Read Time: 5 minutes
Callum always had the greatest ideas. Out of his gang of juvenile delinquents, his ideas were the cream of the crop. Admittedly, the gang was a selection of rejects, and therefore, the pickings were meagre. Their eureka moments seemed to surface after hours of candy and red bull fueled online gaming. But his ideas were still by far the best out of the lot. He was the mastermind.
Seventy-two minutes earlier, he had struck gold. It sat on his bed in several bags, right next to his pile of dirty laundry, and the empty pizza box. Everything was perfect when he had conceived of the idea at 2 am while playing Call of Duty with the lads. Everyone had agreed to their roles. It should have gone perfectly.
The first thing to go pear shaped was Verstappen arriving late. Imagine the getaway driver turning up late for a heist. Verstappen was not his real name. They called him Verstappen because he lived and breathed formula one racing and would never stop talking about the star of the sport. Kevin, which was his real name, came late with the wrong car. His excuse was he could not drive stick, so he used his mum’s car. They would have been able to get away faster on foot. But they were too far gone to turn back at that point.
After that, everything went wrong. Sandra, who fancied herself an MMA wrestler, but had the dexterity of a light pole, could not get over the perimeter fence. So, she decided that she would now be the getaway driver. Sandra could not even ride a tricycle. But Callum could smell jackpot just waiting to be pocketed. So, he encouraged them that his plan was foolproof.
Snow6897, whose real name was Leon, brought the duffle bags. I say duffle bags, but they were reusable grocery bags borrowed from his mum’s pantry and his kid sister’s school bag. He had forgotten to take the books out of the bag, so they dumped them on the floor of Mr. Chow’s living room.
Which brings me to Liam. He was Mr. Chow’s teenage son and had boasted that his father would store the days’ take from the restaurant, in a safe at home. Liam forgot that they were coming and had overslept. They had to climb up the side of the house to wake him so he could open the front door.
They still managed to steal the cash, escape on foot, and make it home. All except for Sandra, that is. Sandra only got as far as the back fender of the car in front of her. She panicked and called her mum to get her. But she was smart enough to run two blocks away from the scene of their greatest caper so far. Or so Callum was led to believe.
Twelve thousand dollars split four ways was more money than he had ever seen in his life. Well, it would be split three ways now since Sandra didn’t really do anything. Callum did the math on the calculator on his phone. He sniffed a handful of twenties. “Four grand. Not bad at all.” He finally knew what fortune smelt like. He was rich.
He could hear his dad bounding up the stairs, and he scrambled to hide the cash under the bed. Then, he rolled over to pretend he was asleep. Fear had a distinct taste, and Callum could savor it now at the back of his throat.
“You are such a bloody nonce. What on earth have you gotten yourself into now?” His dad dragged him to a sitting position. Callum was about to protest his innocence when he saw Mr. Chow peering over his dad’s shoulder.
“What do you mean?” he yanked himself away.
Mr. Chow held up the phone he had in his hands. Security footage; not of them stealing the cash. Oh no, Callum was too savvy to be caught that easily. Instead, the camera doorbell had recorded Sandra crashing the car, running to the front door of Mr. Chow’s home, ringing his bell, and asking Liam to borrow his phone to call her mum to come get her. Callum could not make this crap up. The disappointment was written all over his face.
“Give it up ya silly git.” His old man rapped him across the ear.
Less than 75 minutes. Callum begrudgingly handed over the bags of cash. For less than 75 minutes he had been richer than Bill Gates.
“I’m sorry Mr. Chow.” He apologized as he handed over the money.
His old man gave him the dirtiest look, then the two adults left the room without saying another word. Callum leaned back into his pillow. He would do better next time. Every mastermind had to start somewhere. But for now, he had bigger concerns. If he got grounded, his dad would take away his console, and that would mean no gaming. The gang had just registered for an online tournament, and Callum had used his dad’s credit card to pay for the registration. That wasn’t promising to end well either. And his final concern, though not as weighty as the other two, was that he had two assignments due in the morning. Missing those would mean he’d fail the class.
But a mastermind could not be distracted by such silly things. He shrugged, fluffed his pillow, and went to sleep.
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