The Back Door

It takes all of ten minutes for me to regret wearing a suit. Despite the open windows of the removal van, sweat runs down my back in rivulets. Thankfully I don’t have to wait long. Out of the shadows and into the moonlight walks the familiar face of Caleb Grant.

He strides, stooped, as if his head might bump into the dark street lamps.

I slip out of the vehicle, pull open the side entrance, and jump in. A wave of heat washes over me. I clamber over bags of cement stacked up against the front wall and take a seat at the far side.

A moment later, Caleb appears by the door and steps up in one, pulling the door behind him and then pausing, wiping his brow, “Can we leave this open?”

I shake my head, “Better get used to it, old friend.”

I tap the light switch and lights click on down the length of the van illuminating ninety-six bags of cement. I know because I put them all in by hand, almost breaking my back in the process.

Caleb raises an eyebrow, looking around as he removes his suit jacket, “What’s this for?” His voice has lost its softness, but the dark scars across his forehead and tight smile are the same. Only the Clement Security badge on his shirt stands out like a sore thumb.

“You missed basket practice.”

He pauses, caught off guard.

“A year we’ve been out and you came only the first time.”

He sighs, “God, Tristan, family and all that. Lydia and I agreed that it was all behind me, I have kids and a good job—”

“Then why are we here? I thought it was behind me as well.”

“You don’t have to do it.”

“I don’t turn my back on my friends, especially the scarred ones.”

Caleb wipes his forehead with his shirt sleeve and shifts, “Can we do this later?”

Just… don’t forget about us. We may be your past but we won’t stay under the carpet.”

“I’ll come to practice,” he says, “Lydia will understand. But tell me, how goes your job hunting?”

I snort, “Labouring. That’s it. Nobody else will even give me a chance and, frankly, I don’t blame them. It’s just… so boring. And I need something to keep my mind busy. I find myself constantly considering how difficult a particular place might be to break in.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. I know you’ll find something eventually.”

“That’s how it goes. Did you bring what I asked?”

Caleb fishes in his suit coat, producing a folded piece of paper and a cloth bag. I slide my hand into it and trace the cold metal. For a moment I’m crouched in a corner, my arms straight out in front of me, finger pressed to the trigger. A bulky figure stands before the window. He’s a father, his two kids in the room opposite, his silver watch in my bag. My father had one just like it, now in the hands of a murderer. Full circle, that’s what it is. But as blue lights flash behind the man, I can’t move, my fingers are frozen in place. Even as the door busts open, I can’t pull it.

“Tristan!”

I blink and look up. Caleb’s dark eyes are close to mine, his hands on my shoulders, “I’m fine,” I lie and stuff the gun in my pocket. The paper is merely a crude map.

“What about a key?”

Caleb shakes his head, “I don’t want my name all over this. If you’re as good as everyone seems to think, you won’t need it.”

If it were anyone else, I would drop the gun and get out now. But, it’s Caleb and I never did repay him for his support in prison. “Server 18?”

He nods. “There is no way to remove them without setting an alarm off, but I trust you have thought of that.”

I grin, “I think of everything, don’t worry.”

I wonder what is on it that he would risk everything to have it disappear.

“Thanks.”

“Just promise me you’ll come to basketball?”

We shake hands, his large hands almost engulfing my own before moving toward the door, “Infinitely grateful,” he says, “When this is all over, I’ll make sure you’re well paid. I may even get you a job there.”

“Don’t make empty promises,” I say, watching as he reaches for the handle. I was unemployable, at least in any job that paid better than a labourer and even there, I was watched constantly. As if I would bother stealing tools when I knew how to break into houses. Five years in jail and one year clean. Now this.

My boot connects with the back of his knee and it bangs the side of the vehicle, his big frame folding. His hands flail for grip and he slams into the cement bags.

I dodge his big hands and slip a heavy sack over his head, muffling his grunts.

“Tristan! You bastard, what is this about?”

He claws at the thick sack, trying to find my hands. I take the chance to slip a metal cuff over one and then the other. I yank his arms to one side and fix the chain to the side of the van before stepping back.

I watch him struggle, his knees banging against the sides of the vehicle. “You should have just given me the key,” I say when he pauses, “It would have been a lot easier.”

“Lydia, she’s going to be worried stiff, and what about my job? I will lose everything.”

“Don’t worry, you can’t be a part of this here.”

I take a spray can from my jacket pocket and, lifting the bag slightly, spray twice.

“Tristan! We had a plan… our…”

I sit back, panting, shirt well and truly stuck to my back. I pat his pockets first but find his keycard hanging around his neck. Too easy.

It’s almost ironic that Clement Security’s security lights don’t reach the outer perimeter fence. Getting the keycard may have been unnecessary. If I worked here, I would also ensure that the weeds, almost as tall as me wouldn’t provide cover for any intruder.

