Episode 7 - The Return of Victor Malone pt. 1

He's back!

Transcript

SPEAKER_00 1:17

Summer still had a beautiful. Nobody in the Jamerson house was emotionally prepared for news of any kind but for none. A double dinner, Mom said. Pouring her coffee like this was totally normal information. Saturday night, all the parents from the neighborhood. You kids will stay here, Jane will be in charge. Pierce looked up from his cereal. Henry lowered his beef stick. Both of them said nothing for four full seconds. Jane, Henry said carefully, is technically in charge. She's 14, Mom said. She's responsible. Henry considered this. She is responsible, he admitted. That's true. He picked the beef stick back up. Pierce went back to his cereal. Their mother left the kitchen feeling like that had gone well. She was wrong, but she wouldn't know that until Sunday. Pierce got out his notebook. He wrote two things. Saturday night, full crew. He stared at those words for a moment. Then he sent a text to Duane. Saturday, my house. All the parents are out, full crew. In a garage three streets over, a phone buzzed on a workbench beside a color-coded diagram, a laminated floor plan, and a notebook filled with calculations that would have baffled most adults and genuinely alarmed any criminal who'd seen them. Duane read the text, he looked at the map, he looked at the notebook, he looked at the 18 months of preparation on every wall of the garage. He picked up his pen and wrote at the top of a fresh page, it's time. He was ready. He had been ready for a long time. Victor Malone had also been ready. Not in the way Duane was ready, not with care and diagrams and the focused love of someone who takes something seriously. Vic was ready in the way a man gets ready when something has been sitting inside him for two years, getting heavier and colder and harder until it isn't about the original thing anymore. He'd found the Duchess through a contact in Columbus. She worked corporate security by day and asked no questions by night. She was precise, she was methodical, she never raised her voice. When Vic described the house on Lake Road, she listened without interrupting. Security system? She asked. Handbuilt, Vic said. By a kid. She looked at him. A kid, she said. An eleven-year-old, but don't I'll need blueprints. I have the police report from last time. They documented everything. She took the papers. She spent four days studying them. On the fifth day she came back and said, There are at least seven traps not in this report. How do you know? Gaps, she said. A planner this methodical doesn't leave gaps. He filled them. The police just didn't find everything. She set the papers down. He's had two years to improve. Vic looked at the papers for a long time. Can you get through it? I can get through anything, she said. But this won't be like last time. No, Vic agreed quietly. It won't. He didn't smile. He hadn't smiled in two years. Down the street, Fingers was packing a bag. He included his yellow beanie, a granola bar, a second granola bar, just in case, and what he considered a significantly improved attitude. Last time he hadn't brought snacks. That was the real mistake. Everything else, the traps, the paint, the humiliation, she n that was manageable. The snack situation had been inexcusable. He was not going to make that mistake again. He zipped the bag, put on the yellow beanie, and studied himself in the bathroom mirror. This time, he told his reflection, is different. His reflection looked skeptical. He put the second granola bar in his jacket pocket for easier access. Then he went to find Victor Malone. Chapter two Assembly Saturday afternoon arrived with blue skies and no idea what was about to happen. Pierce and Henry had cleaned the house, somewhat, and set up the living room with snacks, and the understanding that this was going to be the greatest Saturday night in the history of Lake Road. The crew arrived one family at a time. Duane came first because Duane always came first. He was carrying two bags. One was personal supplies, the other clinked when he set it down. He said nothing about the second bag, nobody asked. Behind him came Lois, who arrived by doing a back hand spring off the porch railing, landing in the yard and walking through the front door like that was just how she entered buildings. She was ten years old and completely unmanageable in the best possible way. Behind Lois was Evelyn, who looked around the living room, smiled quietly, and said, It's nice here. Behind Evelyn came their mom carrying Fredberry. Fredberry's full name was Samuel, but nobody called him that. He was one year old, round and steady, with the calm expression of someone who had seen many things and judged none of them. The moment his mom set him down, he began crawling toward the dog door with clear intention. Fredberry, Evelyn said, immediately reversing direction. Fredberry did not slow down. Bear arrived next with his family, and the first thing Tad said when he walked through the door was Do you think fish get cold? Nobody answered. Tad seemed satisfied anyway. Bear gave Henry a look that said, He's been like this for eleven years. There is no explanation. Jane came in behind Bear, assessing the room