Joe was the last person on Earth I expected to rob a jewelry store. Well…let me rephrase: Joe was the last person on Earth I expected to get caught robbing a jewelry store. Let alone a Jared’s in the middle of small-town Texas. 

Art aficionados have Picasso, Van Gogh, Monet. In the crime world, we have Joe. His masterplans are flawless works of art, each second mapped out with military precision. We briefly crossed paths in Shanghai– he needed a good pickpocket and someone good with safes and I needed some quick cash. Together, we pulled off the art world’s greatest heist yet– the theft of a twenty million dollar da Vinci from a high-end art dealer. 

 I lean forward, reaching for the remote to turn up the volume, listening intently to the local evening newscaster standing in front of the jewelry store. Finally something interesting had happened in this godforsaken town. In Mason, the biggest story before today was when some grandma’s cat got stuck in a tree and the fire department from the town over had to come rescue it because it turns out Mason is too small to have its own.

“Just this afternoon, an unknown suspect attempted to steal a fifty-dollar topaz pinky ring from the local Jared’s jewelry store,” the newscaster says breathlessly as the camera panned the street to survey the scene. 

By my count, there are no less than twelve police cars parked in front of the building as hordes of officers mill around the crime scene, diligently dusting every last inch of the area for fingerprints. One overzealous officer is even neck-deep in the bushes, checking the pine tree across the street from the jewelry store for fingerprints. 

The way things are unfolding, it’s clear this is the single most interesting thing to happen in Mason, Texas. 

“And here on the scene,” the newscaster continues, “Is Sheriff Mike Newell. Sheriff.” she thrusts the microphone into the face of a squat man in his forties trying his best to suck in his stomach which the buttons of his shirt were straining to hold in. His bald head gleams in the sunlight as sweat pours down his face. “What can you tell us about this crime?” 

“Well, Linda, this is clearly the force’s top priority,” he says, mopping at his forehead with a handkerchief. “We’ve got every single officer out here helping out. I mean, this is one of the worst crimes we’ve ever seen here, and rest assured, we will do everything to prosecute this criminal to the full force of the law. He’ll never escape justice!” 

Linda nods solemnly, “Well said, Mike–” Before she can continue, she’s interrupted by a series of shouts. 

The camera zooms in on a group of police officers, all chasing after a rogue police car, speeding away. Somehow it looks like Joe managed to lift a set of keys off of an officer and set himself free. 

Rolling my eyes at his dramatics, I get up off the couch to put a pot of coffee on. It looks like I’ll be having some company tonight.

  ~ 

Roughly forty minutes later, a nondescript gray sedan pulls into my driveway. Peering through the blinds, I see Joe step out of the car and hurriedly walk towards the door. I leave the living room to find him already standing inside the entryway. 

“That was locked, you know,” I say casually as Joe shrugs and makes his way past me into the kitchen. 

“Locked, unlocked, what difference does it make?” Joe laughs. “It’s not like it’s going to stop me from getting in.”

Even though it’s been roughly two years since I’ve seen Joe, he hasn’t changed a bit. Joe has this gleam in his green eye and restless twitch of his hands that make you want to double-check that all your valuables are still in the same spot you left them. 

“Where’d you ditch the car?” I ask.

“Hello to you too, Neil, I’m doing great thanks.”

I fold my arms, waiting for an answer. 

“Don’t worry.” Joe grins at me before pulling out frozen waffles and popping them in the toaster.  “It’s at the bottom of a pond.”

I snort, trying to imagine the spectacle tomorrow when the cops try to retrieve their car from the bottom of the lake. 

“Why’d you get caught robbing the jewelry store? And of all things you stole a pinky ring?”  

“So you saw it?” He pulls the infamous pinky ring out of the pocket of his leather jacket. 

“I think the whole town saw it,” I say, catching the cheap trinket as Joe tosses it. I stick the ring in my pocket, not bothering to study it. I’ve cased Mason’s jewelry store enough times for lack of anything better to do in this town to know that nothing in that store is worth a dime.

“I’ve been driving up here from Nebraska and got bored,”  Joe shrugs as he removes his waffles from the toaster.

