The Impossible Fortress(44)

Eventually I got tired of waiting, so I left the fort and went home. I was unlocking my front door when Alf and Clark came coasting down Baltic Avenue on their bicycles.

“You’re okay!” Alf exclaimed.

“We thought you were busted!” Clark said.

“I’m fine,” I said. “Where have you been?”

Alf produced six wrinkled dollar bills from his pocket. “We hit Sam Goody after you left. The tapes are harder to boost because of those stupid plastic frames, but I managed to stuff a Bon Jovi down my pants.”

I couldn’t believe it. “You guys went back for more?”

“We’ll have better luck tomorrow,” Clark promised.

“No!” I told them. “You can’t keep taking stupid risks. Sooner or later, you’re going to get busted.”

Alf shrugged. “Sooner or later, Ray Castro is going to kick my ass. Do you have a better idea?”

I took a deep breath. In fact, I did have a better idea. I’d been keeping it to myself all day because I was afraid to mention it. But when I realized how much Alf needed my help, I didn’t have any choice.

“I can get you Vanna White,” I said.

“Where?” Alf asked. “How?”

“I got the code,” I said.

“To Zelinsky’s?” Clark said. “The alarm code?”

“I got it last night.”

I explained that I had watched Mary punch the access code into the Ademco panel. Shame had etched the moment deep into my memory, like a video I could rewind and replay again and again. If I closed my eyes and concentrated, I could still see the exact placement of her fingers across the twelve-button keypad: Top-left, bottom-middle, bottom-middle, top-middle.

“One-zero-zero-two,” I said. “That’s the code.”

“You’re sure?” Clark asked.

“Positive. I was standing right next to her.”

“No, I mean, are you sure you want to do this?” Clark asked. “Last time we talked, in Alf’s basement—”

“I’m sorry about that. You guys were totally right. It’s not stealing if we pay for it.”

“Exactly!” Alf said. “That’s what we told you!”

“But we need to be super careful,” I insisted. “We’re going to treat this store like a museum. We don’t touch anything, we don’t disturb anything. We get Vanna White, we leave the money, and we fix the hatch on the way out. So Zelinsky never knows it was us. Is that clear?”

“Absolutely!” Clark agreed. “We’ll be like ghosts!”

“Like ninjas,” Alf said. “When are we doing this?”

I took a deep breath. It was Saturday, May 30, nearly one month after Alf first spotted the magazine and came running to my house to deliver the news.

“We better go tonight,” I said.





2200 REM *** FORTRESS IS BREACHED ***

2210 FOR I=0 TO 24:POKE L1+1,0:NEXT I

2220 POKE L1,150:POKE L1+1,200

2230 POKE L1+5,8:POKEL1+6,248

2240 POKE L1+24,15:POKE L1+4,17

2250 FOR T=0 TO 100:NEXT T

2260 POKE L1+4,16

2270 FOR T=0 TO 100

2280 NEXT T





2290 RETURN




I’M SURE ALF AND Clark staged all kinds of elaborate stunts to sneak out of their houses past midnight. But my mother was working at Food World, so I just sat in front of the TV, watching Odd Couple and Star Trek reruns until it was twelve fifteen and time to go. I walked out my back door wearing black jeans, black Chuck Taylors, and a black Van Halen T-shirt; I carried a flashlight, an adjustable wrench, a twelve-inch crowbar, and the crisp twenty-dollar bill from the night before.

Wetbridge had a town-wide curfew for teenagers that started at midnight. We agreed to travel to General Tso’s independently to reduce the risk of being spotted. I cut through the Catholic cemetery and stayed off the streets; I hopped fences and crossed through backyards and alleys and vacant lots. The town was silent. All I heard were chirping crickets and the soft shuffle of my sneakers. Now and then a dog barked, but I didn’t see or hear a single person.

There was a full moon, and I knew the route like the back of my hand, so I kept my flashlight in my back pocket. It felt good to be out in the night, out on a real adventure, away from a computer screen. And I didn’t feel nervous at all. Our plan was solid, and I trusted Alf and Clark to follow the plan. This would be the caper to end all capers, a story we’d be retelling for years.

I didn’t dare walk down Market Street, not with Tack doing patrols every half hour, so I looped around to the back of General Tso’s, clinging to the shadows of the access road until I reached the empty parking lot. Schwarzenegger’s second-floor window was closed, but I could see the dog napping on the sill, a mop of white fur smooshed against the glass. On the other side of the fire ladder was another window with an enormous air conditioner; it was groaning and rattling and sputtering, and I couldn’t imagine how anyone slept in the same room with it.

I knew the noise would mask my footsteps, but I was careful to approach the building at an angle—avoiding Schwarzenegger’s sight line—just in case the dog was awake. There was a twelve-inch gap between the garbage Dumpster and the back wall of the restaurant, and this is where I found Alf and Clark, crouched on their knees and waiting for me. I squeezed in beside them and switched on my flashlight. The pavement sparkled with broken glass, like a bed of glittering jewels.