“How many do you have?”

“Two girls-six and eight. They’ve got a playdate at a friend’s, which is why I’m free. You have kids?”

“Nope. I’m not entirely sure I’m the type.”

Henry had gone out to the street with his canvas gloves and a few gardening tools, stationing himself close to Gus’s front walk, where he’d dig industriously. The grass at the curb was dormant and looked as dead as dirt, so if Solana found him weeding, I wasn’t sure how he was going to explain himself. He’d think of some way to bamboozle her. She probably knew as much about gardening as she did about real estate.

My big worry was Solana’s son. I’d warned Peggy about him, but I hadn’t gone into much detail for fear of scaring her off. I peered through the glass-paneled back door. The kitchen lights had been turned off. The living room lights were out as well, but I could hear the constant blast from a television set, which meant Tiny was probably home. If Solana had taken him to the bank with her, Henry would have said so before we embarked. I tried the knob just in case she’d left the house open. I knew better, but think how silly I’d have felt using a pick gun on an unlocked door.

I hitched the fanny pack around my waist from the back to the front and removed my torque wrench and the pick gun, my best bet for a speedy entry. The five picks in the leather case required more time and patience, but might come in handy as backup. In my younger days, I was more skilled with a rocker pick, but I was out of practice and didn’t want to take the chance. By my calculations, Solana’s trip to the bank and back would occupy fifteen minutes each way. We were also counting on an additional delay while she argued with the teller about the nonexistent check promised to her by the nonexistent Ms. Amber. If Solana became belligerent, security would step in and have her escorted off the premises. In any event, it wouldn’t take her long to figure out she’d been duped. The question was, would she make the connection between the ruse and our assault on the fort? She probably thought she had me under her thumb with the restraining order in place. Peggy Klein, she hadn’t counted on. Bad break for her-Peggy, the housewife, was game for anything.

I took out the pick gun and set to work. It was a two-handed operation, employing a torsion wrench in my left and the pick gun in the right. The mechanism was ingenious. Once the pick gun was inserted in the lock, the squeezing of the trigger activated an internal mallet that compressed an adjustable spring. If all went well, the rapid oscillation of the pick would coax the pins up one by one, holding them above the shear line. By applying a steady pressure with the torque wrench, once all the pins had been breached, the plug would be free to turn and I’d be in.

The mechanism made a pleasant little clicking noise as I maneuvered it. The sound put me in mind of an electric stapler firing staples into paper. Peggy hovered at my shoulder but mercifully asked no questions. I could tell she was nervous because she shifted restlessly, arms folded tightly as though to keep herself in check. “I should have peed while I had the chance,” was the only comment she made. Already, I was wishing she hadn’t mentioned it. We were in enemy territory and we couldn’t afford to pause to take a whiz.

I’d been at it less than a minute when the lock yielded. I tucked my tools away and opened the kitchen door with care. I stuck my head in. The booming from the television originated from one of the three bedrooms that opened off the hall, and the sound of canned laughter was loud enough to make the kitchen curtains vibrate. There was a strong smell of bleach and I could see a bottle of cleanser sitting on the counter with a damp sponge nearby. I moved into the room and Peggy slipped in after me. I peered around the kitchen door into the corridor. The auditory onslaught was coming from Tiny’s room at the end of the hall. I signaled to Peggy, pointing to the third bedroom, where the door was slightly ajar. I heard Tiny shout out a sentence in response to something on the TV, but his words were formless. I hoped his limited intelligence wouldn’t interfere with his ability to pay attention to the program.

My first job was to slip into the living room and unlock the front door in case we needed Henry’s assistance in the house. He’d apparently left his tools at the curb, mere props in the drama that was playing out. I could see him standing on the porch, his attention riveted to the empty street. He was the lookout man and our success depended on his spotting Solana’s car and giving us sufficient warning to get the hell out. I turned the thumb lock and secured it in the open position, then returned to the hall where Peggy was waiting, her face pale. I could see she hadn’t developed my appetite for danger.