chapter three;
break and enter

Xigbar and I go back to when I was still wet behind the ears. He's an older dude, a one-eyed war vet who dedicated the last of his years going out of his way to break as many laws as he could, a smart guy who never lived to his full potential and now makes a living through burglary, fraud, and drug pedaling. We met when I was a fourteen year old troubled youth. He would hang out behind the convenience store near the group home I was in at the time and give us booze, cigarettes, and stolen electronics in exchange for reconnaissance, which basically meant he had kids peeking into cars and house windows so he'd know if they were worth breaking into. We've kept in contact over the years because I figured having a shady motherfucker like him on standby would come in handy. Plus, I used to buy drugs from him on the regular.

He had a crew of two other guys with him, and the three of them were peering at several pieces of paper laid out on the hood of Ansem's car. They were talking in hushed tones and I stood just out of earshot sipping on an iced latte I bought with the gas money since the tank was still full. Xigbar turned to me and said, "Axel, come look at these. I pulled these off the net, they're blueprints to all the cheaply produced mansions built in the neighborhood in the past decade. Unfortunately for us, there is very little variation. They're mass-produced homes, very generic. But I need you to tell me which of these is the house we're hitting."

I walked around to the front of the car and looked at the papers. They looked nearly identical, with only slight variations in room layout. "I dunno, man. Haven't seen the inside, only the outside."

He let out a throaty grunt and stroked his chin. "Alright. Arched windows or rectangle?"

"Tall rectangles."

He pulled a couple of the floorplans and crumbled them up. "Pillars?"

"Yeah."

A few more were ruled out. "What kind of roof? Gabled? Hipped?"

"I don't know anything about roof architecture."

"Fine. Well, these are the prints we have left. There's three. Now, this is very important. We want our entry point to be somewhere near the alarm system keypad so I can disable it before it goes off. You get about ten to twenty seconds after a zone is breached to disarm it. And I can tell you right now where each of these homes has their system, but I need to know which of these to follow."

I looked again, scanning over each of the floorplans meticulously, trying to match them to the exterior of the house. "This one," I said with confidence, picking up the paper and handing it to Xigbar.

"Take your time, kid. Like I said, this is serious."

"I'm positive this is it. The garage is on the left, the other two had garages on the right."

"Alright," he said, "If you're positive this is it then this is what we're going to use to plan our attack. And I'm going to remind you again that this is real risky business. Real fucking risky. We haven't cased the joint, we don't know who's home and who isn't, we don't even know if they have a big ass dog that's going to tear our guts out the second we step foot inside. You sure you want to do this?"

"Definitely. But if you don't want to take a risk..."

"Shit, kid, you know I live for this. I'm an adrenaline junkie. But you're going to owe me big time. And if things go south, I'm out. Every man for himself."

"Yo, boss, what're we looking for once we're in?" One Xigbar's goons, a big, square man, asked. "Jewelry? TVs?"

Xigbar looked to me for an answer.

"Grab whatever you want," I said, shrugging my shoulders.

"So what's your end-game here, Axel? This is clearly personal."

"Just want to show someone what happens when you cross the wrong guy."

"You want to send a message."

"Right."

Xigbar let out an exasperated sigh, glaring at me with his one eye. "That's the absolute worst reason to commit a Class D felony."

"But you'll do it."

He let out another sigh. "Yeah, I'll do it. But like I said, you owe me. And everything's fair game in the house. If I want to steal their newborn, I'm going to steal their newborn."

"If there are any newborns, you're welcome to them," I said, holding up my hands in submission. "Don't let me stop you."

The big guy asked, "So are we doing this sloppy?"

"If it's a message Axel wants, it's a message Axel gets."

It was nearing 3a.m., and I'm sure Ansem was shitting himself over the fact I wasn't home yet with his precious Town Car. The perks of not having a cellphone included not having Ansem calling and reaming at me. It was a dick move on my part, but I planned on getting home before he had to be to work at 7:30.

I was parked down the street from the house, waiting for Xigbar to give me the signal. Finally, a pair of high-beams flashed in my direction. I took a deep breath, left the keys on the dashboard for a quick getaway, and hopped out. We rendezvoused by Xigbar's van.

