Hours later, Julie selected her crew for the job and sat on Shawn’s front porch, reading a book, as the young man showered to prep for the gig. As Julie paged through a romance book by Danielle Steel. Why can't I put this down? Cheesy romance, but great story. Shawn’s stereo blared Bell Biv Devoe’s Poison. Closing her paperback, Julie thought to herself of what Morgan said. Make us proud. “Who the hell is us?” As the sun eased down, so did the music when Shawn opened and locked the front door behind him.

“Am I riding with you, Doc?” he asked, attempting to fix his short, unkempt hair with his hands.

“I’m no doctor yet,” she corrected. “Just like you’re no English professor,” Julie shook her head, visualizing Shawn and herself working a job years later. The idea of living a healthy life seemed distant to Julie, and she imagined the others felt the same. “You’re with me, but we’re picking up Amanda on campus,” she said as the two approached her green BMW. The pair walked side by side; at just under six feet, Shawn barely stood above Julie. Her modelesque appearance contrasted to Shawn, who carried no distinct features to make him unique, only his green eyes and clean baby face. He looked like an average Joe, who can blend into a crowd at a Dodgers baseball game.

“The costume shop on campus?” he asked, where she nodded in agreement and unlocked the car with her key fob. “She practically lives there,” the two opened the car door and jumped inside. Shawn turned to his driver, “Have you seen her the past day or so?”

“Yeah,” she said.

“She’s… different today,” he said.

“Yeah, just a little,” Julie said.

“A little different?” Shawn’s tone grew higher, “She’s been a completely different person, just more of her bipolar bullshit,” his voice faded, gazing at a palm tree out the windshield. “The kind of shit I love and hate all at once. You know?”

She nodded, “You gotta love people’s faults.”

“Mind if only you and I go on this one?” he asked, perhaps suggesting something else.

“Morgan told me to find a crew, not one person,” she said, “Besides, you and Amanda work well together.” Julie cranked the ignition, and the two rode to campus.

After picking up Amanda, the three made suggestions on where to go, less of an opinion and more of an argument. Julie suggested the beautiful Malibu and Shawn pushed for the sometimes-secluded Echo Park. But the winner was Amanda, who picked the always nasty Skid Row. The dirty place was perfect for any illegal activity as the police presence is rare with the hundreds of homeless living in the area.

“No, Dean tonight?” Amanda asked from the back seat.

“He’s just now getting over the flu,” Shawn turned back to her from the passenger seat. “You feeling up for this tonight?”

“Perfect,” Amanda said, staring at the city through a window. An uneasy feeling came over her like a fog machine during a Prince video. A plague of bad luck trusted upon her earlier as she stomped her big toe against a door, and just five minutes later, she lost ten bucks. This must be connected; I better keep my guard up.

With the two in front arguing about which business to stop at, Amanda pictured her schedule for the night. First, she’d help the two on this gig; then, she’d have a meeting at the costume shop. Always keep the schedule open for the costume shop.

The crew pass by a gas station, beside a liquor store, but the biggest eyesore of all was next, a rundown bowling alley. “There!” Amanda shook her hand as they pointed at the trio of terrible ideas together. “Around the bowling alley.”

Julie pulled her BMW into the tiny bowling alley parking lot and parked two spots from the street. A dozen cars peppered the lot’s capacity of 20. The front page of the evening’s news blew in the wind, wrapping around Amanda’s ankle once she opened her car door. The others followed suit, where the three huddled together at a chain-linked fence beside the street.

“Which one, Julie bird?” Shawn asked, and peered into the parking lot.

“Um,” Julie’s eyes brushed past a Gremlin and several other compact cars. “I’ll pass this to Amanda,” she said. “See anything you like?”

Amanda removed the paper from her ankle and focused her eyes on the bowling alley. The double glass doors illuminated from the light inside. The place is open. Tread lightly. The limited lighting in the entire parking lot looked to be a perfect atmosphere for a case of Grand Theft Auto. The nearest car, a rusted and dented model of the General Lee of the Dukes of Hazard TV show. A car like that draws eyes, not to mention it’s only two doors. Not ideal.

