"Stick to the speed limit, man." Andre said. "We're nearly there."
Andre guided him off the highway onto a series of increasingly thinner roads through green fields, as the rain let up and the night deepened. Gravel crackled like a fireplace underneath the tires. Judy sat silently in the backseat. The only sign she was awake was the glowing ember of her cigarette, reflected in the side mirror as her hand dangled out the window. Mickey slept beside her, using the backpack of cash as a pillow. Not long after the radio cut out, a warm light appeared ahead of them.
Simon's house was a wide, flat, ranch-style sort of thing, spread comfortably across green manicured lawns. Behind it, Chris could make out a couple of smaller buildings, maybe a garage and a shed. All around was a tall fence made up of black metal bars, pointed at the top. As he drove around the side of the place, making his way toward the front gate, he noticed electrical wire mounted along the fence. If he'd killed the engine and held his breath, he could've heard the low hum of about 10,000 volts. He pulled up to the gate and stopped. There was a little black box with a speaker, a button, and a closed circuit camera. Leaning out the window toward it, Chris cleared his throat and pressed the button.
"Hey, uh, hello, Mr. Charles. My name's Chris. I'm here with Andre. Andre Wilson."
He heard a buzz and a click. A voice came from the speaker as the gate opened up.
"Hello Chris. You know you can call me Simon. Park the car in the driveway and bring everything inside with you, please."
He eased the car through watched the gate roll shut behind them as he parked just in front of the house. Doors opened and slammed shut. The trunk popped open, revealing four duffel bags inside. They each took one. Mickey yawned and Judy dropped the remainder her cigarette to the pavement, crushing it out beneath the toe of her boot. Chris slid on his jacket again and slung his bag and the backpack of money over his shoulder, heart quickening at the considerable weight of the cash inside. Automatic security lights flashed on as they crossed a patio towards the front entrance. The door hung open. Simon was silhouetted in the doorway, drink in hand. He was short, with his black hair cut neatly, making crisp lines. He wore ill-fitting jeans and a blazer with patches on the elbows. Chris thought he looked like he worked in a bookstore.
"Come on in," Simon said, "It's freezing out there."
He shook each of their hands limply and without looking them in the eye, as they stepped past him over the threshold into the warmth of the entryway. Simon's home was cavernous, huge. The interior was full of wood paneling, overstuffed furniture, and dim light the color of flowing honey.
"You can leave your shoes and your things in the entryway here." Simon moved silently between them in argyle socks on the hardwood floor. "I can take your coats, if you like. Set down the backpack on the coffee table over there and make yourselves comfortable."
Andre and Mickey folded their coats and passed them to Simon, who draped them over his arm. Judy transferred a wallet and a Zippo from the pocket of her parka to the pockets of her jeans, then followed suit. Chris kept his jacket on. Simon shuffled away around a corner and into a closet somewhere, then reappeared and joined them around the coffee table. The table was big, made of greenish-tinted glass and shaped like a wide oval.
"You had a safe trip?"
"Yep. Not a cop in sight after we got to the interstate." Mickey said, leaning across the table.
"I'm glad to hear it." He sipped from his glass. The ice cubes rattled. "And it sounds like the job went smoothly, too?"
"Went perfectly." Judy said. "Straight in, straight out. No security guards, and the tellers gave it up easy. Barely even needed to show the gun."
