Swindle: Chapters 14–21

“Well, all right,” she said grudgingly. “But you have to go and wash your hands.”

“Thank you,” whimpered Ben. He hoped she attributed the weakness in his voice to shock rather than fear their hostess might clue in that the blood on his arm was really meant to be dolloped on French fries.

Her only talent was rock-climbing, and there weren’t any mountains or crags near Cedarville.

Logan Kellerman had never been so well prepared for an audition. He had rehearsed his line so many times that he knew it inside out. He understood every subtle shade of it, especially his character’s motivation.

“Before we go any further,” Griffin said solemnly, “I need your word that what’s said in this room stays in this room...."

Darren had been his nemesis since kindergarten. He wouldn’t hesitate to sell them out.

This is it! thought Logan. Time for his talent to shine. He cultivated a wan look that was part shy and part sad.

This is it! thought Logan. Time for his talent to shine. He cultivated a wan look that was part shy and part sad.

The SmartPick leaned against the wall, standing like a sentry over the crowded workbench, the nerve center of the operation.

DARREN VADER: Muscle and miscellaneous

Rendezvous Point: Water Tower

Logan was his usual modest self. “If they gave Academy Awards for heists, I’d walkaway with all the hardware. I have created a role so real, so three-dimensional, so heartwarming—”

Darren was growing exasperated. “Here’s what you do: Stick the ticket in a birthday card with somebody else’s name on the envelope, and drop it in Swindle’s mail slot like somebody delivered it to the wrong house."

His one consolation was that he and Ben had paid for the ticket out of the money that crook had given them for the Babe Ruth card.

Whatever doubts he might have had about Thursday night disappeared at the sound of Swindle’s smug gloating.

The sun was setting as S. Wendell Palomino unlocked his door, stepped into the foyer, and keyed in the code that turned off his alarm.

Without a qualm, he ripped the envelope open and pulled out a brightly colored birthday card.

Griffin tried not to let his trepidation show as he looked at the message on the screen.

She slipped on an insulated glove, reached in with a tiny wire cutter and snipped every electrical cable she could find.

The door of number 531 opened and Swindle stepped out, dressed in a voluminous New York Rangers jersey that covered his ample stomach and stretched almost to his knees.

When night fell, six dark-clad figures, wearing gloves and stocking caps, met in the grass beneath the huge tank of the Cedarville municipal water tower.

The wind plucked at their clothing and howled through the support girders all around them.

Griffin thought he could never be happy to see the nasty leering face of Darren Vader.

“It isn’t even about money. Tonight we show that fairness isn’t something “Yada, yada, yada,” drawled Darren in a bored voice.

“Don’t make jokes! I never told anybody about this. I have narcolepsy.”

Griffin was chastened. “I’m really sorry, man. I had no clue.”

Now securely tethered, she strung four more cords around the pipe and carried these back down to her novice climbers on the ladder.

The environment was so alien that he felt like he was attempting a space walk—the unfamiliar slant of the surface under him, the buffeting wind, the near-total darkness.

Cedar Springs, New York, was a tiny hamlet tucked in a remote corner of Westchester County.

“I’ll manage,” Pitch replied stoically. “But I won’t be doing any climbing.”