The Beech Boys Rock
by David M. Hamlin
Jimmy Beech was sprawled on the couch, his feet on the rickety coffee table, intently focused on Family Feud. Between pulls on his beer, he barked out answers to the questions Steve Harvey put to the contestants. Each time he responded, his wife, Liz, sitting next to him surfing on a battered cell phone, glanced over and gave him a look. Jimmy was too rapt to notice, so after several loud intrusions, she leaned over and punched his shoulder.
“Any chance you could keep it down, Jimmy? Maybe try whispering or, wait, here’s an idea: Shut Up!”
“Watermelon!”
“Watermelon isn’t a vegetable, you fool. It’s a fruit.”
“Who cares? It’s a good answer.”
“Wanna bet? I got a Lincoln says ‘watermelon’ never shows up on that board.”
“Ha!” said Jimmy. “Easy money.”
He raised a palm and she gave him a high five to seal the deal.
“Told you. You owe me a fiver, baby.”
“That ain’t right. Watermelon’s a great answer.”
“But wrong. Fork it over.”
“My cash is on the dresser. I’ll catch you later.”
“Yeah,” said Liz, “right. Let’s go grab something to eat.”
“When the show’s over.”
“I’ll go get started.”
Liz rose and scuffed across the threadbare carpet.
The two sat at the small table in the kitchen, eating leftover take-out chicken and cold mac and cheese. Jimmy had another beer, Liz a diet cola.
Donald Beech burst in on them, banging the back door against the kitchen wall. Liz jumped.
“Doo-bee, how many times I told you? Knock. This isn’t your house, y’know? Common courtesy, you knock, maybe let us know who’s there ‘stead of acting like you own the place.”
“I called,” said Donald, “no answer.”
“So you just barge in? Idiot. I got my ringer turned off. First time in a week, I got no night shift. I was kinda lookin’ forward to some peace and quiet. Fat chance now.”
“That any way to greet your favourite bro-in-law?”
“I only got one, Doo-bee. And ‘favourite’ is way off the mark. ‘Lazy’ maybe, or ‘annoying.’”
“Liz, let’s not fight, ‘kay? Reason I’m here, I got a thing in mind, make us all rich.”
“Oh, sure,” said Liz. “And I’m starting for the Lakers tomorrow night.”
Jimmy stabbed a forkful of mac and cheese and raised it toward his mouth.
“You guys gonna ruin my dinner, you don’t hush,” he said.
“Can I have a beer?” Donald moved toward the fridge.
“Sure,” said Jimmy.
“No,” said Liz. “People drink beer ‘round here, Doo-be, they pay for it now and then, y’know?”
“I’ll bring a six-pack next time,” said Donald. “Hell, this thing I got pays off, I’ll show up with a damn case.”
“Uh-huh. Like we’re all rollin’ in dough from all the great scams you’ve dragged us into. That’s why I’m eatin’ leftovers here – right? – ‘cause I got bored, goin’ out for steak every night. Last I checked, you’re still reporting to probation every other week ‘cause the only thing your get-rich-quick schemes have put on the table is county time. Jimmy’s got steady work these days, Do-Bee. I like it that way, you hear?”
“Fifteen, twenty grand, maybe even more,” said Donald. “Just sittin’ there, waiting for us to walk off with it.”
Jimmy sat up.
“Seriously? That’s some decent bank.”
“Jimmy, don’t even think about going there.”
“Liz, if we could score like that, you could tell that grab-ass boss of yours at the burger joint to take a hike.”
“Jimmy--”
“C’mon, Liz. How’s it hurt to at least listen to him? It sounds squirrely, we just say no, right?”
“Oh, sure. You and Nancy Reagan.”
“Huh?”
“Never mind.”
Donald got his beer and leaned against the counter.
“So, you guys know I got this gig, right?”
“Cleaning swimming pools,” said Jimmy.
“Yeah. Sometimes I catch a one-off, but mostly it’s once a week, same pools every week, same addresses.”
“And?” Liz cocked an eyebrow.
“One of my regulars is in Hancock Park. Huge house, pool and cabana, couple of exotic cars in the drive, a Jag and some Italian thing looks like one of those rides they use in the Bond flicks.”
“You’re cleaning a pool for a rich guy,” said Liz. “So what?”
“I’m getting’ there, Lizzie, hang in with me.”
“Most days,” said Liz, “I’d rather just hang you.”
“Man, your time of the month or what?”
Liz turned in her chair.
“Doo-bee, how’s about I plant this fork where it’ll do major damage?”
“Hey, now,” said Jimmy, “you guys both chill, okay? C’mon, Donald, get to the point.”
Donald glared at Liz for a second or two, then backed off.
“Okay. So, the way this place is laid out, they got big iron fences around the pool area, gates double locked, a hedge along the back of the yard so thick a snake couldn’t get through, in front of more iron fence. Front of the place has security cameras blinking all the time, two front doors, one inside the other, the outside one might as well be on a bank vault, all steel and big ole locks.”
“Sounds like something you two could break into without even thinking about it,” said Liz, her tone dripping with contempt. “Oh, wait, at least one of you can’t think, so that’s a problem.”
“But there’s a catch,” said Donald, grinning.
Jimmy smiled, too. “What is it?”
“Back side of the house, facing the pool, there’s a sort of den, might be an office too, it’s got a big desk. Room’s got double doors, open right onto the deck by the pool.”
Donald paused. Liz sighed, but Jimmy leaned forward to concentrate.
“They don’t lock that door,” said Donald. “I figure the place is so buttoned down, fences and locked gates and all, they don’t see a problem. Some days when I’m there, they don’t even close those two doors, leave ‘em wide open.”
“So, what?” Liz said. “You two gonna break in, steal all the jewellery?”
“Even better,” said Donald.
“What?”
“One wall in this office, got a whole bunch of shelves, floor to ceiling, fifteen, maybe twenty feet, one end to the other.”
Jimmy frowned. “Bookcases? We’re gonna swipe some books? Where’s the money in that?”
Liz groaned. Donald laughed.
“These shelves ain’t for books,” said Donald. “The dude has a huge collection of vinyl.”
“Huh?” Jimmy’s frown grew deeper.
