The Jackson

1

Square in the middle of the Golden Row, the poshest residential street in the city, sat The Jackson. An immense high-rise towering over every other apartment building in sight, The Jackson was a gilded and brilliant piece of architecture. It sides gleamed with silver Art Deco adornments, the windows were encircled by gold frames and the spire rising from its top sparkled with that same golden hue. It had been built during the Roaring Twenties and hadn’t seemed to age a day.

Eternal, Corey thought as he gazed up.

The way it captured the sunlight and used it to enhance its own beauty made Corey feel as if he were looking upon a living creature. One so aware of its magnificence that you wanted to spurn it, pass by and spit on its sidewalk letting it know that it held no sway over you, but you couldn’t. It had charm and verve and as such would be a monument that would stand until the world fell apart around it.

But it wasn’t the building Corey had come to see. He pulled his coat tighter around him and sipped his lukewarm coffee, the newspaper in his lap untouched. It wasn’t the building but what was inside its lavish walls. The richest citizens lived in this palace. They sat in their comfortable nests that they feathered with diamonds and Picasso’s and Corey had every intention of taking some of those feathers. And he wouldn’t feel bad about it either. These people had insurance policies. He could only make them more money in the process of padding his own wallet. In his mind, it was a win-win.

Now all he had to do was get in.

Corey had been scoping out the building for two weeks looking for an easy way in. There was a security desk that had officers trading out every six hours. It would be impossible get past them. Cameras covered every inch of the outside, and probably the inside. The only hope he had was the maintenance entrance but there was a problem there too. This gigantic building had only one maintenance man. A small, balding, ancient little man. Corey didn’t think this man could even lift a mop let alone service an entire apartment building. Somebody would surely notice if he went missing for a day.   

But there wasn’t any other option. That would have to be his way in.

Corey tossed the dregs of his cold coffee in a trash can as he left the uncomfortable metal bench that had been digging into his ass. He plotted as he walked the long, cold walk back to his car forcing the feeling back into his ass. The old man had a very strict routine. He was up early, taking trash out at five in the morning, didn’t matter the weather. Like clockwork his small frame would come tottering out of the side door and he would haul ten garbage bags from the door, through the fog or the rain, straight to the dumpster with his multiple keys jingling at his side. Then he would go back in and lock the door behind him. After that, Corey had no idea what the little man did but he could only assume that he went about his day fixing leaky sinks and sticky doorknobs. At the end of each day the maintenance man left the building at approximately eight o’clock, walked down to the corner market, the one with the red and white striped umbrella out front, and bought a small bag’s worth of groceries.

Corey thought he was an odd little man. He never left the apartment building. He never went out for dinner, or a movie, or anything, at least not in the weeks Corey had been watching him. It was like the building had swallowed his soul, keeping him as a prisoner and slave, his every movement allowed only to further the upkeep of The Jackson.

Tonight, Corey would follow him into the dark heart of the glittering beast. And after tonight, Corey would never have to steal again.