“Meet at Wienerschnitzel 5pm?” Jimmy looked at the text. Put his phone back in his pocket. Then took it out again. Put it back. Then out again.

Jimmy, his feet on a box out back on the loading dock, lit a cigarette, took a drag.

Hesitating, he answered, “Okay, Danny. No shit between us, right, amigo?”

A vibration.

Danny’s response, “Nah. No big deal. Sorry I missed the throwdown. Hector’s boys are PISSED. You knocked out three of Victor’s teeth and Brandon has a bad concussion.”

“What about Hector and VBPP?”

“No fucks given, Jimmy. Two homies try jumping civvies because a hoodie goodie felt dissed. You sucker them. No bueno, but not cause for war. Still, I’d avoid crossing La Sierra for a while.”

Jimmy snubbed out his cigarette.

A booming voice called him from behind, “Yo! Jimmy! Hop to it; we’re getting another load in ‘bout 15.”

Jimmy groaned, stood up, and cracked his back, saying to himself, “Working like a fucking spic. Four cannot get here fast enough.”


“Two chili dogs, chili cheese fries, and a Mountain Dew,” Jimmy said. He pulled up the collar on his bomber jacket up tighter as he waited for his order. A cold autumn wind brushed through the outside dinning area.

“$12.79,” the perky Latina inside the hut said. The type of gal you meet at community college, the kind taking business and general college studies, cute in a way that “impresses” the nondescript bosses in nondescript offices in nondescript jobs.

Jimmy forked over the cash and gave her a wink, eliciting a blush.

He was wolfing down his chili cheese fries when Danny rolled up and got his order.

“Hey dude,” Danny said as he sat down across from Jimmy, “you ready for tomorrow night?”

“Yeah. No prob. Do the side door, peepers open, scope the place for goodies to grab. You sure this is a good idea? I mean, it’s in the hills; cops up there do their job for real.”

Danny took a huge bite of his Chicago dog and bolted it down before saying, “We’ll be riding a clean car, route’s planned out, on a through street, and we know rich boy and the wife are taking a vacation. Chelsea—”
“Who?” Jimmy asked.

“Chelsea, Jaden’s latest squeeze’s stepsister, works as an administrative assistant in the dude’s office.” Danny said and took another gorilla bite.

Jimmy leaned back. “You sure it’s a great idea to be working off such sketchy intel? I mean, Jaden’s in with the set. We ain’t. What if it’s a set-up, or just him getting back at some punk normie who boned his sister?”

Danny wiped his mouth on his sleeve before remembering his napkin. “Jaden may be in with ‘da set,’ but he’d never do us dirty. Once ACC, always ACC. According to Chelsea, rich boy is always flashing his cash, his Rolex, talking about bomb-ass parties he’s having with the missus, shit like champagne and coke. We boost some jewelry, a TV, tablets, computers, maybe get some powder. In and out, no one gets hurt. You just keep your peepers open.”

“Yeah, but this shit’s pavement ape style…” Jimmy’s gaze got lost in the far distance, storm clouds gathering on the distant horizon, a gray cloud wall blocking out everything between the Earth and setting sun.

Danny smacked Jimmy’s shoulder, “C’mon man, don’t be chickenshit. Think about what you’ll do with your cut, get some work done on mom’s car, put a little away, maybe get out of that warehouse bullshit. Tech bros like this dipshit take over all the joints in California, blabber on about ‘redistributing the wealth’ while squeezing out honest working people. Fuck, you ever think the valley would get pricy like this? Get treated like niggers, might as well start acting like niggers.”

“Can’t argue, but,” Jimmy plucked a cigarette out of a pack and lit up, “I get pinched, it ain’t no juvie probation shit. We won’t be going in strapped, will we?”

“Of course not, Jimmy, just a B&E. Quick in and out, sneaky-like. You know the location, you know what routes to make a break for if it goes south. But I’m not holding you to it. You want to back out, I’ll just act like you was never told nothing. But I know Wingnut is all down.”