He handed me a pair of gloves and a balaclava that smelled like someone else's sweat. I was going to bitch about it, but decided against it. We geared up and ran through the plan once more, discussed emergency strategies and reinforced the "every man for himself" commandment. "Remember," Xigbar told his crew, "this is unfamiliar territory. Don't get ballsy. I don't need any of you fucks getting collared, you're my best guys. Get in, grab what you can, break what you can, get out. And Axel," he clapped his hand on my shoulder, "I will disembowel you myself if shit hits the fan."

"Sir, yes sir." I gave him a salute.

These guys were professionals. They glided over the lawn, not making so much as a peep, while the grass crunched under my soles. We hopped a picket fence and made our way to the back yard, which had a nice patio and a large, illuminated swimming pool the color of liquid aquamarine. Xigbar went to work, quietly jimmying open a casement window while his crew snuck around with sound amplifiers, listening for any sign of life inside the house. I paced around, admiring the fancy patio furniture, wondering what it'd be like to lay out by this pool on a summer day without a care in the world.

"Don't go too far, kid," Xigbar warned. "You don't want to get in range of the floodlights. If those kick on, we run the risk of being spotted."

Like a child who just got scolded, I crossed my arms petulantly and leaned against the house while waiting for the grownups to finish up, trying really hard not to have second thoughts or a conscience. I had to remind myself that I was the victim here.

"Alright, we're good. I'm going in. Count to twenty, if no alarms are blaring then it's clear to engage. Just mind your step, this window's over a kitchen sink and we don't need broken dishes waking anyone up." He disappeared inside the darkness of the house without a sound, nimbly closing the window behind him.

After about fifteen seconds, the big guy, who I learned was named Lexaeus, reopened the window and I expected to hear the clattering of breaking glass as he slid his huge body through it, but there wasn't any more noise than when Xigbar entered. I took a deep breath and the last guy, Xaldin, followed behind Lexaeus. It was my turn.

I've burglarized before, but never anything so vindictive. Usually the homes of foster parents who have treated me badly, and I never did it while anyone was home. I knew how to get in a house and get out without getting caught. But this was a whole different ball game. I was so consumed with anxiety that I clumsily climbed through the window and sent my foot straight into the dishes in the sink, causing a small clatter that almost sent me into cardiac arrest. Wherever Xigbar was in the house, he was probably cursing me under his breath. Clearly I wasn't as adept as they were.

I recovered from my sloppy entrance and steadied myself. The kitchen was dimly lit by the various appliances. A touch interface on the refrigerator, a light on the stove top, buttons on a coffee machine. There was so much stainless steel and marble, and everything looked so sterile and neat. I trailed my gloved hand over the glossy countertop, indulging in my childish impulse to touch everything. On the fridge were pictures, postcards, souvenir magnets, all carefully arranged. Someone in the family was clearly a control freak. With that in mind, I pushed everything from their original positions and slid them around and made a mess of their careful fridge feng shui. It was a tiny victory. I was admiring my work when a particular photograph caught my eye. It was my mom, her husband, the blond kid, a small red-headed girl, posing with Mickey Mouse at what I figured to be Disney World. Something compelled me to fold it down to a quarter and stick it in my back pocket.

In the dining room, Xaldin was rooting around in the china cabinet, putting silverware and small pieces of crystal glassware into a duffle bag slung across his body. After briefly wondering how he managed to shove his mass of dreads into his balaclava, I left him to it and made my way to the living room, where Lexaeus was ripping the stuffing out of throw pillows. The entertainment center was already rifled through, and it looked as if some of their DVDs and console games were missing. I walked over to the fireplace, picked up the wrought iron stoker, and I jammed it into the middle of their big wall-mounted flatscreen TV, twisting and turning as much as I could without making noise.

We continued our reign of terror, taking whatever could be turned around for a quick buck, sabotaging what we could. I stayed on the first floor, but the others ventured upstairs and returned with jewelry, a laptop, platinum cufflinks. They assured me everyone was asleep, but I declined. I didn't want to see them. I didn't want to see Anastasia, sleeping like a baby while the rest of her family remained blissfully ignorant to her transgressions.

