“Don’t think so. Got this planned out to the end. We’ll be going now. Was good seeing you. Oh, and I’ll be taking your stepdaughter with me.”
Moving toward the front door the sound of police sirens fill the air. They’re still a ways off, but they’re clearly getting closer.
“Planned to the end, huh? Your ass is gonna be right back in the slammer within the hour.”
“Shit,” I mumble under my breath, turning left and right and then looking behind me.
“Yeah, that’s right. You’re trapped asshole. Whatcha gonna do now?”
I book it toward the back door, making my way around their Olympic-sized swimming pool as I hear the cars getting closer.
“You my partner in crime in all this?” I ask, needing her to say it.
“You know it, big boy,” Juniper winks.
I put her on my shoulders and she easily grabs a hold of the brick wall separating Jenson’s property from the neighbors.
She lowers her body down, hanging by her hands, and then releases.
Jumping up I chicken wing the top of the wall, pull myself up and over, and grab her hand, ready to execute the final step of our plan.
“We did it,” she says, puckering up. I kiss her hard, but quickly. “We’re not outta the woods yet.”
“Everything is working just like we planned, and we’re more or less done.”
“Committing a crime is the easy part. It’s getting away with it that’s hard.”
We book it through the neighbor’s property, Juniper entering the key codes for the place that she found in her father’s drawer when they need someone to come over and take a quick look at the property when they’re off vacationing in the South of France, which apparently is far too often.
Perfect for us.
Once inside we switch into our regular street clothes that Juniper stashed here earlier in the day, and then whip out the burner phone and call a taxi.
We pace the house, the police clearly next door. We need to get the hell outta here.
The cab shows up and we’re out of the house, accidentally tripping the alarm before we get it set off after two beeps. But one beep is too many.
“Van Nuys Golf Course?” the guy confirms, a bit surprised by the choice. “At this hour?”
“We have our reasons.”
He raises his eyebrows and drives.
“We’re in a hurry. If you can get us there in under fifteen minutes I’ll pay double.”
Immediately his foot goes pedal to the metal as we speed southwest down Santa Monica Boulevard before heading north on The 405.
Fourteen minutes later I’m tipping the guy triple, helping Juniper out of the car, and once the Uber disappears into the night we jet across the street to Group 3 Helicopter Tours.
“Midnight tours are pretty rare. What are you two celebrating?” the pilot asks.
“Halloween, of course,” Juniper says.
We take off and as instructed the pilot takes us down to a landing pad in the Abbot Kinney area of Venice. It’s a hipster mecca and we’re not even noticed. People probably think we’re just doing this for Instagram pics.
Hardly.
In a fast walk, we move toward Marina Del Rey where I help Juniper aboard the boat she rented for the next month, compliments of her tuition payment for next semester which she didn’t yet make.