“And just happen to rob the jewelry store in the same town I’ve been lying low in?” “Do you have any syrup?” He interrupts, already scavenging through the fridge. 

“Bottom drawer on the left,” I answer, narrowing my eyes at his turned figure. “And you still haven’t answered my question. What are you doing here?”

“Please, today is the most interesting thing that has ever happened to the police force here. Think of all the stories I’ve given them. It was selfless of me, really,” Joe says as he drowns his waffles in an ungodly amount of syrup on his waffles. 

“I thought we were both retiring after the Shanghai job.” 

“You cannot tell me that you haven’t been bored to tears the past couple of months. You’ve been living in rural Texas. I’ve got a job lined up and I need someone who can pick a pocket. Think of what a great team we made in Shanghai, we’re the best in the business.. Are you in?”

I sit in silence, weighing my options. On one hand, it would be smart to keep on laying low for a few more months, but on the other hand, I think I will go crazy if I stay in Mason any longer. 

Making my decision, I look up at Joe, “Where?” I finally ask, crossing my arms. “There is no way I’m doing another international job anytime soon, Interpol has stepped up there surveillance big time.” 

“Tell me about it,” Joe winces briefly as a shadow crosses his face. Before I can press him any further, he continues, “But don’t worry, this job is right here in Mason.” 

~

“You know when you said we were going to make millions, this is not quite what I had in mind,” I tell Joe as we walk through the gallery. 

“You expected diamonds or art didn’t you?” Joe laughs as he scans the crowd milling around the museum. 

“I mean we’re at a watch convention in Mason. Besides,” I say, casually palming a watch from a distracted vendor’s table, passing it back and forth in my hands. “These don’t look like they’re worth that much, the security here is terrible.” 

“These aren’t,” Joe acknowledges, “But through that door,” he nods to a nondescript gray door with a burly security guard standing outside, “That’s where the real deal is.” 

“You’ve got a plan?” I ask, already scanning the ceiling above the door for security cameras. 

“I always have a plan,” Joe smirks. “But first we need to swipe that guy’s card,” he motions to a second security guard coming to replace the first. 

Joe nods at me as I casually brush by the second officer, muttering an apology as my hands dart out and unhook his key card without him being the wiser. 

Triumphant, I turn back to face Joe, grinning. Joe however seems occupied, talking conspiratorially with someone on his phone. As soon as he realizes I’m watching him, he exchanges a few terse sentences and then puts the phone in his pocket. 

Joe motions me over and says, “Change of plans, my contact just called and they’re planning on moving the watches tonight. So here’s the new plan, I’m going around back–”

Suddenly, the door slams open with a bang, “FBI, put your hands up!” The leader yells, pointing his gun straight at me as two other agents tail him. 

It’s chaos. Watch vendors shout and duck under their tables as the agents stride towards us. I turn to Joe– he always has an escape route in mind– to find that he’s disappeared. 

I spin around wildly, trying to spy him through the crowd. Things weren’t supposed to go like this; Joe’s never had a plan fail before. How could he let us get caught red-handed? 

Before I can figure out what to do, an agent tackles me to the ground, and everything goes dark. 

~ 

It’s been three days of pure boredom in the Mason County jail. At first, the entire force was stumbling over themselves to get a look at me. Officers fought each other for the important role of guarding my cell– if you can even call it that. Mason hasn’t seen a crime in so many years that their version of a jail cell was a hastily converted broom closet that still smells like bleach. I imagine Joe is in a similar closet somewhere else in the building, although I haven’t seen him since the plan went so wrong. 

The guards soon learned a time-honored lesson that every prison guard learns at some point. Standing guard in front of a cell all day is boring, and before long they’re trying their best to avoid having to sit in front of my glorified closet all day. 

The sight of Sheriff Newell’s steel toed black boots in the doorway gives the guards a sudden burst of energy as they hastily put down their poker cards and try their best to discreetly wipe off the Cheeto dust coating their fingers on their pants. 

Next to Newell, two equally tall men with identical crew cuts step into the room. Their ramrod straight postures and taunt muscles. Not to mention the fact they’re both wearing the trademark navy windbreakers that read “FBI” in neon yellow. 

