My Perfect Crime

I should’ve known it would come to this. I am not made for jail. My mother always used to say so. But—of course! I am a perfectionist. My father always used to say so. So, between the two, perhaps this will be possible!

I have read many books on the matter… how hard can this be? Normally they all have teams though. However, they are often betrayed at the end, so my solo act might actually be the better approach. I wonder why they have not tried that. That said, even the best solo acts have their limits and require support. All I need is a well thought out plan, perfect timing, a loyal getaway driver, and a clever disguise.

Every great villain starts with a plan. They always used to think they would not get caught, that they would be the exception. I think I understand them now.

The costs and consequences if I am caught are more than humiliation. They would be monetary in nature, and maybe my face appearing on a wanted sign like the old wild west. Even if my face isn’t used, my name would be plastered on every page in bright red. I have seen it happen before, and if that wasn’t enough, the warnings were all over the building in question.

The package is already several weeks overdue, and I just know they know. I can feel the shiver roll down my spine every time I pass the building in question... or is that just my sweat? Sometimes, I swear I also hear the ghostly whisper in my ear, reminding me of my mistake. It’s not my fault—I promise. I had just lost track of the time, and maybe the package for a short while. I had hoped that maybe the whole situation would fix itself for me. Normally that’s what happens. Once, I put a missing tooth under my pillow, and it was gone the next morning. There had even been a small payment left behind!

I had considered sending it back the old-fashioned way. But that felt too traceable. Reckless. That is how they are always caught in the movies.

I had also considered abandoning the whole operation entirely. I could disappear. Move someplace new. Start over. Invest in a false mustache. But they would still know… they always know.

Naturally, if my sources had taught me anything, it was the importance of research. Thorough research to study the building’s blueprint, to understand the layout itself. The building seems simple enough. But I know this is a deception, to welcome the foolish into its open arms and then keep them there for hours at a time. Multiple entrances. Multiple windows. Multiple groups of people always going in and out during regular hours. Anyone could be watching at any time. Too many variables, and too few blind spots.

There are machines that scan everything and record every person and item that enters through its sacred gates. And if by some miracle, I get past the machines, then there are the watchers themselves. The staff appear calm, but I have seen the way they scan the room, tracking with their eyes like a hyperactive squirrel on birdfeeder refill day. I would sooner figure out the answer to the universe than be unnoticed. Wait—that’s forty-two. I already know that answer… so maybe I still stand a chance!

The timing is critical to the operation—if I blow that, I might as well just hand myself over to the authorities. This is the part, where in the movies, everything always goes wrong. Too early and there would be too many people. Too late, and the suspicion would only increase. If I went even later, I might as well put on a balaclava like a burglar in the night. There is a very narrow window mid-afternoon, if I can time it just right.

I spent half an hour choosing the perfect disguise for the occasion. Hoodie. Jeans. Converse. Nobody would suspect a thing. The sort of outfit that anybody would wear, and would allow me to quickly vanish back into a crowd. I had considered sunglasses for a brief period, but my getaway driver was already wearing them. Two would be most suspicious.

Worse—I must confess—I had not looked at the package in weeks. I hadn’t even opened it beyond my initial scan. I had had too many already waiting and needing my unprioritized attention.

I decided the best approach was to hide the package in a bag until the very last second. Very casual and unremarkable.

My getaway driver was less than thrilled at her role in the job.

“This is ridiculous,” she said. Again. As if I hadn’t registered the same complaint the last two times I’d heard it.

“All serious operations sound ridiculous at first. Even impossible. Especially the greatest of them,” I replied.

She not only didn’t seem further convinced, but I received an eye roll for my troubles. Regardless, though, she agreed anyway. We ran through the plan twice more to be safe, and a third on the car ride over. Enter. Move. Deliver. Exit. How hard could it be? The drive itself was uneventful. Soon, I was there.

When we arrived, I activated the plan. This was truly the point of no return. But I couldn’t back out now; that would be even more shameful. I stepped out of the vehicle, bag swung over my shoulder, and matched the pace of the others around me. I became like a penguin, waddling with my crew towards the iceberg of doom.

The building was exactly as I remembered it. Rows upon rows of more materials to browse, just sitting there on shelves, waiting for someone like me to take them. I could spend hours here. I already had on past occasions… I shook my head to focus. I couldn’t risk distractions. Not today and definitely not now.

At last, I located the drop site. It was exactly as I had planned. It was small and simple, only a slot about two feet wide and one foot tall. Its only purpose? To accept items. It looked easy. Too easy. I waited for a few more minutes than I had anticipated, but I couldn’t afford to get this wrong. Finally, once I was sure the path was clear, I approached. I removed the package from my bag, keeping my eyes low and head down.

I left the package at the drop site and ran back to where my driver had agreed to wait with the car. Fortunately, the getaway vehicle was still there. No alarms were going off. At last, I got into the car. My mother turned back to look at me through her sunglasses from the driver’s seat.

“Enjoy your visit to the library?”

I nodded.

“Did you return your book?”

I nodded again.

“There’s my little criminal,” she laughed. “What a thief!”

I didn’t understand and said so. She took her sunglasses off.

“It was three weeks late.”