Not long ago, Ema and I had tried to break into Bat Lady’s house. I had taken a credit card from my wallet and tried to open it via the way I had seen a thousand times on television. It hadn’t worked. That lock had been old and so it simply gave way. But after that I got curious, so I started searching the Internet to learn how to pick locks. In truth, it isn’t easy. If there was a deadbolt, it was impossible, but if this was a standard spring bolt, I could maybe get away with it.

It was a spring bolt.

Bingo.

I took out my credit card and started to work it. You don’t really pick a lock with a credit card. You jimmy it open. I stuck the card in the crack between the door and the frame and slid it down to the lock. I bent the card toward the knob, hoping to slide the corner underneath. Nothing much happened. I put my shoulder against the door. The key is, open it fast when you feel the pop. That’s what the websites said.

It wasn’t working.

I pushed a little harder with my shoulder. The cheap material gave way. I could feel something bend. I looked back at Troy. He shrugged and said, “I can do it if you want.”

I shook my head. I was already there. My fingers might not be nimble, but there was nothing like a strong shoulder. I rocked back, hit the door a little harder with my shoulder, and the door flew open.

Breaking and entering. Again.

I was already cooking up various excuses, just in case we got caught. Example: We had heard someone calling for help maybe. Or we just tried the door and it was already open, so we just came to check and make sure everything was okay.

Right. Like either one of those would fly.

But at least I had a Get-Out-of-Jail-Free card with me: the police chief’s son. I slowly stepped into the shed. Troy followed me inside. There was a wall right in front of us dividing the space into two rooms. The lights were out, so we couldn’t see much more.

“You take the room on the left,” I said to him. “I’ll take the room on the right.”

“Should we use our flashlights?”

“Let’s keep the beams low, beneath the window height.”

“Okay,” Troy said. “Mickey?”

“What?”

“What are we looking for?”

“A big sign with the word clue on it.”

Troy laughed at that. “I’m serious.”

“A laptop, for one thing. Files maybe. But in truth, I’m not sure. I think it’s one of those ‘we’ll know it when we see it’ kinda things.”

“Got ya.”