"Yep. It's Philly's hottest new brew pub. We can talk without being interrupted by service."
Fifteen minutes later, Blake and I had our beer. Twenty minutes later, we had a plan: Get onto the construction site next to the building, cut a few utility wires, and get inside while everyone is trying to figure out what happened. No one would be suspicious if the lights went off suddenly; that sort of thing went on in Philadelphia all the time. The city's condo boom meant construction everywhere, and the crews worked fast, night and day. That meant forests of wires and pipes just waiting to get pulled, yanked, chopped or accidentally cut. Electricity, phone service, even water, if you swung your sledgehammer right.
"OK," Blake said, "what do we do once we get in?"
"We trash Honoré's Porsche."
Blake looked at the ceiling then back at me. "All right, we spray-paint your mean boss's car, and then?"
"Then the real job starts."
(Read all of "The Baltimore Drive-by" so far here And remember: This is fiction. It never happened.)
© Peter Rozovsky 2009