19, Locker

“This whole nation is just way too nice.  They have to be medicated.”  Special agent Mikayla Doniak spoke inconspicuously through her wrist watch communicator as she pretended to sip from an empty coffee cup.  “I mean for real, they fucking have to be on drugs.  That’s the only answer.”  She’d been observing the train station terminal for two hours from the vantage point of a coffee kiosk table.  Her butt was sore from sitting, her body shook from too much caffeine consumed during her boredom and her instincts told her that their current adventure might be useless.

“So you think that all of them are smiling cuz they’re drugged up?”  Master Thief Owens voice came through her ear buds as clearly as if he was sitting at the little table with her.  “Jesus, Mickey.  You have very little faith in humanity.”

“Yup.  There’s no way on earth that when you get this many of us living together that we’d actually choose to be this nice to each other.  It’s preposterous.”

Owens decided he’d bite on the conversation.  It entertained him.  “Then what kind of drug are we talking about here?  Prozac or something?”

Doniak pondered for a moment.  “It’s gotta be a drug that has the agreeableness of weed, the joy of molly and the calmness of zoloft.”  

She stood up to stretch a little.  Even though she was a couple of feet away from a middle aged man passing by, the gentleman side stepped and muttered a sincerely apologetic, “sorry!”  

Doniak smiled.  “No worries!” she said cheerfully to the man passing by.  Inside she wanted to yell, “give me a break dude, it’s no big deal, you weren’t even close to bumping into me!  There’s literally no need to apologize for imaginary accidents!”  As the guy walked away, she was glad she held her tongue. The niceness was getting to her.  

“Perhaps it’s just a national sense of belonging to a polite society.”  The sound in Doniak’s ears went strangely dead as Owens was clearly entering into a much quieter place, but she had no idea where he actually was.

“Nope.  It’s drugs.  It’s gotta be in the water or something.”

“Even the French speaking population?” asked Owens.

“I don’t know for sure about them, but I’d argue that most of them are pretty nice too.”  There was now a lot of low level engine noise wherever Owens was and she had difficulty understanding her friend.  She’d learned that his brain didn’t think the way the rest of humanity thought.  It was best to avoid asking any questions that might get quick unsatisfactory answers.  “I hear rumors that the French are assholes, but that hasn’t been my experience so far.”

“Imagine, a whole country, just high as fuck and happy on drugs all the time.”  Owens paused, then said, “Well I guess that’s certainly possible.  I mean, our country is medicated beyond belief, but sadly it’s not the kind that makes us nice towards each other.”

Doniak tried not to laugh.  She’d never minded being the crazy lady laughing to herself, but she didn’t want to draw any attention.  “If I ever go back to college to get my sociology degree, that’ll be my doctoral thesis.  Canada is nice cuz they’re all secretly on drugs.”  Doniak could hear a click, then the sound of metal groaning filled her ears.

“I’m a few minutes from cutting the surveilance.  You ready?” Owens asked.

“Yup.  Just give me the heads up so we can get on with it already.”

A day earlier, pilot Porter had flown the two of them to Ontario with a few stops along the way, completely under the radar.  There was no official mission involved this time, but rather a burning curiosity to discover whatever was in a lock box at a train station in Toronto.  Master thief Owens had stolen a key from the guest room of a dignitary in Colombia, and he had no clue what it led to.  He just liked mischief, and Team Whiskey’s members were the champs of mischief.  

“T-minus one minute,” Owens muttered.  “I’m past the boiler room and about to slip into their security office.”  Owens had snuck around the back offices of the train station completely unseen.  He moved like a ghost, he made no sound and left no trace of his existence.  For fun, he wore thin white gloves to cover his finger prints, but it was all for show.  He’d been born with no finger prints.  “This is fun, Mickey.  I love this shit.”

Mikayla Doniak grinned as she stood up.  “Me too,” she replied.  It looked like she was talking to herself.  She was dressed like a stay at home mom who had several small children.  She threw a large empty bag over her shoulder that looked like it should be full of diapers.  Even though her coffee had been drained for over an hour, she unsuccessfully fought for one last drop.  “Tell you what, Owens, I gotta snag a bag of Tim Horton’s coffee to go before we go back stateside.  That coffee was so good.”  She popped her neck from side to side.  “Tell me when.”  

“And…” Owens voice trailed off for a second and she could hear that Owens was in a room with people talking.  “Now.”

