Read Online The Secret Society of Demolition Writers by Marc Parent - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Marc Parent
Tags: Fiction, Literary, General, Anthologies, Anthologies (Multiple Authors), Short Stories; American
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glasses, and breathing mask and put them on. Lastly, he pressed foam plugs into his ears.
The first drill bit lasted twenty-five minutes before shattering. He guessed he had gone only a quarter inch in at that point. He let the drill cool for a few minutes while he drank a bottle of water he got out of the toolbox. He then locked a new bit into place.
The second bit completed the penetration. Brian pulled the drill out and checked the hole. It appeared that the front plate was three-quarters of an inch thick. He unlocked the tripod and moved it out of the way. The drill hole was still smoking and hot. Brian leaned down and blew away the steel shavings that had accumulated around it.
He got the camera scope out of the toolbox, plugged it in, and turned it on. He manipulated the snakelike camera extension, bending it into a curving L shape. He then fed it into the drill hole, keeping his eyes on the small black-and-white video display screen.
Almost immediately Brian saw movement inside the safe. A whitish gray blur moved across the three-inch-wide screen. He froze for a moment.
What was that?
He moved the camera in an exaggerated sweep but saw nothing else.
Was it smoke? Did he really see something?
He wondered if the camera movement had simply blurred a reflection of the camera’s light off of one of the gears or the underside of the faceplate.
The video display had no playback function. It did not record. Brian could not go back to check on the movement again. He felt a small tremble go up his spine and neck. He stared at the display for a few more moments and then started moving the scope again. He knew there couldn’t have been movement. It had to have been a reflection or a concentration of smoke left over from the drill-through.
He saw no further movement in the display. But he did see that the safe’s door had no back plate. This, he guessed, had been removed to make the door lighter, since it opened up rather than out. It probably saved fifteen or twenty pounds in the lifting.
Without a back plate Brian knew he could use the scope to see into the cavity of the safe and check its contents ahead of Robinette. He pulled the tool out of the drill hole, straightened it, and then snaked it back in. The camera’s light reached all corners of the safe. Brian saw that it was empty, save for the layer of dust that had gathered over time at the bottom.
“No treasure today,” Brian said to himself.
He once more removed the scope, reconfigured it, and then fed it back into the hole. By moving the scope he was able to view the internal workings of the safe’s locking mechanism. He was surprised. He counted nine gears. Most safes had three or four at the most. Never nine. He knew that when he posted a report on this job on the site, other box men would not believe him. He decided he would go out to the truck and get his digital camera after he got the safe open. His plan would be to post a report on the site and then once the doubters posted their negatives he would upload a few photos—count ’em, nine gears— and put them all in their place.
He refocused on the work and quickly identified the free wheel—the gear that would release the locking mechanism when popped loose. He measured its location on the front plate. Once more he marked the surface with chalk and pulled the tripod into place.
The second drill-through cost him three bits, and by the end his drill smelled like it was burning up inside. This door—in box man’s parlance—was a Dutch Treat, meaning the costs of broken or damaged equipment made the job a barely break-even proposition. Brian knew there was no way he’d be able to ding Robinette for the burned-out drill and the bits. He’d be lucky if the writer just paid him the extra hundred for the second drill-through.
He got the spike and the mallet out of the toolbox. He slid the spike into the second drill hole and felt it click against the free wheel. He raised the mallet to strike it
The first drill bit lasted twenty-five minutes before shattering. He guessed he had gone only a quarter inch in at that point. He let the drill cool for a few minutes while he drank a bottle of water he got out of the toolbox. He then locked a new bit into place.
The second bit completed the penetration. Brian pulled the drill out and checked the hole. It appeared that the front plate was three-quarters of an inch thick. He unlocked the tripod and moved it out of the way. The drill hole was still smoking and hot. Brian leaned down and blew away the steel shavings that had accumulated around it.
He got the camera scope out of the toolbox, plugged it in, and turned it on. He manipulated the snakelike camera extension, bending it into a curving L shape. He then fed it into the drill hole, keeping his eyes on the small black-and-white video display screen.
Almost immediately Brian saw movement inside the safe. A whitish gray blur moved across the three-inch-wide screen. He froze for a moment.
What was that?
He moved the camera in an exaggerated sweep but saw nothing else.
Was it smoke? Did he really see something?
He wondered if the camera movement had simply blurred a reflection of the camera’s light off of one of the gears or the underside of the faceplate.
The video display had no playback function. It did not record. Brian could not go back to check on the movement again. He felt a small tremble go up his spine and neck. He stared at the display for a few more moments and then started moving the scope again. He knew there couldn’t have been movement. It had to have been a reflection or a concentration of smoke left over from the drill-through.
He saw no further movement in the display. But he did see that the safe’s door had no back plate. This, he guessed, had been removed to make the door lighter, since it opened up rather than out. It probably saved fifteen or twenty pounds in the lifting.
Without a back plate Brian knew he could use the scope to see into the cavity of the safe and check its contents ahead of Robinette. He pulled the tool out of the drill hole, straightened it, and then snaked it back in. The camera’s light reached all corners of the safe. Brian saw that it was empty, save for the layer of dust that had gathered over time at the bottom.
“No treasure today,” Brian said to himself.
He once more removed the scope, reconfigured it, and then fed it back into the hole. By moving the scope he was able to view the internal workings of the safe’s locking mechanism. He was surprised. He counted nine gears. Most safes had three or four at the most. Never nine. He knew that when he posted a report on this job on the site, other box men would not believe him. He decided he would go out to the truck and get his digital camera after he got the safe open. His plan would be to post a report on the site and then once the doubters posted their negatives he would upload a few photos—count ’em, nine gears— and put them all in their place.
He refocused on the work and quickly identified the free wheel—the gear that would release the locking mechanism when popped loose. He measured its location on the front plate. Once more he marked the surface with chalk and pulled the tripod into place.
The second drill-through cost him three bits, and by the end his drill smelled like it was burning up inside. This door—in box man’s parlance—was a Dutch Treat, meaning the costs of broken or damaged equipment made the job a barely break-even proposition. Brian knew there was no way he’d be able to ding Robinette for the burned-out drill and the bits. He’d be lucky if the writer just paid him the extra hundred for the second drill-through.
He got the spike and the mallet out of the toolbox. He slid the spike into the second drill hole and felt it click against the free wheel. He raised the mallet to strike it
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