“Records,” said Donald. “Hundreds and hundreds of albums.”
“Oh, well, then,” said Liz, “that makes more sense than books, right? Lemme ask, Doo-bee, have you lost your damn mind? You smokin’ somethin,’ gives you a good buzz but turns you full-on stupid?”
Donald moved to the table and pulled out a chair. He spun it around so he could sit on it backwards.
“Lizzie, you gotta get hip to the real world. I checked in with Jimmy’s pal from back in the day, Johnny Frankel. You know, the drummer with Weird Beard. Couple-a top ten hits, tourin’ all over the place all the time, big concert arenas?”
“Yeah,” said Jimmy, “they’re cool. You know them, Liz. Don’t you have ‘em on your playlist, that whatchacallit music app you use?”
“Yeah, they’re in my shuffle. I like their sound.”
“So, you know Frankel knows what he’s talkin’ about, right?” said Donald. “I mean, he’s a for sure player.”
“And?”
“So, Johnny tells me some rare albums can bring large bank from serious collectors. I’m talkin’ big bucks. I figure, this guy has so many albums, some of ‘em gotta be rare, worth a lot. And, like I said, the door to that room ain’t locked.”
Jimmy gnawed on his drumstick. Liz set her fork down and held up one hand to keep the boys quiet, then used both thumbs to manipulate her phone. As she surfed, a chorus of sirens screamed through the neighbourhood, klaxons blaring as the cop cars drew closer to the apartment. Jimmy kept working on his food, but Donald tensed visibly until the sirens moved past them and drifted away.
“It says here,” said Liz, “there’s a Bob Dylan record, his second one, that was released with four songs that got yanked and replaced with four others. The first release, the one that got changed, is worth at least thirty grand.”
“What I’m talkin’ about,” said Donald.
“People are crazy, payin’ that kind of money for a record,” said Liz, but she couldn’t hide a note of awe.
Jimmy put his drumstick aside and leaned forward.
“Ok, now I get it. I know about one of these things. There was a Beatles album, the first cover had the four of ‘em with knives, might have been cleavers, hacking up baby dolls, lookin’ like butchers, blood all over the place. I guess the suits didn’t like that, so they pulled ‘em all back and slapped a new cover over the bloody one. Thing is, they didn’t get ‘em all, so the gory one’s really rare. Gotta be worth something, right?”
Liz’s thumbs flew over the tiny keyboard. “Well, I’ll be damned.”
“What?”
“Jimmy’s right about the Beatles thing and here’s another one. Rolling Stones’ ‘Street Fighting Man.’ The British version had the band on the cover, but in the U.S., they used photos of some Chicago cops wailing on demonstrators. They pulled the one with the cops off the shelves immediately, but about twenty of them were sold before the label yanked them.”
“How much?”
“Seventeen grand, but that was years ago, so you gotta figure, twenty, twenty-five, maybe even more.”
“Damn,” said Jimmy. “There’s real money on the table here.”
“Told you,” said Donald, shooting Liz a look of triumph which she ignored.
“Okay,” said Liz, “I admit Doo-bee may be onto something here, but there are all sorts of problems, too.”
“Like what?” said Donald. “We scope the place out for as many nights as it takes until we see them drive off, hit the place, grab what we’re after and score.”
Liz stared at him, her eyes flashing.
“Security cameras. Maybe an alarm system, kicks off the minute you open that back door. Locked gates. How high is this iron fence?”
Donald pondered, his brows knitting.
“Six, eight feet? Maybe ten?”
“Uh-huh. So, skinny Jimmy here, been workin’ construction for a while, probably muscle himself over, no problem. You, Doo-bee, not so much. That beer gut of yours, you could get half-way up and collapse.”
“Hey,” said Donald, “I’m workin’ too, remember? Usin’ them long vacuum thingies all day, scrubbing the bottom of the pool, water makin’ it harder. I got me some guns here, Liz.” He flexed one arm. “I’ll be just fine.”
“Maybe,” she said, “maybe not. Anyhow, let’s say you two get in and out clean, haul away nothin’ but the cream of the crop. Grab ‘The Free Wheeling Bob Dylan,’ ‘Street Fighting Man/No Expectations’ and maybe that Beatles thing, ‘Yesterday & Today’. Of course, that’s only if this Hancock Park collection has any of them. You could come up empty – then what?”
Donald thought about that.
“Nah, I’m thinkin’ this collection’s so big, gotta be at least a couple of diamonds there. We snag those and sell ‘em, of course.”
“How?”
“I know this guy, hangs out at that little bar on Beverly, near Fairfax, who knows some guys.”
“Oh, well then,” said Liz, her tone sharp, “piece of cake.”
“Seriously, Lizzie, listen up. My guy, we all call him Big Slice ‘cause he’s always takin’ two slices of pizza at a time, turns one over on top of the other, makes a sorta pizza sandwich. He’s a sound guy for a couple of local bands. He knows people in the biz, see? And he tells me he can find somebody into this vinyl thing and fence whatever we score for us.”
“You’re telling me some guy who schleps amps around has up-front cash? You know a bar fly who’s got, what, thirty, forty grand just hangin’ around?”
“Nah, he’d do this for a cut. I figure, ten percent.”
“Oh, this just gets better and better, Doo-bee. You got cameras, a fence you can’t climb, a collection of records which may or may not include anything’s got real value. If it comes up strong, you turn your score over to somebody else – I’m betting you don’t even know what Big Slice’s real name is, Doo-bee – and then hope for the best. No chance, no chance at all, this guy’ll take your haul and then disappear, is there? Nah, that’d never happen. Sounds like a plan to me, all right.”
Donald leaned forward and gave her his menacing ‘tude.
“I swear, Lizzie, there are days--”
“Don’t even think about threatening me, Doo-bee.”
“Hey!” said Jimmy. “Everybody back off. I got an idea.”
They both looked at him, Liz smiling, Donald shutting down the menace in favour of bewildered amusement.
“You got somethin’, baby bro, spill it.”
