it was a quick strike by

"No sign of entry in the other bedroom," Crawford reported, then began talking with two cops. "Hang on," he told Ray, who was standing in the front door, looking through the screen, motionless and trying to think of the fastest way home. The cops and Crawford decided it was a quick strike by a pretty good thief who got surprised by the alarm. He jammed the two doors with minimal damage, realized there was an alarm, raced through the place looking for something in particular, and when he didn't find it he kicked a few things for the hell of it and fled. He or they – could’ve been more than one. "You need to be here to tell the police if anything is missing and to do a report," Crawford said. "I'll be there tomorrow," Ray said. "Can you secure the place tonight?" "Yeah, we'll think of something." "Call me after the cops leave." He sat on the front steps and listened to the crickets while yearning to be at Chaney's Self-Storage, sitting in the dark with one of the Judge's guns, ready to blast away at anyone who came near him. Fifteen hours away by car. Three and a half by private plane. He called Fog Newton and there was no answer. His phone startled him again. "I'm still in the apartment," Crawford said. "I don't think this is random," Ray said. "You mentioned some valuables, some family stuff, at Chaney's Self-Storage." "Yeah. Any chance you could watch the place tonight?" "They got security out there, guards and cameras, not a bad outfit." Crawford sounded tired and not enthusiastic about napping in a car all night. "Can you do it?" "I can't get in the place. You have to be a customer." "Watch the entrance." Crawford grunted and breathed deeply. "Yeah, I'll check on it, maybe call a guy in to watch it." "Thanks. I'll call you when I get to town tomorrow." He called Chaney's and there was no answer. He waited five minutes, called again, counted fourteen rings then heard a voice. "Chaney's, security, Murray speaking."