Bedtime Story: Silver and Scotch – Night 24
Silver and Scotch
Copyright 2015 by Barbara Hinske
Blake checked the contents of his duffle bag one last time: screwdrivers; wire cutters; carpet knife; chisel; nail pullers; cotton nipple-tipped gardening gloves; flashlight; duct tape; towels to cushion the silver; and an empty duffle to carry it away. He adjusted the wadded-up rag stuffed into the toes of his sneakers that were two sizes too big. If he left a footprint in the moist Savannah soil, it wouldn’t be his shoe size.
He picked up his list of targets and flicked it idly with his forefinger. The house near Columbia Square would be the easiest to get in and out of, but the one on Oglethorpe held the most promise. He was sure the tea set he’d seen on display during the tour was sterling. Plus the owners had a couple of Rottweilers. And he was good with dogs—they never bothered him. He could get in and out of a house while the guard dogs slept peacefully. The papers mentioned it every time. That, and the fact that he always poured a drink and left it sitting on the now-empty sideboard. The owner would find it waiting when he discovered his silver was missing. It was thoughtful, really—the owner would be wanting a drink about then. That’s why the papers dubbed him “Scotch.”
Blake smiled. He’d even become something of a celebrity. He’d been mentioned in Gun & Garden magazine. He checked his watch. It was almost midnight. Time to give the papers something to write about.