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here when I start drilling and hammering. It might last a while, too—depending on the thickness of the front plate.”
    “Beautiful. I’ll work in the upstairs study.”
    In the truck Brian looked through all his manuals and catalogs for a listing on Le Seuil or anything close to it. He found nothing. He called Barney Feldstein, who worked in San Francisco and was the most knowledgeable box man he knew, and even Barney had never heard of the maker. He put Brian on hold and checked the archives of the Box Man website. When he came back on he had nada.
    What Brian wished was that he could talk to his old man about it. If anybody knew the safe maker it would be him. But that was impossible. It took a request from a lawyer to set up a phone call and a letter was useless. He needed advice right now. Resigned to the idea that he would go in blind, he gathered his tools and went back into the house. Robinette was still in the study. He was gathering some files from the desk to take with him upstairs.
    “I couldn’t find anything in the manuals and I called a guy who’s been doing this longer than anybody I know in the business,” Brian said. “He never heard of this safe company either. So I’ll do my best, but it’s looking like a double drill.”
    “Explain to me why you have to drill it twice,” Robinette said impatiently.
    “I’ve got to pop out what they call the free wheel. It’s the locking gear. To do that I have to drill through the front plate so I can hit it with a spike. With most safes I know where the free wheel is. I have design manuals. I can look it up. I then come through with the drill, pop the gear, and open the safe. With this one, I’m going in blind. I’ll take an educated guess but most likely I’ll miss. I’ll then snake it with a camera, find the right spot, and drill it again.”
    “You’re sure you’re not just taking advantage of me here?”
    “What?”
    “How do I know this isn’t some kind of a scam designed to get the double dip? Or the double drill, as the case may be.”
    Brian was thinking that he ought to pick up his tools and just walk out, leaving the arrogant writer with his unopened safe.
You open it, asshole.
But he needed the money—Laura was planning to take the option of extending her maternity leave by four unpaid weeks. Besides, he was curious about the safe. He’d have something to post on the website after he got it open.
    “Look,” he said to Robinette. “If you want to go out to the truck and look in the manuals and try to find this, be my guest.”
    Robinette waved off the suggestion.
    “No, never mind. Just get it done. Come to the bottom of the stairs and call for me when you are about to open it. I want to be here to see what that old fool Blankenship put in there.”
    “Arthur Blankenship? This was his house?”
    “Yes, that’s right. Did you do work for him?”
    “No, I just knew of him. He owned the plant. His father dug the channel.”
    “Yes, that’s right. The Blankenships made this city what it is today. I’ll be upstairs.”
    He left the room, carrying his files with him. Brian shook his head. He hated working for assholes but it was part of the job. He turned and looked down at the safe. Every job was a little mystery. He wondered when was the last time the black steel door was opened. He wondered what Arthur Blankenship had put in there.
    The first thing Brian did was strap on his kneepads. He then got down on the floor and contemplated the spacing between the combo dial and the handle. He took a piece of white chalk out of his toolbox and marked an X on the door about three inches to the right of the dial on a direct line to the handle. He knew he’d at least be close.
    He set the tripod up over the X and hooked the lockdown chain to the safe’s handle. He fitted a half-inch bit into the drill, mounted it on the tripod, and plugged it into a nearby wall socket. He was ready to go. From the toolbox he took out the gloves, safety