“Four per shift,” he said. “Three shifts a day.”

“They’re keeping watch,” said one of the younger guys.

“They’re being stupid,” said the older guy. “They got all those people and they have the guards working full eight-hour shifts. Use your damn brain, Chickie. They don’t know we’re coming, so they’re probably bored as fuck by now. Two, three hours into each shift and they’re getting distracted. Five or six hours in and they’re either not paying attention at all or out on their feet. That’s when we move.”

“Why not wait until, like, seven hours in?” asked Chickie. “Won’t they be more tired?”

I expected the older guy to give a harsh answer, but he fooled me. It was obvious he was schooling the younger guys. “Nah,” he said, “seven hours in and they’re starting to count down to end of shift. And they wouldn’t want to risk dozing off then because they’d get in the shit with whoever their boss is.”

The others nodded. I had to agree. That was a reasonable assessment.

What I couldn’t see yet was where these guards were that they were discussing. Then I saw it when one of them moved. High on the corner of a wall was a small shed-like guard tower mostly hidden behind the leaves of a big sycamore. The tree blocked the tower from sight until one of the men inside opened a kind of hatch and poured a bucket of water over the edge. Probably from a chemical toilet. The grass below the tower was all withered and dead.

With the hatch open I could just about make out other figures in the shed. Three of them. Two men and a woman, sitting on folding chairs. Pretty sure they were playing cards.

“Fucking clown college,” said the older man. “Their line of sight’s for shit and they got Dumb and Dumber standing guard.”

“You got that right, Snail,” said the thirty-something. “They might as well just hang out a welcome sign for us.”

“Pretty much what they’re doing,” said the older man, Snail. He looked up at the sun. “Getting late. Let’s boogie.”