I bend down and begin to cut. With every twang of tight metal releasing, the thrill intensifies. Scoring a basket was one thing, but treading the line between prison and wealth was another. It’s like old times again, before I had a crew. Simpler, and more innocent. The gun in my pocket weighs down more. Useless, it was. The difference between having a chance to find another job and get on with life and being stuck where I am. I am tempted to throw it to the side, but doubt it will do much good.

I cut in a vertical line, leaving every tenth wire and ignoring those out of reach. I glance over to the main entrance, barely twenty paces from where I work. Security lights line the concrete slabs leading up to a glass door which seems dark. Well, at least they got that right.

Finally, my arms achinggoingcutters to the ground and begin making my way to the main entrance.

Tiny red lights follow me from three different angles as I pass through the main gate and stride down the paved walkway. The nice thing about jobs like these was that you could back out quite late having done nothing illegal. Still, no alarm sounds when I push through double glass doors and step into a dimly lit lobby occupied by a single security guard slouched in front of a dozen monitors.

For a moment, he seems to be sleeping. Then his bald head pokes up from behind to peer down at me. I’m thankful it’s not just me who finds the night hot.

“Who is it?” He says, pushing his chair back and waddling out from behind the desk, hand on a holster by his hip.”

“I want a job.” I force a nervous laugh. “Your advertisement in the paper… Is this the wrong place?”

He stares at me, then looks out of the doors and then back at me. “Well, if you’re still up, you’re in the right place. Wait a moment.”

He waddles his way over to a door of thick steel and taps in a code, between glances back at me. He scans his keycard and slips through. It clicks shut behind him.

I slip into his chair and study the screens. For the security guard’s sake, I hope he takes his time.

Darkness fills most of the small rectangles, the rest showing a grey-scale version of the inside of the fence and the gravel area between.

I click on one and, to my delight, it lets me swivel around and zoom in.

Clement Security indeed. There are wooden shacks tougher than this place.

Glancing up at the metal door, I start in the top left-hand corner and work my way along and down, checking all the cameras for signs of any other security members. Nothing. Unfortunately, they were smart enough to exclude internal security views, but this was enough for me.

I land on four cameras in the centre bottom screen facing the place where I cut the fence. I zoom in slightly to confirm. Sure enough, the fence is looser there. I take the next one slightly further along and angle it away even more.

Just as I am about to move on, my eye catches someone moving on the street. Tall and stooped. They’re gone from the frame before I can get a good look. I swivel left, but it moves ever so slowly.

I shake my head and scan the cameras again. There! The only streetlight I left on shines in the top right corner. I begin again, turning the cameras in the rectangles around it, ever so slowly, until the light is no longer visible.

Something clicks and I look up. The handle to the metal door turns followed by another click.   

I slip from the seat and hurry over to the glass doors, sticking my hands in my pockets and stare out into the darkness. There is no sign of the stooped figure.

“Bloody printers, technology is great when it works and a pain in the ass when it doesn’t.”

I turn, as if surprised and smile. He doesn’t return it but thrusts a slip of paper into my hands.

“Here, have this back to us by tomorrow and we’ll organise an interview. We will do a background check, so be warned.”

“Thanks,” I say, scanning it and pushing through the door. When I’m back on the street and breathing normally again I begin to scrunch it up but stop. What if Caleb is right? What if I could get a job there?

I laugh and stuff it into my pocket. Wishful thinking is a good way to get myself caught. However tonight goes, I won’t be going near a place like this again. My chest tightens slightly but I ignore it and hurry along the pavement. Caleb, yes, I had to find somewhere to stash him until it was over. I wonder what it would be like to have so much to lose.

I glance around and pull open the back door to the van. A wash of heat hits me and a little worry creeps in, surely the big man would be fine.  “Time to put you somewhere for the police to find you,” I say, turning on my torch again.

I swing the beam up and then back. It’s empty save for bags of cement and an empty sack. “Shit.” I glance back along the street. That stooped figure. But why had he not waited for me? Had someone else found him?

I look at the bags of cement. This is where I should give up and slink away. Always walk away as soon as something goes wrong, if you can. Otherwise, get it done, that’s what I always said. But I couldn’t let Caleb down. Not now.

“Time to get on with it then.” I jump into the driver’s seat and switch on the ignition. I lower the steering wheel so that it’s as low as it can go and test my seatbelt. Everything is as planned.

The engine roars to life and I pull out onto the road. “Last chance to leave Tristan.” I glance in the mirror but at this time of night, there is nobody about.

The dial passes twenty then forty. My heart beats faster as the dial continues to go up. I can see the dim glow from the lobby now and the bolt cutters lying beside the road. Fifty.

I reach the fence and yank the steering wheel to the left. For a moment truck teeters, threatening to spill me and a hundred bags of cement into the street. On two wheels, it hits the fence.

The windscreen shatters instantly and there is an awful screech as wire drags across the paintwork. There is a moment of silence, with only the roar of the engine and darkness.

The truck stops and my vision is cut off, and metal screeches, the engine spluttering a few times before dying. For a moment, I’m pinned there, unable to move before the airbag deflates.

