House Keys

People trust me with their doorkeys; I think that’s funny. If my brother could get away with being a drug dealer the past few years, why couldn’t I figure out how to become an expert at theft?

I smelled the gas before I even opened up the back door to escape. The cigarette stained walls and damp yellow carpet filled the living room with humidity. This house became a suburban rainforest while I searched for that stupid aqaurium, but I had to hurry. Amidst the dust and debris, I finally found that cracked glass box once home to a lonely Oranda goldfish. Dumping out the lackluster pebbles, I found my money taped to the bottom.

“Idiot”, I scoffed, noting the ridiculousness of my brother’s hiding places.

I had watched an energetic realtor punch in the safety box code for this home a few days ago. It wasn’t hard to visualize the numbers, and I kept the combination in a small white notebook for later. My binoculars are coming in quite handy, if I do say so myself.

Before my brother disappeared to God knows what state, he left his money around the block in a few spots I knew of. He was too scared of being traced by the police, so he wasn’t going to keep it on him or in an official bank account. Lucky for him, Andrew decided he would start over in a brand new environment. Without a proper goodbye, he told me to fetch the cash and use it for whatever. I would never see him again.

Because this was a dilapidated home to be fixed up for sale, Andrew knew the money would be safe for at least a little bit. I don’t know why he wouldn’t just bury it in the backyard like anyone else, but his zany ideas of criminality still lingered in his actions. As always, there were hoops I had to jump through to get what I wanted.

But I digress, this decaying house sat around the block for ages until some sap finally decided to purchase it. I knew that I had to grab the money before they began remodeling. I only had a few minutes to do this before my date tonight, and I needed time to get dressed. Marcelline would be waiting at the Amcott, the city’s best restaurant overlooking a manmade lake.

Stuffing the cash inside my coat pocket, I pulled out a lighter. It had a little juice left, just enough for the job. Gas fumes left on from the stove filled the room with its putrid stench. Ticking from the burners insisted I move on. Being in a rush, I flicked my thumb on the metal knob and jammed it to stay on.

In one swift movement, I ran through the back door while throwing the lighter behind me. In a matter of minutes, the house erupted into thick orange flames.

“Aww, but the remodel!” I chuckled to myself.

Without hesitation, I ran into the nearby forest facing the backyard, changed my clothes, and carried on to my house a few blocks away. Not long after, the wails of sirens and firetrucks encircled the pile of ashes I was once at.

But back to me.

On a normal day, I don’t set the houses that I rob on fire. But it’s started to become my signature trademark if I’m in the mood. No one has caught me, which is honestly surprising. For the last few months, I have advertised myself as a mobile cleaner and handyman for houses that are in the early stages of moving. I get hired by the rich to go in and clean their mess, and it works perfectly for me. I always become the go-to maintenance man for various fixer upper jobs around the houses, getting them presentable for sale. Not too bad of a career, huh?

Just one thing: the company isn’t real. I am a self made con-artist. I don’t have an official business, I don’t pay taxes, and I have a new name every other week. Conning the wealthy is like taking candy from a dumb baby. Easy money. I get paid to quietly steal and no one bats an eye. For I am the trusted worker, and they confide in my skills. Enough said.

Looking down at my watch, I saw that the evening was approaching faster than I thought. I had to meet Marcelline in less than 20 minutes. Once I fixed myself up, I put on a white button up with black chinos. Driving there was the easiest part, as the restaurant was only a few minutes from my neighborhood.

Marcelline was earlier than I was. She was patiently sitting in the back, at a green clothed wooden table. Dressed in white, her glistening eyes faced the window and her long black hair hung behind her broad shoulders. I had only talked with her a few times from my “Cupid Pals” dating app, but I was stunned to see that she was effortlessly more beautiful in person. Her pictures were lovely, but they didn’t match the real life energy she exuded.

Rushing to the table, I sat down and apologized for my tardiness.

“Sorry I made you wait”. Marcelline looked me up and down, studying my style and curiously looking at my untied dress shoes. She laughed.

“Did you just come from jogging or something? You’re out of breath”. Picking up the menu, she made a quick glance back at the trees reflecting off the still lake.

Ugh, she already thinks I’m a dork and I didn’t even get to talk yet.

Marcelline moved her fingers around a shimmering glass of wine. It swished around a few times before making it to her lips. That looked delicious, and I wanted to order a glass for myself.

“So how was your day?” She asked. “What’s going on in the life of Eric?”

