There are plenty to choose from. No sense in making it hard on yourself.
But for every rule, there is an exception.
Roland Greyhill’s home isn’t a natural target. His gates are locked and his guard is up. The man makes his living dealing with warlords and armies and vast amounts of cash. He knows he’s got enemies. He’s spent years watching his back. He trusts no one. There is nothing easy about him.
But make no mistake: Difficult or not, tonight he is the right target.
? ? ?
We’re getting close. I swallow the jangling feeling in my throat and roll down my window a little. The air is wet and smells like jasmine.
Boyboy is quiet beside me. I know he wants to ask how I’m feeling. Everyone else has been going over the plan all day, but I’ve been thinking about it for years. I’m not sure I would even know how to explain how I feel right now. Like I swallowed a hive of bees? Is that an emotion?
But Boyboy knows better than to ask me dumb questions.
When we’re two houses away, Ketchup turns the lights off and rolls to a stop.
“We’re here, Mr. Omoko,” Bug Eye says into his phone.
The mansion takes up twice the space of any other home on the street. Over the high wall, only the red tile roof is visible. What we can’t see are half a dozen dudes with AK-47s and two German shepherds prowling the grounds. But we know they’re there.
Everyone looks up at the house, dead silent. Even Ketchup.
Bug Eye rubs his hands together. “You ready, Tiny Girl?”
I touch the earpiece. It’s secure. I pop my shoulders and twist my back. It takes everything not to shout, I’m here. I’m doing this. This is my house.
“I’m ready,” I say, and slip out of the van.
FOUR
Rule 5: You have to have a plan.
Have a damn good plan. It should be simple. Detail it out. Commit it to memory. You need to know it backward and forward so you don’t freeze up when you’re standing there with Goondas breathing down your neck, looking up at that house you’re about to rob.
My plan has three parts: Dirt. Money. Blood.
It’s a good plan.
Tonight we start with dirt.
I have thought long and hard about this plan, looked at all the angles. I’ve been careful. I’ve tried to think of everything.
But here’s the thing you have to remember about plans: Three-quarters of the way in, it all just may blow up in your face. Equipment breaks. Maids wake up. Dogs bark. The true mark of a good thief is having the stones to keep your cool and jua kali that thing back together.
That’s right. You’ve gotta be ready to improvise.
? ? ?
Boyboy kicks things off. As I’m slinking toward the mansion with Ketchup at my heels, he hacks into the security system. He turns off the electric perimeter fence and disables the security booth’s camera feeds. Then he reroutes the feeds to his computer so he has eyes all over the Greyhills’ lawn. Next he kills the first-floor window alarms. He figures that he can keep everything offline for about three minutes before security fixes things. By that time I’ll be inside, and he’ll have the interior cameras on a loop, so anyone who’s looking will just see a nice empty house. Power outages are common enough in the rainy season. Security will probably chalk this one up to good old nature. The only thing I have to do is hurry.
Ketchup and I pull a wooden ladder out of the bushes, where a gardener on payroll who works down the street stashed it this afternoon. Then I climb right up the wall, under the shadows of the jacaranda trees that line the street. Easy peasy. At the top I listen for the hum of electricity coming through the razor wire. It’s quiet, but I still touch it first with my pinky finger just in case.
“Don’t you trust me?” Boyboy chides through the earpiece.
I stay quiet and concentrate on lifting myself over.
When I was a kid, I took gymnastics lessons for a couple of years until Mama said we weren’t going to take charity anymore. I’m not sure if that’s what did it, or if it’s because I’m small or what, but doing something like climbing over razor wire on top of a fifteen-foot-high wall is just easy for me. Some people are good at computer stuff. Some are good singers. I’m good at being a thief.
I lower myself down the wall and let go, landing with a small thump in the bushes. Crouched behind dripping palm branches, I wait until I hear the van start and drive off. Bug Eye, Ketchup, and Boyboy will stay far enough away that they won’t attract attention.
Boyboy’s voice whispers, “Okay, the dogs are on the other side, but you got some dudes heading your way.”