“Gentlemen, the FBI has come to collect the prisoner,” the sheriff announces, almost stumbling over his feet to get out of the agent’s way. 

“We’ll take it from here,” one of the agents says, brushing by him. 

“We local police aren’t all dimwits, you know,” the sheriff puffs out his chest. “Are you sure you folks don’t need any help?” 

The other agent eyes the Cheeto dust lining the Mason officer’s pants and the playing cards on the table, “If this one,” he gestures to me, “hasn’t tried to escape with you guys, I think we can take care of him by ourselves.” 

Ouch. It’s not my fault the sheriff decided I needed eight guards on me at all times. I can barely breathe without one of them scrutinizing me. 

The agents flank me on either side as we exit the room. But, instead of turning towards the exit, they escort me to the visiting room. Tables and mismatched chairs are scattered around. Scanning the room for a familiar face, I spot Joe sitting in the corner. The FBI agents motioned me to go back away to stand by the door. 

“Hey guys,” Joe says, acting all friendly. “Could we have five minutes to talk in private?”

I blink in confusion. What is Joe doing here? Why isn’t he in cuffs like me?

The two agents exchange a wordless glance before one of them clears his throat and says, “Two minutes tops. Be quick.” 

They push me into the room and then shut the door behind me. Even though they’re no longer in the room with us, I can feel their eyes through the door’s window. 

“Joe,” I hissed, checking the room for any recording devices that might pick up what I’m saying. Besides the security cameras prominently displayed on the wall, we’re clear. “What are you doing here?” 

“Wow,” Joe looks at me while leaning back in his seat, “Orange really isn’t your color.” 

“What the heck is going on?” I take a seat across from him, making sure my back is turned to the agents, seething. “You ditched me! Where did you go?” 

“Interpol and the FBI have been working together. They caught up with me in Nebraska,” he shrugs. “I couldn’t stay out of the business for long, you know me. Always thinking about the next job. But instead of arresting me, they cut me a deal: get the mastermind of the Shanghai theft to slip up and reveal themselves, or take the fall myself and go to prison for the rest of my life. I chose the better of the two options.” 

“You bastard,” I threw at him. “How could you? You were the one who came up with that plan, not me!” 

“Oh, please. You would’ve thrown me under the bus too. Grow up, Neil.” 

“There’s no way the feds let you rob that jewelry store or plan the watch job.” I tell Joe incredulously. 

“You mean the jewelry store that you robbed?” He says. “It’s a pity there wasn’t any camera footage from the store, but I guess finding the ring in your pocket will do.” I stare at him, remembering how he had tossed me the ring that first night and how I’d unthinkingly stuck it in my pocket. “Sure my handlers were slightly pissed off when I lost them, but when I told them you’d taken me to Houston for another job you were planning to pull off, they weren’t so mad.”

“Joe, what the heck?” My jaw hangs open. 

“The evidence for Shanghai is all circumstantial, that’s why it was such a lucky break that you were planning the Houston job. We’ve got mountains of evidence,” he gestures. “So they nab you for this job while gathering more concrete evidence for Shanghai. It was quite the plan, wasn’t it?” Joe smirks and folds his arms across his chest, enjoying every second of my disbelief. 

My head is spinning as I take in what he is saying. Furiously, I lunge toward him, “You’ve ruined my life!” I yell, only to find myself quickly pulled back by a set of guards. 

“You know rule number one of this game,” Joe says coldly. “It’s everyone for themselves out there. You get soft, you get sloppy, and you get caught. See you in court,” Joe waves as he stands up. He almost sounds friendly, sincere even. But he and I both know that by the time my court date rolls around, he’ll have ditched the feds and moved on to his next big plan. 

The guards seeing that he’s through, reenter the room and haul me toward the exit.

As I watch Joe walk away scot-free while I’m led through a series of doors with heavy iron bars, I vow that this won’t be the last he’ll hear of me. I’m done with being a pawn in his games, I’m not going to let him push me around anymore, and one way or another, I’m going to make sure that Joe regrets this day for the rest of his life.