“Next time Donald’s doin’ this pool, he hangs out until the owner shows, maybe it’s his old lady, doesn’t matter, you tell ‘em you’re way into rock, wonder what the collection in that den is like, you know, what’s in it and all. Either the guy invites him in for a look-see or starts bragging. He does that, Donald can find out in advance whether any of these records, the Dylan thing, the Stones, whatever, are really there.”
Liz shook her head.
“You swipe one or more of these things right after you’ve talked with Mr. or Mrs. Hancock Park, you don’t think they’ll figure out who stole ‘em? You boys don’t have the sense the good Lord gave a mosquito.”
“Man, you’re such a drag, Lizzie,” said Donald.
Jimmy winced.
“Donald, be careful. You don’t--”
“Hush, Jimmy. I can take care of myself, Donald throws some shade my way. Don’t much care, Doo-bee, whether you think I’m fair or foul. Mostly don’t care ‘cause there is no way I’m letting Jimmy in on this mess. It’s got half a dozen holes in it, big enough you can drive an RV through ‘em, and if you get caught with even one of these albums with a five-figure price tag, you’re probably lookin’ at felony time.”
Donald started to speak and Liz aimed a finger gun at his nose.
“Shut up, Doo-bee. Jimmy’s out and that’s my last word.”
“That’s too bad,” said Donald. “It’s a sweet scam and it sure smells like rich to me. Sorry, Jimmy – you’re not gonna get that Harley you been wishin’ for since you were, what, nine years old? Damn shame, is what it is.”
“Beats the hell out of visiting hours at the County slammer,” said Liz. She stood up and began clearing the table.
Two days later, Jimmy was lounging on his lunch break in the front yard of a renovated Craftsman, where he was hanging dry-wall, when his phone rang.
“Yo, Donald. S’up?”
“You on the job, Jim-bo? Not at home, right?”
“On the job, lunch break, working a rehab in West Adams, not far from USC.”
“So, Liz isn’t there, right?”
“Of course not.”
“Cool. Way cool. Here’s the scoop,” said Donald. “My guy Big Slice says he’s got a mark on the hook, some dude has a serious Jones on for that Dylan thing. Slice says his mark’s so hot to have that one, he’ll fork over forty grand for it.”
Jimmy sucked in a big breath.
“Man, that’s tempting, Donald. But you heard what Liz said.”
“Yeah, yeah, I heard. But I put together a way we don’t get stiffed. We swipe the Dylan and whatever else we can find, but Slice doesn’t do the deal by himself, Jim-bo. We go with him, we’re his ride.”
“You mean, we’re there when this mark forks over the cash, we give Slice his piece and drive off with the rest?”
“Bingo.”
“That’s cool,” said Jimmy, “but still, if Liz finds out--”
“Only way Liz finds out is when you walk in the door flashing eighteen K or more. You’re telling me she’s gonna go all righteous on us, we score that big? I don’t think so, Jim-bo.”
There was a long pause.
“When?”
Donald pumped his fist in the air.
“How about tonight? You tell Lizzie you’re gonna hang out with your crew, knock back a couple and scarf down some pizzas, but instead, you meet me at the corner, Third and Orange. I’ll drive us over to the house ‘n’ we’ll wait until these rich folks go out to Spago or someplace.”
Jimmy hesitated.
“Eighteen large, Jim-bo. Eighteen effin’ K!”
Jimmy sighed.
“I sure hope that dude’s got the Dylan in his collection,” said Jimmy.
“Meet me at six. Time we get to this house, it’ll be dark enough.”
They parked at the end of the block and sat, waiting. Donald pulled out a joint and lit it up, offering Jimmy a hit.
“Nah,” said Jimmy, “maybe later.”
“That’s cool.”
A few minutes after seven, the couple came out the front door. The man locked the outer door to the house, then opened the passenger door and helped his wife climb into to a black Maserati. The car made an impressive noise as it came down the driveway and snarled as it sped down the street. Jimmy and Donald sat for a few minutes, then climbed out.
Trying to look casual, they walked down the sidewalk past the front door to the edge of the property, where a rich, green, manicured hedge separated the house from its neighbour. They held themselves close to the hedge until they were past the corner of the house, then sidled up to the tall, iron gate leading to the back yard.
Jimmy scaled the gate easily and, once over it, pressed himself against the side of the house. Donald climbed slowly up, pausing twice to catch his breath. At the top, he lost his grip and tumbled to the ground, tearing his jeans and scraping his knee as he landed.
They edged quietly along the side of the house until they came to its corner.
“The double doors are right around the corner, maybe ten feet down,” Donald whispered, “keep quiet so the neighbours don’t hear us.”
Jimmy nodded and they turned the corner, Donald in the lead.
Jimmy didn’t hear the dog. He sensed it, his skin tingling and his heart racing.
“Donald--”
Donald turned and saw the large German Shepard moving swiftly from the cabana, around the pool, heading straight for them. The dog’s growl was fierce and its teeth flashed in the floodlights which blazed alight, lit up like high noon, when the Shepard’s movement triggered them. Donald shivered as he heard the growl and tensed as he saw the animal’s teeth, but it was the feral, sinister blaze in the dog’s eyes which terrorised him.
Donald screamed, “Run for it!” but Jimmy was already in full flight. He raced around the opposite end of the pool from the dog and headed for the cabana. The dog ignored Jimmy, its animal instincts focused on the slower prey.
Jimmy reached the cabana and started climbing up a latticed support post. He was high enough to grab the roof eave and haul himself up when Donald realised the dog was closing in so quickly, he’d never make it to the cabana.
Donald let out a howl and dove into the pool.
The dog, still making fierce guttural sounds, halted at the edge of the pool with its front paws firmly rooted in place. Its eyes flashed as they moved from Donald, treading water in the center of the pool’s deep end, to Jimmy, on his hands and knees on the roof of the cabana.
“What the hell, Donald?” shouted Jimmy, “You never said anything about a damn dog.”
“Who knew? Never saw the thing when I was here. You think it knows how to swim?”
“Doesn’t look like it.”
The dog paced deliberately along the edge of the pool.
“I think he’s coming after me, Jim-bo. You gotta get down from there and chase him off.”
“Are you crazy? I’m not moving an inch. Don’t know if he can swim or not, but he sure as hell can’t climb up here.”
