Free How to Rob an Armored Car by Iain Levison Page A

in an effort to change the topic by bringing it to a subject they agreed upon.
    “Damn, man, we were at one of my clients’ houses the other day, and—”
    “Client?”
    “Yeah, that’s what I call them. The people whose dogs I walk. Anyway, Mitch wanted to break into this guy’s safe.”
    “Mitch can crack safes?”
    “No, dumbass, Mitch can’t crack safes. He found the friggin’ combination in the trash can. The guy had just had the safe installed and he was memorizing the combination. You believe that shit?”
    Doug laughed, glad to have his mind taken off what they were doing. “It’s probably less risky than this,” he said cheerfully, which was, of course, the wrong thing to say, as it reminded them they were in line to steal an $1,800 television.
    It was quiet in the car. And it was their turn. The car in front of them drove off and the loading dock workers waved Mitch and Doug forward.
    “Keep cool,” said Kevin, not looking at Doug. He rolled down the window and pulled up next to a well-built man in sunglasses and an Accu-mart T-shirt.
    “Hi,” he said, handing the man the invoice.
    “Hey. Thanks.” The man took the invoice and went up on the dock and disappeared from view.
    “Shit, where’d he go?” asked Doug.
    “Settle down.”
    “I’m glad we’ve got that fake license plate on,” said Doug.
    They were silent for a few seconds as they listened to the loading dock workers call out to each other. Then one called, “Forty-two-inch flat screen. Got it.”
    Kevin and Doug looked at each other. “That’s us,” Kevin said.
    Two huge doors burst open and a man wheeled a giant white box up to the edge of the loading dock. Two other muscular men hopped off the dock and put the box in the bed of Kevin’s truck. One of the men came around the side.
    “It’s a big load. I don’t know if you want to tie it down or what,” he said to Kevin.
    “Hey, how you doing?” Doug said, trying to be friendly and not suspicious. The dock worker gave him a strange look and then a perfunctory nod.
    Kevin stifled a wince, then said to the dock worker, “I’ll fix it over there in the parking lot, thanks.”
    “Sure. I just need you to sign something,” the guy said and disappeared from view again.
    “Shit,” said Doug. “Where’s he gone now?”
    “Dude, will you stop acting weird?”
    “I’m not acting weird. Hey, don’t sign your real name.”
    “I’m not an idiot. I’m not gonna sign my real name.”
    “That’s how they caught the Boston Strangler. I think.”
    “What the fuck are you talking about? Are you telling me the Boston Strangler signed documents after he was done strangling people?”
    “Maybe it was Ted Bundy. I dunno.” Doug was babbling nervously and it was starting to make Kevin nervous. He should have come alone. But then he’d be alone.
    The guy rounded the corner bearing a clipboard, and Kevin tried to act like he wasn’t in a hurry to take it and sign and drive off.
    “That sucker’s a real work of art,” the loading dock guy said, handing Kevin the clipboard. “It’s really not that heavy either. Those thin screens, they’re like eighty pounds now.
    A few years ago the lightest high-def was minimum two fifty. The sound quality on it is awesome and if you hook it up to a Cerwin-Vega subwoofer you can get—”
    “Hey, we gotta go,” said Doug, who was now visibly sweating. “Thanks a lot.”
    The loading guy gave Doug another odd look while Kevin pretended he didn’t know he had a passenger.
    “Yeah, I got a Cerwin-Vega subwoofer at home,” Kevin said, handing the dock worker the paperwork.
    The guy started to ramble about subwoofers for a few more seconds, then he turned and waved to the next car behind them. “You guys have a great night.” He slapped the side of the pickup and Kevin gave the gas pedal a gentle nudge.
    “Holy shit, dude, we did it.”
    “We did it,” said Kevin, driving off through the parking lot. It was getting dark, just the