However he did what it was that he did, she trusted him. Doniak walked at a leisurely pace towards the lockers.   She reached into her pocket and pulled out the lock box key.  “I really hope this fucker isn’t empty!” she said excitedly to her watch.  Her heart was pounding, as if she were a high school girl about to kiss a cute boy for the first time.

“Whatever is in there, don’t act surprised.  Unless it’s a human head or something.  Then close it and walk away.”

“God dammit, Owens!  Cut the shit!”  She was fifteen seconds away from the lockers.

“Cameras are now off.  Don’t rush, but don’t dally.  They’ll turn back on in three minutes!”

In that short walk Doniak had to endure another two people saying “sorry!” who weren’t even close to bumping into her, but she acted like a good little Canadian and reassured each person that all was well.  She walked right up to the lock box and inserted the key to open it.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” said a man’s voice behind her.  Her heart was pounding, but she played it cool and said nothing.  She simply made eye contact and raised her eyebrows and nodded slightly, as if to ask, “what’s up?”  The man said, “I see your coffee cup and I was wondering where you got your coffee?”

Doniak wanted to scream at the top of her lungs, but she held it together.  “That coffee kiosk over there, sir!  I suggest their dark roast.  It’s incredible.”  She smiled widely as if to say, “I’m done talking to you, go along with your business.”  The man seemed pleased and nodded politely as he walked away.

“I’m back in the boiler room,” Owens said in her ears.  “I’ll meet you out front when you’re done.  Anything cool in there?”

Doniak had to take a few deep breaths to compose herself.  “I’ll let you know shortly.”  She turned back around, opened the locker and stared in.  She couldn’t make sense of it.  “There’s an old book that looks like it’ll fall apart if I touch it, probably hundreds of years old or something.  There’s a small ziplock bag that looks like it has some sort of little white pebbles in it, a napkin that’s been scribbled on and…”  Doniak gasped.  “Damn!”

“Ooooo, what is it?  It’s not a severed head, is it?”

Doniak had to hold it together to not start yelling into her wrist watch.  She talked quietly but heatedly.  “No, you idiot!  It’s not a fucking head, but I’m happy to kill you and leave yours in this locker if it’ll get you to shut the fuck up about decapitated heads!”

Owens laughed heartily.  “I deserve that.”

Doniak was too excited to be mad.  “It’s a hand gun that looks gold.”  She reached into the locker and stuffed the contents into her diaper bag, but when she picked up the gun, it was heavy as fuck.  “Lord have mercy!  The hand gun is heavy, Owens.  Chances are good that it’s actually made of gold, for real.”

It was Owens turn to gasp.  He sounded like he was speaking gibberish.  “Is it the soon sonny sun?”

“Come again?”  She listened closely as she stuffed the gun into her empty diaper bag.  She could feel its weight pull down on her shoulder.

“Sorry Mickey, it’s Arabic for The Rising Sun.  It’s a gun made out of solid gold that was given to the oldest Saudi prince as his birthday present.  If it is that particular gun, then for real, we just discovered something very odd.  That gun is supposed to be in a well protected safe in Ryiadh, guarded by the kings best security detail.  I’ve debated trying to steal it for years but I’ve never had the balls to try. Too much heat.”

“It has Arabic inscriptions on it, but I don’t read Arabic so I have no idea.  It’s as big as McVandalay’s Desert Eagle, and it’s heavy as hell.”

“Dang.  Well if it is the Rising Sun, something weird is going on Mickey, I’m telling you.” 

Doniak gasped again.  “Owens, there’s another key in here.”

“Take it and get out!  You’ve got a little over a minute left ’til the cameras turn back on!”

She did as instructed, then closed the door to the lock bock.  The key was now locked into the door, waiting for the next patron who needed a locker for rent.  Whoever the owner of this stuff was, they’d know that their contents were now in the possession of someone else.  

Doniak scurried out of the train station and stepped into the sunshine.  Her eyes hurt from the full summer sun so she threw on some shades.  She walked around the corner to a less busy part of the street and looked up.  Owens was sliding down a large aluminum gutter, face first.  When he got close to ground level, his body slowed quickly to a stop.  His feet were above his head and then bent out in an arch, as if he were the most flexible yoga instructor of all time.  He held his shoulder to the gutter as his whole body contorted itself to where his feet were on the ground.  He then let go of the gutter and sprang upright.  The whole scene took only a few seconds.

“Holy shit, Bendy, that looked dangerous as fuck.”

“It was fun!  Let’s get back to the hotel and see what you have.  My curiosity about the gun is through the roof.”  Owens was giddy, like a school kid in a candy shop.