The dog paced the pool’s edge in full attack readiness, alert, intent and, Donald sensed, very, very patient.
“I think you’re safe in there,” said Jimmy.
“God, I hope so,” said Donald.
Donald used both arms to paddle himself toward the shallow end of the pool. As he moved, the dog tracked his progress, checking often to make sure Jimmy wasn’t moving from his perch.
“Don’t get out of the pool,” shouted Jimmy. “You do, that thing’s gonna take you apart.”
“You think I don’t know that?”
The stalemate lasted for several minutes, the dog on full alert, Jimmy treed on the roof and Donald cornered in the pool. The silence shattered once the dog began to bark. It was a terrifying noise and it grew in volume until it became loud enough that the occupants in two neighbouring houses – one next door and one directly behind the cabana – heard it.
“Hey,” someone shouted, “I’m calling the cops.”
Two patrol cars arrived. When the cops figured out what was happening, they held back, two of them standing at the gate the boys had scaled, two others in the circular drive in front of the house. One of the two at the gate spent some time communicating with his desk and, eventually, the boys heard the Maserati pull into the driveway.
The woman waited on the driveway with the two officers; one of them sent the man over to the side gate. He chatted briefly with the officers there, then leaned in and shouted.
“Beowulf, come!”
The dog turned its head and hesitated.
“Come. Now.”
The dog relaxed and trotted over to the gate.
“Sit.”
The dog sat.
“Stay.”
The man unlocked the gate and led the two cops into the yard.
“You, in the pool. Swim down to the shallow end and climb out of there. I want to see both hands the whole time, you hear me?”
Donald swam to the steps at the end of the pool and climbed out. He stood, dripping, with his hands clasped behind his head.
One of the two officers handcuffed him.
“Kinda surprised you didn’t do the doggy paddle,” he said.
Donald didn’t laugh.
“OK, slick, your turn. Climb down, slow and easy. You hit the ground, you freeze.”
Jimmy shimmied down and they cuffed him and brought Donald over.
“We’ll hold them right here for now, sir,” said the taller cop. “You go in and check to see if anything’s disturbed or missing.”
“Sure, officer,” said the man in sleek slacks, a silk shirt and expensive loafers, no socks. “OK if my wife comes in? She’ll want to check her jewellery.”
“Sure, bring her in.”
The dog had remained by the open gate; he was at ease, but he hadn’t taken his eyes off the boys once.
“Beowulf, come,” said the man. The dog joined him and they went into the house.
The other two cops left the driveway and came to the cabana. They separated the boys, taking them to opposite ends of the yard and questioning them.
In a few minutes, the man, his wife and the fourth cop came out of the French doors of the den.
“Nothing missing, Mac,” said the cop. “That watch-dog ran these bozos down before they could get inside.”
“Okay,” said Officer MacDougal. He turned to the owner. “So, sir, all we got here is a trespass. I got no doubt these fools were up to no good, but they never got up to it, your dog being on the case right off the bat.”
“That’s why we have him,” said the owner, smiling broadly. “Good dog, Beowulf, good boy.”
The dog wagged its tail.
“The deal is, sir, we can run these two in, book ‘em for the trespass. They’ll probably make bail right off the bat and then it’ll be months before they get to court. You’ll have to testify when they do, tell the court you didn’t authorise them to be here and--”
“Officer, I know this one,” said the man, pointing to Donald. “He’s our pool guy. It’s not like we expect him to be here at night, but, technically, he is authorised to be on the property. I don’t know the other one.”
“Ah,” said MacDougal, “that’ll probably make things a bit more complicated, we go to court. Some shyster can use that, throw up some dust about trespass. Anyhow, we can run ‘em in and book ‘em or we can just escort them out of here and send them packing. We do that, we’ll all avoid the hassles of court. Seems pretty clear they aren’t likely to come back here, now they know they’ll be dog meat if they do. Your call.”
“You’ve searched them? You’re sure they didn’t take anything?”
“They’re clean.”
“OK,” said the owner, “let them go.”
He reached down and patted the dog on the head.
“I brought home a T-bone for you, buddy. You sure earned it.”
MacDougal turned to the boys.
“We got you both in the system for other stuff, of course, so we know who you are and where to find you. Anything, anything at all – even a damn broken lawn sprinkler on this property – and we’ll be knocking on your doors. You get my drift?”
Jimmy and Donald nodded in unison.
“Show ‘em out.”
Three officers escorted Jimmy and Donald to the gate. As they were about to exit, the owner took a couple of steps toward them and called out.
“Hey, you. Donald, isn’t it?”
Donald turned to face him.
“Yeah?”
“You’re fired.”
Donald found a couple of dirty towels in his trunk and spread them out on the driver’s seat to keep the upholstery dry. As soon as the soiled towels got damp, they started to smell. Jimmy rolled his window down and leaned over to escape the foul odour.
“Close that thing, willya? Wet clothes, night air blowin’ on me, I’m shiverin’ over here.”
“Yeah? Too bad, man. Smells like a cesspool in here.”
“Some brother you are. I’m gonna catch my death, you don’t close that window.”
Jimmy stared at his brother, his jaw set tight.
“You’re so worried about catchin’ your death, Donald, you might try casin’ the places you’re plannin’ to knock off. You know, scope out emergency lights, maybe even think about guard dogs.”
“I told you, dude, I never saw that dog before tonight. Been doin’ that pool for months now, no dog anywhere.”
“Sure as hell was there tonight. Catchin’ a cold sittin’ in them wet duds be a whole lot better than havin’ that animal rip you to shreds.”
“Aw, shut up. Wasn’t my fault.”
“Really? That’ll make Liz a whole lot happier, knowin’ you didn’t screw this up.”
“You’re gonna tell her ‘bout this? Do me a solid, Jimmy.”
“Lie to her?”
“Not lyin’, you just kinda forget to mention it.”
“Can’t do that, Donald. Me and Liz, we’re straight with each other.”
“You gonna rat out your own brother.”
“You betcha.”
“Great,” said Donald.
He pulled up behind Jimmy’s car. Jimmy rolled up his window and climbed out.
“You got another option, you know.”
