Wow, San Diego. That’s a long drive. Hope you’re careful. Bring back some of that sea breeze for me. Talk soon. Camden.
I thought it cute that he signed his name and exhaled a sigh of relief, tilting my head up to the sky. He was going to be out in San Bernardino all night. That was at least an hour away which meant he’d be gone by nine p.m. and wouldn’t be back until midnight at the earliest. I had three hours to do this.
I was going to rob Camden McQueen.
CHAPTER NINE
Unfortunately, lying to Camden also meant lying to my uncle. Their stories had to match because when the sheriff’s son was robbed, the whole town was going to know about it.
When I got back home from Joshua Tree, I packed my bags and left a note for him. He was somewhere out in the date groves and I didn’t have the time to hunt him down. Plus, I felt better lying on paper than to his face.
Basically, I told him the same thing I told Camden; I was going to San Diego for the night to see my friend Cindy. I know, I know. Cindy is totally the name of the girl you make up in your alibi. But I actually did have a friend called Cindy in San Diego, and she was one of those people who owed me big time. Let’s just say I did a lot of eco-terrorism on her behalf and her house is now overrun by the rabbits and dogs we liberated from an animal testing clinic.
I left the note on the counter and made myself promise that as soon as I had any extra money, I’d make sure that the mustard in Uncle Jim’s fridge would never be lonely. The man worked too hard and—in his own way—was far too generous to be missing the finer things in life. He may not have wanted charity, but I was sure he was going to get it somehow.
At about four p.m. I revved Jose and peeled out of the cul-de-sac. If my uncle heard my wheels out in the groves, then the timing would make sense. I took a left onto the highway and headed for the outlet mall in Cabazon. I had a few hours to kill and that place was as good as any to get lost in a crowd. It would have been more fun if I had a few spare dollars to spare, but with my last twenty going to dinner and gas, I was flat broke.
I wasted my time walking around the stores and peeking in the windows, battered by the relentless wind that swept down the I-10 and kept the giant turbines turning. Considering I was forever consigned to pants or leggings, I’d never been too interested in fashion anyway. I wore what I had to and was comfortable with my uniform of jeans, pretty/edgy tops, and boots. When I grew bored of window shopping, I went and sat in my car with my dying Kindle, its battery flashing CHARGE ME for the next hour. Then, when the time was right, I popped a few Kava pills to kill my flaring nerves and headed back into Palm Valley.
This time my soundtrack was the album Sunset Mission by Bohren & Der Club of Gore, a German horror jazz band that was all instrumental. As silly as it sounds, listening to it not only calmed me down, but it made me feel like a femme fatale in a film noir. It was part of my pre-con ritual. It made me play the character of the grifter. It made me own my lack of morality. Of course when I saw it all in my head, my black hair was curled in a sleek bob and I wore red lipstick. I also drank scotch on the rocks while safecracking. Hey, whatever gets you ready for the job.
A few blocks before Camden’s, I pulled down a side street and went down two blocks. Then I went up another block and parked my car beside a small dog-walking park. If I headed across the street and went through a vacant lot, I’d be on his street and his house would be three doors down. It was a joyous day when Google Maps Street View came into our lives.
I cut the engine and spent a few moments scoping the darkness. The street was totally empty and very quiet considering it was only 9:15 at night. That could either work for or against me. When there weren’t many people about, if someone saw you, you were easier to remember. That said, you had a greater chance of not being seen.
I was prepared though. I reached in the backseat and stuck on a blue baseball cap and a pair of thin gloves. The rest of me was dressed in black jeans and a long-sleeved black basketball jersey to hide any sign of femininity. I tucked my notepad into the back pocket of my jeans and removed my car keys from the ignition. On the end of the keychain I had my trusty tiny Allen wrench I had ground down, plus a straightened out safety pin and paperclip, both strong enough to handle the five-pin tumbler lock that kept Camden’s house safe. The only other thing I had was a reusable Safeway bag that was tucked into my boots. I traveled light. It was easier that way.