"Charles Coleman Finlay - An Eye for an Eye" - читать интересную книгу автора (Finley Charles Coleman)

his jaws like protective headgear. Makes him look like a bulldog. For a second, IтАЩm
ready to ask him if he wants to sniff my ass to make sure IтАЩm okay.
Instead, what I say is, тАЬSays here the meterтАЩs behind the garage. DidnтАЩt see it
there. Maybe itтАЩs down in the basement?тАЭ
I look up and meet his eyes challengingly, but bored. Like a guy who gets paid
by the hour and has seen it all before, including JoJo the dog-faced houseboy. Then
I look past him, like IтАЩm trying to find the meter on the wall, like heтАЩs not even there,
thatтАЩs how bored I am, how much I want to get my job done and move on.
тАЬI dunno,тАЭ he says, starting to be angry, then catching the name on my shirt
and wondering if he should make something of it. тАЬGotta be outside, тАШcause we been
here three years and nobody ever knocked on the door тАШbout it before.тАЭ
тАЬSo show me where it is then.тАЭ
We troop around the house, and he leads me toward the garage where I said it
should be, but as we walk around the side of the house I spot it behind the spirea
bushes, and tell him thanks for the help while IтАЩm typing numbers into my meter,
then walk off to the next house without looking back. Because I already saw exactly
what I needed to see: yes, those were the eggs sitting right there on a shelf by the
windows. ItтАЩs the ego thing, gets in the way. People who steal stuff, they always
show off the bling and it catches up with them. Trust me, I know. Those two golden
eggs gotta be the ones IтАЩm looking for, look like Faberg├й, just like Beckett described
them.
Knowing where they are doesnтАЩt make me any happier, even though finding
them was easy. First off, sheтАЩs got JoJo the security guy living in the house. Maybe
she lets him out in the yard to shit, but IтАЩm betting he doesnтАЩt go much farther than
that. Second, the windows are all shatterproof glass and hooked up to an alarm
system. So, even if I dodge her guard dog, I canтАЩt do a smash-and-grab, because
the windows wonтАЩt smash and if they did the copsтАЩd be on me even before I could
grab. The extra bonuses they pay cops in these neighborhoods are quaint
tooтАФprivate industry at its best.
I sit on that for a couple weeks, making plans and discarding them, watching
the neighborhood. In the end, because IтАЩm dead broke and need the payday fast, I
decide to try the invisibility trick again. I see work vans bringing Have-nots from the
suburb apartment complexes into the neighborhood to workтАФlandscapers, maids,
carpet-cleaners. A regular one-stop shop, every Wednesday, contracted out by the
homeowners association. ThereтАЩs one supervisor who walks around between several
houses all subscribed to the same service.
Dressed up in drab colors, a little dirty, and carrying a keypad, I wait until the
supervisor has hit BeckettтАЩs exтАЩs house already and is down at the other end of the
block in the cul-de-sac. The door to the exтАЩs house is open while the vacuum
guysтАФall bonded and carrying headcamsтАФshoot through the rooms. JoJo the
dog-faced bodyguard is out back in his doghouse with his head under his food bowl
hiding from the sound. I walk in studying my keypad and when I notice nobody
noticing me, I scoop the eggs into a pocket IтАЩve got hidden in the front of my work
shirt. Usually I look around and filch a little something for myself on jobs like this
one, but thereтАЩs really no time and I donтАЩt want to end up on any of the headcams. I
notice, however, some blown-glass unicorn sitting on the shelf beneath the eggsтАФI
pick it up, snap its neck, and lay it down. Then I waltz out.
I stop on the front steps, tapping furiously into my keypad. One of the
lawncare guys looks up from where heтАЩs raking mulch into the bushes and I say,
тАЬWeтАЩre behind schedule. Pick it up or you wonтАЩt be home in time for dinner.тАЭ