“I will if he shuts the fuck up,” said Mick.
“I’ve been shutting the fuck up for half an hour now.”
“It’s been five minutes.”
“It’s been ten minutes,” I said. “It’s not a big deal. Just keep working.”
“Here, give me the paper clip,” said Ed, twenty minutes after we’d arrived at Mr. Martin’s back door.
“How about I shove the paper clip up your ass?”
“How about you bite my dick?”
“How about you bite my dick?”
“I really need you guys to knock it off,” I said. Then I realized that we weren’t alone out here.
A great big moose was walking through Mr. Martin’s backyard.
This wasn’t entirely unheard of. Alaska was chock full of moose, and, yes, on rare occasions they would walk through your yard even in a neighborhood like this.
“There’s a moose over there,” said Mick.
“Ignore the moose,” said Ed. “Worry about the lock.”
“But it’s right there.”
“I see the fucking moose. What I don’t see is an open door.”
The moose stopped walking and turned to look at us.
“Hi, Moose,” said Mick, waving to it. I honestly was starting to wonder if Ed had told his brother the full story of why we were here. Maybe Mick thought we were breaking into Mr. Martin’s house to steal something.
We all watched the moose for a moment.
Then it continued on its way.
Ed punched Mick in the shoulder. “Get back to work.”
“Don’t punch him so hard,” I said. “We’re trying to be quiet.”
“You think I won’t stop what I’m doing and kick your ass?” Mick asked Ed.
“As far as I can tell, you’re not doing anything.”
“I’ll kick your ass, and then you can walk home.”
“Oh, yeah, Mom will love that. Let me die like that kid who just froze to death.”
“I’ll do it. You can be a fuckin’ popsicle for all I care.”
“This was a bad idea,” I said. “We should leave.” If we were here much longer, Burt, Josh, and Tina might come check on us, and we’d wake up Mr. Martin for sure.
“No, wait, I’ve almost got it,” said Mick.
“Bullshit,” said Ed.
“I’ve almost got it if you quit moving the flashlight.”
Ed held the flashlight steady. Mick twisted the paper clip around a few more times, and then there was a click.
“See? No problem at all.”
I wasn’t sure if I was relieved or disappointed. I really didn’t want to go in there, but I also didn’t want to spend three months in kid-prison.
“Thanks,” I told Mick. “Go back to the car and let the others know that everything’s fine. Ed, you wait here while I go in.”
“I’ll come in with you.”
I shook my head. “I’m not going to get you killed.”
“Teamwork, man.”
“Stay outside.”
“Whatever.”
I very slowly opened the back door, half-expecting a blaring alarm to go off, waking up Mr. Martin and everybody on his block. It didn’t happen. I stepped inside, and then very slowly closed the door again, not shutting it all the way to keep the noise level to a minimum.
I was in his garage. It was an extremely tidy garage—almost creepily so. His car was parked inside, so he was definitely home. I walked over to the door that led to the interior of the house, thinking that if it was locked, I might have to just abandon discretion and try to kick it open.
I took off the itchy hat and shoved it into my pocket. I hated that thing.
The door was unlocked. I opened it and stepped into his kitchen.
I walked through his living room and into a dark hallway.
The door at the end was open, revealing the bathroom. There was a door to the left and the right. Both were closed.
I unzipped my jacket, reached inside, and took out the gun.
After a few moments to consider my decision—a waste of time, since I had absolutely no information to help me decide which door might be the correct one—I chose the door to the left. Should I fling it open, or try to be quiet? I decided that if I picked the wrong door, I’d wish I’d been quieter about it, so I carefully turned the knob, then slowly pushed it open.
I flipped on the light switch.
It was an office. A couple of bookshelves, a desk, and some neatly stacked cardboard boxes.
I shut off the light and returned to the hallway.
I pressed my ear to the other door, trying to hear Mr. Martin snoring.
Nothing.
Burst in, or try to open it without waking him up?
I’d stick with trying to be sneaky for now. If I heard any sign of movement, I’d burst in.
I turned the doorknob as slowly as I could. I realized that my breathing was way too loud and tried to keep that under control. Could a fourteen-year-old have a heart attack? If they could, I was headed for that fate. I’d point the gun at him, clutch my chest, and collapse to the floor.
I pushed on the door. It didn’t creak. In fact, it made no sound at all, so my bravery increased and I pushed it open all the way.
I flipped on the light.
This was Mr. Martin’s bedroom. But he wasn’t there. The bed was unmade.
Where was he? Surely he hadn’t gone for an after-midnight walk in sub-zero weather.
Had he heard me walking around? Had he heard us picking the lock? Was he hiding somewhere in the house?
Shit.
It felt like making a beeline for the back door and getting the hell out of there might be the best course of action. Except that if Mr. Martin knew I’d broken into his home, he wouldn’t simply say, “Oh, well, he left on his own, so there’s no need to pursue this matter further.” It was more important than ever that I follow through with the plan.
I peeked under his bed. Nothing. I opened the closet door, ready for him to pop out with a butcher knife. He didn’t.
He wasn’t in the office.
Wasn’t hiding in the bathroom behind the shower curtain.
I walked back into the living room. He wasn’t there.
Wasn’t in
