Back to day 6

Woke up to Hicks shaking my shoulder like he was trying to reanimate roadkill. “Yo. Wake up. We need to talk.”

I opened one eye. It was still dark outside. Checked my phone — 6 am. “Dude, what the fuck?”

“Get up. This is important.”

I dragged myself out of bed, every muscle in my body protesting. Followed Hicks to the living room where Dooley and Rat were already sitting, looking like they’d been up all night. Or maybe they always look like that. Hard to tell with career criminals.

Hicks pulled out his list. But this time he didn’t hide it. Just spread it out on the coffee table like he was unveiling a battle plan. Which, I guess, he was.

“Tonight’s the big one,” he said.

“Big one what?”

“The score. The one that makes all this worth it. After tonight, we’re set. Can lay low, let things cool down, split the profits.”

I had a bad feeling. The kind of feeling you get right before you do something monumentally stupid that you’ll regret for the rest of your life. “What’s the target?”

Hicks grinned. “Your boss.”

My brain took a second to process that. “Brennan? My manager?”

“Yeah. Dude lives in a nice house across town. Full power, security system, generator, the works. Dooley’s been watching the place. Guy’s loaded.”

“How do you even know where he lives?”

Hicks pointed at me. “You told me. Remember? Couple days ago when you were drunk and bitching about him. Said something about how he lives in some fancy neighborhood while we’re all sweating our asses off.”

I did say that. Fuck. I definitely said that. Drunk me is apparently a snitch.

“We’re gonna hit it tonight during your shift,” Hicks continued. “That way you got a perfect alibi. You’re at work, we’re across town. No connection. Clean.”

“I don’t want to be involved in this.”

“Too late. You’ve been involved since day one.” Rat pulled out his phone, started scrolling through photos. “See this? Your apartment. All the stuff we’ve moved through here. Your fingerprints are on half of it.”

“I didn’t steal anything.”

“Doesn’t matter what you did. Matters what we can prove you did. Or what we can say you did.” Hicks leaned forward. “Look, this is happening whether you’re on board or not. We just need you to keep your mouth shut and be at work tonight. That’s it. Easy.”

“What if something goes wrong?”

“Nothing’s gonna go wrong. We’ve done this six times now. We know what we’re doing.”

“The Windors went wrong,” I said before I could stop myself.

The room went quiet. Hicks’ expression changed. Got darker. “That was different. They came at us. We defended ourselves. Shit happens.”

“They’re in the hospital.”

“And we feel bad about that. But it’s done. Can’t change it. Only thing we can do is move forward, make it worth it, and not get caught.” He stood up. “So here’s how tonight goes. You go to work. We hit Brennan’s place around 10 when he’s at his country club or wherever rich assholes go on Friday nights. We’re in and out in twenty minutes. You close your shift, come home, split the take. Everyone’s happy.”

“What if he comes home early? What if he’s got cameras? What if–“

“What if you stop being a little bitch?” Rat said. “Jesus. We got it handled.”

I wanted to argue. Wanted to say no. Wanted to grow a spine for the first time in my pathetic life. But Hicks was right — I was already involved. My fingerprints were on stolen goods. I’d eaten stolen food. I’d housed criminals. I was an accomplice whether I liked it or not.

“Fine,” I said. “But after this, we’re done. You guys disappear, I never see you again.”

“Deal,” Hicks said, extending his hand.

I shook it. His palm was sweaty. Or maybe mine was. Probably both.

They left around 7. I sat in my apartment, alone, staring at that grocery receipt list still on my coffee table. Saw all the crossed-off names. All the acronyms. All the people who’d been robbed so Hicks could have a “score.”

I should call the cops. Right now. Tell them everything. Stop this before Brennan gets hurt. Do the right thing for once in my miserable life.

I picked up my phone. Pulled up the detective’s card from my nightstand. Stared at the number.

Then I thought about what would happen. The questions. The arrest. The charges. Losing my apartment. Losing my job. Going to jail. My mom finding out her son is a criminal. My Xbox getting sold at a police auction.

I put the phone down.

Took a shower. Still cold. Still awful. Still a perfect metaphor for my life choices.

Got to QuickEMart around 1 pm for my shift. The place was busy again — people still panic-buying even though most of the neighborhood had power back. Turns out once people get into disaster mode, they can’t turn it off. Saw a woman buying twelve gallons of water and enough canned soup to survive nuclear winter. Lady, the power’s back. You’re good. But whatever. Not my problem.

Raj was working again, looking slightly less dead than yesterday. “Power came back at my place last night,” he said. “Finally took a real shower. Pretty sure I washed off three layers of skin.”

“Nice,” I said, trying to sound normal. Trying not to think about how in nine hours my manager was getting robbed and I was doing nothing to stop it.

The afternoon crawled by. Every time the door opened, I jumped, thinking it was cops. Every time my phone buzzed, I thought it was Hicks saying something went wrong. My hands were shaking so bad I rang up a guy’s Red Bull as $47 instead of $4.70. He was not pleased.

Around 5 pm, Brennan showed up for his closing shift. He looked happy. Whistling. Checking his phone and smiling. Probably texting his wife or kids or whoever rich people text when they’re not worrying about their power being out or their apartments being robbed.

“You look tense,” he said to me. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah. Fine. Just tired.”

“Well, perk up. We’ve got a long night ahead.” He patted me on the shoulder. “Hey, thanks for covering so many shifts this week. I know it’s been rough with the power situation. I’ll make sure corporate knows you stepped up.”