And then it was over. The deed was done and we were getting ready to file out and peel off without a second glance. The three of them were out the window and I was about to clamber out behind them but something made me pause and retract my foot. Xigbar gave me a look but I waved him off. I hadn't made my message clear enough. There was a whiteboard on the fridge being used as a grocery list, and in a little holder next to it was a dry-erase marker. I grabbed it and went back into the living room, looking for a nice place on the wall before deciding on underneath a large glossy family portrait by the stairs.

I wrote "love you, mom" in big letters, signed with an uneven little heart. Feeling pleased, I was getting ready to go when I heard the front door opening and softly closing. I froze in panic, feeling like a deer that was about to get flattened by a semi-truck. Unsure footsteps came from the foyer and I heard an audible "What the fuck…" I quickly looked towards the kitchen, trying to calculate if I would be able to quietly sprint and be out the window before I was spotted. My sweat soaked the balaclava, joining the perspiration of the person who wore it before me.

"Stupid alarm," I heard the person say, and I recognized the voice as the blond kid from earlier, Roxas. The other son. He was walking towards the living room so I quickly flattened myself against the wall and hoped to every god out there that he wouldn't see me. And then it dawned on me that it wasn't going to be a pretty sight when he saw his home had been ransacked, and as soon as the thought passed through my head, he was shouting, "Mom! Dad!" And then I heard the keypad of a phone and Roxas's exasperated voice saying, "Hello, yes, our house has been broken into."

I knew it was now or never.

I dropped the marker and bolted. And as I ran through the living room, my breathing labored and my vision blurry, I heard a gasp and heard him tell the police, "There's one still here!"

The cops probably advised him to let me go, that they'd take care of it, that I could've been armed. But as I was climbing out the kitchen window, he grabbed my leg and pulled me back into the house. "Oh no you don't!" He shouted. There was more commotion in the rest of the house and I was struggling to free myself from the kid's grip when two sets of feet entered the kitchen.

"Roxas! What are you doing?" I heard my mom say, almost in hysterics.

He was on top of me, straddling my torso and holding my arms above my head. "I got one of them, I'm holding him until the police get here."

The tall older blond man I figured could only be my dear new step-dad apprehensively stepped towards us and I thrashed beneath Roxas, wondering how someone so small could be so fucking strong. "Roxas," he said comfortingly, his voice even and rational, "I have my pistol. Get up slowly and walk towards me."

"Dad, I've got him. He's not going anywhere."

"Roxas," he said again. "Get off of him."

Like a good son, he obliged, letting my hands out of his grip and for a second I considered strangling him but I remembered the indirect threat of a gun. He got up and my mother grabbed him and pulled him behind her. I could hear sirens in the distance and my heart was pounding against my ribcage. I idly wondered where Xigbar and his crew were, if they knew what had happened.

I still had fight left in me though. I wasn't about to roll over and die. I bolted up and dove towards the window as fast as I'd ever moved in my whole life, half-anticipating to be shot. But when no bullet pierced my innards, I took off as fast as I could towards the car, knowing that Ansem would never let me live it down if the police impounded it. I made it inside, started it up, and floored the gas pedal without a look back. I was high on adrenaline and wasn't thinking about the ramifications of my actions or the severity of what had just happened. I just knew that I had to get far away.

And I probably would've made it too, if the engine hadn't sputtered out at about two miles down the road.

"No, no, no, no!" I shouted, trying to restart the car with no success. I looked at the dials on the dashboard trying to find an indicator for the problem. Temperature was fine, no check engine light, full tank of gas. I paused on the fuel gauge and thought back to what Ansem had said and how I never got gas. "Fuck!"

And then it was all over. Red and blue lights surrounded me. I tore off the balaclava and pressed my sweaty face against the steering wheel, waiting to be carted off to prison.

The interrogation room smelled like stale coffee and pine oil. My arms were splayed out in front of me as I toyed around with a loose thread from the sleeve of my hoodie. I wrapped it tightly around my pinkie, wondering if it would necrotize by the time the officer came back. But after several more minutes and a purpling fingertip, I unwound it and let out a theatrical groan.

"So, am I arrested or what?" I asked aloud, hoping they could somehow hear me from the outside. More time passed, and finally the large, balding police officer returned and plopped himself in the chair opposite me and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. He seemed like he was operating on very little sleep, as evident by his eye bags and grumpy demeanor, but that could have just been his personality.

