Sing!

Chapter Fourteen: A Lier And A Theif

TO LIVE IS TO BE MUSICAL, STARTING WITH THE BLOOD DANCING IN YOUR VEINS. EVERYTHING LIVING HAS A RHYTHM. DO YOU FEEL YOUR MUSIC?

|Michael Jackson|

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The lingering light was obliterated by the rapidly falling night. The once salmon and purple sky transformed into a vast expanse of jet-black that engulfed the city. A canopy of luminous stars materialized amongst the ocean of blackness. Some were dull, merely flickering into existence every now and then, but there was an adequate amount of shimmering stars to illuminate the dark, moonless night.

Jack was in the driver seat. He appeared uncomfortable and stiff. Pitch watched Jack with amusement as he witnessed his discomfort. 

"What the matter with you?" Pitch mused as he glanced back to the road ahead, as Jack suppressed rolling his eyes, "all the time you're bitching, your moaning. You want to taste the high life, with me," Pitch spoke as Jack concentrated on the road ahead, "and when it comes you're shitting bricks," Pitch mused as he glanced back over to Jack who showed no emotion towards pitch's comment.

"Turn right, up here," Pitch ordered Jack.

There stood the diner. In its full glory. Silent and dark. Waiting for the morning to come, so that it could let costumers in. It appeared peaceful. Nothing unusual.

"What here?" Jack exclaimed as he glanced towards his brother.

"No here, asshole," Pitch retorted as he rolled his eyes at Jack's ignorance, "round the back," Pitch let out a chuckle as Jack let out a deep breath. Jack did as he was instructed as he turned the next corner, hoping to see another building, "relax. One night's work, easy money," Pitch reassured Jack as he turned down an alleyway which appeared dark and quite, "cut the lights," Pitch snapped towards Jack. Sure enough, the lights were cut. Darkness.

"Wait, Pitch we can't," Jack announced.

"What," Pitch exclaimed towards Jack.

"I know the people who own this place," Jack informed him as he cut the engine. Turning to his blood brother, Jack noticed that Pitch didn't seem affected.

"Yeah, the old Jewish broads, so?"

"So?" Jack mused as he glanced over to the back entrance of the diner, "come on, Pitch, you're not going to knock over the joint," Jack declared which made Pitch turn to him sharply. His expression was serious and full of anger. Swiftly, Pitch got out of the car, "Pitch, come on," Jack exclaimed as he followed Pitch to try and stop him, "we can't do this."

"What. What? You got a problem, get your punk ass out of here," Pitch yelled towards Jack as he hit him a few time in the chest, "your the one that's bitching and moaning all the time. Now go on, get out," Pitch bellowed as Jack bent his head down. Ashamed for once in his life, Jack began to make his way.

Grasping Jack quickly, "look, you don't want to go inside, that's fine," Pitch asserted in a calming tone, "you wait by the car and you keep the motor running and you don't so shit," Pitch asserted as he pointed over to the car, "you understand me," Pitch left Jack.

Pitch thought himself something of an artist. There was a skill he thought of the perfect "break and enter". His method took time but the rewards were high. He cased the diner carefully for a week or two. He learned the routines of the occupants. Once he had calculated the best point of entry and the best time it was on to the next phase. Then tools in hand he picked the lock and walked in through the back door. It was easy for him. Take what you can and get out. Give nothing back.