IQ(44)

“How do they verify a burglary if there’s nobody there but the burglars?”

“When the alarm goes off the system sends a distress signal to the alarm company. The alarm company calls the owner and there’s a conversation. Name, are you the responsible party for the property at such and such an address. Were you aware your alarm has gone off, is there anyone on the premises with your permission and whatever else. Okay, so once the alarm is verified, the alarm company calls the police burglary line and there’s another conversation with that dispatcher. Which company is this, what is your registration number, has the alarm been verified, what are the points of activation, and then the call goes out to the cop on the street and he’s still got to get to the location. All that takes time.”

“What if the call ain’t verified?”

“Unverified calls are most of the calls and they’re low-priority. The cops will respond if they’re in the area and have nothing better to do. Like give out a traffic ticket, break up a bar fight—”

“Eat a donut, bust a nigga upside the head.”

“One way or the other, we have time to do the job.”

“How much time?”

“I saw burglar alarm response times that were all over the map. Seven minutes, ten minutes, twelve minutes, forty-five minutes. No way to tell. But the fastest response times are for 911 calls, emergencies. No verifying, no conversations, and these are for things like armed robberies, shootings, hit-and-runs. Average response times nationwide are in the six-minute range. I think to be on the safe side we stick to that.”

“Six minutes? What can we steal in six minutes that’s worth anything? Unless you’re talking about jewelry stores. Shit. If it ain’t smash-and-grab it’ll take you more than six minutes just to get in the damn place.”

They were somewhere in El Segundo. Isaiah pulled the car over and parked. “Over there, across the street,” he said. “That’s the place.”

“What place?” Dodson said. “Ain’t nothin’ over there but a pet store.”


A girl with frizzy red hair and a purple vest greeted them as they came in the door. “Hi,” she said. “Welcome to Pet City. How can I help you today?” Pet City was a chain store, big and well stocked, smelling of cat litter, kibble, wood shavings, alfalfa, and medicine. Aquarium pumps were buzzing and birds were tweeting. Other young people in purple vests were helping customers with gluten-free dog biscuits and smart toys for their hamster.

Isaiah told the redheaded girl they wanted to look around. They took a tour, Dodson not believing what people bought for their pets. “Keep your dog’s breath fresh?” he said. “You can smell your dog’s breath you standing too close—rat food? Is that what that says? Somebody needs to tell these people you don’t need no special food for a goddamn rat—oh Lord have mercy, that can’t be right. Monkey diapers? Monkey diapers? You got a monkey wearing diapers you went to the wrong delivery room.”

They went to the dog treat aisle. Isaiah took a clear plastic envelope off a display peg. In the envelope were three seven-inch leathery sticks that looked like Slim Jims but more irregular and dried out. “They call them bully sticks,” Isaiah said. “They’re dog chews. They make them from bull penis.”

“Lupita told me there’s people that eat the balls,” Dodson said. “Now I know what they do with the dick part.”

“Look. The package weighs two point six ounces and check the price.”

“Twenty-one ninety-five? Shit. I wouldn’t pay twenty-one ninety-five for something for myself to chew.”

“There’s what, twenty-five packs there? That’s five hundred dollars and you could put them in a paper bag.”

In the health aisle, feline epilepsy test strips were forty-six ninety-five. Four tablets of dog dewormer, fifty-five ninety-five. The flea medicines were in a glass case that a clerk had to open with a key. A six-month supply of Frontline came in a flimsy cardboard box no bigger than a paperback book and weighed three ounces. Seventy-two ninety-five. A wireless fence was almost three hundred dollars. There was nothing to it. A plastic transmitter, a collar, and some sensors.

“How’s that supposed to be a fence?” Dodson said.

“If the dog tries to go outside the yard the transmitter zaps him through that collar,” Isaiah said.

“I know some niggas should have that collar on,” Dodson said. He was getting the concept. Isaiah was targeting pricey items that were small and easy to carry. And Pet City had security but nothing like Radio Shack or Zales Jewelry. Who robbed a pet store?

They drove around to the alley side. Isaiah took a casual stroll past the back of the building and came back to the car. “There’s a floodlight and a bullet cam over the door,” he said. “The knob lock is ordinary but the dead bolt is going to be tough and there might be a sliding bolt on the inside.”

On the way home they stopped at a Foster Freeze and ate soft ice cream. “We have to think this through,” Isaiah said. “Be methodical. Make a plan.”

“I ain’t got nothin’ against plans,” Dodson said.

“No mistakes, nothing stupid that’ll get us busted.”

“I hope you not calling me stupid.”

“That’s not what I mean. You’re into that gangsta thing. Walk up and stick a gun in somebody’s face.”