Porter pulled up a few moments later to pick them up.  Fifteen minutes flew by and before they knew it, they were in the hotel room, examing the contents they’d just stolen.

“This napkin is covered in scribbles and a drawing of what looks like to be a rocket,” said pilot Porter.  “Like a space rocket, not a missile, although I could be wrong.”  She handed it to Doniak.

“I think this is the Falcon Heavy, guys.”  She saw Owens crinkle his brow in confusion, but Porter smiled ear to ear.

“The day they announced that they were building that ship, I knew I wanted to fly it.”  Porter licked her lips like she was hungry for a plate of barbecued ribs.  She looked at Owens.  “It’s the rocket that’ll get us to Mars, just so you know.”

“Dude,” Doniak muttered, “I seriously wonder if this might be the first ever drawing of that rocket.  Like, maybe Elon Musk drew this in a bar or something and kept it as a keepsake?”

Owens was examining the hand gun.  “Wow.  This IS the Rising Sun alright.  What in the hell is it doing in a train station locker?”

Porter examined the old book.  “This looks like it might be the original copy of the Book of Mormon, no joke.  It’s supposed to be in Salt Lake City in their holiest temple under high security!”

Owens held the nozzle of the hand gun and offered the handle to Porter while gesturing to examine the book.  “I broke into that place a few years back for fun.”

Porter held the heavy golden gun.  She was strong, but when she tried to lift it to point it at the wall, it’s weight protested.  It took all her strength to hold it up with one arm.  “I know a lot of Mormons and I can’t imagine their temples have anything worth stealing, but I could be wrong.  Dare I ask?”

“I didn’t wanna steal anything actually, but I’ve heard rumors about secret underwear ceremonies.  I thought it would be cool to see one.”

Porter gave a toothy grin.  “And?”

“Never happened.  I got bored less than an hour into poking around so I left.  Too many white people.”

Doniak laughed as she examined the ziplock bag.  “These are baby teeth.  No clue to whom they belong, but considering the rest of these items seem to be unique and possibly stolen, I wouldn’t be surprised if they belong to somebody famous or something.”

Owens set the old book of Mormon down on the hotel bed.  His eyes got wide and his jaw dropped.  “Ladies,” he said slowly, “holy shit.  These items were stolen, for sure, by someone who’s damn good at stealing shit.  Damn good.”  He shook with excitement.  “We have a Master Thief on our hands who’s better than me!”  A sensation started burning inside of him that tingled every part of his existence.  He felt a competitive fire that he’d never known before.  Until now, he was the only person he’d ever known that could do what he could do.  The fact that there was another thief out there made him giddy and competitive.  “I want to meet him.”

“Hold your horses, cowboy.  We don’t know what any of this means.”  Porter picked up the key from the table.  “What do you two suppose this could be?”

Owens was shaking with excitement as he examined it.  His eyes got big and he started laughing out loud like some sort of mad scientist who was dreaming of ruling the world.  “It’s another lock box key, and it says Toronto Zim on it.”  

No one knew what that meant, so Porter googled it.  Her face lit up.  “Zimbabwe!  There’s a Toronto in Zimbabwe!  Who knew?  I know a pilot who lives an hour from the capitol who helped establish an airfield in his hometown.  I’ll give him a call.”  She looked at her two friends excitedly.  “I’m plenty awake enough to go to Africa right now if you two are.”  She said the statement as if she were reciting a line from a newspaper.  There was no bragging, but there was indeed an underlying excitement in her voice.

“We haven’t even been here a whole day,” said Mickey.   She shrugged.  “Fuck air conditioning, I took this job because I wanted adventure and I like to travel.  Owens?”  

“Ready.”  Doniak turned to see Owens standing at the door with his backpack strapped to his shoulders.  Both women wondered how in the fuck he moved so quickly without sound.

“You look like you’re about to go on a Mormon mission, minus the white shirt and black pants of course,” joked Porter.  Owens had the book of Mormon in one hand held to his chest, and the other hand was on the door. 

“What’re you two ladies waiting for?  Let’s fucking go to Zimbabwe already!  I’ve got a thief to track down!”  With that, he opened the door as quiet as a ghost and snuck into the hotel hallway.  

Doniak shrugged.  “Well Porter, lead the way to Africa, then.”

In the distance, a mysterious beautiful woman in a train station smiled widely as she discovered that her lock box had been opened and emptied of its contents, then shook with excitement as if she were starting her own adventure as she opened her cell phone to book a flight to Zimbabwe.