Jimmy took a hard drag and thought it over. “Okay. I’m in.”

“Nice. Don’t forget this time; leave the phone at home.”


Midnight rains lashed the California palms; cold winds tore through Mazanitas, signaling an early winter coming to the West Coast. Dark anvils of cumulus loomed over the hills, city lights reflected off cloud piles outlining the hills. A nondescript black Chevy four-door climbed up Las Cruces Avenue off the boulevard into more opulent climes.

“Perfect night,” the wheelman said. He had an oversized Oakland Raiders cap pulled low over his face.

Two men, not fresh out of boyhood, manned the front of the vehicle. If Jimmy had to guess, they were Jaden and Kurt, one of Jaden’s associates from the set. Jimmy couldn’t be sure; the passenger up front didn’t speak and kept up his rain hood.

A hard, sinking feeling kept hitting Jimmy in the gut. Wingnut as his wingman settled him a little. He turned back to gaze at the growing view of the city nestled on the plain below, a rare view from his childhood. A childhood of riding bikes, seeing how far he and Gee could get via two feet on two wheels. Of Mom taking him to see the mountains beyond to escape the grid’s open-air prison. Sometimes the view scared him as a kid. But returning late in the evening as the sun dipped below the horizon, seeing the light scattered into a million diffractions of color from the Cali smog over those perfect squares upon squares always reassured him.

Tonight, the inundating gales added malevolence to the view. His stomach felt like it was going to sink lower than before and plunge out his ass.

The three of them, Danny, Jimmy, and Wingnut, were packed in the back seat, Jimmy in the middle. Danny, electric, stiff, checked his kit repeatedly.

Something clicked in the front, metal sliding against metal, the tinny clunk of ordnance steel on polymer retracting and slamming home.

Danny stiffened, “Homie, I hope that ain’t what I think it is. I said we were in if there was no fuscas. Otherwise, let us out here, we’ll walk back.”

A deep voice from the front passenger, “Yo bro, this is our gig, we invited you guys along for your skills. But we rollers and blasters. The way the set always works.”

Danny leaned forward, sneer set on his lips. “The way my crew rolls is not stacking felonies so we end up in Lompoc. Feds got the jones for anything smelling racialist. The fusca goes or we do.”

The front passenger growled, “The fuck you say? You ain’t even a real crew, just some punk kids.”

Jaden pulled over to the side of the road and turned to the passenger. “Told ya homeboy how the cat crew operates. I hope you gloved up before you played with your pop gun, because that shit is getting dumped or you are. I need them for this bit, I don’t need you.”

Sheepish now, the passenger said, “Yeah, boss. It goes.”

Then Jaden said, “Sprinkle the bullets out the window, then pull the piece apart and scatter it. I don’t want some fucking kid finding that thing and blowing their fucking head off.”

The passenger rolled the window and thumbed the cartridges out of the magazine as the car sailed along. A couple more streets, some clicks and cursing, and out went the barrel, slide, magazine, and frame over guard rails, into ditches, and over hillsides.

“Happy, boss?” the passenger said.

“Very,” Jaden answered.

“Fucking cost me $350…” the passenger muttered as he poured white powder from a vile onto his knuckle and snorted it. “Fucking new, too, fresh off the Iron Pipeline.”


Melodic Latin-tinged hip-hop played in dulcet tones over the car system. A song’s refrain struck Jimmy over and over again, “Si quieres mi vida, mi vida te doy.” His stomach no longer tried to digest itself. As he quieted his mind, his soul went all dark, his being emptied out into the rain-washed streets. His kit close to his heart reassured him.

Jaden broke the calm over the music. “You boys did your homework on the joint, right?”
An itch bit Jimmy in the ass and he blurted out, “Like AP chemistry heading to Stanford.”

“Yo, Danny, the weed got some spunk to him,” Jaden said.

