The Heist

Stephen has case: the Mafia is stealing items from a museum. But what are they REALLY after?


7. 7

1956 Oak Street Southeast

June 5th, 1993

10:00 PM

Jones paid the taxi driver while Smith studied the building.

“It was a steel warehouse in the late 19th century and early 20th. It’s abandoned now, but the machinery is still operational.”

“How do you know all that?” asked Jones.

“Californian history was my minor in college.”

Smith went up to the door. “Locked.”

Jones took out a ladder and set it up on the wall. The ladder reached up to the roof. Once they climbed up, Jones kicked the ladder down. One part of the roof was severely rusted. Smith took one step onto it and it crumbled into pieces. He grabbed the edge of the hole, dangling above a twenty-foot drop. Jones pulled him back up.

  Smith shined a flashlight down the hole.

“There’s a catwalk about seven feet down.”

Smith jumped into the hole and Jones heard the clank of metal. He jumped after him and the duo made their way to the floor.

“Are we alone?” wondered Smith aloud.

“Looks like it,” said Jones.

Smith heard the click of a gun being cocked.

“Why, Rob?”

Jones was standing behind him, pointing a pistol at him.

“I thought we were friends.”

“Money is more important than friends in this world. The amulet of Ramses III is worth ten billion dollars. The Mafia was willing to offer me one tenth of the money when they pulled off the heist.”

“I guess one hundred grand doesn’t sound as good anymore,” said Smith. “I knew you were working for them the minute I saw that note. I’d recognize your handwriting anywhere. When you were knocked out and dragged in that room, I’m guessing they struck the deal then.”

“Half a million greenbacks up front, the rest after the heist,” smiled Jones.

“I came prepared,” said Smith, and fired a bullet into Jones’ gun, smacking it out his hand. He ran over to a switch and pulled it to the ON position. Steel making machinery started up, pouring molten steel into tanks. Smith climbed up the catwalk and onto the pulley system. Jones ran after him, cursing his bad luck.

            Smith jumped onto the giant mental claw that held a bucket in place. Jones grabbed hold of the bucket’s edge. He climbed up and onto the claw. He punched Smith in the jaw and made him stagger. Smith fell off the claw, but pulled Jones with him. Jones kicked the claw, sending both over the molten steel and down to the ground. Smith grabbed a chain and Jones was holding onto his foot. He climbed up to the catwalk, and finally pulled himself onto it. He pushed Jones into the chains and tied him up.

“Steve…” he hung his head. “We’ve been friends since second grade. If we were ever truly friends, you’d know I’m sincere when I say…I’m sorry.”

Smith sighed and untied Jones.

“Sorry you’re a SUCKER!” exclaimed Jones.

He pointed his gun at Smith and fired. No bullet came out. Earlier, Smith had stuck a pebble up the barrel of the gun when Jones wasn’t looking. The bullet inside the gun hit the pebble and bounced backward, causing the gun to explode, and sending Jones blasting off the catwalk into a bucket filled with molten steel.

“I know a liar when I see one,” said Smith. He turned off the machinery and ran to the museum.

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