"Mr. Novak," he said, clearly exasperated, "please make this easier on the both of us and tell me who else was with you in the house."

We had gone through this several times now, and each time I insisted, "Nobody. Just me." The analog clock on the wall behind him read 6:45, we'd been at this for hours.

"We both know that's bullshit. We've searched you and the car and haven't found any of the missing items from the house. Except for, of course, this." He pointed to the creased Disney world photograph that had been sitting in the middle of the table. "Do you want to talk about this yet?"

I leaned back in my chair and shrugged my shoulders. "I just thought it was nice."

The officer pressed his lips into a thin line.

"Arrest me already," I moaned like this was all just a minor inconvenience.

"I can't do that just yet. Not until you tell me who else was there. And I'm going to level with you, Novak, it's not looking good for you. You have priors, a stolen car, driving without a valid drivers' license, a burglary charge, and right now you're walking yourself into a grand larceny charge since you don't want to give up your buddies. All this after just getting off probation."

"I told you already, the car isn't stolen. It's my roommates. But aside from that, guilty as fucking charged. Arrest me." I lazily offered him my wrists.

After the events of the past few weeks, I was mentally drained. I didn't care anymore. Maybe prison was where I belonged. I was a victim of the system, a low-life, I didn't have anything to my name. And when you don't have anything, you don't have anything to lose.

The officer let out a gruff and suddenly there was a knock on the door before it opened and in walked a beat cop who looked like he was fresh out of the academy. "Sir, Mrs. Henley is ready to go home. She is still insisting no charges be filed—" The glare of his senior officer made him realize his mistake. "I guess I should've used more discretion," he said sheepishly, and I could tell someone was going to tear him a new asshole later.

But it was too late. Newbie cop spilled the beans and I knew there wasn't anything they could do if I wasn't under arrest. I gave them the cheekiest, most arrogant grin I could muster as my disposition did a one-eighty, and I stood up and said, "Guess that's my cue. It's been fun, ladies."

The officer's face went from red to almost purple with rage. He looked at me with so much animosity that I thought he was going to snap and choke-slam me. But instead, he took a deep breath and his features softened. "Axel Novak," he said, "you're under arrest for the theft of a motor vehicle." He motioned for the cop to cuff me.

"What? The car's not stolen! It's my roommate's! I told you!" I crossed my arms tightly across my chest. "Call him! You can't arrest me for this!"

"Should I add resisting arrest to your charge?"

I dropped my arms in defeat and was immediately handcuffed. It was nothing new to me. The officer grabbed the nape of my neck and steered me towards the interview room's door. "Go get a holding cell ready," he told the cop. Once he disappeared out the door, he whispered in my ear, "I don't like rude little punks."

Out in the main part of the station, I caught a glimpse of the Henley family. Well, three of them. The little girl from the photo wasn't there. They were sitting with another officer, looking haphazard and tired with their bed hair. Anastasia turned and made eye contact with me. "Is he under arrest?" She loudly demanded, getting up from her chair while her family watched on with looks I couldn't discern.

"Yes ma'am, for stealing a car," he said proudly.

"For the last time, I didn't steal a fuckin' car," I grumbled, averting my gaze to my scuffed up sneakers.

Without hesitation, she blurted, "I'll pay for his bail."

I looked at her like she had just spouted a second head. "You don't have to do that," I said, my voice cracking.

"This guy is no charity case, I assure you, ma'am."

She swallowed hard and looked back at her husband and stepson. She pulled her silk robe tighter around her body like she just wanted to retract inside of it. "He's family," she said finally. "My nephew."

"Your nephew." The officer repeated.

"Yes, and he's going through a really rough time right now. I told my sister I'd look after him. He made a mistake tonight. Please," she begged, "let me get him the help he needs."

At this point, both her family and I were giving her incredulous looks. The officer let out a long, winded sigh. "My wife loves your book, you know." He unlocked my cuffs and I immediately cradled my arms against my chest to nurse the indentation they made in my skin. "I think you and I can work something out to help with your nephew's rehabilitation."

She nodded solemnly as he led us to another desk.

