Don't Be Doltish

I parked my bicycle two streets away in an alleyway so I could sneak up to Rosen Silver unnoticed. The glass doors were barred for the night, and a security camera was suspended in the top corner of the store, its red light blinking every three seconds. I checked my watch and cursed under my breath. Two minutes early… Mortimer had always said it was bad form to be early to a heist. More chance of getting suspected if you’re slinking around the crime scene pre-robbery.

I spotted a black coupe purring down the main street, beautifully silent. You can’t have loud cars if you’re on the bad side of the law. It made three laps around the Gosleding Building before pulling up with only a slight scree at the side of Rosen Silver, parked for the quickest getaway possible. I watched for five shadows to jump out of the side doors, but only one tall silhouette emerged. As he came closer, I could see that he was far taller than anyone else in our crew. I didn’t recognize him at all. I started to panic, but when I glanced at the coupe’s license plate, it was still the same as it had always been.

“Hey, Parker,” the man said huskily. As he walked even closer to me, I saw a half-smile on his face. It looked kind of fake. He had his hands in the pockets of his black hoodie. “Alone, are you?”

“Who are you?” I asked. “What are you doing with Mortimer’s car?”

“Calm down, little guy.” He laughed hollowly. “Mort and the others bailed,” he explained, in the sort of voice most people reserve for puppies and small children. “Other commitments, I s’pose. So I guess it’s just us two, huh?” He held out his hand. “John, by the way. Mort’s big bro.”

“Mort never said anything about having a big brother…”

“We ain’t the best of mates anymore. But I guess he reckons we’re mates enough when he needs my help with somethin’…” John’s half-smirk expression hadn’t changed at all. He gestured to the steel bars running down the doors. “Go ahead, buddy. Go crazy. I’ll back up the rear.”

I hesitated. “I… well…” I didn’t particularly want to admit to Mort’s brother that I hadn’t ever really done the breaking in part of the job before. My job as the most junior member of the crew was mostly trailing behind the others as they looted the displays, perhaps becoming a decoy for the cops if we were in a sticky situation. I tried to give John by wide eyes, but he seemed unimpressed.

“Don’t be doltish. Get on with it.”

I pulled the crowbar out of my backpack, hands shaking, and put the hook part under the bar nearest to the doorknob, cranking it until the bar slowly bent away. I did the same on the bar beside it, making a decent-sized gap between the steel bars - just big enough for someone my size to jump through. Then I pulled the sledgehammer out of my backpack and swung it wildly at the glass. The first swing only made a tiny crack, but the second completely shattered the glass behind it.

The security signals were wailing by now. I squeezed through the hole, feeling the stinging of cuts emerging on my gloved hands from the loose glass shards. But I didn’t have time to feel pain. I looked back through the door, shading my eyes from the flashing red lights, and yelled back to John.

“Come on, man! Do you want to get caught or something?”

“I think I’ll wait out here,” John yelled back, rocking back and forth on his heels. “I don’t think I could fit through that tiny gap.”

I heard the faint beginnings of police sirens picking up in the distance. I swore loudly. I guess the security cams of Rosen Silver were automatically connected to the police line - I couldn’t remember Mort and the guys warning me about that, but maybe they had just forgotten that minor fact. I held my crowbar up high and brought it down on a display case. More glass crashed onto the floor and flew up into the air, digging into the skin of my cheek with a force that made me grimace. I wiped my hand across my face and held it out in front of me. Completely blood-streaked. I swooped my arm across the display case and let all of the jewelry that was inside fall into my backpack. The police sirens got louder much quicker than I’d expected, and I was panicking. Without Mort and the guys there, I felt extremely vulnerable. Stuff the rest of the jewelry, I thought. It’s not worth it. I turned around and started heading for the door again. It was pitch-black and I couldn’t see a thing going on outside.

I stepped towards the glass door. The sirens sounded again. They were only a couple of streets away.

“Hands in the air!” a voice screamed at me from the door. “Don’t come any closer!”

I gasped. How could the police be here already? I could clearly hear their sirens, still a street or two away from Rosen Silver. But as the red security lights of the jewelry store flashed, I saw the outline of a tall man standing outside, holding a handgun up to the hole in the glass door.

“Drop your weapons! Hands in the air!”

I was scared, but I wasn’t about to end up in the police station. Mort and the others had avoided the cops for years. If I couldn’t even go two months without landing in the cop shop, I was pretty useless. I held my crowbar tight in my hand, shaking my head resolutely.

“Don’t be doltish!” the cop screeched. “Hands up!”

I dropped the crowbar to the floor. It clattered across the store and landed in a pile of broken glass. I raised both of my hands in the air, trembling. And that's when I realized it.

Who else was as tall as the cop standing in the window?

John.

Who else had I heard saying "Don't be doltish" in the past few minutes?

John.

Mort's "brother".

Mortimer had never said anything about having a brother. Maybe that was because he didn't even have one.

John was the cop in the window.

But there was one problem. How come John was driving Mortimer's coupe if he was a cop?

I groaned.

"You've got Mort and the others, haven't you?" I yelled to the cop as the police sirens died down and several white-and-blue cars skidded to a stop in front of the jewelry store. Everything was blurry. Now the cuts on my cheek were really, really hurting. I walked up to the hole in the glass, accepting my fate. I had to. The cops had Mort, and there wasn't anyone in the world sticking up for me if Mortimer wasn't.

As I was led away by the other police officers, I caught a look at John's face. He had the same expression as before: that awful half-smirk. I hated it.