Page 77 of Can't Stop Watching
Maybe I'm taking my gut feeling about Langford too far, but I'd rather be safe than sorry.
"I'm going radio silent," I tell Milo, checking my lock picks and sliding a slim jim into my jacket. "If I'm not back online in two hours?—"
"I'll start looking for a good criminal attorney," he finishes. "Don't get arrested, asshole. You're my best client."
25
DANE
The alley behind Langford's building reeks of privilege—even the garbage smells expensive. No fast food containers or cheap beer cans here. Just neatly tied bags of organic waste and recycling sorted by material. Typical Upper West Side bullshit.
8:12 AM. The garbage truck should make its rounds in eighteen minutes, according to Milo's intel. The service entrance will briefly unlock during collection—my window of opportunity.
I check my equipment: lock picks, mini tactical flashlight, 9mm tucked into my shoulder holster. Standard breaking and entering kit.
A distant rumble grows louder—the garbage truck approaching. I stand casually outside the alley, staring at my phone as if I'm lost.
"This would be a lot easier if Milo had cracked the security system," I mutter, but same as Brian's phone, it stumped him.
The garbage truck turns into the alley, hydraulics whining. One way or another, I'm finding out what's behind that door today.
I hang back, watching the driver exit the truck. He's in one of those boutique waste management uniforms: dark blue jumpsuit with some tasteful logo I can't make out. Not your standard city garbage collectors. This building probably pays extra to have their trash handled with white gloves.
The driver moves with practiced efficiency, pulling a keycard from his pocket. The little green light flashes on the service entrance panel, and he props the door open with a door-mounted doorstop. These security setups always have the same weakness… the human element.
I adjust my baseball cap lower and make sure my sunglasses are firmly in place. The cameras will catch a man, but not necessarily Dane Wolfe. I approach from the driver's blind spot, footsteps silent against the pavement.
"Morning," I say.
The driver jumps, nearly dropping his clipboard. "Jesus! Where'd you come from?"
"Sorry about that." I'm not sorry. "Building manager sent me to check something in the utility room. Forgot my damn card again." I flash a smile that doesn't reach my eyes, careful to keep my face angled away from the camera above the door.
Jerry—that's what the embroidery on his uniform says—narrows his eyes, looking me up and down. His jaw tightens.
"Yeah, nice try. Get lost." He steps between me and the open door. "You think this is my first day? Building manager my ass."
I keep my expression neutral, but inside I'm calculating. I could take Jerry down in under three seconds. Pressure point behind the ear, one quick move to incapacitate without permanent damage. But unnecessary violence leaves trails. Bad for business.
"Look, man, I'm just trying to do my job here." I lean in slightly, lowering my voice to the register that makes most people instinctively want to cooperate.
Jerry snorts. "And I'm doing mine, which includes keeping randos like you out of a building where apartments cost more than most people make in a lifetime." His eyes scan me more carefully now, taking in my leather jacket, the quality of my boots. His brow furrows slightly. "You don't look like the usual riffraff, but rules are rules. Whatever you're selling, whatever angle you're working, save it."
There's something almost admirable about someone actually doing their job properly in this city. Almost. Today it's just fucking inconvenient.
I reach into my back pocket, fishing out my wallet. Time for Plan B—the universal language of New York City.
"Jerry," I slide two crisp hundreds between my fingers, holding them just visible enough for him but hidden from the cameras. "I'm gonna level with you. I'm not here for the building manager."
Jerry's eyes lock onto the bills, his professional resolve wavering slightly.
"Left something at a lady friend's apartment." I let that hang in the air for a moment. "Problem is, her husband doesn't know about me, and what I left behind is... incriminating." I lower my voice. "Wedding band. Can't exactly call and ask her to mail it back."
Jerry's face transforms from suspicion to understanding. The oldest story in the world. Adultery. Everyone gets it, even if they don't approve.
"Shit, man." A hint of sympathy flashes across his face before he shakes his head. "That's rough, but I can't let you in. Security protocols. They'd have my ass. This job pays too well."
I add another hundred to the stack. "Three minutes. In and out. You never saw me."