the way someone does when they're automatically cataloging exits and structural vulnerabilities. She was fourteen and sharp and she saw things. Nice place, she said, which from Jane meant she was already thinking five moves ahead. Molly came in last, carrying a small crock pot. I made queso, she said. Henry turned around slowly. His expression was the expression of a man who has just heard exactly the right thing. Molly, he said, you are an artist. The queso station was set up in the corner of the kitchen within four minutes and immediately became the most popular location in the house. Then Pierce's front door opened and Emma walked in. Emma was five years old, with blonde hair and the absolute conviction of someone who has decided how the world works and isn't interested in other theories. She walked in holding a glass jar with a lid and several air holes punched in the top. Inside the jar was a caterpillar. This is Gerald, Emma announced. He's coming too. This was not a discussion. Henry looked at the jar, he looked at Emma, he said, Gerald is welcome here. Emma looked satisfied. She set Gerald carefully on the side table and began surveying the room. Then Maddie came in. Maddie was three years old, she was wearing a tiara, a plastic one with pink gems, the kind that catches the light. She had three bracelets on her left wrist, a small plastic purse on her right arm, and an expression of absolute readiness. She walked to the center of the living room. She did a little spin. Maddie is here, she announced. Third person, zero self consciousness, complete command of the room. Henry started slow clapping. Bear joined in. Tad clapped very enthusiastically for reasons nobody could confirm he understood. Maddie accepted this as appropriate. Fredberry had been retrieved from the dog door twice and was now sitting in the middle of the kitchen floor eating cheerios, with the philosophical calm of someone who simply goes wherever he goes. Tad sat down next to him. I once ate a crayon, Tad told Fredberry, on purpose. Fredberry looked at him. It was blue, Tad said. I don't know why, I still don't know why. Fredberry offered him a cheerios. Tad took it. You get it, Tad said. Fredberry went back to his Cheerios. By five thirty, all eleven kids were in the house. The parents had done a final headcount given instructions to Jane Chipin Stocks, who nodded with the calm of someone who had already assessed the situation and had thoughts. And filed out to their cars. The last car pulled out of the driveway, the door clicked shut. Eleven kids stood in the silence of the house. Henry put both hands on his hips. This, he said, is the best day of my life. You said that last Tuesday, Pierce said. I say it a lot, Henry agreed. I mean it every time. Duane set his second bag on the coffee table. It clinked again. We need to talk, Duane said. Everyone looked at him. In the garage, he said. Now chapter three. Duane's Briefing. The garage had been transformed. Not recently. Duane had been working on this for eighteen months, but the transformation was complete, and when the older kids filed in and the light came on, even Bear, who had been here before, stopped moving. The walls had maps, not hand drawn scribbles, real maps, printed and laminated and color coded, with zones marked in different colors and notations in Duane's precise handwriting. There was a whiteboard. There was a folding table with labeled trays of components. There was a section of pegboard with tools hung on it in order of size. In the center was a whiteboard covered in diagrams. Duane stood in front of it. He was wearing his glasses and holding a laser pointer. He had laminated handouts. Henry took one and looked at it and looked at Duane. Duane, Henry said quietly. I've had a lot of time, Duane said. You made handouts. They're laminated. Henry stared at it for another moment. I am both proud of you and genuinely worried about you, and I want you to know both of those things are true at the same time. That's the correct response, Duane said. Let's begin. He clicked the laser pointer on. The house is divided into four zones, he said. Zone A is the perimeter, six traps, zone B is the entry points, eight traps, zone C is the interior, eleven traps, zone D. He paused. We'll discuss zone D separately. What's zone D? Pierce asked. Later? Duane said. How much later? When it's relevant. Pierce looked at Henry. Henry shrugged. This was just Duane. Duane went through zone A first. The perimeter traps were what he called first contact deterrence. Things designed to alert the crew and mark the intruder before they got close. He described the welcome matte flower launcher, pressure plate, triggers on 65 pounds or more, fires a flower bag at face level, the leaf sprinkler board, concealed under the backyard leaves, triggers a cold water spray, the side gate maple syrup drop, tripwire, overhead bucket, self explanatory, and three others that made the room progressively quieter as people realized he was completely serious about all of them. Bear had his own notebook open. Flower launcher 8.7 potential, syrup drop nine point zero for style, seven point four for practicality. I'm giving the sprinkler board a seven point eight and I'm open to