Peeping beside the building, she saw the ideal car, a lengthy four-door vehicle with a cargo rack attached to the top — a basic family Station Wagon. “I found our car,” she mumbled, but her face showed the eagerness of a child’s first trip to Disneyland. The others questioned which car she selected, so they followed her to the pick. Each step closer, Amanda locked her eyes on the glass doors, looking for anyone ready to exit.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

Upon their arrival, Shawn stared at the rear window, “This is the best you’ve got?”

As she made her case for the passenger and cargo room, Julie mentioned how unlikely it would have a car alarm. “What do you think?” Jules asked.

Shrugging his shoulders and twisting his head sideways, “I think it looks like shit,” Shawn said. The wood paneling on the brown paint made his stomach turn. “But I don’t think we have a choice on this one.”

“Who’s breaking in?” Amanda asked only to be handed the tool-kit from Julie. “As long as you two stay back and maybe run interference.” The others nodded, and as they walked away, Julie asked how they could draw attention to themselves. “Make out for all I care.”

As the two walked away from Amanda, young Shawn pondered if he should respond to his girlfriend’s comment. Instead, he looked over at Julie, “Well, you heard the lady,” Shawn said, stepping over the sidewalk curb.

“Don’t,” Julie pushed him into an empty trash can barrel. “She may have said it, but I still respect this friendship.”

“Sometimes I don’t see the same girl,” he said, followed by Julie punching him in the shoulder.

“Stop it! She’s your girlfriend.” The two hovered six feet from the front entrance.

“Over a few hours, she goes from happy stoner to Miss Serious,” Shawn said. “How do you expect me to feel?”

Julie grabbed him by the collar of his jacket, “Hang in there, Shawn.” The bowling alley front doors opened, and Julie followed her first instinct. She planted her lips against Shawn’s. A man puked on the sidewalk while a friend held his hair back. The friend looked up at Shawn and Julie and proceeded to cat calling the two. “Get it on,”one guy said. After a minute, the pukester and his generous friend left, where Julie immediately backed off Shawn. “Let’s not talk about this,” she said.

Meanwhile, Amanda struggled with her task, inserting the Slim Jim between the glass and weather stripping. Assuming her difficulty is caused by her 5’2” height, Amanda stood on her tiptoes. She then remembered how she broke into a Ford Bronco SUV with no problem once, so she dropped back to her heels. Amanda poked out her tongue to try and concentrate, but nothing. Closing her eyes, Amanda breathed in and focused. She opened her eyes and despite the dim light, she finally saw the silver painted lock knob. With a gentle pull, the knob jiggled. I’ve got you. A quick pull later, all the muscles flexed on her petite frame, the lock released, and she opened the door.

Calling the others over, Amanda ordered Shawn to hot wire the car. His task took up less time than hers. Once the car cranked up, the three split up. The girls hopped in the BMW, and Shawn drove the Station Wagon, heading to his place as quick as he could.

Julie drove Amanda towards USC’s costume shop. Behind the wheel, Julie looked around at anything and everything as Amanda watched. What the hell’s wrong with her? Her nervousness followed with a bit of smiling. If her skin wasn’t so tan, Amanda might think her friend might be blushing. What the hell?

“Why are you the cat who ate the canary?” Amanda asked.

“I’m a little nervous, too,” Julie added.

“You gonna tell me?”

“I kissed Shawn,” Julie whispered as she stared at the road ahead.

“No kidding,” Amanda smiled, followed by Julie, giving her a look. “What?”

“Nothing,” Julie said. “I just thought you’d be mad.”

“Julie, how can I be mad at you?”

“I kissed-”

“Yes, you kissed Shawn,” Amanda said. “So? I gave you an order, and you followed.”

“He’s your boyfriend, and yet you feel nothing?”

“Relationships come and go.”

“You can be such a stone-cold bitch,” Julie said.

“Only sometimes,” she smiled, and Julie drove her back to campus.

Pulling in at his home, Shawn parked the station wagon in the driveway and clicked on his left signal light. Outside, he checked if the front and back lights blinked to avoid any problems from the police on the road. Both lights working. He checked the right side and found no complications. Shawn hurried inside for a few tools to finish the job.