“Yeah? What’s that?”
“You could follow me home, tell Liz yourself.”
Donald laughed.
“Thanks, bro’, but I’d rather take my chances with Rin Tin Tin back there.”
“I don’t blame you,” said Jimmy.
“Any chance you could keep it down, Jimmy? Maybe try whispering or, wait, here’s an idea: Shut Up!”
“Watermelon!”
“Watermelon isn’t a vegetable, you fool. It’s a fruit.”
“Who cares? It’s a good answer.”
“Wanna bet? I got a Lincoln says ‘watermelon’ never shows up on that board.”
“Ha!” said Jimmy. “Easy money.”
He raised a palm and she gave him a high five to seal the deal.
“Told you. You owe me a fiver, baby.”
“That ain’t right. Watermelon’s a great answer.”
“But wrong. Fork it over.”
“My cash is on the dresser. I’ll catch you later.”
“Yeah,” said Liz, “right. Let’s go grab something to eat.”
“When the show’s over.”
“I’ll go get started.”
Liz rose and scuffed across the threadbare carpet.
The two sat at the small table in the kitchen, eating leftover take-out chicken and cold mac and cheese. Jimmy had another beer, Liz a diet cola.
Donald Beech burst in on them, banging the back door against the kitchen wall. Liz jumped.
“Doo-bee, how many times I told you? Knock. This isn’t your house, y’know? Common courtesy, you knock, maybe let us know who’s there ‘stead of acting like you own the place.”
“I called,” said Donald, “no answer.”
“So you just barge in? Idiot. I got my ringer turned off. First time in a week, I got no night shift. I was kinda lookin’ forward to some peace and quiet. Fat chance now.”
“That any way to greet your favourite bro-in-law?”
“I only got one, Doo-bee. And ‘favourite’ is way off the mark. ‘Lazy’ maybe, or ‘annoying.’”
“Liz, let’s not fight, ‘kay? Reason I’m here, I got a thing in mind, make us all rich.”
“Oh, sure,” said Liz. “And I’m starting for the Lakers tomorrow night.”
Jimmy stabbed a forkful of mac and cheese and raised it toward his mouth.
“You guys gonna ruin my dinner, you don’t hush,” he said.
“Can I have a beer?” Donald moved toward the fridge.
“Sure,” said Jimmy.
“No,” said Liz. “People drink beer ‘round here, Doo-be, they pay for it now and then, y’know?”
“I’ll bring a six-pack next time,” said Donald. “Hell, this thing I got pays off, I’ll show up with a damn case.”
“Uh-huh. Like we’re all rollin’ in dough from all the great scams you’ve dragged us into. That’s why I’m eatin’ leftovers here – right? – ‘cause I got bored, goin’ out for steak every night. Last I checked, you’re still reporting to probation every other week ‘cause the only thing your get-rich-quick schemes have put on the table is county time. Jimmy’s got steady work these days, Do-Bee. I like it that way, you hear?”
“Fifteen, twenty grand, maybe even more,” said Donald. “Just sittin’ there, waiting for us to walk off with it.”
Jimmy sat up.
“Seriously? That’s some decent bank.”
“Jimmy, don’t even think about going there.”
“Liz, if we could score like that, you could tell that grab-ass boss of yours at the burger joint to take a hike.”
“Jimmy--”
“C’mon, Liz. How’s it hurt to at least listen to him? It sounds squirrely, we just say no, right?”
“Oh, sure. You and Nancy Reagan.”
“Huh?”
“Never mind.”
Donald got his beer and leaned against the counter.
“So, you guys know I got this gig, right?”
“Cleaning swimming pools,” said Jimmy.
“Yeah. Sometimes I catch a one-off, but mostly it’s once a week, same pools every week, same addresses.”
“And?” Liz cocked an eyebrow.
“One of my regulars is in Hancock Park. Huge house, pool and cabana, couple of exotic cars in the drive, a Jag and some Italian thing looks like one of those rides they use in the Bond flicks.”
“You’re cleaning a pool for a rich guy,” said Liz. “So what?”
“I’m getting’ there, Lizzie, hang in with me.”
“Most days,” said Liz, “I’d rather just hang you.”
“Man, your time of the month or what?”
Liz turned in her chair.
“Doo-bee, how’s about I plant this fork where it’ll do major damage?”
“Hey, now,” said Jimmy, “you guys both chill, okay? C’mon, Donald, get to the point.”
Donald glared at Liz for a second or two, then backed off.
“Okay. So, the way this place is laid out, they got big iron fences around the pool area, gates double locked, a hedge along the back of the yard so thick a snake couldn’t get through, in front of more iron fence. Front of the place has security cameras blinking all the time, two front doors, one inside the other, the outside one might as well be on a bank vault, all steel and big ole locks.”
“Sounds like something you two could break into without even thinking about it,” said Liz, her tone dripping with contempt. “Oh, wait, at least one of you can’t think, so that’s a problem.”
“But there’s a catch,” said Donald, grinning.
Jimmy smiled, too. “What is it?”
“Back side of the house, facing the pool, there’s a sort of den, might be an office too, it’s got a big desk. Room’s got double doors, open right onto the deck by the pool.”
Donald paused. Liz sighed, but Jimmy leaned forward to concentrate.
“They don’t lock that door,” said Donald. “I figure the place is so buttoned down, fences and locked gates and all, they don’t see a problem. Some days when I’m there, they don’t even close those two doors, leave ‘em wide open.”
“So, what?” Liz said. “You two gonna break in, steal all the jewellery?”
“Even better,” said Donald.
“What?”
“One wall in this office, got a whole bunch of shelves, floor to ceiling, fifteen, maybe twenty feet, one end to the other.”
Jimmy frowned. “Bookcases? We’re gonna swipe some books? Where’s the money in that?”
Liz groaned. Donald laughed.
“These shelves ain’t for books,” said Donald. “The dude has a huge collection of vinyl.”
“Huh?” Jimmy’s frown grew deeper.
“Records,” said Donald. “Hundreds and hundreds of albums.”
“Oh, well, then,” said Liz, “that makes more sense than books, right? Lemme ask, Doo-bee, have you lost your damn mind? You smokin’ somethin,’ gives you a good buzz but turns you full-on stupid?”
