“Kind of.”
I placed my hand on my chin and rubbed my thumb across my jaw, feeling the stubble. “My uncle comes out that door every thirty minutes when he’s at the office. He has a cigarette, he stares at the sky, and then he throws the butt on the ground.”
Gunner squinted at me across the truck. “Okay,” he said hesitantly, not sure where I was going.
“And,” I continued, “never once in his entire life has my uncle locked that damn door. Maybe he doesn’t worry because all the office doors inside are locked, but it doesn’t take more than two minutes to pick those locks. On top of that, to keep the business running, my uncle requires paper records, not being a fan of computers or new technology. Those printouts are all we’ll really need.”
“So what?” Gunner asked. “We just walk in there and take whatever we want?”
“Not exactly,” I said, pointing to the other corner of the building. “Look.”
A large man in a plain blue jacket wandered around the corner. Folding his hands behind his back, he made a slow circle around the front of the building, then wandered back where he came from.
“There is almost always security on the place, not to mention a good handful of lowlifes who treat it like a social club. But every other Sunday afternoon, the boys have their card game across town, and the building is quiet.”
Gunner pounded his hand on the dashboard, grinning. “Fuck yeah,” he said. “Let’s break in there and ruin their business! No one messes with Malcolm.”
I grabbed his arm, stilling him. “Close,” I said. “But your job is actually just to sit on the corner here.”
He blinked a few times. “What? You’re making me the lookout?”
I nodded. “The only way things could go wrong would be if someone came into the place while I was still inside and got a jump on me. You’ll make sure that doesn’t happen.” I patted his shoulder a couple of times, then gave it a squeeze. “You up for that?”
He turned back to me, a glint in his eyes, and squeezed my knee. “Maddox,” he said, “I’m up for whatever you want.”
I chuckled despite myself, actually caught a little off guard by his flirtation for once. “All right, Gunner. But don’t forget, I’m paying you to help me out. I told you this was a job, and when someone does work for you, you need to pay them fairly.”
“Really?” he said. “I thought you just meant, like,a job.”
I shook my head. “Don’t get me wrong, you’re not going to make a fortune. But we always gave our lookouts 250. That sound good to you?”
In all honesty, I cared less about the way that my old colleagues did things and more about passing on some knowledge to Gunner. I saw the man that he was becoming, and I fully expected him to rise to the occasion. Treating the people who worked for you right was a part of that.
“It sounds great,” he said.
“250 it is,” I said, buckling up again. “Now let’s go pick up your boyfriend. I’ve got a couple of questions for him.”