“Yeah, kid’s steadiest hand with picks you ever seen. Hands so slick he could snatch a dildo from your sister’s ass before she noticed,” Danny said. The driver burst out laughing. “The ghost touch. You just make sure you can keep up.”

Up a long winding road they climbed, up towards the rain clouds in the silence.

“Here’s the bend, like I said,” Jaden said.

The car stopped in a tree-shaded curve in the road. Wide shoulder, between streetlights, no houses, about one hundred yards up the hill from the target.

Danny, Jimmy, and Wingnut cinched bandannas in place. They applied grease paint to the skin around their eyes. Dead whites stared out from black faces shrouded in black on black.

Danny slipped into the rain first. Jimmy and Wingnut broke for the cover of the tree line.

The three of them huddled under the sheltering branches. They moved in quick, shuffling steps before the dim light of the street lamps petered out. Inside the scrub, it was as dark as the bowels of hell. They stopped. Jimmy adjusted his messenger bag, slipping it onto his back.

Danny whispered, “Lights.”

A faint deep red glow washed the ground at their feet as they clicked on three small flashlights.

“Give it a minute, boys,” Danny said.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. You want me to drop the first marker?” Wingnut whispered.

“Yep. One every ten yards,” Danny said.

A tiny snap and a fluorescent green spark sailed to the earth.

Danny led them on point, slow and steady, stopping every minute to listen and wait. Wingnut dropping glow sticks, Jimmy scanning the area. At last, they came to an ivy-covered back fence.

“Kill the lights, guys,” Danny said, leaving his on as he searched the ground at his feet. He stooped over and chucked a rock over the fence.

Motion sensor lights came on over the back porch.

Danny waved Jimmy up front and pointed at the light.

Jimmy mounted the fence and checked the windows in the back of the house. Muted streetlights revealed the rich boy’s McMansion, a faux Spanish mission monstrosity complete with shitty Spanish colonial roof tiles under palm trees.

Jimmy suppressed a giggle. This Injun be sneaking up on the hacienda.

Then he checked the neighbors. He slipped down, dropping behind some bushes, and waited for the light to shut off.

Jimmy skirted the fence line four feet to his left and then clicked his tongue three times. Danny vaulted the fence. Wingnut followed.

They worked their way to the side patio door.

Danny threw another stone.

No light came on.

Jimmy crawled through the rain-soaked grass up to the sliding door. He peered into the house’s dark interior.

No signs of life.

Jimmy slapped the glass hard, waited a moment, and did it again.

No alarm.

He tried the sliding patio door.

No luck.


Careful, he slipped a torsion bar and saw toothpick into the lock.

Applying pressure to the torsion bar, he raked the lock until there was a pop and the torsion bar turned the cylinder.

He gave the door a tug.

No give.

Jimmy snapped on his red light for a second and looked at the inside of the track.

“Damn,” he said to himself.

Looking back, he held up one finger to the two shadows at the fence line.

Jimmy applied a suction cup to the lower half of the patio glass and used a glasscutter to remove a softball-sized piece from the pane. Reaching inside, he removed the steel bar blocking the door’s path.

Opening the door, he waved Danny and Wingnut inside.

Wingnut dropped a final glowstick on the lawn in front of the patio.

Inside, Danny got on a walkie talkie. “Follow the breadcrumbs, stick to the fence line inside the yard.”

Danny turned to Jimmy and Wingnut. “You guys, check out the first floor living rooms, but no further. I’ll wait here for Jaden and Kurt.”

“I’ll take the living room,” Wingnut said to Jimmy.

Jimmy said, “Guess that leaves the kitchen for me. Meet you in the den?”


Jimmy crept through the kitchen, marveling. Fucking kitchen is larger than our living room.

A quick flash of the red light here and there. An Apple tablet, a high-end cutlery set, expensive cookware.

Too big to haul away, not worth it.

He checked the cupboards, stocked with high-end name brands, organic beans, first rate spices.

