t matter what they listed for sale. Could be a motorcycle, could be a lawn mower or a damn fish tank. It don’t matter. The point is I’m prospectin’ for people who’s gonna be away from home. That’s how I found this place. They’d run an ad for a jet ski.

Days like this made it all worthwhile. This job paid off pretty damn good. I found a couple of handguns that would bring good money, along with some T-bone steaks and some cash in the freezer. People still think they can hide money in the freezer. I learned about that when I went out on my first job with my cousin Billy, back when I was only fourteen. Billy was a good guy. Salt of the earth, like they say. Got himself killed a few years ago when someone shanked him in prison.

29

Ray Garrett

The drive from Atlanta to Indianapolis was, as my dad would have predicted, uneventful. I drove through the night, got in late in the morning, dead-ass tired. I found a cheap hotel just outside of Indy, and took a nap before going to the ball park.

I was supposed to show up at Jackson Stadium at three-thirty for the seven o’clock game. I hadn’t set an alarm, and awoke just before three in the afternoon. I might make it if I hustled.

And I would have made it in time, if I hadn’t had a flat tire. It happened only a mile from the ball park. I stopped alongside the road, jacked up the LeSabre and got the spare out of the trunk. I removed the lug nuts and pulled flat off, replacing it with the spare. Quick as I could I lowered the jack. “Ah, crap!” I shouted the moment the weight of the car came down on the spare tire. It was flat, too. I removed my cap and started beating it against the roof of the car, cursing

After a minute or so, I ended my tantrum. “Okay,” I said to myself. “The car’s ready for the junkyard anyway. It’s not going to hurt it if I drive the rest of the way on the rim.”

It was only a mile or so, but it seemed to take forever to get to the ball park. I stayed in the right lane, creeping along at about twenty miles per hour. Other drivers honked at me as they passed, pointing at the flat tire. As if I didn’t know. I nodded, smiled, and waved. I felt like an idiot as I drove up to the guard shack at the players’ parking lot.

“Help you, Sir?” the guard asked.

I held up my ID. “I’m with the Bobcats.”

The guard looked at my ID, then me, then my car. And then back to me.

“New guy,” I said. “Just called up. Haven’t been paid yet.”

The guard nodded. “Understood,” he said. “You know you got a flat tire?”

“I’m aware.”

“Have a good game, Mr. Garrett.”

Finally, I slipped into the clubhouse, quietly as I could, not wanting to draw attention. Hopefully Harvey Bright and the rest of the coaching staff would not notice my late arrival.

I dressed as quickly as I could and hustled out of the dugout just as they were taking down the batting cage. “This is the big leagues, Garrett,” Max Lewis said as I came back to the dugout. “Up here we show up for work on time.”

I opened my mouth, to talk, to try to explain. “Grab your gear and go down to the bullpen.”