The house saw better days; near the couch, a hamper of Shawn’s dirty laundry sat horizontally with dirty socks and underwear spewing out. We’ve gotta clean up. A bottle of Nyquil sat atop Shawn’s favorite footstool, the coffee table. The couch contained Dean’s snot-filled napkins, further evidence that he’d been fighting the flu.

While grabbing a screwdriver and file from his room, Shawn then remembered that Dean had the license plate. Knocking on his roommate’s door, Shawn said, “Dean, I’m gonna need that license plate.” Instead of waiting for the plate, he continued his mission of filing off the VIN number and removed the old plate. Shawn returned inside to drop off the file and found the fresh plate halfway in the doorway of Dean’s room. His door kept closed, not to contaminate Shawn.

“Thanks, dude,” Shawn said and listened out for a whisper but nothing. The flu caused Dean to lose his voice, so instead of speaking, Dean pounded against the wall. Shawn thanked him again and finished the job.

Meanwhile, Julie sped away as Amanda took a few steps on the sidewalk by the theater lab, housing USC’s School of Dramatic Arts. After a measly fifty paces, she reached a poorly lit side door. As candle flies buzzed around her, Amanda combed through a couple of dozen keys on her key-ring until she found the right one and opened the door. The theater lab housed a small stage and seating for under one hundred.

However, for Amanda, the main attraction was not to be on stage pretending to be the next Meryl Streep, but to remain behind the scenes, deep in the make-up department. She wormed through a narrow hallway, avoiding a prop box holding several swords for a swashbuckling rehearsal. Pressing on, Amanda found the make-up lab’s light on through the brown translucent glass, similar to ones seen on the noir private detective films of the ’40s and ’50s. She pressed one hand against the cracked door with only one phrase on her mind.

“You’re here early,” she said as she opened the door, and found Professor Abbott standing in front of the large mirror using his palm to brush lint off his blazer. “Morgan? What are you doing here?”

“Looking for an update on our girl,” he finished straightening himself up and turned to Amanda. “How did Julie do tonight?” He removed a pair of cigars from his jacket and reached his hand towards her as she approached.

“She delegated the task to me.”

“Hmm,” he pulled back the cigars and placed them back in his breast pocket. “That’s neither a win nor a failure.”

“She did fine in charge,” Amanda said as she placed her purse atop the counter. “Why are you still dressed up so late?”

“Date night with the missus,” he said.

Morgan walked to the far wall from the mirror to an army cot in the corner. Lifting a women’s bra on a finger, “Amanda, do you need a place to stay?” She snatched it from him and placed it in her purse, shaking her head. “Anyway,” Morgan reached back in his jacket and removed a manila envelope hiding behind the cigars. “Here’s your standard fee for being my informant.” He extended his arm as she stretched to meet in the middle. However, at the last moment, he pulled back. He looked her in the eyes. “No drugs,” his stern, unwavering voice was enough to scare any student from cheating on a test.

“Trust me; I’m clean,” she said without a tremble in her vocal cord.

“I’m just worried about a relapse,” he said.

“I can keep it under control,” she assured him.

“This only works with complete sobriety.” She nodded in agreement, where he handed her the envelope and made his exit only to stop at the door. “I left a card for a hitman in case you ever need some backup,” Morgan paused. “You should give him a call if you’re ever…handicap.” Again, Amanda nodded as Morgan officially left. It didn’t take her long to dig through the envelope to count the cash. Inside a pair of billfolds of twenties and a black business card reading Seven Points Security and a phone number. Unsure what to do with it, she pockets the card — finally, time for the real midnight meeting.

Professor Morgan Abbott, why are you so full of surprises? First, you make us commit grand theft auto, and now you show up at my place? Next, will you put me in charge of the group? Your cuckoo ideas keep us guessing.

Footsteps stomped along the hallway, followed by someone bumping into what sounded like the sword props box. A high-pitched female giggle echoed, causing Amanda to sigh in disappointment.

“Come on in,” Amanda said in a monotone voice.