Great. My manager was being nice to me. The same manager who was getting robbed in approximately five hours because I’d drunkenly told Hicks where he lived. Karma is a bitch, and apparently I’m karma’s accomplice.

“No problem,” I said.

Brennan headed to his office to do manager things. I stood at the register, watching the clock, feeling like I was going to puke.

7 pm. Two customers, both buying cigarettes.

8 pm. Raj went home. Just me and Brennan now.

9 pm. Three teenagers came in, bought energy drinks, left.

9:30 pm. Brennan came out of his office with his keys. “I’m heading out. Got plans tonight. You good to close?”

My heart stopped. “You’re leaving?”

“Yeah, meeting some friends for drinks. You’ve closed before. Just lock up, make the deposit, set the alarm. Easy.”

“What time are you coming back?”

He gave me a weird look. “I’m not. I’m off tomorrow. Why?”

“No reason. Just… be careful. Lot of crime lately.”

“I’ll be fine. My neighborhood’s got security. Gated community.” He headed for the door. “See you Sunday.”

He left.

And I just stood there.

Hicks and his crew thought Brennan would be out at a country club or something. But he was going to a bar with friends. Probably close by. Probably coming home by 11 or midnight. They thought they’d have hours. They’d have maybe one.

I could call him. Warn him. Tell him not to go home. Make up some excuse about a gas leak or a suspicious person or anything.

I pulled out my phone.

Then I thought about how I’d explain knowing about the break-in. How I’d have to admit I knew it was happening. How it would all come out.

I put the phone away.

10 pm. My phone buzzed. Text from Hicks: “We’re in. Easy money.”

I stared at that message for a full minute. Then typed back: “ok”

10:30 pm. Another text: “Holy shit this guy’s loaded. Jackpot.”

10:45 pm. Nothing.

11 pm. Nothing.

I tried to focus on work. Stocked shelves. Swept. Reorganized the beef jerky display for no reason. Anything to not think about what was happening across town.

11:15 pm. My phone rang. Unknown number. I almost didn’t answer.

“Hello?”

Heavy breathing. Then Brennan’s voice, shaky and wrong. “Someone broke into my house. I’m at the hospital. I need you to close the store.”

“Are you okay?”

“No. I’m not okay. I came home and there were people in my house. There was a fight. I’m…” His voice cracked. “Just close the store. I gotta go.”

He hung up.

I stood there, phone in my hand, feeling like the floor was falling away under me. Brennan was hurt. At the hospital. Because of me. Because I’d told Hicks where he lived. Because I’d done nothing to stop this.

Finished closing on autopilot. Locked up. Made the deposit. Set the alarm. Walked home in a daze.

Got to my apartment around 2 am. The place was dark. Quiet. No Hicks. No Dooley. No Rat. Just my shitty furniture and the ghost of stolen goods past.

Checked my phone. No messages. No calls. Nothing.

Sat on my couch and waited.

Around 3 am, the door burst open. Hicks stumbled in, alone, wild-eyed, with a black eye swelling up and a duffel bag over his shoulder. Blood on his shirt — probably not his.

“We gotta talk,” he said.

“What happened?”

“Brennan came home early. Caught us in the house. There was a fight. Dooley panicked, grabbed a lamp, hit him. He went down. We ran.”

“Is he okay?”

“I don’t know! We didn’t stick around to check!” Hicks was pacing now, manic energy radiating off him. “Dooley and Rat bailed. Took most of the stuff and split. I grabbed what I could. I’m leaving. Tonight. You should come with me.”

“What?”

“Brennan saw my face. If he IDs me, the cops will come looking. And they’ll come here. To your apartment. Where we’ve been staying. Where all our prints are. You’re connected, man. If I go down, you go down.”

My brain was moving too slow. Processing too late. Everything I’d been avoiding thinking about was crashing down at once.

“I didn’t do anything.”

“You think that matters? Your boss got robbed and beaten. The guys who did it have been crashing at your place all week. You gonna explain that to the cops? You gonna tell them how you just happened to not notice?” Hicks threw the duffel bag on my couch. “Look, I’m offering you an out. We leave together, head south, figure it out. Or you stay here and hope the cops believe your innocent act.”

I looked at the duffel bag. At Hicks with his black eye and blood-stained shirt. At my apartment full of evidence and bad decisions.

“I’m not running.”

“Then you’re an idiot.”

“Yeah. Probably.”

Hicks stared at me for a long moment. Then he grabbed the duffel bag, headed for the door. Stopped. Turned back.

“Don’t rat me out. You do, we both go down. I’ll make sure of it.”

Then he was gone.

I sat there in the dark, in the silence, in the wreckage of the worst week of my life. Somewhere, Brennan was in the hospital. Somewhere, the Windors were recovering from their assault. Somewhere, Jenny was trying to rewrite three years of work. Somewhere, Mr. Patel was wondering how he’d afford a new generator.

And here I was. In my apartment. Alone. With nothing to show for any of it except the crushing weight of my own cowardice.

Still no power at my place — came back in most of the neighborhood but apparently my building’s grid was on a different circuit or something. Figures. One more day of darkness. One more night of sitting in the ruins of my own making.

I should call the cops. Tell them everything. Face the consequences.

But I didn’t.

I just sat there on my couch, in the dark, waiting for dawn and whatever came with it.

On to day 8