The wind howled over the roof tiles of the building, and the trees in the distance danced their way into the evening hours. I was getting nervous to tell Marcelline what my true career is like, as this was my first in person date of course. But so far, we have been hitting it off. I felt very comfortable with her, and our text conversations were always enjoyable. Until things progressed, I had to make something up.

“Uh, well I went to get groceries and it took a little long at the checkout. Made it back just in time to see you of course, I wouldn’t leave you hanging too long. You’re too beautiful for that.”

She rolled her eyes, but laughed again. I can’t think of flirtatious remarks to save my life, but maybe that was smooth enough.

Getting another sip of merlot, Marcelline paused. She looked at me, then pointed out the window at the wooden deck that drooped down onto a small patch of sandy beach.

“I am sick of living here. There’s nothing to do but see the same people from high school. I’m honestly thinking of moving away at some point, but I don’t even know where I could go.” She breathed out, frustrated.

“In time I think I will do the same, I got extra money from my job as a realtor.”

“Oh really?” She exclaimed, excited to hear about the activities of the job. “How is it? Do you make commissions often? What area did you say you worked in? Is it worth the pay?”

I was silent for a second, gathering my lies to regurgitate back.

“I make solid money per week, it’s actually an easy job. The people are nice and my hours have been...flexible.” God I am already bad at lying. That sounded terrible. But from the looks of it, Marcelline bought it.

“I can’t wait to have enough saved up to leave. Maybe if things get serious, you’ll come with me” , she exclaimed while picking out her dinner from the menu.

“I think I am going to get lobster and mashed potatoes, with a slice of chocolate cake. I heard their food was amaaazzziiiiiinnnnngggg…”, she buzzed.

“I’ll get the same”.

After half an hour of extensive talking, she explained that her shifts at the bank were mediocre. Her life in this town was putting her to sleep. Marcelline didn’t want to spend her early twenties, nor the rest of her life, in the same spot. She constantly reiterated her wishes to go out and see the world, which peaked my interest in her while leaving me feeling alone. My own life was basically glued here. I was 22, living with my mom, and broke other than the inconsistent theft gigs. I didn’t see an end to my life here until I ended up in prison or died by some idiotic mistake during my arson escapades.

When the food arrived, I could see a heavy cloud of steam drift up from the lobster tail into the air between us. The food looked incredible, but very expensive. I knew I would be fitting the bill, but I didn’t mind.

Poking at the chocolate frosting of the cake slice they dropped off, I wished I could tell Marcelline more about my life. Like, how I wasn’t confident enough to leave this place in one piece.

“What’s your plan after you move?” I asked, looking intently at the gold necklace she wore.

“I want to rebrand myself. I want to have a lot of money, live carefree, and do what I want without anyone holding me back.”

“That would be nice”, I laughed. The idea was enticing, but I would have to think about a decision like that over another million times. Once again, my eyes were drawn to her necklace.

Odd...

Upon further inspection, I noticed that the gold necklace had an engraving on the front. Two big letters were etched into its cover: A.M. Coincidently, those are my brother’s initials. Andrew Matteson. I’ve been so paranoid lately because of the job demands.

“Do you like my necklace? I have seen you stare at it a million times already”, Marcelline said with a glimmer of excitement.

“I got it as a gift.”

Hearing this, my face turned sour. This isn’t my paranoia. Something was off about the restaurant atmosphere around me now. Marcelline began shuffling through the contents of her purse, and I felt a deep silence from the workers in the back kitchen. Two men emerged from the “employees only” break room, and sat near our table.

Before I could gather my thoughts, Marcelline pulled out a stack of money clumsily tied with a dirty rubber band. The bills hit the table with an exhausted thud.

“What the...hell…?” I exclaimed, looking back and forth at the money and her fingers wrapping around the gold necklace.

Marcelline’s face grew dark and serious. Her eyes lost their brightness, and her cold smile seemed to wrap around her head like a serpent. This was too much. She is scaring the hell out of me.

“Hey… I don’t know what you-”

“Andrew got me a little gift”. Her smile widened, but my confusion was overwhelming.

How did she know my brother? I never even mentioned him to her yet.

What was going on here?

She took out her phone to dial the police, and explained to them that I had been dealing. Without hesitation, she listed out the names of the people my brother was in connection with, and began to paint the crimes on me. She added in my thefts, my arson, and my brother’s crimes into one fake panic of a phone call.

With a click, she ended the call while the two men grabbed my wallet. Blue and red lights flashed into the restaurant windows.

“That chocolate cake was the best I’ve ever had, Eric.”

Before the cops came into the restaurant, Marcelline raced out the door with the men, softly yelling back to me.

“Don’t wait up for me”.

Just like that, she was gone and I was in handcuffs.