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Authors: Stephen Cole
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sighed. ‘I’m sorry, OK?’
‘It’s kind of messed up, and it ain’t always happy, but it
is
family.’ Patch smiled, an honest, simple smile. ‘I’m glad you’ve joined us, mate. See, we’re all each of us has. To me, this place is home. And I’ll do anything not to lose it.’
Jonah nodded. ‘And you’d take me into your family, just like that?’
‘Another person watching my back?’ He grinned. ‘’Course I would. Life’s too short to waste it freaking out over stuff. You gotta go with the flow, right?’
‘How long have you been with Coldhardt?’
‘Just over a year and a half. Coldhardt and Motti found me on my thirteenth birthday.’
‘And threw a surprise party?’
‘Could say that.’
Jonah took out a beer. ‘Were you inside like me?’
‘No. Squatting.’ Patch held out his hand for a beer. Jonah passed him a Dr Pepper instead, and he rolled his eyes. ‘These blokes, they let me squat with them, all round the country. I got ’em inside really cool places, see? So long as you don’t use force to break in, you can squat anywhere.’
‘And I’ll bet you could break into 10 Downing Street without scratching the lock.’
‘Probably,’ he agreed brightly. ‘See, most people think it’s tools that get you in. That all you got to do is shove it inside and fiddle around. Well, they’re wrong. That pick’s gotta be an extension of
you
. It’s just running over the pins, sliding through the keyway, sending you a little picture of what’s going on inside.’ The tone of his voice grew reverent. ‘You have to listen to what it’s saying to you, learn its personality. You gotta feel the tiniest turn of the pins and the plug …’
Jonah looked at this kid who was fourteen going on forty. ‘Spiritual lock-picking?’
‘Sound like an arsehole, don’t I?’ Patch smiled sheepishly. ‘Sorry. Just that I’ve been picking locks since for ever. My mum used to dump me with the guy downstairs while she …Well, anyway, he was a locksmith. I spent a lot of time there. I could torque before I could talk, you know?’
Jonah looked at him blankly.
‘Torque – you know, you use a torque wrench with the pick to open …’ Patch shrugged. ‘Never mind. Locksmith joke.’
‘Don’t call us, we’ll call you.’ Jonah cracked open Motti’s beer on a black marble countertop. ‘So that was all you were doing? Getting inside squats?’
Patch paused, his one good eye clouding over as if at a bad memory. ‘No.’
‘And I’m guessing Coldhardt hasn’t taken you under his wing to help people who’ve locked themselves out of the house. Right?’
‘Nah. I’m a thief. Only thing I’m any good at.’
Jonah decided he might as well just come out and say it. ‘Well, I don’t want to sound like a Boy Scout here, but … Don’t you ever feel bad? Ripping off people’s houses and stuff?’
‘We don’t go burgling
normal
people!’ Patch protested. ‘Coldhardt ain’t no ordinary crook. And he don’t plan ordinary jobs.’ He looked suddenly shifty, lowered his voice. ‘You saw those photos he got hold of. He moves in some pretty freaky circles.’
Jonah hesitated to ask, ‘Freaky how?’
‘How come such a little kid got such a big mouth?’ Motti had come slouching into the room, huffing on his glasses, polishing them on his sleeve. ‘Listen, geek, let’s just say that the types Coldhardt rips off, they don’t exactly rush to call in the fuzz. These people are rich enough –
powerful
enough – to work outside the law.’
‘No one’s outside the law,’ said Jonah automatically.
‘Is that so?’ Motti smiled and took his beer. ‘Well, anyway, with Coldhardt’s interests, it ain’t justmodern, high-tech places we have to break into. We’ve gone to work on temples, mausoleums …’
Jonah stared. ‘Grave-robbing, you mean?’
‘No, I
don’t
mean.’ He smirked. ‘But you’d be amazed what stuff gets buried.’
‘You superstitious, Jonah?’ asked
‘It’s kind of messed up, and it ain’t always happy, but it
is
family.’ Patch smiled, an honest, simple smile. ‘I’m glad you’ve joined us, mate. See, we’re all each of us has. To me, this place is home. And I’ll do anything not to lose it.’
Jonah nodded. ‘And you’d take me into your family, just like that?’
‘Another person watching my back?’ He grinned. ‘’Course I would. Life’s too short to waste it freaking out over stuff. You gotta go with the flow, right?’
‘How long have you been with Coldhardt?’
‘Just over a year and a half. Coldhardt and Motti found me on my thirteenth birthday.’
‘And threw a surprise party?’
‘Could say that.’
Jonah took out a beer. ‘Were you inside like me?’
‘No. Squatting.’ Patch held out his hand for a beer. Jonah passed him a Dr Pepper instead, and he rolled his eyes. ‘These blokes, they let me squat with them, all round the country. I got ’em inside really cool places, see? So long as you don’t use force to break in, you can squat anywhere.’
‘And I’ll bet you could break into 10 Downing Street without scratching the lock.’
‘Probably,’ he agreed brightly. ‘See, most people think it’s tools that get you in. That all you got to do is shove it inside and fiddle around. Well, they’re wrong. That pick’s gotta be an extension of
you
. It’s just running over the pins, sliding through the keyway, sending you a little picture of what’s going on inside.’ The tone of his voice grew reverent. ‘You have to listen to what it’s saying to you, learn its personality. You gotta feel the tiniest turn of the pins and the plug …’
Jonah looked at this kid who was fourteen going on forty. ‘Spiritual lock-picking?’
‘Sound like an arsehole, don’t I?’ Patch smiled sheepishly. ‘Sorry. Just that I’ve been picking locks since for ever. My mum used to dump me with the guy downstairs while she …Well, anyway, he was a locksmith. I spent a lot of time there. I could torque before I could talk, you know?’
Jonah looked at him blankly.
‘Torque – you know, you use a torque wrench with the pick to open …’ Patch shrugged. ‘Never mind. Locksmith joke.’
‘Don’t call us, we’ll call you.’ Jonah cracked open Motti’s beer on a black marble countertop. ‘So that was all you were doing? Getting inside squats?’
Patch paused, his one good eye clouding over as if at a bad memory. ‘No.’
‘And I’m guessing Coldhardt hasn’t taken you under his wing to help people who’ve locked themselves out of the house. Right?’
‘Nah. I’m a thief. Only thing I’m any good at.’
Jonah decided he might as well just come out and say it. ‘Well, I don’t want to sound like a Boy Scout here, but … Don’t you ever feel bad? Ripping off people’s houses and stuff?’
‘We don’t go burgling
normal
people!’ Patch protested. ‘Coldhardt ain’t no ordinary crook. And he don’t plan ordinary jobs.’ He looked suddenly shifty, lowered his voice. ‘You saw those photos he got hold of. He moves in some pretty freaky circles.’
Jonah hesitated to ask, ‘Freaky how?’
‘How come such a little kid got such a big mouth?’ Motti had come slouching into the room, huffing on his glasses, polishing them on his sleeve. ‘Listen, geek, let’s just say that the types Coldhardt rips off, they don’t exactly rush to call in the fuzz. These people are rich enough –
powerful
enough – to work outside the law.’
‘No one’s outside the law,’ said Jonah automatically.
‘Is that so?’ Motti smiled and took his beer. ‘Well, anyway, with Coldhardt’s interests, it ain’t justmodern, high-tech places we have to break into. We’ve gone to work on temples, mausoleums …’
Jonah stared. ‘Grave-robbing, you mean?’
‘No, I
don’t
mean.’ He smirked. ‘But you’d be amazed what stuff gets buried.’
‘You superstitious, Jonah?’ asked
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