“Apparently.”
“Get in,” I said, “We’re burning moonlight.”
He plucked the little case from my hand, and got in the truck. I slammed his door (three times, because it had a tendency to swing open unexpectedly if you didn’t close it just right), and then went around and got behind the wheel. As I fired up the engine and pulled away from the curb, Dante unzipped the kit and pulled out a couple slender tools.
“These seem pretty flimsy,” he pointed out, bending one of the tools slightly with his thumb. “They probably wouldn’t pick anything sturdier than a typical residential lock.”
“Well, then it’s a damn good thing we’re not headed for the Wells Fargo Bank right now.”
“No? That’s too bad. I haven’t pulled a good bank job in weeks.” I glanced over at him and he grinned and said, “Kidding.” He turned around in his seat a bit and studied my profile as he asked, “Are you actually ok with my job? Because you really seem to be taking that in stride, far better than I would have anticipated.”
The mafia thing was utterly bizarre to me, totally incomprehensible – something so far removed from the world I lived in that I couldn’t even sort of come to grips with it. So I guess I’d compartmentalized it, tucked it away for later analysis. And instead of trying to explain that, I answered with another question. “Are you really ok with me taking you to commit a felony on our first date? Because most people would find that odd.”
“Oh, I find it incredibly odd,” he said. “And also completely entertaining. I don’t date a lot, but I’m pretty sure this first date is already totally off the charts in terms of overall bizarreness.”
“Don’t worry, there’ll be time for a normal date after the breaking and entering. We can grab some dinner if you want, and then go back to my apartment for loads of wild monkey sex.” I had to say that humorously, because if I’d said it any other way, I might have induced a panic attack in myself.
“Works for me,” he said cheerfully, and rested his big hand on my right thigh.
A couple minutes later, I parked the car on a quiet residential street in the Richmond and took a deep breath. I’d been trying to keep this little excursion light and upbeat, but my nerves surfaced now and I gripped the steering wheel tightly. I stalled for a long moment, leaning forward to look at a white house up the street. If I hadn’t brought a date, I really might have bailed on this whole thing and gone back home. But having Dante along made me feel a little more confident about this whole endeavor, for some reason.
I took another deep breath, then swung the door open. “Please grab that white bag by your feet and bring it along,” I said as I got out of the truck.
He did as I asked, peeking into the fast food sack he carried as we walked down the sidewalk. “What’s this for?”
“It’s to distract Peaches.”
“What’s Peaches?”
“You’ll see.” I jogged across the street with Dante right behind me, then hesitated at the foot of the staircase leading up to the simple white row house. I sighed and said as I looked up at the front door, “This is going to be pretty anticlimactic if they’re home.”
“Want me to go up and knock on the door?” Dante asked.
“That’s a good idea. I’ll wait over here,” I said, and ducked around the side of the staircase.
He jogged up the stairs and knocked on the front door, which instantly triggered a barking frenzy inside the house. After a few moments he tried the bell, and the barking grew even louder. But no one came to the door.
“Looks like we’re good to go.” I climbed the stairs and took my lock picking kit from Dante, and crouched down as I said, “You be the lookout. I watched a YouTube video on how to do this. It should only take a minute.” I unzipped the case and removed two of the tools.
“Are you ever going to tell me whose house this is?” Dante asked, turning his back to the door and watching the street.
“Walter and Ida Connolly’s,” I said.
“And who are Walter and Ida Connolly?”
“My parents.”
“We’re robbing your parents?”
“Noooo. That’d be nuts. We’re just going to get some of my stuff. We’re leaving their stuff alone.”
“I don’t understand. Why is your stuff locked up in your parents’ house, and why do we need to break in to get it?”
I jiggled the tools in the shiny new lock as I said, “Up until last week, I lived here. Then I came out to my parents, and was disowned on the spot. Which of course also included getting kicked out. I’d only had the foresight to pack up some clothes in a gym bag beforehand and stash them in my truck. I just thought I’d have to clear out for a couple days until they calmed down a bit. I totally underestimated the full extent of their rabid, Bible-thumping bigotry.”