I wasn't quite sure what to say or do, so instead I remained silent, watching the reactions of her family a few feet away. They didn't look confused or betrayed, just mildly shocked as they stared me down, inspecting every facet of my being, moreso Roxas than his father, who appeared to have more tact. I remembered reading that he was a psychiatrist, and I wondered if he was psychoanalyzing me.

Could he tell I was the embodiment of abandoned child syndrome?

The officer and Anastasia, my mother masquerading as a caring aunt, had an exchange that I wasn't listening to. I closed my eyes and wondered if it was all a dream. Or maybe I was dead. Or in a coma.

"Community service," Anastasia said to me, snapping me out of my reverie. "That's agreeable, right?"

Her big brown eyes were sad, like they always were when I knew her back then.

"Whatever," I said, looking up at the fluorescent lights on the ceiling. "I'm perfectly fine going to prison, y'know. I don't need your charity."

"I'm not letting you go to prison over a lapse in judgment. We all have those sometimes."

"Go fuck yourself."

"Axel, please," she grabbed my hand, leaning over in her chair so she could get close to my face, "I was wrong. Let me fix this."

The officer cleared his throat over the sound of shuffling papers. "I've got a cozy opening for cleanup at a park not too far. Usually we give this position to underage offenders, but I think it's up your alley."

"Not gonna happen. Besides, I live an hour away and I don't have a car."

He quirked a brow. "I was under the impression you were staying with your aunt."

"He is," Anastasia interjected. "He left about a month ago and I hadn't seen or heard from him, so I guess he was living with a friend. But he'll be moving back in, though. So there should be no problem getting him to and from his community service." Her effortless lies made my blood curdle.

"I can't tell you again how much I advise against this. The others who broke into your home with him are still out there."

"I don't think he'll be pulling a stunt like that again, Officer Bernie," she said softly, never taking her eyes off of me. "We had a misunderstanding, and it will never happen again."

I was stunned silent as I tried to understand her implication. Was she offering me a home in the house I tore apart? Did that mean she was acknowledging me as a son? I quickly looked from her to the officer to her again.

"Alright then," the officer said, rubbing his eye with the back of his hand, "It's settled. Have your nephew report at the Lakeview Park starting tomorrow at 7a.m. on the dot. Here's the paperwork. That needs to come with him."

"What if I did actually steal that car?" I asked them. "Doesn't community service feel like a slap on the wrist?"

Anastasia let out a fake, uneasy laugh and gave me a pat on the knee. "You didn't steal that car, Axel. Don't be ridiculous."

The officer was too tired to care anymore and was unfazed.

"Axel, let's go, okay? We have a lot of cleaning up to do." She stood up and started towards her family, who were also up and getting ready to go. I followed suit, because I didn't know what else to do.

"Mr. Novak," the rookie cop from before called out to me, and I turned and he jogged the distance between us. "Your stuff," he said. He handed me a gallon bag with Xigbar's gloves and balaclava, Ansem's car keys, and the Henley's vacation photo. I briefly wondered what became of Xigbar and the others. They were probably laughing it up while eating omelets at Denny's.

Outside the station, the sun was up and the sky was a mix of blues and oranges. Ansem's car had been towed to the station and was now sitting in the parking lot, not too far from Anastasia's red BMW. Her family hadn't said a word and didn't seem any closer to breaking their vow of silence. They stood by her car, waiting for her to unlock it.

"My roommate needs his car back," I said to her.

"We'll have it towed to him."

She clicked a button on her keychain and everyone began to pile in. I apprehensively got into the backseat next to Roxas, who refused to look at me.

Anastasia let out a sigh. "This is new for everyone, but that doesn't mean we have to tiptoe around the subject."

Roxas piped up, "I'm not tiptoeing, I just don't have anything to say to criminals."

"Roxas," his father warned.

"It fine," I said, "he's not wrong. I was willing to go to prison."

"There's just one thing I've got to know," Roxas said, "Who is he? He isn't a neighbor, and you don't have any siblings, mom."

She took a deep breath and I could see her husband touch her arm comfortingly. "He's a member of this family," she said simply.

"Just tell them I'm your son," I blurted.

The rest of the ride was silent.