revision. Jane raised her hand. The mud room south corner. There's a gap in your perimeter approach map between traps four and six. Someone moving along the fence line could bypass both. The room went quiet. Duane looked at Jane. He looked at the map. He wrote something in his notebook without speaking. Good, he said. That was all. Jane nodded. Lois next to her smiled a little. Zone B was entry points. Duane had covered the back door, peanut butter on every exterior knob, rendered doorknobs ungrippable with bare hands. The side window, rigged to trigger a foam blaster from the mudroom ceiling, the garage door, multiple traps, which he declined to describe in detail on the grounds that the element of surprise is valuable even internally. And the basement window, bottle cap floor for noise, pressure plate for zone D arming. Again, later. Zone C was interior. This is where things got extraordinary. Duane walked through eleven separate traps that covered the main hallway, the kitchen, the living room, the upstairs landing, the dining room, and what he called the chandelier situation, which he described with the calm of someone explaining a beautiful piece of engineering. Wait, Bear said, writing. The bowling ball is on a pendulum. From both directions, Duane said. From both Bear looked up. There are two bowling balls. The second one activates from the east end if the first one is bypassed by someone moving along the baseboard. The room was very quiet. Duane, Pierce said slowly, have you slept in the last eighteen months? Adequately, Duane said. Emma had been sitting cross legged on the garage floor the entire presentation with Gerald's jar in her lap. She had not said a word. When Duane finished Zone C, she raised her hand. Can I make a trap? Duane looked at her. What materials would you need? he said. Duct tape, Emma said. My stuffed animals, some of Molly's craft string. Duane considered this for a long moment. I'm putting you down for Zone C, Kitchen Corner. You're protecting the perimeter around Gerald. If anyone gets past zone B into the kitchen, you activate the kitchen corner trap. Can you do that? Emma stood up. She was five years old, and she looked like someone who had been waiting for this exact question her entire life. Yes? she said. Good, Duane said. Don't improvise. Emma nodded. She was definitely going to improvise. At the back of the garage, Maddie was asleep on a beanbag chair. She had fallen asleep approximately seventeen minutes into the presentation. She was still wearing her tiara. Tad, beside her, was awake but appeared to be thinking about something completely unrelated. He looked up as people started filing out. Is Zone D good or bad? he said. Duane looked at him. Depends on which side you're on, Duane said. Tad nodded seriously. Like most things, he said. Duane paused. He wrote that in the margin of his notebook. Then he turned off the garage light. We're ready, he said. Chapter four. Evening before the storm They ate dinner. It was loud in the way dinner is loud when eleven kids of various ages and energy levels are all in the same kitchen, and the queso is warm and there are chips and nobody is in charge of the volume level. Henry ate three beef sticks and a bowl of pasta and described both as career highlights. Bear compiled a running list of who was sitting where and their exact chip consumption rates. Tad ate queso quietly and then looked at Molly and said, I think tables are just floors that gave up being the floor. Molly said, Eat your chips, Tad. He did. Fredberry sat in a high chair and ate things and also threw things and was enormously satisfied with both activities. Evelyn watched him with the focused attention of someone who has learned the hard way that he is faster than he looks. Maddie ate approximately six bites of pasta and then demanded to be excused so she could perform. Pierce said there would be no performing until after dishes. Maddie looked at Pierce with the expression of someone who was filing a complaint internally, but has decided not to express it yet. Emma ate her dinner while reading the side of the Cheerios box to Gerald. It has whole grain oats, she told him. I don't know if caterpillars like oats, but you might. After dinner, while the older kids cleaned up and the younger ones scattered, Lois appeared in the kitchen doorway doing a one armed cartwheel for no reason and then disappeared. Pierce had learned to simply register Lois as a presence rather than a specific location. She was always somewhere. The exact somewhere was unknowable. It was a warm evening. Bear and Pierce did a slow walk of the perimeter, just to check things, the way they had taken to doing. Not because they thought anything was wrong, but because it felt right. The neighborhood was quiet. Sprinklers ticked in a yard down the street. A dog barked twice and went silent. You think he'd actually come back? Bear asked. Pierce thought about the look on Vic's face the last time, the anger under the humiliation. The fact that he'd gotten away. Yeah, Pierce said, I do. Bear was quiet for a moment. Good thing Duane's been busy. Good thing, Pierce agreed. Back inside, Maddie had gotten to the Bluetooth speaker. She had connected it. She had watched Henry