Donald moved to the table and pulled out a chair. He spun it around so he could sit on it backwards.
“Lizzie, you gotta get hip to the real world. I checked in with Jimmy’s pal from back in the day, Johnny Frankel. You know, the drummer with Weird Beard. Couple-a top ten hits, tourin’ all over the place all the time, big concert arenas?”
“Yeah,” said Jimmy, “they’re cool. You know them, Liz. Don’t you have ‘em on your playlist, that whatchacallit music app you use?”
“Yeah, they’re in my shuffle. I like their sound.”
“So, you know Frankel knows what he’s talkin’ about, right?” said Donald. “I mean, he’s a for sure player.”
“And?”
“So, Johnny tells me some rare albums can bring large bank from serious collectors. I’m talkin’ big bucks. I figure, this guy has so many albums, some of ‘em gotta be rare, worth a lot. And, like I said, the door to that room ain’t locked.”
Jimmy gnawed on his drumstick. Liz set her fork down and held up one hand to keep the boys quiet, then used both thumbs to manipulate her phone. As she surfed, a chorus of sirens screamed through the neighbourhood, klaxons blaring as the cop cars drew closer to the apartment. Jimmy kept working on his food, but Donald tensed visibly until the sirens moved past them and drifted away.
“It says here,” said Liz, “there’s a Bob Dylan record, his second one, that was released with four songs that got yanked and replaced with four others. The first release, the one that got changed, is worth at least thirty grand.”
“What I’m talkin’ about,” said Donald.
“People are crazy, payin’ that kind of money for a record,” said Liz, but she couldn’t hide a note of awe.
Jimmy put his drumstick aside and leaned forward.
“Ok, now I get it. I know about one of these things. There was a Beatles album, the first cover had the four of ‘em with knives, might have been cleavers, hacking up baby dolls, lookin’ like butchers, blood all over the place. I guess the suits didn’t like that, so they pulled ‘em all back and slapped a new cover over the bloody one. Thing is, they didn’t get ‘em all, so the gory one’s really rare. Gotta be worth something, right?”
Liz’s thumbs flew over the tiny keyboard. “Well, I’ll be damned.”
“What?”
“Jimmy’s right about the Beatles thing and here’s another one. Rolling Stones’ ‘Street Fighting Man.’ The British version had the band on the cover, but in the U.S., they used photos of some Chicago cops wailing on demonstrators. They pulled the one with the cops off the shelves immediately, but about twenty of them were sold before the label yanked them.”
“How much?”
“Seventeen grand, but that was years ago, so you gotta figure, twenty, twenty-five, maybe even more.”
“Damn,” said Jimmy. “There’s real money on the table here.”
“Told you,” said Donald, shooting Liz a look of triumph which she ignored.
“Okay,” said Liz, “I admit Doo-bee may be onto something here, but there are all sorts of problems, too.”
“Like what?” said Donald. “We scope the place out for as many nights as it takes until we see them drive off, hit the place, grab what we’re after and score.”
Liz stared at him, her eyes flashing.
“Security cameras. Maybe an alarm system, kicks off the minute you open that back door. Locked gates. How high is this iron fence?”
Donald pondered, his brows knitting.
“Six, eight feet? Maybe ten?”
“Uh-huh. So, skinny Jimmy here, been workin’ construction for a while, probably muscle himself over, no problem. You, Doo-bee, not so much. That beer gut of yours, you could get half-way up and collapse.”
“Hey,” said Donald, “I’m workin’ too, remember? Usin’ them long vacuum thingies all day, scrubbing the bottom of the pool, water makin’ it harder. I got me some guns here, Liz.” He flexed one arm. “I’ll be just fine.”
“Maybe,” she said, “maybe not. Anyhow, let’s say you two get in and out clean, haul away nothin’ but the cream of the crop. Grab ‘The Free Wheeling Bob Dylan,’ ‘Street Fighting Man/No Expectations’ and maybe that Beatles thing, ‘Yesterday & Today’. Of course, that’s only if this Hancock Park collection has any of them. You could come up empty – then what?”
Donald thought about that.
“Nah, I’m thinkin’ this collection’s so big, gotta be at least a couple of diamonds there. We snag those and sell ‘em, of course.”
“How?”
“I know this guy, hangs out at that little bar on Beverly, near Fairfax, who knows some guys.”
“Oh, well then,” said Liz, her tone sharp, “piece of cake.”
“Seriously, Lizzie, listen up. My guy, we all call him Big Slice ‘cause he’s always takin’ two slices of pizza at a time, turns one over on top of the other, makes a sorta pizza sandwich. He’s a sound guy for a couple of local bands. He knows people in the biz, see? And he tells me he can find somebody into this vinyl thing and fence whatever we score for us.”
“You’re telling me some guy who schleps amps around has up-front cash? You know a bar fly who’s got, what, thirty, forty grand just hangin’ around?”
“Nah, he’d do this for a cut. I figure, ten percent.”
“Oh, this just gets better and better, Doo-bee. You got cameras, a fence you can’t climb, a collection of records which may or may not include anything’s got real value. If it comes up strong, you turn your score over to somebody else – I’m betting you don’t even know what Big Slice’s real name is, Doo-bee – and then hope for the best. No chance, no chance at all, this guy’ll take your haul and then disappear, is there? Nah, that’d never happen. Sounds like a plan to me, all right.”
Donald leaned forward and gave her his menacing ‘tude.
“I swear, Lizzie, there are days--”
“Don’t even think about threatening me, Doo-bee.”
“Hey!” said Jimmy. “Everybody back off. I got an idea.”
They both looked at him, Liz smiling, Donald shutting down the menace in favour of bewildered amusement.
“You got somethin’, baby bro, spill it.”
“Next time Donald’s doin’ this pool, he hangs out until the owner shows, maybe it’s his old lady, doesn’t matter, you tell ‘em you’re way into rock, wonder what the collection in that den is like, you know, what’s in it and all. Either the guy invites him in for a look-see or starts bragging. He does that, Donald can find out in advance whether any of these records, the Dylan thing, the Stones, whatever, are really there.”
