…did I get those lyrics wrong again?
The Doclopedia #2,342
A California Kid & Spider Story: The Junkyard Job: Part 1
The six person crew was sitting out in front of a ramshackle country store, one of only two businesses left in what had once been a very small town. Now, it was a few shuttered buildings next to a new highway that lead to the big city, a city that used to be 10 miles away and now was less than 4.
“Five more years and this will all be subdivisions,” Spider said as he sat on the tailgate of a 57 Ford pickup. Next to him sat Blondie Sanchez, who was neither blonde, nor a Sanchez. She was dark haired, shapely, and an excellent thief after only ten months of working.
Blondie nodded. “News reporter last night said big money was already buying up land as fast as possible.”
The California Kid, tall, lanky and looking far less well groomed than usual, took a long drink of his grape soda and looked at the enormous junkyard across the two lane road from the store.
“True enough. I expect this store to shut down within a year. It only survives now because the local farmers and ranchers don’t want to drive into town for soda, cigarettes, and beer.”
He gestured toward the junkyard, final resting place for 30 acres of cars, motorcycles, trucks and a few boats.
“That place will sell out last, because according to our intel, the greedy old bastard who owns it plans on waiting until the last minute and highest price. And thanks to his greed and miserly nature, we will all soon be many thousands of dollars richer. Smooth, tell us all about this target.”
Smooth Paul was, even done up like a typical country twenty-something, strikingly handsome. He was tall, though not as tall as the Kid, and had blue eyes that looked at a person as though they saw a friend, or, when needed, a lover. Smooth was the intel collector for the crew, and he was very good at his job.
“Guys name is Henry Evans. 63 years old, divorced 15 years now after his wife left him. Has three sons that work there with him. My source says their not going to win any Nobel Prizes anytime soon. Henry lives just about half a mile down the road. His sons live about a mile past that.”
He paused to push his black hair back and take a bite from his candy bar.
“Old Henry does not trust banks, or anything else that isn’t Henry Evans. Because of this, every bit of money he’s earned over the last 45 years running that place is kept in a big old safe hidden in a rusty ice cream truck just behind the shack that doubles as his office. Estimates run to between 75 and 125 thousand dollars.”
Trix whistled at those numbers. Trix was small, agile, and a very good inside thief, considering that a few months earlier, she had been just a struggling nursing student and divorced mother.
“That much money from a bunch of old cars, way out in the sticks? How?”
“First off, every moderately populated area in this country has a junkyard like this. Not everyone buys new car parts. Place this size was, and is, still popular. In the 20 minutes we’ve been here, 11 cars have gone in and out. Secondly, places like this are run on a cash only basis and almost never have an actual business license. I’m pretty sure that Henry has never paid anything but his property taxes.”
The Kid nodded. He robbed from the marks with the most loot and the most interesting challenges, but he also took a great deal of pleasure when the mark was a lawbreaking piece of work like Henry Evans.
“Now tell them why this will be a challenge, Spider.”
Spider was 5’10” tall, muscular, and had the overall look of an ex-Marine, which he was, having served 4 years before returning to a life of thievery. He was the technician and main inside man of the crew.
“On the other side of those 12 foot high wooden walls is a 10 foot high chain link fence topped by 18 inches of barbed wire and razor wire. But right along the top of that wood fence is a strand of hot wire, probably set at a bit higher voltage than the farmers around here use to keep livestock inside. But the real challenges are the 8 very large, very mean guard dogs that get let loose when Henry leaves for the night. Mixed breeds, raised to attack anyone that isn’t Henry. His sons leave before he does, because they are smart enough to not want to get eaten.”
Pieboy, who was their driver, and didn’t talk much, said, “That explains why the gate is only secured with two chains and two locks.”
The Kid nodded. “Exactly. The dogs roam the junkyard all night and anyone approaching the gate gets to see several muzzles full of teeth poke through that small gap in the center. An excellent deterrent.”
“So how do we get past them? Drug them?,” asked Blondie.
The Kid shook his head. “Too chancy. Too low a dosage and they wake up too soon. Too high and they might die, which is a non-starter. Nope, we are going to use the fact that males dogs and human men are so much alike.”
Spider chuckled. “In other words, we’re going to distract them with hot bitches.”
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