do this before, and she had a memory like a trap. And she was now in the center of the living room performing what she called the evening show. For an audience of Evelyn, Fredberry, and Tad, who was watching from the floor with the focused appreciation of someone who has found his people. She was singing a song that was mostly her own composition, about a princess who was also a horse, and she was putting everything into it. When Pierce came back inside, he stood in the doorway for a moment, watching his three year old sister and her tiara performing with absolute conviction for an audience of three, one of whom was eating Cheerios off the floor. He smiled in spite of everything. Henry appeared beside him. She's going to be something else when she grows up. She's something else right now, Pierce said. Henry considered this. True? He ate a beef stick. Very true. By nine thirty, the little kids were in various states of winding down. Fredberry was asleep, which Evelyn had achieved through a process she refused to describe to anyone because it had taken six attempts. Emma had assembled a small fort out of pillows with Gerald's jar at the center and declared it the night fortress, which sounded ominous but was primarily stuffed animals. Tad was asleep on the couch, one hand extended as if reaching for something. Maddie was technically in bed. She was not technically asleep. She was practicing a routine with her hands, narrating it quietly to herself. Henry listened at the door for a moment and then walked away smiling. At ten fifteen, Pierce was making himself a grilled cheese. He was focused on the sandwich. This was a late night ritual, and he took it seriously. When Henry appeared in the kitchen doorway, Henry was not eating a beef stick. Henry always had a beef stick. Henry not having a beef stick was a signal. Pierce looked up. Henry was looking out the window over the sink. Pierce, Henry said. His voice was different. Pierce, that yellow beanie. Pierce set down the spatula. He looked out the window, down the street. Dark car, two houses down parked under a tree where the streetlight didn't reach. And in the passenger window, unmistakable, a yellow beanie. Pierce's stomach went cold. He didn't say anything for a moment. Then he turned off the stove, left the grilled cheese, and went to find Duane. Chapter five Three in a Car Victor Malone sat in the driver's seat with his hands on the wheel and his eyes on the house. He had the address memorized, he had the layout memorized. He had studied the police report from two years ago until it was part of him. Trap by trap, room by room, every detail the officers had documented. He knew the original system better than the kid who'd built it. The question was what the kid had added since. The answer, according to the Duchess, was a great deal. She was in the back seat reviewing her tablet. She had the original report, her own notes from four days of study, and a quiet, methodical way of thinking through problems that Vic had come to respect. She was not Fingers. Nothing about her was like fingers. She didn't make noise, she didn't ask about snacks, she simply prepared and then she moved. In the passenger seat, Fingers was eating his second granola bar. There are a lot of lights on, Fingers observed. Yes, Vic said. How many kids did you say? Doesn't matter, Vic said. Fingers ate some granola bar. The house looks bigger in person. It's the same size it always was. I wasn't there for very long last time, Fingers said, with the tone of someone acknowledging a minor administrative hiccup. Mostly I was outside. I know, Vic said. Outside and then in the trees briefly, and then the police were there and I know, Fingers. I'm just contextualizing. You're eating a granola bar at eleven o'clock at night while we prepare for a Job I get hungry when I contextualize. The Duchess did not comment. She turned a page on her tablet. Vic looked at the house for a long moment. This wasn't about money. The house on Lake Road had things in it, valuables, electronics, the usual box, but that wasn't the point. The point was that two years ago a group of kids had made Victor Malone look like a fool, and that had never left him. It was in him like a splinter. He went to sleep with it. He woke up with it. He was here because some things needed to be finished. The front door, the Duchess said from the back, not looking up. I'll take a different approach than the original report suggests. There will be new traps at all the documented entry points. I'll identify the seams. You're sure? I've read this report forty times, she said. I can see where the thinking was young and where it's matured. He's better now than he was. But patterns don't change. I know how he thinks. Vic looked at her in the mirror. You've never met him. I don't need to, she said. The traps are his handwriting. I've been reading them for four days. Fingers had finished the granola bar. He was looking at the house with what could charitably be described as optimism. Last time I didn't make it inside, he said. I remember, Vic said. This time I'll make it inside. Vic was quiet for a moment. The plan is, you go to the back, distract whatever they've said up there, draw attention. The Duchess takes