You Choose

PrologueThe contemporary two-story house sat at the top of a slight hill. Lights inside were off. The outdoor flood lights, perfectly placed for optimal shadows and accents, revealed a well-manicured lawn. Pristine edging cut grooves along the sidewalk, brick paved walkways, and driveway. Every tree, shrub and plant were aesthetically placed. Pumice rock, the mulch of choice, was contained behind a six-inch high stone garden block wall. Everything about the property screamed look at me! The near-private road was filled with homes of the rich. Tonight, they had their eyes on a particular property. Social media was to thank for the heads-up. The hot tip came from weeks of posts from the family who owned the house. Big vacation had been in the works for over a year. The last few weeks was the official countdown. The owners were going on a ten-day cruise. Caribbean. They would follow it up with another week in the Florida Keys. Cold drinks on the beach with bare toes digging into soft, clean sand. Their mastiff, Bowser, would stay with family who lived nearby. (Oh, they were so apprehensive about leaving their dog for so long, but, boy, did they deserve the time away from it all)! The rich family needed time away from it all? They practically lived in a mansion in their own little wedge of the world isolated from reality. It was hard scraping up any sympathy toward the owners for what was about to go down. There had been nothing on social media about anyone house-sitting, or even needing to stop over and water plants. The place would be vacant the entire time. The two drove down the street in an SUV. Both wore small grins. They felt invigorated, inspired even. They kept the vehicle headlights off. Each home, built on a healthy plot of land, stood like its own isolated castle. Although plenty of neighbors lined both sides of the street none sat on top of the other, the way city housing tracks were constructed. In the city, houses were built so close together they made cars in driveways between properties feel claustrophobic. They pulled into the resident driveway, drove over one hundred yards, and parked outside of the three-car detached garage, which was located in the back of the house. From where they sat inside the SUV, they saw the downside of a hill and below, the in-ground swimming pool. The fenced in patio protected picnic tables, a tiki bar, and a pool room for changing into and out of bathing suits. There might be a bathroom in there, too. Neither of them was sure. Lights from below the surface illuminated the pool's water, while more lights around the backyard lit blue and white glow. Dressed in black, the two exited the vehicles with black velvet satchels. The lawn had been cut that day. The smell of grass trimmings and chlorine filled the night. It was a humid July evening. No clouds. The stars might have been out, but with the floodlights strategically placed around the yard, it was impossible to tell. The key was staying in the shadows. It wasn't easy. Every light they passed made their own shadows project over the grass and onto the house. They hoped no one was paying attention, up late at night, too, for water and peering out from behind slightly parted curtains. Wearing gloves, they decided on smashing a window, even though jimmying a side door would be quieter, neater. They knew, not from social media, but from the signs out front, that the house had an alarm. Most houses worth breaking into had burglar alarms regardless. Not all had motion detectors, though. Usually doors were monitored, and sometimes windows, too. For entry, they picked a random back window, one they believed went into a bathroom. Few people wired bathroom windows. Not sure why. Maybe they weren't worth monitoring? If the bathroom window was indeed monitored, the alarm would trigger with the alarm company first, the alarm company would attempt contacting the homeowners before calling the break-in to 9-1-1. Once the alarm company called 9-1-1, dispatchers would assign a car or two and have them check out the location. All said and told, if the alarm was activated, they figured they had a good five minutes once inside before they skedaddled. Five minutes was plenty of time. Plenty. And that was if the alarm was triggered at all in the first place. Move about the house as if it were activated. Get the goods quick, get out even faster. They knew what was where. Some of the more expensive things, the really good jewelry—the cash, the handguns, and items like those—were kept in the bedroom safe. They weren't there for the safe. The thing weighed a ton and was bolted down inside the walk-in closet floor. Safes were a different kind of job for specialized crooks. Safes weren't for them. They were happy with silverware, laptops, crystal, and the other rare items on display. Recently, working as hired interior painters they learned the layout inside the house like the back of their hands; they knew what was where, and what was worth snatching. Blue collar work had its privileges. With LED penlights the two of them snaked their way through the house filling the satchels with goodies they'd pawn a month or two from now. Things were going smoothly, until they weren't. Flashing red and blue lights lit the inside of the house. The parlor, or drawing room, resembled a cop-Christmas tree. And they freaked. Dashing for the back door, throwing back deadbolts, and disengaging locks, they pushed into each other as they scrambled out of the house. Stumbling over one another, they made a dash for the woods behind the house. A beefy officer came out of nowhere and tackled one of the burglars, and then drove him hard into the grassy ground. The aroma of dirt and fresh cut grass filled his nostrils as he let out an oomph, and then was unable to breathe. With a knee pressed into his back, and his arms twisted around behind him, he surrendered and let his body go lax. “You have the right to remain silent…” Just like that, his life twisted around, and turned upside down. FRIDAY October 19th