Free Some Like It Hot by K.J. Larsen

said. “Is that how you crack a safe?”
    “Do you have a better idea?” Cristina asked.
    I stuffed a bite of pizza in my mouth. “I spent thirty minutes on the Internet. I brought a stethoscope and a center punch.”
    “I got a hammer and a drill. And energy bars.” Cristina nudged her head in Papa’s direction. “We might have to accept the fact that the mission is compromised.”
    I didn’t forget for a moment that I’d dissed a really great guy to be here. I could be home smothered in whipping cream, and heady with champagne. But I was on a mission. Tonight was for Billy. I was Phyllis Marlowe. No way was I going home empty handed.
    Max drained his beer. “What’s your point, Cristina?”
    “If the cops are on to us, maybe we should pull out. Abort the operation.”
    “You know this isn’t really a covert op,” I said.
    “I know you don’t bring C4 to a bake sale.”
    Max said, “What do you say, Kitten? Do we abort?”
    I shook my head. “Let’s light this puppy up.”
    ***
    We parked in the alley behind the Pub. Max unscrewed the dome light, and we scrunched down low in our seats.
    Cristina leaned forward from the backseat. “When Billy called me last night, he told me he bombed at the pub.”
    “Uh yeah, you could say that.” I made a face. “Santa stripped to his skivvies while running for the streets of Chicago. Captain Bob’s grandkids need therapy.”
    “I decided we need a better plan,” Cristina said.
    “Put a lot of thought into that one, did ya?”
    She let that slide. “After I got the call from Bill, I came here and hid in the alley. I needed to find another way in.”
    I couldn’t begin to count how many kinds of stupid her Santa charade was. I could only hope this one was better.
    “What would that be? A secret entrance? Let me guess. A brick you push and a door magically opens,” I snapped.
    “You’re not helping,” Max muttered next to me.
    “Sorry.” I muttered back loud enough for Cristina to hear it.
    The truth is, I blamed Cristina for Billy’s death. But I blamed myself more. Kyle Tierney was a dangerous man. And Bridgeport is a tight community. It’s not exactly rocket science to identify a face from the past behind Santa’s beard. I should have anticipated Billy was in grave danger. Instead I drank tequila and danced to “Hotel California.” I could have saved my friend.
    Cristina ignored my petty comments. “At 1:45 a.m. the cook takes the trash to the dumpster. Some things don’t change. It was just as I remembered.”
    “And this helps us how?”
    “It’s all part of my plan. When the cook comes out, I’ll sneak past him and slip inside. There’s a utility sink by the back door. I’ll duck under the sink.”
    “You will what?”
    “I’m double jointed—a freak of nature. I fold up in a small ball.”
    “Wow,” Max said. “Now that’s a party trick.”
    Cristina laughed. “I never lost a game of hide and seek.”
    Cristina hiked her bag with the hammer, drill, and energy bars onto her shoulder. She stepped out of the car and scampered to the left of the Pub’s door. At 1:38 the back door opened. A man with two big garbage bags appeared in the doorway. Cristina pulled the ski mask over her face. When he stepped to the dumpster she slipped behind him, and through the door.
    I blew a sigh. “There goes the human pretzel.”
    “Yowsa,” Max smiled.
    He drove around front and parked across the street several doors down from Tierney’s. I poured two coffees and opened Mama’s Tupperware of cannoli while the bartender inside counted the till.
    The Hummer’s back doors opened. In a flash, Max and I twisted around and faced the backseat. Locked and loaded.
    Max waved a Desert Eagle. I brandished my Dr. Pepper Lip Smacker.
    “You’re scaring me, girlfriend,” Cleo said.
    “Dammit.” I removed the cap and smeared my lips.
    Max swallowed a smile. “Take the twin out of my glove box. Now you got one for the night. Just hope to God you