the east entry while they're focused on you. I come in through the basement. Fingers process this. So I'm the distraction again. You're good at it, Vic said. Fingers considered this. He was not entirely sure it was a compliment, but it wasn't wrong. Okay, he said. He checked his yellow beanie. It was on correctly. Okay, he said again, more firmly. Let's do this. He got out of the car. He did not immediately go toward the house. He stood on the sidewalk for a moment, breathing the night air, preparing. Then he walked around to the back of the car and opened the trunk. He had packed a second bag. Inside, carefully wrapped, three more granola bars. He tucked one in each pocket. He was not making the snack mistake again. He closed the trunk and walked toward the back of the house. The night was quiet. It would not stay that way. Chapter six The War Council Duane's face, when Pierce told him, did not change. He was quiet for a moment. He looked at the window, he looked at Pierce. Then he picked up his pen, opened his notebook to a specific page, and drew a single check mark next to a line that read Contingency one. Return. He had written that page eighteen months ago. Get everyone, he said, not the little ones, just the core crew, plus Jane, Molly, and Lois. Right now. Pierce nodded and moved. Within three minutes, eight of them were crowded into the dining room with the lights low. Henry had found a beef stick from somewhere, which told Pierce he'd already had a minute to process the news and had moved from shock to operational. Bear had his notebook. Jane was standing with her arms crossed and the expression of someone who was already several steps into a plan. Lois had appeared from the direction of the upstairs landing and none of them had seen her come down the stairs. Duane stood at the head of the table. He didn't need the whiteboard for this part. He had this memorized. Roles, he said. No discussion. We train for this. Pierce. Strike team lead. You move freely. You respond to any breach that gets past the first two zones. You do not stand still. Pierce nodded. Henry. Communications. You're my relay. Every zone, every update, it goes through you. You also function as emotional support and distraction if needed. Henry. I am genuinely proud of that role. I want you to know that. Bear, Intel. You're at the upstairs window. You track their movement. You call out positions, you count them, time them, and report. Bear opened his notebook. Already started. He said. Jane, upstairs command. You hold the high ground and you protect the path to the younger kids. Nothing gets up those stairs. Jane. Agreed. Molly. Logistics. Keep the little ones calm. Keep them fed. Keep them in the safe room. If they're happy, they stay quiet. If they stay quiet, they stay safe. Molly. I still have queso. Perfect. Dwayne said. Lois, mobility. You're everywhere I'm not. If someone gets through a zone, you slow them down. Lois tilted her head. How fast do you need me? As fast as you can move. Three seconds anywhere in the house, she said. Duane wrote this down. Evelyn. Fredberry duty, non-negotiable. He stays in the safe room. This is the most important job in the house. Evelyn. Understood. Fair. It really is the most important job. Everyone nodded. They had all seen what happened when Fredberry was unsupervised. Duane. Trap control, Duane continued. I monitor the sensor panel, make real-time decisions, and I manage Zone D when the time comes. Zone D again, Henry said. When it's time, Duane said. Henry looked at the ceiling. I'm going to have a very specific anxiety about Zone D until I know what it is. Good, Duane said. That's the correct energy. Emma had appeared in the doorway. She was holding Gerald's jar. Emma, Pierce said. You need to Unicorn Protocol, Emma said. Duane told me. Kitchen Corner. I activate when they get past Zone B. Duane looked at her. Correct. I also made some additions to the trap, Emma said. Emma, Duane said, I told you not to improvise. Emma met his eyes. She said nothing. Duane wrote something in his notebook. Tell me the additions. Emma described them. Duane wrote faster. By the end, he had added two more lines to his zone C diagram. Authorized, he said. Emma went back to the kitchen. What about me? said Maddie from behind Pierce's left elbow. Everyone turned. Maddie was there in her tiara, having absolutely materialized from nowhere. She was three, she should not have been awake. She was looking up at the group with total readiness. Henry crouched down to her level. Maddie, your job is the most important job in the whole house. Maddie's eyes went wide. Tell Maddie. You're the star, Henry said. Your job is to stay in the living room. Do not open any doors, and if anything happens, anything at all, we do you do what you do best. Maddie looked at him with great seriousness. Maddie performs, she said. Maddie performs, Henry confirmed. He stood up and looked at Pierce with an expression that said, I have absolutely no idea if that was a good idea. But Pierce chose not to address it. One more, said a voice from the kitchen doorway. Tad was leaning against the frame, eating queso from a cup, looking at the group. What's my job? he said. Bear. Stay next to Molly. What if I