Jack tugged on the padlock. It didn't budge. With a slight glance around, he pulled out a small lock-picking kit from his wallet, knelt down, and went to work on the key slot. The lock was covered in rust and corrosion—40-some-odd years old.
Within a minute, Jack pulled it free, slid it from the slot, and opened the door. It creaked and groaned.
The four of us flooded into the mausoleum just as the sun dipped beyond the horizon.
I pulled the door shut behind us, then glanced around the damp, musty space. Stained-glass windows allowed the last remnants of light to filter through. Marble benches offered a place to sit and pay homage to the dead. Cobwebs lined the corners. A good layer of dust covered everything. I don’t think anybody had been here in four decades.
There were nine crypts against the far wall, 3x3. Each crypt was deep enough for two coffins and was sealed by a marble plate with a grave marker.
The nameplates on the middle row of crypts read Margaret, James, and Edwin. Various dates of birth and death were listed on the markers. The most recent date of departure was 1979.
These were the same names written in the coded message in the back of the book.
"Are you sure these are the right graves?" I asked.
Mickey shrugged. "I have no recollection of this whatsoever.”
"Nothing?" I asked in disbelief.
He shrugged and gave a sheepish look.
"You must have worked out a deal with the cemetery,” Jack said. “Paid for the mausoleum in cash.”
"Anything is possible. I just wish I could remember it.”
"This place is starting to give me the creeps," Flynn said. He looked around with a mix of fear and wonder. "Can anybody else see them?”
I didn't want to know what he was seeing.
Mickey and Flynn were still both high as a kite.
The marble plates were screwed to the crypt, secured by anchors. In anticipation, I had brought a cordless power drill with a Phillips head attachment.
I wasn’t particularly fond of disturbing the final resting place of the dead, but Mickey's coded message matched. We’d find out soon enough.
I squeezed the trigger, and the cordless drill hummed. One by one, I removed the rosette screws, then JD and I removed the plate with care and set it atop one of the marble benches.
It was almost pitch black in the crypt by now. I shone my flashlight into the vault, hoping not to find a coffin. The narrow beam raked across several bricks wrapped in plastic. Similar to how a drug dealer would wrap bricks of cocaine or heroin. These had a more rigid form.
I breathed a sigh of relief.
I pulled out one of the bricks and examined it.
With a knife, I cut through the plastic. Each brick contained 10 stacks of $10,000 in $100 denominations. Worth $100,000 each, this crypt was packed to the brim with bricks. At a cursory glance, there was easily $50 million in each crypt.
There was one slight problem.
I knew we would be dealing with a lot of cash. But the magnitude of it was overwhelming. There was no easy way to transport this. We could maybe stuff two or two half-million in a duffel bag, which would weigh about 55 pounds. We’d need 60 duffel bags to carry it all out and a vehicle to transport it.
This was a logistical nightmare.
“I’m sure I can rustle up a cargo van,” JD said.
“We need bags.”
I looked at my watch. There was still time to clean out a big box retailer of gym bags to stuff the loot in, but we’d have to hurry.
"Let’s seal this back up," I said. "We'll track down a van and find something to carry it all in. Then we’ll come back, load up,and be ready to make the exchange whenever we get the call." I looked at Mickey. "You haven't heard any more, have you?"
