Charade

Benji

The safe popped open with a happy little click, and I almost giggled.

But when I looked inside the safe, I was bitterly disappointed.

No gleaming wads of cash, no shiny crystal diamonds, no pricy antiques, and no expensive artefacts. Just clothes. How fucking boring. I slumped back onto my ass and crossed my legs. I'd worked for half an hour on this stupid safe, hoping to find someone's riches in here, but instead all I found were fucking clothes – and they weren't even good clothes! Just a plain white shirt, khaki shorts, a butt-ugly white broad rim hat, and the most revolting pair of brown sandals I've ever seen. I grabbed them and tossed them aside angrily, only to find more clothes. A miner's uniform, several name tags, a police badge. I stopped on that last one, looking at it carefully. A police badge? Why the hell would someone put that in a hidden safe? In fact, why put any of this shit in a hidden floor safe? It's not like it was valuable.

Eventually, I found out that it wasn't all clothes in the safe after all. I found fake IDs, more badges, a gun holster with no gun, pamphlets to dozens of companies I'd never heard of, and all kinds of uniforms – police, park ranger, businessman, tradie, and more. I pulled out the last fake uniform, trying to figure just who the hell this Hammond guy was – if that was even his real name – when I tossed the uniform aside and heard it go thump.

I paused, head jerking towards the thump. Clothes didn't go thump when they hit the ground.

I snatched the uniform shirt back and unfolded it, watching the navy blue shirt reveal two huge wads of beautiful green hundred dollar bills. My jaw dropped and I sat speechless. The wads... they were as big as my fists. God only knows how much was there. Thousands? Millions? I could only guess. It was enough money to last me the decade. Who the fuck was this guy? Two balls of hundred dollar bills? A hundred and one fake IDs and uniforms and badges?

Then I saw the black notebook, buried at the bottom of the safe. It was the last thing left in there, just sitting quietly, waiting for me to find it. With two hands, I pulled it out into the yellow light of the living room, and felt the old-school leather on my skin. I opened it, and read the first page.

July 22nd

Today's victim was Lucy Morse, a pretty blond girl in her twenties. She fell easily for a diamond necklace I bought in some cheap little dive. I told her it was worth thousands, and that's exactly what she paid.

Victim? Was this guy mental? I flipped to another page.

July 30th

The internet scams are going well. I pulled out a clean five grand today from a few naïve country folk named Mr and Mrs Berry. Poor people. They're just too trusting.

August 1st

I stole from a gypsy woman today. She was so kind-hearted, she practically gave me everything she had. But it's okay. It'll all be worth it soon.

The key turning in the lock snapped me back to attention.

I dropped the notebook back into the safe as my head jerked towards the door. The lock turned, then caught, jammed with the key still inside. I gasped, breath shaky, and forced my fumbling hands to rake everything back inside the safe without regard for neatness or order. I shoved everything down with my flat palms, squishing it to the bottom, and slammed the safe shut. The key pulled free and moved again. I knew I was going to be caught, but then it jammed again.

"God dammit," said the man on the other side of the door, jiggling the key in the lock.

I clumsily slid the wood back in place over the safe and kicked the rug back over. I leapt to my loud feet, grabbed my backpack, and dashed for the bedroom, flicking the light off from the second light switch in the kitchen. The room plunged into darkness and I dived into Mr Hammond's bedroom, tripping over the bed, and slammed the door shut just as I heard the click of the front door lock. The front door swung open, creaking at the hinges, and I looked desperately around for a place to hide. The room was dark, but the window open and moonlight spilled in from the night sky, providing just enough light to see. I spotted the walk-in wardrobe to my right at the end of the bed. Without hesitating, I slid the door open and clambered inside, hiding behind a rack of polo shirts and suits.

It was silent, dark, with a pocket of cold air encircling me. Had he heard me? Could he guess I was here? Did I leave any mess before he walked in? No, surely not. I'd shoved everything back into the safe, covered it with the wood and the rug, got my bag, switched off the light. I'd done everything, right? Then there was a horrible moment when my stomach dropped to the floor and my blood ran ice cold.

The picture frame.

And just as I remembered the sound it made when it smashed all over the walkway, the wardrobe door flung open, and I was staring down the barrel of gun.

  ©  A.G. Travers 2015