Scrivenings of the King-Beyond-The-Wall

Western World #30

Jacob "Jake" Harrow had learned many things in his career as a professional thief, but none more critical than this: never underestimate the willingness of the greedy to betray you in the name of money. As he stood in the dimly lit alley waiting for his partner, the chill of the night seemed to seep deeper into his bones, a stark reminder of the risky venture ahead.

He checked his watch—an antique piece, lifted from a high-profile gala—a habit that betrayed his anxiety. It was nearly midnight, and the city's cacophony had softened into a distant murmur. Finally, footsteps approached, quick and light. Jake didn’t need to turn to know it was Micky, his partner of five years, the best safecracker in the business.

"You're late," Jake murmured as Micky sidled up beside him, breathing heavily as if he’d been running.

"Sorry, mate. Had to make sure we weren’t being tailed," Micky replied, adjusting his dark cap over his messy hair.

The target was a high-rise downtown, its top floors home to a corporate tycoon with more enemies than friends. Their goal was simple: retrieve a set of incriminating ledgers rumored to be hidden in his personal safe. The kind of job they had done a hundred times. But tonight, something felt off.

They moved through the shadows, each step synchronized with the other’s. Their years of partnership had honed their movements to near silence, a ghostly presence in the night. Reaching the building, Micky quickly disabled the side entrance’s security system, and they slipped inside.

The interior was opulent, marble floors and walls lined with expensive art. Jake’s heart hammered against his ribs, not from the fear of getting caught, but from what this job represented—his final heist. He planned to retire after this, escape to some remote island and forget the adrenaline-fueled life of crime.

They took the service elevator, Micky’s fingers dancing over the control panel to send them straight to the penthouse. As the doors opened, they were met by darkness and an oppressive silence. Jake led the way, his night-vision goggles illuminating the path to the office where the safe awaited.

Micky went to work on the safe, his tools whispering against the metal. Jake kept watch, his ears straining for any sound out of place. Minutes ticked by, each one stretching longer than the last.

"Got it," Micky finally hissed, a note of triumph in his whisper. The safe door swung open, revealing stacks of cash, glinting jewels, and, importantly, the ledgers bound in leather. Jake moved to fill their bags, the weight of the books reassuring against his palm.

As they prepared to leave, Micky's hand on his arm stopped him. "Jake, we need to talk."

Now? Jake frowned, the urgency to leave prickling at him. "It can wait—"

"It can’t." Micky’s voice was strained, desperate. "Jake, I’m sorry. I really am."

Before Jake could react, the lights flooded on, blindingly bright. Blinking against the sudden illumination, he saw figures emerging from the shadows, security guards with weapons trained on them.

"What’s this, Micky?" Jake’s voice was ice, betrayal coiling tight in his chest.

"They offered me a deal I couldn't refuse, mate. A clean slate, a new life. And money, lots of it. I just had to turn you in."

Jake’s mind raced. He could try to fight, to flee, but the room was surrounded. His gaze landed on Micky, his partner, his friend. "You sold me out for a few bucks?"

Micky couldn’t meet his eyes. "I’m sorry, Jake. Truly."

The guards closed in, handcuffs cold as they snapped around Jake’s wrists. As they led him away, Jake turned to Micky one last time. "Remember what I always said about greed?"

Micky nodded, miserable.

"It’ll betray you, too, one day. Watch your back."

Months later, Jake sat in a small, stark cell, the bars as cold and unyielding as his new reality. The trial had been swift; the evidence, overwhelming. He was serving time, but Micky’s betrayal served a harsher sentence in his mind.

Unexpectedly, a guard approached his cell one afternoon. "You’ve got a visitor."

Perplexed, Jake followed to the visitation room. There, behind the glass, sat Micky. He looked older, wearier.

Jake picked up the phone. "Never thought I’d see you here."

Micky swallowed hard. "I had to come. I had to tell you—you were right."

Jake’s heart didn’t soften. "Right about what?"

"They took everything, Jake. The money, the promises—it was all a setup to clean house. I ended up with nothing. Worse than nothing."

Jake’s voice was flat, devoid of sympathy. "What do you want from me, Micky?"

"Forgiveness, I guess. Or at least to warn you. They’re not done, Jake. They’re cleaning up loose ends. You need to watch your back."

The warning chilled Jake more than the coldest cell could. "Thanks for the heads up," he said, though the words tasted like ash.

Micky stood, his face lined with regret. "I really am sorry, Jake."

Jake watched him leave, the words echoing in his mind. Never underestimate the willingness of the greedy to betray you in the name of money. Betrayal, he realized, came in many forms, and greed was the most unscrupulous.

As Micky’s figure disappeared, Jake turned back to his cell, his mind already working. If there was one thing he’d learned as a thief, it was how to survive. He’d need that now more than ever.


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(904 words)


Prompt: Never underestimate the willingness of the greedy to throw you under the bus.