Page 46 of An Eye For Illusion

The truck slows, and Frankie turns the headlights off. I look around at my surroundings, but I don’t recognize it. We’re in a residential neighborhood just outside the city. It seems like a quiet, working-class neighborhood with modest houses dotting the street.

Frankie turns to me. “You’ll get out here. Walk to the fourth driveway on the right. Head down the left side of the house into the backyard. The car in the picture on Carlo’s butts up to that backyard. The car is on the left side of the house.”

I pause for a few seconds to take in his instructions. A seasoned criminal would be concerned about any issues he might run into. He wants to go in fully prepared.

I nod once. “Got it. Any security I should know about? Dogs, fence, motion sensor lights, Ring camera, nosy old ladies?” I throw in the last one as a joke, and I get an honest smile in return. I’m glad my sarcasm comes in handy. Both for calming my anxiety and also for making me look like I know what the fuck I’m doing.

He chuckles. “Nothing. Just a quiet family home in a quiet family neighborhood. You’re golden.”

I nod again. “Good to know.” I open the truck door and place one foot out onto the pavement before Frankie grabs my left arm.

I try not to recoil when the scumbag touches me. I stop and turn back to look at him, keeping my expression neutral.

“Don’t fuck this up, Jax.”

I shrug and force a smirk, using my quick wit once again. “It might be a quiet family neighborhood, but I’m gonna act like I’m boosting this old girl from police impound. I got it, Frankie.”

He pulls his hand back, his serious look turning amused as his posture relaxes. He almost looks… impressed? Proud? Amused? It’s hard to tell with him.

I step the rest of the way out of the truck and walk up the street without looking back. I stay close to the tree line for coverage in case some of these houses have cameras. These days, everyone has a damn camera on their house.

The tires on Frankie’s truck crunch on the pavement as he backs back down the road. I need to get this car and get back to the warehouse. Fast.

There are still a few hours before daylight, so the darkness is an advantage. I pass the first two driveways. The closer I get to the third, the harder my heart pounds in my chest. My hands are clammy, and my breaths are short and quick thanks to the adrenaline coursing through my veins.

Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit. What the fuck am I doing? I’m a private investigator, not a fucking criminal. Never have I allowed a case to push me this far.

Just as I approach the fourth driveway, a dog barks loudly, and I force myself to quiet a grumble.

No fucking dogs, huh?

That alone makes me wonder if this is more than a simple in and out test and possibly a setup. Not to get me caught, but them knowing the conditions are worse and setting me up to test how quickly I think on my feet. After all, a slow thinking criminal is a dead or caught criminal. They won’t want dead weight.

I slow my movements, careful to make as little noise as possible. I can’t see the dog, but he’s close, and he knows I’m out here.

I pause and scan the road and yard I’m about to walk into. There isn’t a fence which surprises me after Frankie misinformed me about the dog. The yard is flat and open. Even with the darkness, I can make out that much of the landscape.

I take another deep breath and make my way down the left side of the fourth house. I see a fence dividing the yard I’m in with the yard I need to be in, and I smirk.

Ah… there it is. Asshole.

This is definitely a battle of wits and skill. It would be amusing if I had any fucking skill in boosting cars. This test is exactly kind of thing that weeds out dumbasses like me who sign up for this shit, go in alone, with no backup, and with only YouTube as past experience.

Nice job, Colin. Really. Great work.

I quiet my racing mind and focus on the obstacles at hand. At this point, for all I know, the fucking dog I heard is in the very yard I need to be in. I approach the chain-link fence and peer through. I don’t see a dog, but that doesn’t mean anything in the dark. With as forthcoming as Frankie was, I wouldn’t doubt Bruno the Rottweiler is back here waiting to materialize out of the shadows to rip my fucking face off.

Looking down, I find a small stick. Its small enough that a dog a few houses away won’t notice anything out of the ordinary, but a dog in that back yard would. I toss it over and wait to hear death run out of the shadows, but there’s nothing.

I pull a pair of gloves from my jacket and put them on. Once they’re fitted, I place my hand on the cylindrical railing on top and hop over, careful not to rattle it. My boots land on the patchy grass and dirt with a slight thud. I step fully onto a patch of grass and rake my boot over the prints to destroy them. When the cops investigate this, I don’t want them to tie it to me.

When I look up, I find the car sitting uncovered in a carport. I scan the yard again for any signs of life. There are none, so I stay low and proceed. There isn’t a single outside light on, and the streetlights don’t reach this far back. I stay on the perimeter of the yard with my head angled down in case there are cameras.

I’d like to avoid risking my face ending up on the evening news.

When I finally get to the car, I reach for the handle but stop myself. I check for anything out of the ordinary, not that I’d know exactly what to look for. To my surprise, the door isn’t locked and opens right up.

I pull the pocketknife from my jacket and kneel, leaning in under the driving column and get to work. There are four different color wires, and I strip them before twisting two together matching the colors from the video I watched. Then I twist the other two together.

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