THE SIX O'CLOCK TRIP

THE SIX O’CLOCK TRIP

THE STREETS OF A BUSY CITY

Hal knew he had a shot right there and then. There was something that told him today was the day. That today, something was going to be done.

His hands, clad in white cloth gloves which had to be washed again that night, clenched the rough broom he was holding. Hal was very noticeable indeed – he was the public clean-up man everyday from Wednesday to Friday, dressed in fluorescent orange with silver strips running across the length of his waist.

Hal Porter was someone everyone noticed, but no one paid attention to. So when Hal spotted Sy Coben and his gang of American Italian friends draped in gold jewelry coming out of a condo, he decided that yes, indeed, he had a pretty good shot - at a whole lot of sweet, liquid cash.

FIVE FORTY-TWO

Hal began to pack up his cleaning equipment, and proceeded to dump all his collected rubbish into the nearby huge, sinister looking trash barrel. He checked the time, and then wondered over to the city library.

He went straight for the city directories, and found Sy Coben’s address in less than five minutes.

SIX O’CLOCK

The last drops of sun were being wrenched clean as Hal drove his trashy white Toyota to Coben’s condo and parked five hundred feet away from it. He killed the engine and sat; seat belt still on and silent as a mouse. Maybe tomorrow he needn’t be working as someone so low in the food chain anymore.

He knew as well as anyone else that Sy kept a hefty safe up there, in that condo. Sy wasn’t so foolish as to tell anyone that first-hand, but there had been enough electricians, plumbers and Cable guys who had all seen the safe. Sy made no effort to try and hide the monster safe.

Hal got out of his car, walked to the backseat and fetched his tools, which were rolled up a neat bundle in a backpack. Neatly folded in his coat pocket was a large sized garbage bag. He closed the Toyota’s door, getting excited at the prospect that he would be able to dump this old thing for a slick, silver Caddy.

He crossed the street, fear and adrenalin mixed into a sour kind of excitement that seemed to ripple through him. The streets were drained of activity, although he did see one lonely cocker spaniel trotting past. Hal had never done anything like this in his life, but he had read enough non-fiction crime stories to know how stuff like this worked. He could climb a rope, had pretty good logic, and was good at staying unnoticed

He slipped into one quarter of the four sections of the revolving glass doors, stepped into the lobby and proceeded to find the elevator. He took note of a couple things: there was a large restaurant to the far north of the lobby, and a bar feeding off the restaurant. This was both good and bad. Good because it would mask any sounds he would make, bad because it meant he wouldn’t be able to here people coming when he was pulling off the job.

Hal spotted the elevator and walked casually toward it, depressing the button with the upright triangle. It lit up a nice orange color. When the doors slithered open, a couple linking arms walked out toward the revolving doors, laughing and kissing each other. Hal stepped into the elevator and quickly pressed the close door button two times. He could smell the strong perfume the woman had on.

He came out of the elevator on the top floor. There was one hallway, and that was all. A stand was erected between each door, and a vase stood on top each, baring a few sweet-smelling flowers. There were three rooms. Hal looked at the room numbers and almost giggled with excitement when he spotted Coben’s room. There was a single, lone lock attached to the wooden door. Hal knew how lock picking worked, but had never the time to actually try it. He had a mini drill in his backpack, but he couldn’t drill the door, incase the neighboring rooms were occupied. His options were fast thinning.

Then he spotted the window, adjacent to Coben’s door. Hal pulled the window open and looked out. There was thin paneling clinging to the condo’s wall. It was possible to walk along if he was real careful, and there was only the outdoor swimming pool beneath him. That was somehow the greatest motivation of all – the job, Hal felt, was made for him. If he did trip – so long as he walked one meter toward Coben’s room - he would fall into the pool. That would create some havoc, but by the time someone came out to see what was going on, he would have escaped. If all went well, no one would see him anyway, since it was a cool evening and no one in their right minds would come swim at this hour.

The veranda Hal had to reach was about three or four meters away. If his aim was good, he could throw his backpack onto the veranda and fetch it later. Hal thought of leaving his bag in front of the door so he could get it after he was in Coben’s room. He could safely assume the veranda glass door would be open (hardly anyone locks them these days), but he couldn’t assume the door wasn’t bolted shut from the inside. It that were so, it made the job too easy – and he suspected things couldn’t be this easy, or everyone would be in the thieving business. It was like one of those math questions that looked simple and easy to solve, but really wasn’t.

Hal swung one leg out onto the flat paneling. He took off his backpack and held it in his left hand. His other hand gripped the window frame solidly as he lowered his head outside. He felt the cool, night breeze on his face and felt a little nauseated. Was he, Harold Porter, actually going to go through with this? He didn’t think he’d have anything to lose until that moment, really, when it hit him that he might lose years to some federal prison. But he had all that mapped out. He would suicide before the cops could handcuff him.

His backpack carried enough weight to be thrown in the exact direction Hal would want it, so that was no problem. But Hal didn’t exactly trust his throwing skills. He had played baseball in junior school, and that was about it. He never participated in sports in secondary school either, because he wasn’t very athletic and hated sports. He had quit school before college came round.

But Hal didn’t let the memories come in the way. Business is business. He took three swooping swings and let go on the last one.

The backpack never did make it.

It hit the railing of Coben’s veranda with a thick and loud thud and then seemed to run out of energy and started plummeting down to its death. Hal watched, face sallow and without complexion. He heard a hollow splash as it fell into the pool beneath.

He swallowed, the fear of being discovered growing in him like a tumor in fast-forward. He withdrew himself from the cold night air and hit his leg clumsily as he clambered back in. He didn’t feel any pain, just a pulsating numbness. He waited for about ten minutes. It was a good thing that no one came out of the rooms.

It seemed that no one had heard after all.

Hal was shaking so bad he had to close his eyes for a minute to recompose himself. Suddenly he remembered to check the time. Six fifty. It wasn’t so bad. He could go down and fetch the bag, come back up and try again. But his self-confidence had considerably dropped and he was too shaky to try it again. So he decided to walk the paneling anyway and see if he could pick up anything else in Coben’s apartment worth lots of cash. Gold, jewelry, anything worth getting that was small enough to fit in a garbage bag. He would open the door open from the inside (there was bound to be something in the condo to do the job) and escape. If people had heard him and were running out to get him, he would go out onto the veranda and leap into the pool. It was faster that way, and he was not a bad swimmer.

Yes, he thought, it could still all work. These thoughts fueled Hal to try again.

He breathed in deeply three times until he felt slightly lightheaded, waited a while, and then swung the same leg out again.



IN THE WEE HOURS OF FRIDAY MORNING: THE PAPER BOY COMPLETES HIS PAPER ERRANDS

From the Casco News
AMATEUR THIEF SWANDIVES TO HIS DEATH

Last night, at approximately six twenty five p.m., local city street cleaner Harold J. Porter fell from the top level of a Casco condo while trying to rob real estate tycoon Mr. Sy Coben’s Casco residence.
‘Looks like Mr. Porter thought his trip across the paneling was safe. There was a swimming pool ready to break his fall just a meter toward Mr. Coben’s veranda. Looks like he stepped onto the paneling and the vertigo hit him like a rocket. Plummeted twenty stories down to instant death,’ Lieutenant Robert Corbett says.
What is assumed to be Mr. Porter’s tools for his tragic attempt at robbery was found in the Casco resident swimming pool this morning, containing a penlight, screwdriver, mini drill and a pair of dirty white cleaning gloves.