Liz shook her head.
“You swipe one or more of these things right after you’ve talked with Mr. or Mrs. Hancock Park, you don’t think they’ll figure out who stole ‘em? You boys don’t have the sense the good Lord gave a mosquito.”
“Man, you’re such a drag, Lizzie,” said Donald.
Jimmy winced.
“Donald, be careful. You don’t--”
“Hush, Jimmy. I can take care of myself, Donald throws some shade my way. Don’t much care, Doo-bee, whether you think I’m fair or foul. Mostly don’t care ‘cause there is no way I’m letting Jimmy in on this mess. It’s got half a dozen holes in it, big enough you can drive an RV through ‘em, and if you get caught with even one of these albums with a five-figure price tag, you’re probably lookin’ at felony time.”
Donald started to speak and Liz aimed a finger gun at his nose.
“Shut up, Doo-bee. Jimmy’s out and that’s my last word.”
“That’s too bad,” said Donald. “It’s a sweet scam and it sure smells like rich to me. Sorry, Jimmy – you’re not gonna get that Harley you been wishin’ for since you were, what, nine years old? Damn shame, is what it is.”
“Beats the hell out of visiting hours at the County slammer,” said Liz. She stood up and began clearing the table.
Two days later, Jimmy was lounging on his lunch break in the front yard of a renovated Craftsman, where he was hanging dry-wall, when his phone rang.
“Yo, Donald. S’up?”
“You on the job, Jim-bo? Not at home, right?”
“On the job, lunch break, working a rehab in West Adams, not far from USC.”
“So, Liz isn’t there, right?”
“Of course not.”
“Cool. Way cool. Here’s the scoop,” said Donald. “My guy Big Slice says he’s got a mark on the hook, some dude has a serious Jones on for that Dylan thing. Slice says his mark’s so hot to have that one, he’ll fork over forty grand for it.”
Jimmy sucked in a big breath.
“Man, that’s tempting, Donald. But you heard what Liz said.”
“Yeah, yeah, I heard. But I put together a way we don’t get stiffed. We swipe the Dylan and whatever else we can find, but Slice doesn’t do the deal by himself, Jim-bo. We go with him, we’re his ride.”
“You mean, we’re there when this mark forks over the cash, we give Slice his piece and drive off with the rest?”
“Bingo.”
“That’s cool,” said Jimmy, “but still, if Liz finds out--”
“Only way Liz finds out is when you walk in the door flashing eighteen K or more. You’re telling me she’s gonna go all righteous on us, we score that big? I don’t think so, Jim-bo.”
There was a long pause.
“When?”
Donald pumped his fist in the air.
“How about tonight? You tell Lizzie you’re gonna hang out with your crew, knock back a couple and scarf down some pizzas, but instead, you meet me at the corner, Third and Orange. I’ll drive us over to the house ‘n’ we’ll wait until these rich folks go out to Spago or someplace.”
Jimmy hesitated.
“Eighteen large, Jim-bo. Eighteen effin’ K!”
Jimmy sighed.
“I sure hope that dude’s got the Dylan in his collection,” said Jimmy.
“Meet me at six. Time we get to this house, it’ll be dark enough.”
They parked at the end of the block and sat, waiting. Donald pulled out a joint and lit it up, offering Jimmy a hit.
“Nah,” said Jimmy, “maybe later.”
“That’s cool.”
A few minutes after seven, the couple came out the front door. The man locked the outer door to the house, then opened the passenger door and helped his wife climb into to a black Maserati. The car made an impressive noise as it came down the driveway and snarled as it sped down the street. Jimmy and Donald sat for a few minutes, then climbed out.
Trying to look casual, they walked down the sidewalk past the front door to the edge of the property, where a rich, green, manicured hedge separated the house from its neighbour. They held themselves close to the hedge until they were past the corner of the house, then sidled up to the tall, iron gate leading to the back yard.
Jimmy scaled the gate easily and, once over it, pressed himself against the side of the house. Donald climbed slowly up, pausing twice to catch his breath. At the top, he lost his grip and tumbled to the ground, tearing his jeans and scraping his knee as he landed.
They edged quietly along the side of the house until they came to its corner.
“The double doors are right around the corner, maybe ten feet down,” Donald whispered, “keep quiet so the neighbours don’t hear us.”
Jimmy nodded and they turned the corner, Donald in the lead.
Jimmy didn’t hear the dog. He sensed it, his skin tingling and his heart racing.
“Donald--”
Donald turned and saw the large German Shepard moving swiftly from the cabana, around the pool, heading straight for them. The dog’s growl was fierce and its teeth flashed in the floodlights which blazed alight, lit up like high noon, when the Shepard’s movement triggered them. Donald shivered as he heard the growl and tensed as he saw the animal’s teeth, but it was the feral, sinister blaze in the dog’s eyes which terrorised him.
Donald screamed, “Run for it!” but Jimmy was already in full flight. He raced around the opposite end of the pool from the dog and headed for the cabana. The dog ignored Jimmy, its animal instincts focused on the slower prey.
Jimmy reached the cabana and started climbing up a latticed support post. He was high enough to grab the roof eave and haul himself up when Donald realised the dog was closing in so quickly, he’d never make it to the cabana.
Donald let out a howl and dove into the pool.
The dog, still making fierce guttural sounds, halted at the edge of the pool with its front paws firmly rooted in place. Its eyes flashed as they moved from Donald, treading water in the center of the pool’s deep end, to Jimmy, on his hands and knees on the roof of the cabana.
“What the hell, Donald?” shouted Jimmy, “You never said anything about a damn dog.”
“Who knew? Never saw the thing when I was here. You think it knows how to swim?”
“Doesn’t look like it.”
The dog paced deliberately along the edge of the pool.
“I think he’s coming after me, Jim-bo. You gotta get down from there and chase him off.”
“Are you crazy? I’m not moving an inch. Don’t know if he can swim or not, but he sure as hell can’t climb up here.”
The dog paced the pool’s edge in full attack readiness, alert, intent and, Donald sensed, very, very patient.
“I think you’re safe in there,” said Jimmy.
“God, I hope so,” said Donald.