have to go to the bathroom? Then go to the bathroom with purpose, the bear said. Tad thought about this very seriously. I can do that, he said. Outside, a shadow moved along the back fence. Duane's tablet chimed softly. Zone A Censor. Everyone looked at him. Duane looked at the screen. Zone A, he said quietly. They're starting. Get to your positions. The room moved. Chapter 7. Fingers Meets the Perimeter. Fingers moved through the backyard with the confidence of a man who had been thinking about this for two years and was ready. He was not ready. He was wearing dark clothes, which was good. He was wearing his yellow beanie, which was less stealthy but non-negotiable. He had studied the photos Vic showed him of the original trap map. He had not studied the revised trap map because no one had given him one, because the revised trap map was inside Duane's notebook, which was inside Duane's head. He stepped onto the back path toward the house. His left foot hit the welcome mat flower launcher. The launcher bouts that Oma, a spring-loaded platform mounted at shin level behind the porch step, designed by Duane with a level of mechanical precision that would have impressed any engineer, fired a three pound bag of flour at face level, 0.4 seconds after activation. The bag hit Fingers in the face. He stood in the dark covered in flour for a long moment. Okay, he said to himself. That's one. He wiped his eyes. He moved forward. His right foot found the sprinkler board under the leaves, a twelve inch pressure plate connected to three buried garden sprinklers, which Duane had loaded not with water, but with a cold water and dish soap mixture. All three sprinklers activated at once. Fingers was now flour and wet soap. From the upstairs window, Bear noted in his book Sprinkler Board 8.9. Better than projected. Fingers shook himself. He could see the back porch. He was almost there. He just had to get to the door. The side gate tripwire he stepped over. He could see it in the moonlight, a thin line. But he stepped on the second tripwire, four inches to the left of the first one, which he could not see because it was designed specifically for people who successfully avoided the first wire. This tripwire triggered the overhead maple syrup bucket. The bucket, mounted to the gatepost, rotated and poured. Maple syrup from above. Fingers stood under it. He was now flour, soap, and maple syrup. He put his hands out and looked at them. Okay, he said. He had to admit this was thicker than he expected. He felt significantly heavier. He took three steps toward the porch. The porch step triggered the feather cannon. The feather cannon was a leaf blower mounted on a swivel stand aimed at the porch approach, loaded with the contents of three queen size feather pillows. It fired for approximately four seconds. Four seconds is longer than it sounds when you are being blasted with feathers while covered in maple syrup. When it stopped, Fingers was still standing. He looked down at himself. He was now a bird, not metaphorically. He had feathers on every surface. He had feathers in places he would not discuss. He appeared to be molting. From the upstairs window, Bear set down his pencil for a moment. I don't have a number for this, Bear said. I don't think numbers cover this. Henry, next to him, was holding onto the windowsill for support because he was laughing too hard to stand independently. Fingers tried the back door, peanut butter on the doorknob. Exterior grade, extra thick, applied that afternoon. His hands could not grip it. He tried his sleeve. His sleeve stuck to the knob, and he had to peel it free, leaving a sleeve shaped imprint in the peanut butter that would still be there two weeks later. He tried the door with his elbow. The door did not open because it was also locked. He backed up, he looked around. He found the side door to the garage. This was not on the original trap map. Fingers took this as a good sign. He pulled it open. The garage door bungee cord, a surgical tubing setup mounted to the interior ceiling, connected to a water balloon the size of a large melon. Fired at head level the moment the door swung past forty five degrees. Direct hit. Fingers sat down on the floor just inside the garage door. He was still for a moment. He looked around the garage. It was clean and organized, and he had to admit, pretty comfortable. There was a workbench with interesting tools on it. There was a lawn chair folded against the wall. He unfolded the lawn chair. He sat in it. He found a granola bar in his pocket. He had several. He ate one. He looked at Duane's workbench with what was becoming genuine admiration. The tools were organized by size. The labeled bins were meticulous. The kid had a system. Fingers picked up a small mechanical component and turned it in his hands. He didn't know what it was, but it was quality. This guy, Fingers said to the empty garage, is an artist. He ate the rest of the granola bar. He got out his phone and called Vic. Vic? What? Vic said. I'm in the garage. Silence. You're inside? I'm inside the garage. A longer silence. The garage is not the house, Fingers. I know that. I'm just I'm acclimating it. There may have been some traps. There may also be some traps.