I clench my teeth as I move my shoulder where the seatbelt bit in. I grab a pry bar from the passenger seat and shove the door open, landing on a pile of bricks and plaster.

An alarm blares somewhere in the building but I stop for a moment to switch on my torch and survey the damage. The truck is half lodged in the wall of the compound, cracks spiderwebbing their way up the wall. “I hope you don’t mind, Caleb.”

I yank a head torch over my head and pull the gun from my pocket, cocking it as I slip through the hole. An empty office greets me and I ignore it, finding my way to the door at the other side. It doesn’t open.

“Guess I’ll need it after all. It blinks open with the keycard and I slip through into a long hallway. Empty again. I break out into a spring, the plain walls flashing red every few seconds, the alarm beginning to ring in my ears.

The corridor ends in a heavy steel door, much like the one the security guard entered in the lobby. I try the keycard but the keypad blinks orange. It was worth a try.

Instead, I put one foot on the door handle and push myself up so my head is bent below the ceiling. I shove the crowbar in and push up. With ease a panel disappears, revealing wire casings and pipes. I grab ahold of them and pull myself up.

The wall doesn’t extend up here and I cross over the door and pull out a panel a few metres further on.

Blinking lights and whirring fans greet me as I swing down. It’s hotter than the back of the truck. Still, I force myself to ignore it, swinging my gun from left to right.

The servers are placed in long rows like a giant library of blinking lights and colour-coded wires. I scan the numbers but I am well into the hundreds. I need server no. 14.

Ten minutes and I am in a room, teaming with data from hundreds of clients. Information like this might sell.

No, that’s not me anymore. Remember the basketball.

I slip between the aisles to the far side. Somewhere in the room a door opens but I’ve already found it. Sever no. 14. Actually, it is a group of servers but I find the one I want from his description.

I slip my hand through and carefully dislodge the power cable then the rest of them, whatever they’re for. It slides out easily with the loosening of a few nuts. I slip it into my empty bag and turn the way I came.

The barrel of a gun is pointed straight at me, from the end of the aisle, a man in a blue suit standing stock still. Bald head.

“Shit.”

I slowly raise my hands. Then, in one fluid movement, I dive to the side. A gunshot echoes around the room and I scramble down the aisle, finally diving between two servers. I sprint, trusting the man’s bad aim as another gunshot echoes around. Who did he think he was, firing at that distance with a handgun in the dark?

My shirt is drenched now and I have no idea where I am, within the dust and blinking lights. I crouch there, snatching deep breaths when the lights blink on. Two more gunshots ring out and I move back into the maze of servers. They would have cameras and radios, it would only be a matter of time.

I look up at the ceiling as I move, looking for the glowing green signs. “Ahah!”

I dash towards the blinking arrow and there it is. An emergency exit, made of toughened steel, bolts from floor to ceiling. Good thing it’s meant to stop people coming in, and not out.

I push it open with ease and slip out, taking care to close it softly. Emergency lights flash on the side of the building, but I cannot see anyone.

I slink over to the metal fence and follow it around, keeping to the shadows, the backpack nothing compared to the weight of the gun in my hand. If I see anyone, I will have to shoot.

I round a corner and there is the truck, half lodged in the side of the building. A dozen security men stand around.

Others are inspecting the back of the vehicle, but, nobody seems to be giving any mind to the hole in the fence. I also wonder why there are no police cars. Surely a break-in of this scale would warrant it. I raise the gun ahead of me and approach the gap in the fence.

I step out of the fence. It was done, and—

Something clicks in the darkness and I drop to the ground, kicking myself onto my stomach, gun out. A man, face shadowed in the darkness crouches two paces from me, gun in hand.

“Put it down,” I say, voice catching, “I’ll shoot.”

His hand slowly lifts, the barrel coming up. “Idiot,” I whisper and tighten my grip on the trigger. “Put it down, is this place worth your life?”

It continues to rise. I blink, my heart thundering in my chest. I can see him. Father, crouches there in front of me as the gun goes off. I loosen my grip and he disappears. “I will shoot,” I try, but the barrel is pointed straight for my face and at this distance… Well, it wouldn’t be pretty.

Then it drops. I jump to my feet and break out into a run.

“Tristan!”

I dash behind a car but stop, looking back. That was… Caleb’s voice.

“It’s me.”

I look around, the corner is only a few paces away, I could make it. Then to the car waiting on the next street…

“It’s Caleb.”

“What happened to our plan? Who let you out of the van?”

I can see him through the side windows of the car, hands in the air, empty. There is nobody else around.

I shift out from behind the car, the barrel of my gun still pointed at him.

“Let me explain,” he says, a little breathily.

“Two seconds and I’m out of here.” I drop the backpack to the ground, “Man, this is the wrong time for this sort of thing. What are you doing?” I kick the bag towards him, “There’s your stupid server.”

“A little more damage than I expected, but well, you did it! In twenty minutes no less. You were the only applicant, but…

I take another step back but the street is still empty. “Get to your point,” I frown, “Wait, applicant?”

“Tristan, you got the job.”