Donald used both arms to paddle himself toward the shallow end of the pool. As he moved, the dog tracked his progress, checking often to make sure Jimmy wasn’t moving from his perch.
“Don’t get out of the pool,” shouted Jimmy. “You do, that thing’s gonna take you apart.”
“You think I don’t know that?”
The stalemate lasted for several minutes, the dog on full alert, Jimmy treed on the roof and Donald cornered in the pool. The silence shattered once the dog began to bark. It was a terrifying noise and it grew in volume until it became loud enough that the occupants in two neighbouring houses – one next door and one directly behind the cabana – heard it.
“Hey,” someone shouted, “I’m calling the cops.”
Two patrol cars arrived. When the cops figured out what was happening, they held back, two of them standing at the gate the boys had scaled, two others in the circular drive in front of the house. One of the two at the gate spent some time communicating with his desk and, eventually, the boys heard the Maserati pull into the driveway.
The woman waited on the driveway with the two officers; one of them sent the man over to the side gate. He chatted briefly with the officers there, then leaned in and shouted.
“Beowulf, come!”
The dog turned its head and hesitated.
“Come. Now.”
The dog relaxed and trotted over to the gate.
“Sit.”
The dog sat.
“Stay.”
The man unlocked the gate and led the two cops into the yard.
“You, in the pool. Swim down to the shallow end and climb out of there. I want to see both hands the whole time, you hear me?”
Donald swam to the steps at the end of the pool and climbed out. He stood, dripping, with his hands clasped behind his head.
One of the two officers handcuffed him.
“Kinda surprised you didn’t do the doggy paddle,” he said.
Donald didn’t laugh.
“OK, slick, your turn. Climb down, slow and easy. You hit the ground, you freeze.”
Jimmy shimmied down and they cuffed him and brought Donald over.
“We’ll hold them right here for now, sir,” said the taller cop. “You go in and check to see if anything’s disturbed or missing.”
“Sure, officer,” said the man in sleek slacks, a silk shirt and expensive loafers, no socks. “OK if my wife comes in? She’ll want to check her jewellery.”
“Sure, bring her in.”
The dog had remained by the open gate; he was at ease, but he hadn’t taken his eyes off the boys once.
“Beowulf, come,” said the man. The dog joined him and they went into the house.
The other two cops left the driveway and came to the cabana. They separated the boys, taking them to opposite ends of the yard and questioning them.
In a few minutes, the man, his wife and the fourth cop came out of the French doors of the den.
“Nothing missing, Mac,” said the cop. “That watch-dog ran these bozos down before they could get inside.”
“Okay,” said Officer MacDougal. He turned to the owner. “So, sir, all we got here is a trespass. I got no doubt these fools were up to no good, but they never got up to it, your dog being on the case right off the bat.”
“That’s why we have him,” said the owner, smiling broadly. “Good dog, Beowulf, good boy.”
The dog wagged its tail.
“The deal is, sir, we can run these two in, book ‘em for the trespass. They’ll probably make bail right off the bat and then it’ll be months before they get to court. You’ll have to testify when they do, tell the court you didn’t authorise them to be here and--”
“Officer, I know this one,” said the man, pointing to Donald. “He’s our pool guy. It’s not like we expect him to be here at night, but, technically, he is authorised to be on the property. I don’t know the other one.”
“Ah,” said MacDougal, “that’ll probably make things a bit more complicated, we go to court. Some shyster can use that, throw up some dust about trespass. Anyhow, we can run ‘em in and book ‘em or we can just escort them out of here and send them packing. We do that, we’ll all avoid the hassles of court. Seems pretty clear they aren’t likely to come back here, now they know they’ll be dog meat if they do. Your call.”
“You’ve searched them? You’re sure they didn’t take anything?”
“They’re clean.”
“OK,” said the owner, “let them go.”
He reached down and patted the dog on the head.
“I brought home a T-bone for you, buddy. You sure earned it.”
MacDougal turned to the boys.
“We got you both in the system for other stuff, of course, so we know who you are and where to find you. Anything, anything at all – even a damn broken lawn sprinkler on this property – and we’ll be knocking on your doors. You get my drift?”
Jimmy and Donald nodded in unison.
“Show ‘em out.”
Three officers escorted Jimmy and Donald to the gate. As they were about to exit, the owner took a couple of steps toward them and called out.
“Hey, you. Donald, isn’t it?”
Donald turned to face him.
“Yeah?”
“You’re fired.”
Donald found a couple of dirty towels in his trunk and spread them out on the driver’s seat to keep the upholstery dry. As soon as the soiled towels got damp, they started to smell. Jimmy rolled his window down and leaned over to escape the foul odour.
“Close that thing, willya? Wet clothes, night air blowin’ on me, I’m shiverin’ over here.”
“Yeah? Too bad, man. Smells like a cesspool in here.”
“Some brother you are. I’m gonna catch my death, you don’t close that window.”
Jimmy stared at his brother, his jaw set tight.
“You’re so worried about catchin’ your death, Donald, you might try casin’ the places you’re plannin’ to knock off. You know, scope out emergency lights, maybe even think about guard dogs.”
“I told you, dude, I never saw that dog before tonight. Been doin’ that pool for months now, no dog anywhere.”
“Sure as hell was there tonight. Catchin’ a cold sittin’ in them wet duds be a whole lot better than havin’ that animal rip you to shreds.”
“Aw, shut up. Wasn’t my fault.”
“Really? That’ll make Liz a whole lot happier, knowin’ you didn’t screw this up.”
“You’re gonna tell her ‘bout this? Do me a solid, Jimmy.”
“Lie to her?”
“Not lyin’, you just kinda forget to mention it.”
“Can’t do that, Donald. Me and Liz, we’re straight with each other.”
“You gonna rat out your own brother.”
“You betcha.”
“Great,” said Donald.
He pulled up behind Jimmy’s car. Jimmy rolled up his window and climbed out.
“You got another option, you know.”
“Yeah? What’s that?”
“You could follow me home, tell Liz yourself.”
Donald laughed.
“Thanks, bro’, but I’d rather take my chances with Rin Tin Tin back there.”
“I don’t blame you,” said Jimmy.