Fucking asafoetida? Really?

Then, bingo! A can of generic cooking spray. Jimmy cradled it in his hands, lightly shook it. Plenty of heft, no sloshing. Jimmy pulled off the lid and tried the spray nozzle; nothing. He tried unscrewing the top half. No play. He tried the bottom, no screwing. He felt the bottom rim. Something. Jimmy took out his Swiss army knife and popped the small knife blade. He worked it into a tiny gap between the rim and the body. It slipped in; he dug a little deeper and pried off the bottom.

Inside the padded compartment was some jewelry. Necklaces, earrings, rings of what could be white gold, silver, or platinum, set with what could be garnets or rubies.

Didn’t matter: they were worth hiding, they were worth stealing.

He wrapped them in a clean shop rag and stowed them in a Ziploc bag.

He moved on to the fridge. Nothing of interest except a mostly full bottle of Dewar’s 18-year-old Scotch. He thought about snatching it for a second.

Maybe on the way out if we’re light.

He uncapped the bottle and took a quick swig.

So that’s what that tastes like. Smooth.

Then put it back.

Jimmy checked behind the fridge; no recessed safe, just a couple of dust bunnies.

He met Wingnut in a dining room. Wingnut pointed at a large cabinet. He opened the drawers, finding the fancy silverware. A small jackpot. Together, they laid them out on the table and wrapped them in more shop rags, parceling them out between them.

“You hear something?” Jimmy said.

“No. What?” Wingnut said.

“Like a beat, muffled pounding.”

A moment later, Danny, Jaden, and Kurt appeared.

Jaden spoke, “So what’s the take so far?”

“Not much, just silverware. We’ve just started,” Wingnut said.

“Okay, let’s finish the downstairs. Jaden, Kurt, take the garage and rec rooms. Me and my boys will finish pilfering the main living rooms. Meet back here in 15,” Danny said.

After the not-pam-can, the take got thin.

Danny, Jimmy, and Wingnut held a quick conference in rich boy’s office.

Wingnut said, “No fucking safe down here. The can must have been the wife’s hiding something from hubby.”

“All this electronic shit is worthless. Remember when we tried to fence that smart TV last year?” Danny said.

Jimmy suppressed a laugh. “You know how these rich hipster fucks are, the latest shit, worthless in resale a year later. Fucker doesn’t even have a baseball collection.”

“Yeah, remember that dude who had nothing but a jar of weed and beard balm?” Wingnut said.

“It was good shit. But Jaden’s source is sure this fucker has product. And where there’s product, there’s cash,” Danny said.

“Dude was probably blowing hard. C’mon, fucker doesn’t even have an alarm system. His parties probably consist of a sandwich bag of stepped on shit. Best bet is the wife has more jewelry upstairs,” Jimmy said.

“Well, let’s get the ride alongs,” Danny said.

As they moved through the living room towards the garage, Jimmy thought he heard another staccato of soft vibrations. Danny and Wingnut didn’t take notice.

When they found Jaden and Kurt in the rec room, there was a pungent smell in the air.

Jaden and Kurt were getting geared on crank from a glassine bag.

“What the fuck is that?” Danny said.

“Just a little rocket fuel, bro, keep us sharp,” Kurt said.

Then Danny noticed the pool table. “Dafuq?”

Kurt laughed.

There was a massive shit loaf in the middle of the velvet green pool table.

Kurt said, “I had to go. Fuck this asshole anyways.”

Danny pointed at the six-inch high turd sculpture. “Really man, they can pull DNA from shit. Your ass burger there could fuck us.”

Kurt strode forward, “Hey, fuck you and your cupcake crew!”

Jaden threw out an arm and blocked Kurt. “Cool it. He’s right. You get pinched burglary, better not flip your ass. Or you can clean this shit up.”

“Man, fuck that, let’s see what’s upstairs,” Kurt said.


For all installments of “Fuck My Wife with Your Nazi Dick!,” click here.