Easy Crime 01

By: Dell Sweet

Narrated by: Virtual Voice

Then I saw him. Robby.

He hadn't changed much. Still the same lean build, the same unsettlingly calm demeanor that had always made me both wary and fascinated. His eyes, though, held a sharper glint, a honed edge that spoke of survival in a world even harsher than the one behind bars. He was a predator, disguised in the sheep's clothing of a casual acquaintance, and the way he sat at the bar, radiating an aura of dangerous nonchalance, sent a chill down my spine.

He caught my eye and offered a small, almost imperceptible nod, a silent acknowledgment of our shared history. The years melted away, the silence between us filled with unspoken understanding, a grim camaraderie born of shared hardship and questionable choices.

“Jeff Johnson,” he said, his voice a low rumble that seemed to cut through the bar's muted noise. “Didn’t expect to see you out here so soon.”

“Robby Biel,” I replied, my voice rough around the edges from disuse. The years had not been kind to my throat. “Me neither.”

He gestured for me to sit, and I did, my muscles stiff from a lifetime spent on the wrong side of the law. We sat in silence for a few moments, each of us seemingly content to simply be in the other’s presence. The air thrummed with a strange energy, a mixture of wariness and reluctant camaraderie.

“So,” he eventually began, taking a long drag from his cigarette and exhaling a plume of smoke that momentarily obscured his face. “How’s the outside world treating you?”

“Like a battlefield,” I replied, “Except there’s no clear enemy, just a constant barrage of setbacks and doubts.”

He chuckled, a dry, brittle sound. “Sounds about right. It never changes, does it? Some things never change.”

We fell into a comfortable silence, the unspoken questions hanging in the air like smoke. We both knew the unspoken queries circling the space between us: how had our respective lives fared since last we saw each other? How had we managed to survive the labyrinthine paths of the outside world?

Finally, I broke the silence. “What about you, Robby? How did you… manage?”
He grinned, a predatory glint in his eye. “Oh, I’ve been… busy.” He paused, taking another drag of his cigarette. “Busy enough.”

The way he said it, the casual way he spoke about his activities, sent a chill down my spine. I knew instinctively that ‘busy’ was a euphemism, a delicately chosen word that veiled a darker, more unsettling truth. I knew the kind of ‘busy’ Robby Biel engaged in.

He launched into a tale about a recent parole interview; the details delivered with a clinical detachment that chilled me to the bone. He'd overheard a parole officer threatening a big-time drug dealer, a man known only as Simpson. The officer, clearly compromised, seemed to be using the threat as a tool for extortion, and Robby, with his uncanny ability to pick up on subtle cues and read people like an open book, had latched onto the opportunity like a starving dog on a bone.
He described Simpson’s opulent house, its lavish furnishings, and its robust security system. He detailed the officer’s casual cruelty, his callous disregard for the man's life. He recounted overheard snippets of conversation, painting a vivid picture of arrogance and corruption. All the while, he kept his voice low, his manner casual, almost dismissive, as if this was just another day, another opportunity.

And then, the bombshell.

“So, I figured,” he said, leaning back and meeting my gaze, “why not take advantage of the situation?”

My stomach clenched. I already knew where this was going.

“I’m thinking about robbing Simpson,” he stated simply, as if proposing a trip to the store...