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Chapter One Hundred Twenty-Four
Point of View: Leon


Interesting statistical fact for the criminal mind: If the person who's house you're trying to break into is a moron, they will use one of two passwords on their alarm security system. Either "1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6" or the numerical representation of their birthday.

In my case, the moron's password was "0, 1, 2, 8, 8, 0".

I broke the lock on the front door of Nick's house in Tennessee, and easily disabled the alarm. I stood in the foyer, looking around. It was nice, but didn't feel lived in. I picked up a picture from a table - it was of him and Krystal - her body wrapped around his as he grinned. They were bundled up in ski gear and he had goggles on his stupid fucking face. Clearly he hadn't been here in awhile or this picture wouldn't be here. I slammed it down face-first and the glass broke on the table top.

I moved further in, poking around, examining stuff as I went. I stepped on a dog toy, which made a loud, shrill squealing sound and I kicked it out of the way.

His kitchen was very streamlined, a little too clean. I looked at the stove. He probably had never used the fucking thing in his life. There were no pans or anything around it. I opened a cupboard and found a lot of boxed crap like macaroni and cheese and Tuna Helper.

I slammed the cupboard door and started opening drawers. I found silverware and old bills he'd scrawled paid across the envelopes of. A couple peeks at those told me he was in debt to his eyeballs, but that he also had a pretty hefty bank account to cover it. I pocketed a checking account statement with the account number on it and figured I might try to get myself a bonus later.

I picked up a box of Cheez-Its he had sitting on the counter, looked inside to make sure they were fresh (they were unopened) and started eating them as I walked up the stairs to his second floor.

The rooms on the second floor were desolate, even compared to the relatively empty downstairs. Most of the rooms were covered with a fine layer of dust and left unfurnished. I opened the last door on the far end of the hall and found his bedroom. I stepped inside and looked around. It, too, was sparse but you could at least tell this one had a human living in it in the last year.

A stack of comic books lay on the floor, sprawled about like they'd been knocked over. The bed wasn't made, but it also hadn't been moved in awhile - the blankets had settled on themselves and flattened. On the desk, he had some blank sheet music and a couple CD-R's labelled things like material for next album and melody for "Letting Go".

I opened his desk drawer and found paydirt.

A plastic bag filled with drugs.

"Nice," I laughed, picking it up and rolling it in my hand. I stared at it, then pocketed that, too.

I continued rooting around and found some nice jewelry pieces and other various artifacts that I could sell at a pawn shop easily.

After I was satisfied I had enough stuff to sell to get a couple thousand dollars, I moved over to his bed and laid down, my booty all collected in a pile on the desk. I stared up at his ceiling and laughed.